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fayes-fics · 6 months

Text

Enthralled

Pairings: Vampire!Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader x Thomas Dorset

Summary: You and your new husband invite a handsome stranger to your rooms, but all is not as it seems...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub undertones, bisexual male characters, slash content, oral sex (f to m, m to m, m to f) blow jobs, deepthroat w smidge of breathplay, facesitting, edging/orgasm control, vaginal sex, anal sex, simultaneous penetration, multiple orgasms, biting, bloodplay, blood-drinking.

Word Count: 9k

Authors Note: The reader remix of this story. A gothic-ish Halloween threesome with Vampire!Benedict. This is my first foray into writing slash content. If you are looking for a plot or backstory, this will likely disappoint; it's just an excuse for vaguely spooky, unrelenting smut - I cannot celebrate a holiday any other way lol. I wanted to choose a minor show character as the husband, and Dr Dorset screams secretly adventurous to me. Please heed the warnings above; this is pretty full-on. If you proceed, I hope you enjoy! <3

Credits: Thanks to @colettebronte for advice and betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for her Vampiric expertise. Artwork includes edits made weeks ago for this story by our dearly departed @bridgertontess. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Benedict smells it long before he ever sees you.

Fresh blood, sweet young bodies in the flushes of arousal; it makes him hungry in every sense of the word. The almost painful need to feast and fuck. He inhales deep, lewdly, letting the tempting scents fill his being. He pulls on his cloak and goes out to find you.

—

Mrs Dorset.

You practice the name, sitting at the vanity table of your rooms at the inn, feeling cosy in the soft candlelight glow as the autumnal wind howls portentously beyond the window. The quill scratches the paper as you loop the letters, learning the structure of your new name as it flows under your hand.

“What are you doing, my love?” Thomas rounds behind you, returning to your rooms with steaming hot tea as promised.

“I am practising my new name,” you reply proudly, twisting to look up at your husband of merely two days as he places aside the tea tray, squeezing your shoulders lightly.

“Oh, I see, that is… well, that is wonderful,” his cadence wavering. It seems as if he is embarrassed at how something as simple as your desire to write his name could make him burn physically, the glistening, dark, looped strokes causing a primal wash of possession. His fingers flex instinctually, mapping your collarbone, your flesh irresistible under his fingertips. You squeak as he rocks his body into your back, something insistent pressing into your spine.

“Husband,” you drawl, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror. “Are you aroused?” Your question isn't judgemental, but pure curiosity and desire, leaning back into him.

“Yes, darling wife. You have my name. It is…. Appealing,” he answers honestly, a touch winded, his fingers trailing lower over your warm skin onto the swell of your breast.

Your eyes flash in the reflection, and then suddenly, you spin around on the stool and bury your face into his trousers, nuzzling his hardness. His growl is deep and wracked. So utterly undone by how forthright you can be with your intentions.

You look up at him, fluttering your eyelids as you pluck open his trousers determinedly, push down his underwear, and wrap your hands around the back of his thighs to draw him even closer. Immediately you encase his tasty warm cock in your mouth, so very keen for him.

He groans to the ceiling as if disbelieving in his luck.

—

Benedict finds himself outside the quaint country inn barely a quarter mile from his country home. No wonder he could smell it so strong.

As he stares up at a mullioned window, russet leaves swirling around his feet on this cold, crisp night, he sees the glowing candlelight signifying the room’s occupation. Indeed, it is the only one lit as such on the first floor. He surmises the couple are likely newlyweds, perhaps passing through the area on their honeymoon—the first ones who have done so since he was turned a few months back.

While he has trained himself on the scent of the people in the proximal area and taught himself they are not food, he is powerless to resist this. Them. From scent alone, they are in their twenties, and right now, they are engaging in something carnal. He can smell ripe juices swirling in the air along with the thronging of their hearts, blood coursing. It makes his cock strain painfully against the wool of his britches.

He never used to be like this—a creature of such base instinct. Yes, when human, he had his fair share of lovers of all persuasions, but it had been an occasional bacchanalian indulgence. Now. Now, he can barely contain himself. His tongue licks around the point of his fang, tasting the air, knowing without a doubt they will be under his thrall within moments of meeting and lost in a temporary reverie of how he will enjoy them.

—

“Y/n….” it’s throaty, raw, wrecked, a hand buried in your locks.

His taste is strong in your mouth as Thomas flops back upon the bed, utterly sated after he finds completion. You had pushed him backwards from the vanity table onto the edge of the bed and sunk to your knees before him, eagerly taking him into your mouth, motions wanton, brazen, your skill and enthusiasm blossoming under his few days of tutelage. Learning his body and needs; learning to use your tongue in ways that make him breathless and unerringly grateful.

You delicately wipe your chin of his seed with a handkerchief and rise to your feet as gracefully as you can as he lays there panting, staring at the velvet drapes over the four-poster bed, his mind blanked out from pleasure.

“Husband,” you coo in a light tease, “I do believe it is now time we took dinner; 'tis nearing 7pm.”

Thomas pouts, looking as if he wants to feast only upon you, not mere food. The grumble in his stomach, though, gives away his status, and your giggle makes him sit up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his clothes.

“I suppose sustenance is required,” he smiles indulgently, standing up and wrapping you in his arms. “If only to provide energy for our later activities,” he adds teasingly into your ear; a light shiver runs through your being as he says it.

“Then let us eat, Dr Dorset,” you murmur into his jaw, running a hand down his waistcoat. Feeling light as air, you gigglingly tumble down the hallway and staircase to the public house below, wrapped up in each other’s arms, barely noticing the tall, cloaked figure as it slips in through the main door.

—

Benedict nods to Jenkins, the publican and innkeeper behind the bar; locals always having an open invitation to drink and dine any night of the week. Tonight, the public house is deserted save for a regular - drunkard Willie, propping up the corner of the bar as ever - and the newlywed couple now ensconced in an alcove by the roaring fireplace.

He sets eyes upon you both properly, and his insides almost feel warm. You are both beautiful in ways that make him ache. The man is tall, fair of face and built handsomely. You are just his type of woman physically with a spirited mien that looks like you would be the very best kind of challenge to tame. He longs to strip you both naked and run his tongue down your healthy contours, revel in your bodies, coursing with life.

Taking the brandy awaiting him on the bar, he glides towards you, flicking up his velvet collar as he does so, knowing of his powers and how to wield them to his advantage when needs must.

“Welcome to Wiltshire,” his opening gambit, smooth and dusky, raising his glass.

Both you and Thomas look up, startled at a handsome stranger’s interruption to your intimate conversation. Still, Benedict doesn't miss for a second how both of your eyes dilate rapidly.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Thomas Dorset stumbles, raising his glass without thought in a silent responding toast.

“Please call me Benedict. May I join you?” his ask is unfaulteringly polite, but with a lopsided grin, he has long learned is his ticket to everything he may want in this world.

Dorset immediately gestures for him to do so, despite himself, and Benedict slides smoothly onto the bench seat across from them with a dramatic swish of his ample velvet cloak.

“And you are?” he smiles at you both expectantly.

“Oh, where are my manners!?” Thomas decries as if snapping back to reality. “I am Dr Thomas Dorset, and this,” his arm wraps tighter around your shoulders, “is my wonderful new wife, Mrs y/n Dorset.”

You smile at Benedict; he can sense your apprehension at this stranger joining them but also hears your heart fluttering just a fraction harder as he meets your gaze. Can smell the uptick in your bodily response, a new tang to your natural scent that speaks of piqued interest. He knows with just a few well-deployed lingering looks and chosen words, he could throw you over the table right here in front of your husband and fuck you so well you would beg him for more. Again, he is grateful for the cloak he wears, hiding the bulge in his clothing that has barely slaked since your arrival to the area.

“It is so wonderful to meet you both,” he drawls, running a finger over his bottom lip to draw attention to his mouth. If you stare long enough, the thrall will be so easy. “What brings you to our fine village?”

“We are passing through on our way to Cornwall for our honeymoon,” Dorset confirms what Benedict already suspected.

“This is rather off the beaten path to such a place,” Benedict states dryly with a wink, knowing he is reeling you in with every word he utters.

“Indeed,” Thomas concedes, “my new wife insisted we come via this route to allow us to call upon her sister during our journey.”

Benedict smiles, subtly scenting your bodies as you and Thomas lean in without realising, falling under his spell.

“Well then, I insist I purchase your dinner and drinks this evening,” he declares, watching bemused as you both attempt to remonstrate. “I will not accept no for an answer,” he appends, victory glowing as you acquiesce, not realising this will be the first of many permissions you will grant him tonight, all being well.

—

You chew upon the venison slowly, one eye on your additional party, still unsure why he has chosen to join you and, indeed, pay for your meal when he apparently is not eating himself. Engaging you in conversation that seems peculiarly beguiling and dangerous all at once.

He is undoubtedly attractive. Hazy blue eyes under a mass of chestnut hair, a pale-skinned face with exquisite sharp lines. Feeling guilty to admit it silently, you find him just as attractive as your husband, maybe more so—something so hypnotic in how he holds himself, moves, and speaks. Finding yourself drawn to him, a stirring in your underwear that you swear he can sense. Every time a little frisson runs through your body, his head unerringly swings towards you, a slight curl in his luscious lip, like he is smelling your arousal and thinks it the tastiest treat in the world.

You could swear he is trying to steal you from your husband - and to your horror, you realise you would absolutely let him - except… his attention is just as rapt upon Thomas. Benedict’s gaze is just as covetous when he speaks. His tongue flicks the corner of his mouth as your husband casually leans back and crosses his legs—as if Benedict is scenting his body, too. It's confusing but intoxicating, as if your wine is laced with a far more potent substance.

—

Benedict knows he has won you both over before you put down your dessert spoons, now hanging on his every word.

“Let us repair to somewhere more intimate for a nightcap,” he suggests, and your joint responding consent is instant. “How about your rooms here at the Inn?”

Were you in your sound, sober minds, it seems unlikely you would invite a stranger to your rooms, but as it is, you enthusiastically do. Benedict snags the remainder of the brandy bottle from the bar as he settles the bill.

“Friends of yours?” Jenkins frowns, vaguely intrigued.

“Everyone is a friend yet to be made, Jenkins,” Benedict answers, intentionally vague.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. “Bloody poets…” he is heard to mutter under his breath, but Benedict lets it pass. If the man invoked the name Byron, perhaps he wouldn't have. Might have stolen a chicken or two from the coup outside to exsanguinate in revenge.

Benedict trails behind you, both pleasantly inebriated now, holding the wood panelling as you negotiate the narrow corridors of the inn to your rooms, inhibitions lowered. He knows you are just in that sweet spot where you will be so open to suggestions but not so out of your minds to be a pointless fuck, unable to respond. There is nothing less appealing to him than a lifeless, limp, unconscious being. Yes, easy to feed upon, perhaps, but no challenge. The only thrill he gets these days is that of the chase. Of the crackling potential of any moment, human hearts beating wildly in his presence, blood pumping hard—that is what brings him exhilaration.

—

Dorset fumbles the heavy iron key in the lock, leaning into you as you giggle along with him. The attractive, imposing man stood patiently behind you, seemingly sober, which is impressive given he drank more than you both. Still unsure what is possessing him to allow this, Thomas nevertheless feels compelled to do this man’s bidding, to allow this whatever he wishes.

It may be a secret he has kept from you, but Dorset is not immune to the charms of a handsome man. In his youthful days at Cambridge, he had many a clandestine encounter with his fellow students. Late drunken nights of experimentation. He knows the power of a man’s touch, enjoying the taboo feeling of being taken roughly, clawing the mattress as he is mounted without mercy. A man's body may differ greatly from a woman’s, but it is no less of an attractive wonderland.

Little does he know just how soon you will learn of that predilection.

—

You twirl around the room as the men take a seat and pour more liquor, feeling ebullient, basking in the heat of the fire on this cold autumn night, dizzy and fizzling with energy. You feel the gaze of both men, knowing both track your moments from the wingtip chairs they inhabit. Your insides feel ripe and pulpy, compelling you to be daring, a peculiar impulse to strip and dance naked in front of them.

There must have been something in my drink. Surely?

Your husband interrupts just as you think to act.

“Darling, come sit with us,” Thomas appeals, patting his knee enticingly.

He would never typically invite you to sit upon him in the company of a stranger, but everything about tonight feels different, so you allow yourself to be swept into it. To see what may arise with the handsome, mysterious visitor.

You float over and sigh as you fall into Thomas’ lap, the heat of his leg seeping through your dress, warming your bottom. He pulls you snugly into his lap, bumping a stirring hardness and without a doubt, you know this evening will go somewhere you never expected…. And yet, you can't wait for it to do so.

“Isn't my wife beautiful?” Dorset slurs, his breath hot on your ear, turning you both to face Benedict in the chair next to you as if he is seeking his approval for his choice of spouse.

“Indeed she is,” Benedict responds, dark and silky, a shiver tracing down your spine as he voices it. “As are you handsome, good sir,” he adds, and you know they are very much out of your depth as you feel the same shudder pass through your husband's being beneath you.

Oh, good lord, who is this man?

—

Benedict sees you reacting to his voice, sees the ripple in your beings, hears it in your breathing, and knows he has you fully enthralled. You are his to do precisely as he wants now. Tumbling images flash through his mind as to how he can have both of your bodies—sweat and skin, blood and bone, moving together in a carnal symphony.

His instinct is to take you and then your husband. He can see the willingness there, but he’ll need more enticing to allow that dormant flame to be relit. Perhaps watching you, his new wife, give yourself so readily will be just the nudge he needs to submit, also.

So when Thomas turns to Benedict, offering you on the plate that is his lap, he decides this is the moment to strike. Downing the rest of his glass, he stands and tugs at the string of his velvet cape, which falls to the floor with a heavy whump… to reveal his fitted cropped jacket and tight britches, tailored in black fabric like a second skin, giving away everything about what he has to offer.

He hears your sharp inhales at the unmistakable tented outline.

“Desire is such a funny thing, is it not?” he rumbles, moving closer, and your legs fall apart on instinct, the air suddenly filled with a potent scent of your arousal that makes his tongue itch to taste.

“In what way?” Thomas hitches, his hands grabbing your waist reflexively as Benedict can hear his heartbeat in his breathy cadence.

“You both want me, and yet you offer your wife to me first,” Benedict assesses cooly, raising an eyebrow as he takes a step closer, watching you squirm as your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

“I did nothing of the sor…” Thomas’s response dies on the spot as one long, slender finger lands on his lips, hushing him, a sharp fingernail resting under his nose.

“We both know you did,” Benedict argues laconically, “And lucky for you…” Benedict almost chuckles as you gasp when his other hand cups your jaw. “…She wants me too. Right now, her thighs are soaked with delicious slickness; I can smell it,” he states casually, holding you both.

“Is that true?” Thomas inquires, side-eying you but not moving under Benedict's finger.

“Yes,” you exhale shakily, unable to peel your gaze from Benedict's face now he has tilted your jaw up to him. “I want him, husband,” you confess raggedly, not knowing why you are voicing it. “And I want you to watch, to participate.”

Benedict chuckles again. “Of course, you do, little one. You love him, even if you are tempted by the fruit of another.” He traces a knuckle down over your chin, your throat, where your pulse is beating wildly, pausing on your clavicle. You know your eyes are wide and beseeching, begging for more.

Benedict swings his gaze to Thomas, then leans in. “If you truly love your wife, you will kiss me right now,” he taunts, his lips hovering so close, “give her a good show; I need her trembling before I take her.”

Come on, sweet prince, dance with me.

—

Thomas can barely comprehend what is transpiring. But he doesn't want to fight it. The man’s finger is cool on his lip as he poses the question. You are writhing deliciously in his lap, making his cock swell painfully against the cleft of your bottom. The next decision is inevitable, fated.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He gently purses his lips and gives permission by bussing a featherlight kiss onto Benedict’s finger. The predatory smile that unfurls across the man’s face doesn't seem human, more akin to creature than man.

Then his jaw is tilted back, and his world swims as the man closes the few inches between their faces and kisses him. It's biting, hungry, desperate. A skilled tongue rolls over his, and Thomas feels a groan bubble up from deep inside. Possessed, overwhelmed, taken. Benedict tastes like sin but something odd like decay, too, at the edges of the fragrant brandy—some tart undercurrent that is wholly otherworldly and unnerving.

Thomas feels as much as he hears your moan. Feels the weight of your gaze glued to their faces, no doubt seeing a peak of their tongues entwining. Feels the weight of your body in his lap, moving rhythmically, grinding insistently, tilting your hips forward brazenly to drag your clit over the creases in his trousers. Your shameless want and desire are potent and arousing. Even as Benedict’s kiss steals his breath, a faint voice in his head gnaws about your actions being as inexplicable as his, but it's mostly drowned out by the roar of blood pumping hard in his system, seeming so loud around this man, as if he is in tune with it somehow.

As Benedict pulls back, Thomas's vision swims, awash with sensation. He watches, dazed, as the pale man turns and captures your mouth just as covetously.

—

You have only known the passionate kiss of one man—your husband. Yet a mere three days after your first mind-blowing experience of that, you have another first. Your first kiss with another, a whole other creature, not that you can likely comprehend. Unaware of the dance with death.

When Benedict turns and seizes your lips, you peep in surprise. But he swallows the noise, opening your mouth with his tongue, the kiss instantly intense. It's more of a take than the pliant dance you usually share with Thomas. A plundering that floods your senses and steals every breath from your lungs leaving you feeling shaky, unmoored, and taken somewhere dark that is metallic and brimstone. His kiss seems at once ephemeral and infinite. No wonder your husband looked dazed. As Benedict withdraws, the smile on his face is rapacious.

He suddenly pulls both of you to your feet, like ragdolls for him to puppet. Wrapping you up in a joint embrace, he whispers for you both to strip before releasing you just as swiftly, taking a seat on the edge of the imposing bed. As if in a trance, you begin undoing your own clothing.

“Nuh-uh,” Benedict clucks, holding a halting hand that you instantly obey. “Undress each other, my precious ones,” he elucidates, wanting a show.

Your heart thrums as you turn to your husband and he to you. Invisible strings seem to direct your frantic movements as you paw at each other, fabrics tearing in your swift pursuit of skin. You only stop panting wildly and staring when nothing is left, both frowning in confusion at the flurry and intensity of it.

What on earth just happened?

Uncertainty roils oleaginous in your stomach as if, on a gut level, your body is trying to send a warning signal. Still, at the same time, it feels detached and far away, as if your mind is in another realm, a place of edgy desire and boundless pleasure.

—

“Well, that was quite the brief show,” Benedict pipes up, bemused. “Not that I am complaining,” he adds, smirking, his eyes raking you both greedily as he runs a casual finger down his cheek.

Your bodies are ideal, as he suspected. The man is tall and lithe, not unlike himself, his skin pale and smooth, his cock, aroused and leaking, springing from a small thatch of hair that tapers to a narrow point under his belly button. So far, so similar. His cock is nice, sizeable but not intimidating, and weirdly he feels pleased for the woman. It is not as good as his cock; he's a Bridgerton, for Pete's sake, but entirely up for the task of bringing satisfaction to anyone who interacts with it. You are his ideal shape, your contours reminding him of a violin. And such an apt metaphor, your strings so ripe to be plucked, to be properly played, perhaps for the first time.

But mostly, what he tastes thick in the air of the heated room is your fluids. The rush of fresh blood pumping vigorously from your hearts, pulses elevated by the thrall. Sticky, sweet, and life-giving for him and you both. He is so glad he feasted on local farmstock before picking up your scent; otherwise, you would both be dead right now at his feet, lifeless and pale, every drop coursing through his mouth and swirling in his stomach like the indulgent meal your very hearty lifeforce represents. His hunger is slaked just enough that lust is his primary driver, at least for now.

He opens his mouth, engaging all the olfactory senses like a feline. Since he passed, his ability to pick up scents has been both a blessing and a curse, but right now, the best possible outcome from the dreaded experience.

Thomas’ precum is deliciously sharp, perhaps a shade too much. Benedict makes a mental note to offer him the luxury of some pineapple should this entanglement last longer than tonight, with them both still upon this mortal plain. You would undoubtedly be grateful for the improvement in his flavour, too.

As for you… his mouth froths. Your scent is sin itself to him, honeyed but also sharp like an undeveloped apple still clinging to the tree. A swirl of flavour in the air so plush, it takes all his willpower not to throw you to the ground and drink from between your legs. Knowing it would only take a blip, a momentary loss of careful control, to sink in his fangs, mixing your juices with your blood, what an absolute symphony of flavour that would be.

He realises he is staring at you both, panting lasciviously, lost in the jumble of scent and potential. You awaiting his next order, not even realising yourselves in suspended animation.

“Dorset, lie in the middle of the bed,” Benedict orders gruffly, drawing himself to his feet and standing aside.

Thomas does as bidden, his cock bobbing as he climbs onto the raised mattress and settles as instructed, looking at Benedict bright-eyed, awaiting any subsequent command.

“Watch me,” Benedict tutors you, then he crawls over your husband and, without preamble, takes the man's cock deep into his mouth as Thomas howls like he did for you earlier tonight.

—

Thomas almost hits the ceiling as his cock is suddenly surrounded by strong suction, vacuumed into Benedict's mouth. In fact, Benedict keeps sinking, and Thomas pants in shock as his tip slides into the man’s throat, something he has not had in many a year. The tightness, the pure depth of sensation. It seems strange the man does not need to take a breath or even fight as if there is air in his lungs, but dammit all to hell if this isn't already the most exquisite blow job of his entire life. Benedict apparently has no gag reflex; holding him deep, a mind-bogglingly long tongue unfurls to curl around his balls and lick covetously, a wet muscular stroke over his most sensitive skin that has his fingers curling into the sheets. He cannot school the booming, guttural groan. If he had not come merely an hour ago, thanks to his dearest you, he would likely be embarrassingly close to orgasm already; this man’s skill stupendous, another edge that doesn't seem human.

Thomas looks over frantically to you, his eyes bulging in shock, and he groans again at the sight of you. Your mouth hung open, lips rosy and damp, you have your fingers buried between your legs now, and there is a faint, lewd, wet sound as you invade your cunt with your fingers, just as he taught you on your wedding night. The sight before you is too beautiful and arousing to resist; you know your nipples are puckered, and Thomas’s tongue longs to run over them.

He wants to fuck and be fucked, sandwiched between you, his ravishing vixen of a wife, and this devil of a man, sucking his very life essence via his cock, intent on draining him dry. Just as Thomas feels a flush all over his body and a tightening in his sac, Benedict pulls up and away, smirking victoriously as he twists towards you, ignoring Thomas’ huffed, wretched pleas.

No! No, please, please do not leave me in this state!

—

You self-consciously whip your hands away from between your legs, and your eyes cut to Benedict as he addresses you.

“That is how you ensure your husband here never leaves you, little one,” he coos, running a thumb provocatively around his drooped lower lip, licking his thumbpad of every flavour. “Now it's your turn; show me what you can do.”

Benedict reaches out a draped hand. You take it, his touch light, helping you hop onto the bed to join them. He snatches your other hand and brings the fingers you had buried in your cunt up to his nose, sniffing lewdly.

Oh my god, this man is feral.

“I'm glad you enjoyed the show so much,” he smirks, running his nose up and down each digit. “Now I am going to taste you, darling girl,” it's low, akin to a threat. “You will sit on my face as you take his cock in your mouth, but do not let him come. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, scarcely believing what he says. Benedict scowls slightly as he drops your hand.

“Don't call me sir, call me Count,” he snaps.

“Yes, Count,” you amend dutifully, and his smile, yet again, is devilish.

“Good, now ensure your husband is mindless with need while I provide you the same favour,” he purrs and slides under you with balletic grace.

Butterflies roar in your stomach as you feel the sharpness of Benedict's cheekbone press the skin of your inner thighs, draping yourself forward into your husband’s lap and tentatively licking a strip up his weeping cock as he mumbles your name weakly and moans.

Then you scream as a muscular tongue parts your folds with a force Thomas has never subjected you to. Whip-like, lashing your swollen clit with determined spirals before plunging lower and pushing far into your cunt, further than your husband's tongue has ever dared. Your groan is smothered as you take Thomas’ tip into your mouth, needing the distraction. Benedict’s hands grasp your hips and pull you down forcefully onto his face, his nose jammed against your pubic bone. Thomas has never been this engaged, devouring, a violent delight. You garble a curse around the cock, hurtling towards ecstasy as Thomas’ whole body tenses under you.

“Don't let him come,” Benedict reminds, words gusting hot over your slit, sensing what the man’s body signifies better than you do.

You pull off and breathe raggedly, staring up at your husband’s wrecked pleading face, where he leans on the headboard.

What is this? You mouth at him, nearly scared of how good it feels to ride Benedict's face so brazenly.

—

“Do not stop; use him, darling,” Thomas practically snarls through gritted teeth.

He is utterly enthralled by seeing another man taking you somewhere wild and untamed. The look of equal parts shock, fear and bewildered pleasure on your face is a picture he wants to remember forever.

He groans as you follow his advice, wrapping a hand loosely around his cock, a tease that makes his brain itch, as you concentrate on riding Benedict's invasive tongue, biting your lip, moaning vocally.

Yes, this is the best kind of sin.

Thomas mutters words, barely cognisant of what but compelled to urge you on. To take from this mysterious man so willing to give to you both, so far asking nothing in return, still fully clothed himself.

The jagged edge of his denied orgasm licks insistently at his mind, begging for release but paradoxically wallowing in the jangling ache of being so close but denied. Making him unable to think straight. As a doctor, he usually prides himself on keeping a cool head when all around may lose theirs, but tonight…. Tonight feels so peculiar. Out of the ordinary, out of control, out of his mind. And somehow craving carnality like a bestial creature, clawing at the bed, watching you be debauched by the same man who made him equally mindless.

—

Benedict cannot get enough. This wondrous pair. The husband was so responsive to his throat, and now you are bewitched just the same. Writhing your nub shamelessly over the tip of his nose, your juices trickling copiously down his nostrils to coat his throat as he plunges and twists his tongue inside you.

He wants you both so close to ecstasy, so close you can almost taste it, but not let you just yet. The thrill of how utterly base a human can be when dangling over the edge of lust fascinated him before… but now? Now, it’s his primary driver—to make a beast out of man, woman, any human, for them to feel one ounce of what he can. That heightened state when you crave something—so frenzied every base instinct emerges, shows your true nature: growling, greedy, hungry.

So when he feels the telltale ripplings in your cunt, he rapidly withdraws, and as predicted, you cry out, the sound ringing up the walls. He smirks, grazing your inner thigh with his fangs, the urge to sink into your soft skin and drink your other crimson nectar thronging in him.

Not yet, not yet.

The calm voice centres him, even as you keep moving, attempts to frottage yourself vigorously over his face, whimpering, desperate to push over the edge you are circling.

“Shh shh, sweet one,” he soothes, pulling out from under you as you pant wildly.

His hand rests on your lumbar spine to quell you. You slow, whimpering, collapsing forward, burying your face in your husband's lap, his cock leaking on your cheek, your hips swaying in the air. Both of you are shaking, sweaty and overwhelmed.

That’s it; we are getting there now, my darlings.

—

This doesn't feel right.

That voice is whispering again, but Thomas brushes it aside, ravenous, rooted in his body. Yearning to know what is next, a willing marionette in this sinful theatrical.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Benedict slide off the end of the bed and tug at his clothing, buttons popping open until lithe alabaster skin glows in the soft, flickering firelight. Shadows play over lean, muscled torso. He is beautiful: lean, virtually hairless, carved like a marble statue, just as pale and smooth. In fact, his beauty seems too ethereal, like his skin is no longer capable of tanning in sunlight. Still, Thomas longs to touch him, run his tongue over the sharp lines, and kiss every stunning contour.

“Y/n…” Thomas softly shakes your shoulder as you are still whimpering facedown in his lap. When you weakly raise your head, he nods for you to turn over and see the show you have been missing, Benedict now reaching for the buttons on his britches.

Lethargically, you flip over, your head cradled in Thomas’ lap as your eyes fall upon the man, and you inhale sharply. Benedict seemingly stares you both down as he lowers his britches, a smirk on his face entirely immodest. And when the material relents, you understand why.

Thomas’ cock pulses against your neck at the sight. He knows you have seen precisely one cock in your life, his, and this may come as a shock. It's larger and prettier, objectively than his own. You nuzzle him, biting your lip as you twist to look back up at him, eyes wide with concern.

“You can take it, darling,” he reassures, intuiting your apprehension as his knuckles brush calmingly over your cheek.

”As will you,” Benedict adds darkly, addressing Thomas. You watch your husband visibly gulp. Then you do the same, tongue feeling too large in your mouth, as Benedict mounts the bed and crawls predatory over your body, a sinful, crooked smile that is at once gorgeous and scary, that cock bobbing ominously as he draws nearer.

—

You feel butterflies under your ribs, unable to look away from his cock, suddenly nervous about the idea he might fuck you. Thomas is a perfect fit; it never hurts and feels designed to bring you gratification, but that?

It might be too much.

“Don't pretend you don't want me, little one,” Benedict boasts, edged with a darkness that is almost chilling.

“I-I do,” you stutter, unable not to speak the truth, your legs falling wider open reflexively.

“I know, I could smell you from 500 yards away; it drew me in like a clarion call,” he sighs wistfully, and it doesn't sound like he is exaggerating.

Benedict roughly grabs both of your legs and pushes them up and apart, making you gasp. Leaning over, he draws Thomas into a sinful kiss above you, making you mewl slightly at the sight, a burn in your tendons from the position, head now pulled out of Thomas’s lap onto the mattress.

“Hold her ankles,” Benedict orders over Thomas’s lips, gesturing to take over the hold. “Keep her wide and open for me, my prince,” he purrs as he leans away to slide a pillow under your shoulders, your head tilted backwards.

“Why like this?” you ask falteringly, feeling odd staring at Thomas's thigh upside down.

“So your husband can easily use your mouth as I fuck you, little one,” he explains calmly, hands now raking your flesh as he pulls you into position.

Nerves flare brightly in your belly, Thomas’s grip around your ankles harsh as he holds you so wide open. Then, there is intense pressure around your weeping hole. You whimper, your body quivering at Benedict’s attempted entry. He reaches up and touches your temple with two fingers, and the strangest thing happens; a preternatural calm soothes your mind, breath slowing, body pliant, racing now with nothing but want.

“Good girl,” Benedict tutors as he slips inside your body, the invasion blunt, the stretch as thrilling as it is raw.

He keeps pushing, the heat and size so much you can think of nothing else, even as Thomas shuffles closer, his cock nudging your chin, also demanding entry.

For someone innocent merely days ago, you willingly, excitedly, let both men slide into you at either end, your husband stealing your breath as he invades your mouth deeply, Benedict pushing you so wide you can feel him moving below your belly button as he bottoms out.

You feel them lean in towards each other above, Thomas sliding deeper as the sound of them kissing fills the air. You ache to see them, their mouths hot and entwined, but all you can do is close your eyes, swamped in sensation, so much hypnotic heat and scent. Fingers, you don't even know whose, pinch your nipples as both whisper your praises as they start to move in tandem, rocking into and out of your body in the same rhythm. They start slow, allowing you to draw breaths around Thomas' tip before he slides deep.

The drag of Benedict’s cock makes you moan; you can feel every contour and vein, your channel clinging tight to him, a noise of slickened suction as your body struggles to accommodate him.

But they begin to move faster, and you have to breathe through your nose, the insistent press of Thomas’ balls giving you limited air. The struggle makes it heady and soporific, like you can’t get enough and wants to die right here with both men buried deep inside you. You writhe as pleasure courses in your veins. Already pushed so close to coming, pliant and obedient to their use.

—

Benedict looks down upon the filled body of the woman beneath him and groans. Your cunt, such a tight wet vice surrounding him, delicious squelching sounds as he plunders you with increasing speed. Your plush lips wrapped around your husband's cock, your throat exposed and dewy with sweat, his teeth itching to sink into the vein bulging prominently as you fight to take him as well as swallow and breathe. He can’t help but reach down and run a sharp-pointed fingernail over your diaphragm, fascinated by the play of delicate muscle and bone as you ripple under his touch.

“Such a good little thing, and only recently plucked; you are a lucky man,” Benedict opines, his voice gravelly even to his own ears, looking up again to the man in front of him.

“Yes, I am,” Thomas agrees, and Benedict sees the imploring look in his eyes, begging for another kiss.

“Come here, sweet prince,” Benedict murmurs, feeling a spike of victory as Thomas effusively leans in, lips glistening, flushed and plump.

As they kiss anew, Benedict runs a fang over that juicy lip, wanting to sink down and bite, feeling his life force pulsing so strong right there underneath ripe, fleshy fibres. Thomas's hands twine around Benedict’s neck, his tongue tentative, asking for entry, and Benedict swirls and sucks upon it greedily, only breaking when he hears your attempted gurgling of words, your hands wrapped around your husband’s fuzzy thighs, requesting reprieve.

“Slide deeper; make her take it just a touch longer,” he growls into Thomas's ear, teething his lobe. “She will be feisty, but the lack of air will deliver her so close to rapture,” he counsels as Thomas thrusts and holds still. You start to struggle with muffled calls of increasing urgency. “Now slide out,” Benedict advises moments later, and Thomas follows his bidding.

Benedict moans as your whole body judders as you gulp deep breaths. “Perfect. Oh, my prince, you should feel how tight she gets when she’s fighting to breathe; dear god, it’s the best kind of pain.” He stutters, tone deep, wrecked, stupefied by the grip of your convulsing cunt.

What a perfect little thing. I want her as mine.

—

Thomas is also panting, the tightness of your throat squeezing him so close to orgasm for what feels like countless times tonight. He falls back against the headboard instead. To watch. To watch you, his once angelic wife, be taken, wrecked, destroyed by this gorgeous creature.

Your eyes shoot open as you realise he has withdrawn.

“Husband,” you reach a shaky hand up above your head, glad when he takes it, watching your body roll with each punishing thrust Benedict takes, his eyes seemingly fixed upon the hammering pulsing in your neck as you ratchet higher, his tongue slipping out of his mouth in a wanton glistened point.

Just as you are pushing your hips into each thrust, screaming with ecstasy, Benedict pulls out, and Thomas feels your anguish as you suddenly cry out, your whole being heaving with unmet needs, eyes pleading.

“Do you miss my cock already, little one?” he preens, trailing your own musky juices over your belly as he teasingly passes his cock over your heated skin.

You nod viciously and growl, Thomas barely recognising you—a creature reborn of pure lust and submission. Craving this man in a way that makes jealousy and want war uneasily in Thomas’ gut. You have never been this feral for him, your husband, but yet he completely sympathises, feeling the same pangs of want to be taken, wrecked, destroyed endlessly by this thing resembling a man.

“Alas, that is your misfortune, my beautiful thing, for ‘tis your husband's turn now,” the cold glint in his eyes and the harsh lines of his razor-sharp cheekbone glowing as yet again he leaves you a whining, whimpering mess, your body leaking, your voice hoarse, more wild animal than woman. As Thomas lifts his gaze from you writhing to Benedict, one thought haunts his very being with a growing disquiet.

What exactly are you, if not man?

—

You feel inhuman, something clawing at the edges of your mind that feels like madness. A desire to be possessed by this man. Your insides branded as his. So when he withdraws just as you are fluttering once again, it feels like insanity, like sandpaper drags over your brain, your toes and fingers stiff from flexing so hard in utter wretchedness.

This is ecstatic torture.

“Please, my Count,” it’s forlorn, ragged, almost not recognisable as your own voice, your throat still sore from the harsh tip of your husband's cock.

“No, little one, it’s only right you should take your husband's seed, not mine,” he clucks, even as he rakes his hands covetously over your sweaty body, his tone sounding reluctant as if trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Sweet prince, claim your wife,” he calls, clamping a hand around Thomas's neck, compelling him to slide over you.

He does as bidden, and you groan as the familiar stretch of your husband's cock overtakes your senses. Not nearly as punishing or brutal as Benedict, but curved perfectly to glance at that spot inside that makes you clamp down and scream with every pass.

“Darling,” Thomas's familiar voice whispers in your ear, and it’s a balm you need, centring you on him and his lovely face, moving over you in a surging wave.

“Thomas, my love,” you call, wrapping your limbs around him and taking comfort in his embrace, his body, familiar and musky, a flavour you know well dripping on your tongue as you kiss his salty neck, mumbling encouragements, your heels digging into his bottom.

Benedict watches you from behind, and when you look beyond Thomas, you see eyes inky black with desire, fingers ghosting Thomas’s back as if wanting to flay his skin open.

“Are you ready for me, my prince?” Benedict purrs in a way that makes even you shudder, unable to look away from his tongue as it slides into Thomas’ ear.

—

Benedict reaches for the vial before Thomas even moans his weak assent. The smell of clove swirls as he unseals a small vial and pours it down Thomas’ crack.

He can taste how much Thomas wants this, a heavy fug of desire in the air that is his pheromones begging more than his words ever might.

Thomas shudders, and his movements falter as Benedict slides a finger between his cheeks and swirls the oil over his heated skin, over his puckered hole and his balls.

Benedict can feel the weight of your stare over Thomas’s shoulder. Intrigue and desire. You have likely never seen a man fuck another man. Certainly not your husband. Certainly not while he is inside you.

Little one, hold on tight.

—

Thomas is staring into your eyes when Benedict’s cock slides between his cheeks, demanding entry.

He knows he has stilled his movements, and his breathing is ragged and uneven as that long-forgotten breach occurs. He groans loudly; it's the largest he has ever had inside him, and the burn is intense.

“Are you alright, my love?” you call, holding his face delicately and stroking his cheek.

“It’s intense, my love,” he answers through gritted teeth and a shaky exhale as Benedict keeps inching slowly into him.

He’s never had his cock buried in someone while being fucked before; intense exhilaration and so much stimulation. To fuck and be fucked simultaneously.

When Benedict bottoms out, Thomas collapses onto you, his elbows sinking into the mattress under your armpits, his hands clenched in fists over your breasts.

You reach for one and pries open his fingers, silently bringing the hand to your mouth and kissing then sucking his fingers as if his cock, a tease that titillates and distracts as Benedict starts to rock in and out of him. Thomas cannot look away from your mouth, your pleading eyes no doubt telegraphing your devotion and lust.

My darling wife…

—

You feel the moment Benedict moves within your husband, his motion a catalyst to the slide of Thomas's cock within you.

He has found a way to fuck us both.

It is all your mind can think as you watch your husband's face contort a thousand ways, rapture and fear, his whole body becoming a puppet stuck between you and the Count.

“Can you feel that?” Benedict growls, staring you down, eyes black now.

“Y-Yes,” you stumble, seeing something wild in him that genuinely scares you now, your tummy oily even as your clit twinges with pleasure, your husband's cock being driven into you at a pace that you know will make you come within moments.

“Good… don’t you dare look away from me,” Benedict growls when your eyes stray to Thomas.

You obey but watch with growing disquiet as he smiles wickedly wide. Two extended ivory fangs glow in the low flickering firelight. His tongue licks over them provocatively, drawing your attention.

What in God's name?

“God can’t help you now, little one,” Benedict sniggers ominously, and your heart pounds that he can read your mind. “Indeed I can,” he winks, making you gasp.

You are trapped. Trapped under your almost rag doll-like husband, his groans gusting hot into your neck now as he is slumped over you, being fucked so harshly by Benedict, hips snapping as he stares you down, pointed nails scraping down Thomas’s back, his entire mien a sinister seductive leer.

“You are mine, both of you,” Benedict declares. It’s dark, possessive, unearthly.

Confusion rips through your being as, for the first time, you see something other than man—a creature. Utterly terrifying, beguiling, erotic. A shadow moves over his face that is all menace and not of this world. Yet, at the same time, your body is so close to ecstasy, a taut thread holding all your muscles so close to breaking. Horror, fear, lust, and want are a continuous swirling loop in your very being.

Time slows, treacle-like, as you start to convulse despite yourself, taken over the edge by the carnal push and pull of Benedict fucking your husband into your body. Clinging tight to Thomas, you watch in slow-motion as Benedict leans down, those fangs looming large. Then, you feel a searing, sharp pang as they make contact with the meat of your arm, where it is wound around Thomas’s neck. Utter terror grips your heart, even as a flood of chemicals so strong courses into your bloodstream. Strong suction over the wound has you screaming, pure unbridled ecstasy, euphoria coursing in every fibre even as it dawns on you far too late precisely what he is.

VAMPIRE!

—

Benedict has only known immortality for a few months when he tastes his forever. Your blood floods his mouth, and it is the nectar he has been seeking since his turn. The thing that calms and sates him. The sweet delight that means he will never leave your side: he is yours. He will feed from others, for sure, but he is imprinted upon you forever now. He shall always be careful never to drink too much to kill you; he needs this taste more than anything, and just a few drops will be enough to keep him sustained.

“My goddess,” he moans, making your eyes pop open, fear but something else, too, swimming in your depths. It's not revulsion; it's anything but–it's yearning, even from your trance-like bliss.

He stops sucking before you lose too much blood; it’s just enough to make you light-headed and extend your rapture. He can feel you convulsing, Thomas’s limp body a conduit for your intense orgasm. Buried deep in Thomas, closing his eyes and feeling the pulses as you milk your husband’s cock, him just awash and pliant, sandwiched between you.

Benedict feels from inside the moment Thomas breaks, feels his balls contract and his pelvis ripple as he groans loud and long, his seed forcibly painting your insides. It’s futility to resist the urge to feast again. Meeting your hungry, consuming gaze as you crest a secondary wave, he sinks his fangs into the nape of Thomas’s neck, the man calling out lustily. And as he sucks greedily, Benedict falters and moans hard. It's like Thomas’ flavour is the other puzzle piece he needs. The ying to your yang. Together, the taste in his mouth is a symphony. A magnum opus, what feels like the very reason he now exists such as he does.

“My prince, my king,” he garbles, roughly suckling from Thomas's neck, watching the crimson line of blood ooze down his spine and licking it covetously, wantonly, his very purpose.

And it's the catalyst that flings him into the cauldron too, a shuddering snap that consumes his whole body and has him coming so hard he cannot hold himself on his knees anymore, slumping onto Thomas, panting as he empties, a visceral unloading that feels like the very best catharsis.

—

You have never known paradise like this. A continuous loop of thrill; every time you think it is over, you feel first your darling Thomas and then your beautiful nightmare Benedict come, and it pushes you over another precipice. Each is as precious and encompassing as the last.

The weight of them both slumped upon you as the shudder is something you cannot withstand, and you have to call out in protest. Somehow almost preternaturally, they rearrange around you, a tangle of limbs, sweat, cum and blood entwined like a knot of vipers as you all find a comfortable hold, panting hard from the exertion.

“What are you??” you demand, ragged, staring Benedict down around Thomas, who seems to be hovering semi-conscious, his face a picture of complete rapture.

A finger traces down your cheek as he does the same to Thomas, which you track askance.

“Darling precious, you already know. I’m your worst dream masquerading as your perfect fantasy,” he chimes. “And I am yours forever.”

“To which of us do you speak?” you gulp, barely able to form the words; your whole world tilted and forever changed.

“You see, therein lies the beauty,” Benedict smiles, running the edge of his incisors first over Thomas’s neck as he groans drowsily, then yours, making you inhale sharply. “I speak of both of you.”

Thomas twists and places a sleepy, sated kiss on you and then Benedict.

“Enthralling, is not, my love?” Thomas slurs, nuzzling you both. “We have our very own creature of the night.”

“You knew?!” you stutter, disbelief warring with every other emotion alive in your body.

“Mmm,” he hums peacefully. “I knew on some level from the moment he kissed me. And yet here we are. Hearts still beating, bodies utterly sated. This is the best possible outcome. I, for one, cannot wait for every adventure with our delicious Vampire,” Thomas lazily pats Benedict's cheek, who smiles and kisses his temple.

You are rendered speechless.

“Come on, y/n, my goddess,” Benedict goads, his tone dusky and irresistible as his lips ghost your husband’s, his long pale fingers smearing a droplet of blood into your breast, spidering over your flesh in a way that already has your cunt swelling again. “I am yours. And I can give you such pleasures every night,” he promises.

Well, that is perhaps the most enthralling prospect of all.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

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felassan · 1 year

Text

David Gaider on Twitter: "Going through my old DAI files and came across the original plan for a playable post-credits Epilogue... which, due to time constraints, eventually got down-scaled to the post-credits cutscene you saw on release. A lot of the meat here was, I believe, resurrected for Trespasser." [source] "At the time, I was pushing hard for an actual denouement - as opposed to always ending the story so abruptly after the climax. Considering how few players ever get that far, I suppose I can see the argument that it's not exactly a great place to focus resources. I did like where the cutscene ended up, mind you. A nice, Marvel-esque stinger that hinted at story to come. Took the sting out of having yet another story plan go awry... which is simply par for the course for game dev. Writing can always imagine more than we can produce. ;) And in case anyone wonders: no actual work was done on that playable section prior to the cut. You can imagine it being this fully-fleshed out, glorious thing, if you like... but it could just as easily have been half-baked and terrible. The team was fully stretched as it was." [source, two, three]

Some further info from follow-up tweets -

User: "It's a bummer, though I understand the logic. A proper end to cap off the experience can make or break your enjoyment of the full game though, imo" DG: "That was indeed my argument. There's a point where we have to draw the line and finish the story, however, and I'm afraid the original plan was... mmm a mite too big. This was far from the only cut."

User: "WAIT. Am I reading this right… Solas drains Flemeth and then COMMANDS the Well of Sorrows drinker to kill Flemeth?" DG: "I think it was Flemeth who commanded it. I'd have to look through the whole document. It's complicated. Part of why it was eventually cut, probably."

User: "Hold on. We were to kill Flemeth on Flemeth’s command to, possibly, prevent Solas from taking everything? Was passing whatever energy she did to the Eluvian her way of preparing for survival ?" DG: "I don't think it was going to be explained any more than it was in the cutscene you got, tbh."

User: "My WoS Lavellan is SCREAMING rn god please help her in the next game" DG: "Keep in mind that none of this *actually* happened. ;)"

User: "Interesting to see this was envisioned as having adversarial encounters between Solas & Flemeth with the well-drinker being ping-pawned between them. I noticed the Inquisitor lurking off-camera in that cutscene and wondered if they were originally meant to be part of it." DG: "Heh. I'm pretty sure the Inquisitor being placed there in the actual cutscene's level was because a player had to be present *somewhere*. Might be wrong, though." John Epler: "the way the cinematics worked, if you had them firing too far from the player character the engine would try to optimize and cutscenes would start jittering" DG: "Yeah, I thought it was something like that! Thanks, John."

User: "Does this have any link to the fact that there are dialogue audios of Morrigan reacting to solas “absorbing” Mythal in the game files?" DG: "Possibly? I finished writing the epilogue, so it's possible some of it got recorded prior to the cut."

User: "So Morrigan would've finally gotten to kill Flemeth herself, and nobody had to turn into a dragon this time? Also, this clears up what even happened to Flemeth at the end. She's definitely dead. Presumably, the spirit or essence of Mythal and possibly Urthemiel are inside Solas?" User 2: "does it? it can be theorized that flemeth commands the inquisitor/morrigan to kill her so solas wouldn't be able to take all her essence. regardless, in the ending we did get it's not entirely clear what happened. but i doubt she's truly gone. she cheated death before." DG: "And remember that what this stuff points at never actually happened. Whatever becomes of Flemeth in the future is up to the current writing team, and is based only on the cutscene you saw."

Summerfall Studios: "Our creative director davidgaider shares some insight into how Dragon Age: Inquisition's epilogue evolved over production" DG: "You want "evolved over production"? *cracks knuckles* Lemme tell you how we cut Corypheus attacking Skyhold. Now *that's* evolution."

#dragon age #bioware #solas #video games #long post #longpost #morrigan #queen of my heart #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #tags for the mention of what happens in the future

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weird-addiction · 7 months

Text

Dragon Factory

Pairing: House of the Dragon x Male!Reader, Platonic!Aemond Targaryen x Male!Reader

Genre: Neutral

Warnings: Descriptions of dragon death, mentions of gore, dismembered dragon, mentions of bones poking out of skin, mentions of illegal things and drugs, dragon organs and bones, Manipulation.

A/n: Based off the song Rainbow Factory

Have you ever wondered where or rather what happens to dragons when they die? Well, no one ever has wondered, the Valyrians were just happy enough to even have dragons. Since the beasts have lived longer for hundreds of years, they have never thought about what happened to them in the afterlife.

Well, let’s just say a dragon’s tale is not as nice as one may make it seem.

Let’s delve deeper into dragon philosophy, far beyond that of Old Valyrian’s mythology. The people of Westeros very easily judged the Targaryens as being gods and lived comfortably within their homeland. There is a dark story to every fairytale after all.

Within the eastern parts of the unknown world, there is a place so well built that it looks like it fell out of the heavens. Fog, mist that surrounds the area looks like clouds that came from the stars.

It was said that in those very halls, the dragons are built, made and put into their eggs. This is where the first true dragons made their appearances.

Within the stories and myths that have been lost to time, the myth originated before the doom happened, and so after, the legend has died out with the new generations of House Targaryen, Velayron and Celtigar.

The legends that were told for years, it is as it says below.

‘Once a dragon dies,

It’s collected by their creator.

Taken apart,

The same way it was born.

It shall be renewed, remade, reborn.’

Since the reign and conquest of Aegon the Conqueror, when Meraxes and Queen Rhaenys both were shot down in Dorne, the Dornish reported that when they went to collect and tow the body of the dragon. The corpse was not whole, there were many parts already missing.

They suspected some people wanted a part of the dragon as an artifact, that rumor was believable until they realized and saw the entire wing that was missing from its left side.

The eyes, the left wing, half of its teeth, scales of different parts, bones that were cut out from under its flesh, were all missing. However, one thing was for sure, the flesh that was torn seemed to be cut with precision. The person that did it, knew what they were doing and have been doing it for a long time. The wing that was torn off left no traces except for the bone that was poking as it was snapped off.

And since then, that is still one of the biggest mysteries of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

The current princess of the realm, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen sat in Godswood under the same maple tree, with one of her friends in court next to her. Y/n L/n of the mysterious house L/n, he stood next to her leaning against the tree.

The princess has just finished reading a story from the book of mythologies, Rhaenyra then turned towards him with a smile on her face.

“What about you?” She asked, the book was still in her lap.

“Pardon princess?” Y/n spoke back, with confusion in his tone.

“What do you think happens to dragons after they die?” Her smile did not leave her face, features full of curiosity.

Y/n thought through it for a moment before speaking again. “I am not the one with dragons princess, I do not know what happens to them.”

“You must at least have thought of it before. I mean, the great Targaryen’s dragons, what happens to such great beasts after they die and rot away.” Rhaenyra’s words imply that she did indeed want an answer.

“I am just an assassin that works for the council, I do not know of such things.” Y/n responded, his own smile stretching out on his lips.

“Oh please, you are anything but.” Rhaenyra stood up and licked arms with him. “You are anything but ‘just an assassin’.”

“Rhaenyra we shouldn’t…link arms.”

“Why’s that?”

“I am not your betrothed.”

“But you are my friend.”

Y/n let out a sigh as they began to walk through the halls, Y/n was just an assassin that Viserys hired to take out anything to shut down anything that didn’t need Viserys to have dragons burn anything down.

No one knew of his origins, his house was a mystery to the court and council, but they wanted him regardless as his skills were very valuable.

That night, Viserys has told Y/n of something going on in the city, so Y/n went to check it out in case it threatened the crown in any way. When Y/n got to Flea Bottom, finding the source of the problem which was just someone selling illegal artifacts and drugs. Realizing it was such a small problem, Y/n let them go, because if he did get that one man arrested, he might as well have the gold cloaks and arrest everyone that lived in Flea Bottom.

By the time he was walking to return to the Red Keep, he stopped by the dragon pit and checked on the dragons. Making sure no dragon was dying, or any of the eggs were not going to hatch. The dragon keepers had already left, going to the room where most of the eggs were kept in incubators. As soon as he stepped foot in there, he sensed something was wrong.

One of the eggs was not going to hatch, opening the incubator and taking out the egg. The egg was covered in silver colored scales, because it was in the incubator it should have been warm. But the egg was cold, not a sense of warmth as he held it in his hands.

“Don’t worry. You will not be wasted.” Y/n mumbled to himself, his eyes not leaving the egg. Tucking it into his coat, carrying it back with him as he returned to his rooms through the secret passageways.

The next morning, he went to Viserys to ask for leave for a couple of days. The king agreed, it was not the first time that Y/n had done this.

“Again? Alright. Be safe Y/n.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He bowed before leaving the king’s rooms.

The dragon egg tucked into his coat as he walked to the gates, a horse that was already there for him. Mounting his steed with ease as the guards opened the gates. He rode east for days until he finally arrived at the ports to the Narrow Sea.

This will be the last time he will ever step foot in the Crownlands known as the assassin within the king’s council, the next time he sees the Red Keep would be years from now.

Once he docked on the easter lands, he managed to buy another horse and ride even more east. He arrived at his destination after months of travel.

His palace was still as good as new.

Y/n had managed to keep it hidden for all these years, doing what he was put into this world to do, remaking the dragons. When he saw the egg that went cold, Y/n made a decision; to raise the dragon as his own. In the future, it would be easier to collect parts and make transporting so much easier.

His palace has been here even before Old Valyria had risen to power, Y/n was immortal just like the dragons that he remade and have been reborn again and again.

Getting right to work as he got inside, the servants taking care of his horse and other needs. Cracking open the egg as saw the baby dragon that has already died, by the looks of it the wings weren’t even formed right.

Replacing the wings was the first part, taking the bones of bigger wings of others that had collected over the years, crafting them into a new pair of baby wings. Using the fire to merge the bones together. The wings were mended into its back rather than the front legs, as the original dragons had them like that instead. Everything else about the dragon was fine, but it did not have a heartbeat.

Taking a jar off the shelf, the jar contained hearts of dragons that if anyone ever saw it, they would run and never look back. Pulling out a small one and putting it inside the one that just came out of the egg.

The procedure was over rather quickly, Y/n’s hands were now covered in blood.

Now he just had to get it into a new egg and put it into another incubator and wait for it to hatch.

It only took three months before the dragon finally hatched, forming a bond with Y/n as it saw its creator for the first time.

For the next ten years he raised the dragon on his own, the dragon he named Vallath. And that is when he returned to Westeros to see if he could collect anything else, while the people within the workshop of his palace will continue to make new dragons for years to come.

When he was flying west, he flew over Pentos and felt like something was off. Y/n told Vallath to fly lower and settle down a good distance away from the source of the problem.

Y/n snuck into the fortress and followed his instincts of where he felt the dying dragon, it led him into a room where there was a fireplace and a dragon egg leaned against the metal bars in front of the fire. He could tell the dragon within had not yet died, picking it up with urgency, he quickly left the room and snuck back out unnoticed.

Getting back to Vallath as he urged the beast to fly, Y/n realized his dragon had sensed another, or even multiple more dragons in the same area.

“What is it boy?” The dragon growled back, turning his head to point to where he was staring at earlier.

A big green dragon flying in the distant skies, Y/n’s eyes narrowed as he knew who that dragon was.

“Vhagar. Queen Visenya’s dragon, now claimed by the Lady Laena of house Velayron. As I have heard of course. “Worry not, ignore her and let’s go.” Patting his dragon’s neck as he got onto Vallath’s back.

Taking off once again, this time fully back to King’s Landing.

Y/n landed further away from the city to hide Vallath from the smallfolk’s eyes, he landed near the dragon pit to check on the dragons. Just for old times sake.

When he entered the giant dome of a building, he saw some kids getting taught by the keepers while a dragon walked towards them. The dragon was small, barely able to fly or even carry anyone on their back.

One of the keepers saw him and came over and talked with, fortunately, he knew High Valyrian well. He was around when the language was first created after all.

Y/n told the dragon keeper to tell Viserys he was back, the king would know who he is. The dragon keeper nodded and left to get the guards outside. Y/n stayed in the shadows and watched as the kids trained with the young dragon, soon their lesson concluded and the keeper left them.

He then saw they brought out a pig, three of the kids left and one was left. And by the looks of it, he was going down into the place where the dragon rested. This could mean a death sentence, so he followed quickly to make sure nothing stupid happened.

Down into the tunnels, he saw fire lighting up the rocky tunnels up ahead, he walked fast to see what was happening. And there he saw it, the dragon Dreamfyre blowing out fire upwards as a threat. The kid he still did not know the name of, fell over in fear and turned to run. Y/n went over and pushed the kid behind him, while holding out a hand as he calmed Dreamfyre.

Grabbing the smaller figure and getting out from the underground. The child did not struggle against him, but just went along with him.

“What were you thinking?” Y/n whispered yelled to him.

“I just wanted a dragon.”

He could barely hear the words, but he did, and Y/n looked at him with confusion.

“You do not have one? Well, that’s odd. But, not every Targaryen was a dragon rider, you know.” Y/n shrugged his shoulders.

“All my siblings have one! Even my nephews do! I am the only Targaryen with no dragon.” The older paused for a second as he let go of the child.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Your parents?”

“I am the second son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower.”

Y/n had to process what in the seven rings of hell he just heard. “I’m sorry. What?!”

Aemond was taken back by this strange man, he had never even seen him in court or anywhere in the council before.

“Alicent married. Viserys. What in the fuck happened while I was gone.”

Aemond just looked and stood there confused.

—---------

Y/n went to the familiar rooms of the king, last time he was here was ten years ago. The guard yelled out his name, announcing his arrival to whoever was inside.

“Viserys?” The king before him was too different from how he remembered him last.

“Y/n? Oh, Y/n. How good it is to have you back.”

Y/n was at a loss for words, Viserys was pretty already dying in front of him. His hairs are already falling out and his face has sunken to show his bones almost.

“Are you going to inform me of what happened when I was away?”

Viserys nodded and began to explain, at the end he paused before asking the younger of where he went for ten years. “You said you had to leave for a few days. Then, next thing you were gone for ten years.”

“Yes…sorry about that..” Y/n’s voice was quiet, Viserys almost didn’t hear him.

The king wanted to know where he had been, but the other only responded with “Don’t worry about it.” With a smile at the end.

That night, the king threw a feast for having Y/n back at court. Everyone was seated at the long table as Y/n walked in, what caught everyone’s attention was the choice of clothing he wore that night.

His robes were made of dragon scales and skin, they shimmered in the lighting of the hall. The different colors of the skins, the dark ones and bright ones contrasting each other, made him look like an actual dragon; and not just metaphorically. Around his neck, it sat a silver dragon necklace, an actual dragon that curled around him.

He got to the table and sat down, he sat next to Alicent who was now a lot older, while on his other side were her children. Soon the feast began, Y/n made small conversation with Alicent. It did not take him long to know that Alicent was trying to get on his good side and have him side with Aegon being the future king.

What she did not know was that Y/n could care less about even being here, he did not care about who was king. As long as there were dragon parts for him to collect as they died, he would stay and do his job.

During the dinner, Aemond kept looking over at him, Y/n noticed this and it was quite obvious that the young prince wanted something.

“My husband told me you have been away from court for ten years. Why is that?” Alicent asked.

“Oh, it is nothing, Your Grace. The matter was originally small, but turned into something bigger that I could not return for years.” Y/n lied right through his teeth, but the queen believed him regardless.

From across the table, he saw Rhaenyra sitting with her own children and husband; Laenor Velayron. When he was still at court, Rhaenyra had a thing for her own uncle he was sure, considering the fact the inbreeding and incest within the Targaryens don’t surprise him anymore. But another thing he had heard was that Laenor was interested in men instead of women, so how he had children with Rhaenyra was a mystery to him.

The feast went well, nothing happened, during it many people came up and asked him where he got the robes he was wearing. Y/n lied again saying it was just collected from the dragons when he was in King’s Landing, then explaining that the dragon skins were fake and made by seamstresses that he requested from his journey east. After a couple of hours, most of the guests have already started to leave. Y/n returned to his own chambers but he did not prepare to go to bed, but instead he put on his assassin clothing that had changed so no one would recognize him.

Sneaking out with the secret passageways, he made his way into the Dragon Pit again to look for parts. Luckily, there was a dragon that seemed to have died a while ago but no one noticed, it was a young dragon that had died to unknown causes. The dragon was alright in size, certainly big enough to collect the parts from and put them to good use.

Setting the bag he had brought with him to the side, he brought out a tool to start cutting away with the dragon’s parts. First came the inspecting to see if they were still worth something.

“Eyes. Good enough to be reused, take those. Wings, big enough to develop fully if reborn into another. Horns and spikes…already decaying and too small to be of any use, leave those. Legs, strong and have potential to be fully grown with muscle and tissue. Skin and scales can be harvested for other uses. ” Y/n concluded after the inspection of the outside of the dragon, the organs and bones will have to wait until he cuts into it fully.

Taking out his tool, which was just a more powerful dagger, Y/n began to slice away at the different parts.

First it was the wings. Holding the wing still as he cut into the base of the bone, slicing through the bone like a hot knife through butter. At the end of the cutting it managed to get stuck, so Y/n pulled it off with his own strength, some of the skin came off with it. Then he did the same thing with the other wing, the second wing came off easier than the first one. The wings were in the bag so as to not get them dirty or lost.

Second was the legs, they took a bit more time but it was no problem. The legs came off just as easily, but it took a lot more effort to cut them through the bone as the back leg bones are formed to be stronger by default. Third was the eyes, they needed a bit more precision but nothing that Y/n has not done before. He just needed to be careful of some of the nerves, and then cut around and dismember the right ones and get it out with no other damage.

Lastly, it was the skin and scales, it was basically skinning the dragon itself. The procedure required a bit more precision. He started at the wing area where the skin was already coming off, putting the dagger flatly under the hard skin and slicing through it making it come off easily. Piece by piece, the skin and scales along with it came off. Soon, the once dragon was now just a body of flesh, some of the bones in the body were now almost visible through the skin. The skull no longer held any resemblance to a dragon, other than the horns, the skull was completely stripped of its scales. The eye sockets hollow with nothing to fill it.

As Y/n cleaned up and put the parts he had cut into the bag he had brought with him, around the corner he heard a noise. Turning to see what had made such sounds, the corner of his eyes had caught a glimpse of silver-blonde hair in the dark. Taking the bag with him and swinging it over his shoulder, he turned the corner and saw a young prince. It was none other than the prince Aemond.

“What. Are you doing here?” His words held slight venom, as his tone was annoyed that someone had found him doing his work.

“...” The prince did not dare speak, the violet eyes avoided the e/c ones that were narrowed and glaring burning holes into him.

“Speak!” This made Aemond flinch, but finally he managed to find his voice and speak out.

“I-I followed you here…and since it was the Dragon Pit I thought….” He trailed off. This only made Y/n even more annoyed.

“What? What is it? You think I need protection? Is that it?” His glare did not stop but his voice had turned softer.

Aemond could only stay quiet again, but really, he had nothing he could say anyway.

“If that is the case then you have been proven wrong, as I am unharmed in front of your eyes. Now prince, let’s get you back to your chambers before someone finds you gone at this hour.” Y/n began to walk away and the young prince followed behind him.

Going through the same passageways that he came from, Y/n managed to sneak back to his rooms and without being noticed. Aemond however did not leave him alone, instead the young prince followed the older to his chambers instead. Y/n of course noticed this, but no matter how much he tried to get Aemond to go back to his room the younger continued to follow him, so he gave up in the end and let him follow him back.

Once he got back, the bag was set on the ground as he opened it and reviewed what he gathered. That was when the young Targaryen spoke up about something.

“Why do you collect the parts of dragons?” Y/n’s movements stopped as turned around to look at Aemond.

“Why do you need to know about that, young prince? And even if I told you, how would you take the information?” Y/n tilted his head in a playful way, as if teasing Aemond to speak again.

“I will not tell anyone of what you have done, what you do with the dragons will not be known.” Aemond said simply.

The words were simple yes, but they also implied that Aemond might attempt to blackmail him if he did not tell him what he wanted to know. But Y/n knew better, behind the violet eyes that claimed to want nothing but to know what he was doing the dragon parts, there was something else there as well. A small glint of desire. Aemond wanted something from him.

“Oh. I see. You want something from me.” Y/n paused for a second as he smiled. “And considering the fact that you have been eyeing the bag I have carried with me, you are interested in my work, no? Go ahead, tell me what you want. Then maybe I will not kill you for knowing my work.” Half of that was a lie, Y/n was not going to actually kill Aemond, just hurt him enough to make sure he never spilled.

“I..I want a dragon, I am the only one that is without a dragon…” Aemond’s voice became more soft, as if already becoming afraid; which was fair considering what he had seen that night already.

Y/n let out a laugh as he heard the request, going back to the bag and looking over what he had collected. A smile made its way onto his face, perhaps this was a good thing for him after all. Maybe, he could be of use to him.

“A dragon you say? What do you think I do, young prince?” Playfulness laced within his voice.

Aemond took a breath before speaking. “I..I have heard the legend of what happens to a dragon when they die, they get collected by their creator and get remade…” He looked down, in his head to himself he sounded ridiculous to even believe such a legend.

“That. That legend is from the tales of Old Valyria, or rather, beyond that. Most Valyrians knew it, but it soon faded with time. You truly believe in this legend, Aemond?” He needed to know, not many believed in Y/n when he told them who actually was.

“Would it be weird if I say I did..?”

Moving a hand to pet the top of Aemond’s hair, ruffling it slightly. His eyes softened, seeing the younger like this reminded him of himself a bit. “No, it’s not.” Getting down to Aemond’s level, his eyes shining through the darkness of the room.

“Tell me. What do I get if I give you this dragon?”

Aemond’s eyes snapped up, realizing the older had accepted his request. “I will not tell anyone what you have done! A-and I will help you with collecting the parts…” He sounded unsure of that last one, but in the heat of the moment he said it anyway.

“You have a deal, prince. But, I do have my own conditions that you must agree to as well.”

“Anything. Anything to have a dragon to myself!” Aemond replied eagerly.

“I want your loyalty. Not only that, but I also want you to follow my orders. When I choose to leave Westeros, you will follow. I tell you to defy someone at court, your mother, your father, even your grandfather, you do it. If you can not agree to those, forget about the dragon.” Y/n listed his conditions clearly.

“I…” Thinking it over, Aemond was not sure he had it in him to do such things. He stood by his mother throughout these years, his loyalty to his family was what he held onto. Now, can he really throw it all away just because he wants a dragon?

“I do not have much time for you to think this over, if you truly want this dragon then I have to get to work immediately. The conditions in Westeros are not the same as back at my home, these dragon parts will begin to rot in three days' time. Seeing that these came from a dragon that died quite recently, which is odd but convenient nonetheless. So, do you agree to my terms or not?” Y/n was getting annoyed and somewhat irritated.

“Yes, I do.”

Y/n held out his hand for Aemond to shake, and when the prince did, the deal was finally sealed. “Welcome to my family, Prince Aemond.”

Over the next couple of days, other than his duties to the court, he would disappear to his rooms and work on the dragon. The body was completed first and then the skin and scales, the body was newly made with the parts that he collected. He brought parts with him back from his factory just in case. Using a special thread that had been the routine for hundreds of years, stitching the parts together on the new dragon body. Soon, the dragon itself was fully constructed.

The second part was the egg, well, it really was no problem. The dragon egg that he got from Pentos, that is the egg he will use.

Cracking the egg open and taking out the dead dragon from within, then putting the new dragon inside. Finally, taking the broken pieces of the egg and sewing it back, the thread worked its magic to make it seem like nothing was ever out of place or broken.

The dragon egg along with the beast inside was finally complete, but now to give it to Aemond, which meant Viserys and Alicent needed to know that he finally got a dragon.

Walking to the king’s chambers and knocking on the doors gently, he was let in by Viserys saying ‘enter’ from the other side.

“Your grace, I have come bearing a gift for your son.” Y/n stated, standing tall.

Viserys looked over from his model of Old Valyria, confusion and curiosity written all over. “For Aegon?”

“No your grace, for Aemond.” Viserys nodded as he put down his tools that were sculpting a small model.

“What is a gift that you must come to me first and not give it straight to my son?” The king questioned.

“It is a rather important gift. I have heard that Prince Aemond is the only one without a dragon?” Y/n changed his tone as he acted like he did not know. Viserys nodded sadly, knowing this to be true.

Showing him the dragon egg, Viserys’ eyes widened slightly seeing such a present. “Where did you..get this?”

“On my way back from my journey, I found one in the sands, buried. I picked it up to see if it would hatch when I brought it back to the Dragon Pit. It had been incubating for a few days, and showed good signs of hatching.” He paused for a second to catch his breath.

“So, I wish to give it to prince Aemond.”

“This is a most wonderful gift! Thank you Y/n, I shall give it to him.” Viserys spoke with a full smile on his lips. The king took the egg with a smile.

Y/n left the room, as he did he heard Viserys tell one of his guards to go get Aemond.

As night fell upon King’s Landing, Aemond went to look for Y/n in his chambers. He knocked and when heard the permission to come in he opened the doors, seeing Y/n on his bed and he seemed to be reading.

“What is it that you need from me at this hour, Aemond? Can it not wait till to-morrow?” Y/n’s eyes did not move away from the text he was reading.

“I just came to thank you, my father gave me the dragon egg today. Even though I already knew it was you, I still could not help but be excited.”

An unexpected smile came to Y/n’s lips. “As long as you do not go back on what you have promised me, you and your dragon will be safe under my protection.”

Aemond smiled in return.

Peace did not last forever. Another six years went by in the blink of an eye, and Aemond grew up and now has matured more than anyone else. He was taller than all of his siblings, and even just slightly over Y/n as well.

His dragon has also grown with him, the dragon whom he named Stormfury. The dragon had a grey colored body and had darker scales at his head, its wings were bigger and more powerful than the others. So big that he could not be kept in the Dragon Pit, instead it lived on the outskirts of the city.

Rhaenyra had returned to court and yet she left on the same night. Y/n could care less, there were less dragons dying so there was little to no work for him. But soon, things went from bad to worse.

Viserys passed away in his sleep, and the only people that knew were his small council and Alicent. The greens got Aegon on the throne, crowning him in front of the masses. Making sure everyone knew he was the new monarch. During the crowning, Aemond stood next to his sister, standing there and bowing slightly when Aegon looked towards him.

Y/n watched on from the shadows, eyeing Aemond with a dark glint within his e/c eyes. He knew a war was brewing on the horizon, it was a matter of time the Dance of the Dragons started.

That night he had overheard that Aemond would go to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Baratheon, taking Stormfury and flying off. He did not return till the late morning of the next day. And when Aemond returned, the prince had a horrified look on his face. Something was definitely wrong.

Alicent and Otto were both discussing what he had done, Aemond said that he managed to get Lord Baratheon’s trust with a marriage pact. But then, he also explained something else that he had done.

“I..I killed Lucereys…”

Both Alicent and Otto were taken back, Alicent turned away and had her hands to her face while Otto took the role of scolding him.

“You have only lost one eye, how can you be so blind?” Otto scolded. Aemond looked down in shame.

Y/n was listening in from the shadows in the corner, when he heard Aemond had done such a deed he stormed over to the prince enraged by his words. Grabbing the prince by his collar and pulling him in close, it seemed like Y/n just grew a lot taller.

“You. Did. What.”

“I killed him…” Y/n could not deny that he was somewhat impressed that he still had the nerve to fully admit what he did to his face, knowing that this might not end well for him as seeing the assassin was already very mad.

“I gave you that dragon as I took pity, along with the very small kindness that I had that I did oblige to your request. And this is what you use it for? Killing your nephew? Are you blinded by your obsession with him that you had to kill him?” Y/n just raged at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring at his violet eye.

For the first time in Aemond’s life, the prince felt true terror through those eyes, he hated this feeling and yet he can not escape its gaze as he was forced to look through them. “Stormfury refused to listen to me..he just kept going..” His voice turned quiet and almost sounded ashamed.

Y/n looked at Alicent and Otto for a second before looking back at Aemond and shaking his head. “The thought that the Targaryens control the dragons is an illusion. They are living breathing beings that have thoughts of their own. Not mindless weapons that you can bend to your will.”

The two older Hightowers looked over the situation in concern but also in fascination, for they had no idea of what had happened between the two. Y/n turned to walk away and gestured for Aemond to follow, Alicent called for her son to stay but what she did not know was that her son was no longer hers.

“Aemond. You promised me, remember? Unless, you want your dragon gone.” The prince took one last look at his mother and grandfather, before turning away and walking out of sight.

Walking down the halls of the keep, Aemond had no idea where they were headed. “Pack your things. We are going to leave by nightfall.”

This made Aemond stop in his tracks, he was not sure how he felt about that. To leave court, his family, his siblings. Y/n on the other hand could only laugh.

“Remember we made this deal the night you asked for that dragon, and when I listed my conditions you agreed. You can not go back on such a promise.” Leaning into Aemond’s ear he whispered. “Because you know what will happen if you defy me.”

Pulling away Y/n returned to his own rooms to pack up his belongings. Aemond stood still for a couple seconds before walking a different path, he had no choice but to leave with him.

Y/n did not pack too much as it is like he would be back anytime soon, taking what he had packed which was just some clothes. By the time night fell he walked out of the Red Keep for most likely the last time. Getting into the wheelhouse he had ordered, and soon he arrived at the dragon pit.

Vallath was landed somewhere hidden so he needed to go outside of the city walls to find him, but first he wanted to check on Aemond. And right on time, Aemond was already there with Stormfury. But then, Alicent was also there, it seemed that she was trying to get Aemond to rethink his decision of leaving.

“Aemond, let's go.”

“Aemond! Wait!” Alicent cried out. “Please, rethink this. We need you here. Rhaenyra has gone to madness and will come after us. You will not be safe on your own!”

“He is not on his own. He is going with me, he had already promised me long ago. Let’s go, Aemond.” Y/n stated sternly, not caring about Alicent’s opinions.

Both of them climbing onto Stormfury’s saddles as they soon took off, flying outside of the city walls, Y/n told Aemond to land just outside of a nearby forest. “Wait here. You will know when to follow again.”

Y/n walked into the masses of trees, nothing was heard but then a roar sounded through the forest as a dragon flew overhead.

“Let’s go!” Y/n shouted from the back of Vallath.

They both flew east, for days, maybe even a week before they landed. The clouds and mist parted for a grand building to appear, it looked to be a place that fell from the heavens and the stars themselves. Aemond looked at what was presented in front of him in awe, he was speechless, his mouth hanging open but his words melted away as he took in what he saw.

Their dragons landed in front of the gates, lowering their backs slightly letting their riders slide from their wings. With a flick of Y/n’s hand, the gates opened as the masked servants bowed at his arrival. Turning to look at Aemond, he was smiling with glee.

“Welcome, to my world Aemond.”

Aemond followed the other male as they walked in, Aemond then saw the reality of how the dragons were really born.

Broken pieces of shells collected into piles to be remade, different wings of all sizes were set up and held up in trays to be delivered to be made into something. Stacks of dragon skin and boxes of scales, the skin was in piles like fabric while the scales were like beads ready to be sewed on. Different dragon bodies that were just flesh at the moment shipping throughout the building, along with horns and spikes that were also being sent.

Y/n led them to his office, where he already had a pile of parchment he needed to get through. Setting down his bag, telling his servant to take it to his chambers.

The Targaryen had a thousand questions running through his mind, but he just could not bring himself to ask them as if thinking they were inappropriate for the timing. Y/n beat him to it when speaking.

“You will work here, and stay with me. Unless, I ever choose to return back to Westeros then you can go back with me. Is that understood?” His tone was harsh like from years ago.

Aemond nodded as he stood tall but his head was hung low. “Will I ever see my family again?” He finally got the courage to ask.

“You will see them when we go back to Westeros, which I could only hope to find the time for as I have this work now that I have returned. Let us hope they will still be around when you go back, I can feel a storm brewing in Westeros. After you pull the stunt of kinslaying, well, it is not going to be pretty.” Y/n’s words came with a laugh from his throat.

A servant came into the room and bowed to their lord, waiting for orders as they have been called for moments prior. Y/n noticed this of course.

“Get him into work attire, train him, teach him to do every station of work.” Y/n gestured to Aemond. “Once he knows what he is doing, he is my assistant and right hand. Now go.” The former prince went with the masked servant to get to work, leaving the lord of the factory to himself as he sorted the parchment.

“Welcome to my bloodline, Aemond. This is where the Targaryens think they got their power from.”

#🥀mukuro’s way #reader insert #male reader #male y/n #house of the dragon x male reader #hotd x male reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #x male reader #fanfic #targaryen x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #SoundCloud

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auroraesmeraldarose · 3 months

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Gale bg3 / Aurora fic pt 7

SMUT. 18+ soft smut, not wildly explicit, but smut nonetheless. Oh, and turns out the lady has a confession to make…

————

The journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands was treacherous, the shadow curse as dangerous as expected. Though the group had made an effort to pretend their allegiance to The Absolute in exchange for safe passage with a drider their journey was interrupted by an attack from harpers. Realising the harpers were against The Absolute, Aurora’s band of parasite-laden friends had joined the side of the harpers in battle, and as such were rewarded with free passage and sanctuary in the relative safety of The Last Light Inn. Though tired from the travelling and fighting, they regaled the tieflings there with stories, found a new ally in the druid Jaheira, and enjoyed the brief respite in their labours. They spent the evening crowded around a large table eating, drinking, and talking… though Gale and Aurora spent a fair amount of their time trying hard not to make it obvious how desperately they just wanted to go to bed, and be alone.

At one point, Gale’s hand had been resting on Aurora’s leg under the table, and she in turn was running her fingers in little figures of eight close to the top of his thigh. She delighted in the way each time her fingers moved a little further up his hand clenched, gripping the flesh of her thigh hard before releasing again as she let the swirling movement trail back down towards his knee. Although they knew they should be rejoicing in the brief moment of shared fellowship with these other travellers, Aurora and Gale were distracted by the thought of soon having a real bed, in a private room, just for the two of them. The anticipation filled their bodies with desire, and both had difficulty maintaining polite conversation while simultaneously thinking about how long it would be until they could slip off together. As Astarion regaled the table with a bawdy tale, and the group guffawed in response, Aurora’s hand slipped just a little further along Gale’s thigh, dangerously far. Gale quickly grabbed her hand in his, leaning close and whispering in her ear.

“If you continue this teasing, my love, I will have no choice but to throw you on this table in full view of all of our companions, or punish you most severely in private. The choice is yours.” He nipped her ear with his teeth, not giving a damn that they were in public, most eyes were on Astarion anyway.

Aurora turned to murmur into Gale’s ear, as close as she could get.

“How is it that you make punishing me sound so… tempting?” Her hand broke free of his and resumed its teasing swirls. “I do hope the party breaks up soon. I think I’ll need to be punished more than once, the longer I am forced to restrain myself…”

Gale’s teeth were gritted, and his grip on her thigh painfully tight now.

Within minutes, he had suggested they should all be resting after their difficult day of travelling. Not one of the companions believed for a moment that Gale and Aurora would be resting any time soon; they were painfully, dreadfully obvious about their desire for one another, but they bid the couple goodnight smiling nonetheless.

Aurora and Gale made the most of sharing a real bed, in a room with a door that locked rather than simple canvas between them and their travelling companions. Gale cast a spell which muffled the sounds from their room and took delight in ensuring Aurora took full advantage of the privacy. He did indeed punish her, in his own way. In fact, by the time Gale reached his own end, her name on his lips, Aurora had taken that punishment not once but five times: each time his name called as if in worship; first pleading; second moaning; third almost screaming; fourth whimpering; finally almost soundlessly mouthing his name as her body bucked and shivered under his. Gale was rightfully quite proud of his efforts, and as he lay propped up on one elbow surveying the way she continued to tremble long after they had finished he grinned and spoke teasingly.

“I do hope that spell held… I fear I may have been a little… over enthusiastic in my attentions tonight my love.” As he spoke he ran a hand firmly along her still quivering thigh.

Aurora didn’t speak, she still wasn’t entirely capable, but shook her head and bit her lower lip instead.

“Oh, I am glad you feel that way.” Gale pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Judging by your continued quivering is it fair to say I may be the most… ahem. Attentive… lover you have had?” He was fishing he knew, but he did so desire her praise; the sound of his name from her lips each time he made her come undone was the highest praise he could imagine, but he wanted more. Aurora’s face began to blush, and she looked nervously at him, still not speaking. “Come love, you can tell me the truth… or has there been some better past lover of yours? Just say the word and I will work to drive the very memory of them from you however I can…” the hand that was on her thigh now swirled softly along her stomach. Aurora’s blush deepened, the flush covering her face, her neck, even her ears, pink against the bright orange halo of her hair on the pillow. She looked momentarily worried before she spoke.

“Actually…” her voice was quiet, fearful. “I suppose it’s time I told you… You were my um… well, you were my first…” She looked apologetically at him as his face turned from teasing to horror. Swiftly he moved from lying propped on an elbow to sat up next to her, his whole body radiating the shock he felt.

“Surely not! You are so beautiful and so…” He cleared his throat nervously. “Perhaps the best word is, ah, skilled? My love! Why didn’t you tell me?” Gale’s voice rose in panic and quickened as he went on. “If I had known that first night under the stars was your- your first experience of, well- I would have- I should have- I mean… I would have done things a little differently! You were so… fervent, I assumed you had… oh, my love!” Aurora’s eyes had filled with tears as his rambling went on, a mix of shame and regret for having spoken at all, and he pulled her close to him when he saw the tears shining in her emerald eyes.

“It was perfect, Gale. I didn’t want… I was embarrassed, and I desired you so much… I know what a gentleman you are, I didn’t want you to refuse me…” Her tears did not quite spill, but threatened, like the clouds before a storm.

“My love I promised I would never leave you wanting, but still… I’ve been rutting you like a wild beast! If I’d known I would have been far gentler, I would have made your introduction to love-making a little different!” His arms held her closely but gently, the fingers of one hand entwined tenderly in her hair.

“You are a fool, love, and so am I.” She nuzzled into his neck as she spoke. “You have been a wonderful, caring, attentive first lover. I would not wish to change a single thing.” Her lips pressed against his collarbone, before continuing teasingly, all threat of tears gone. “Anyway, I am a druid, after all… wild beasts are appropriate, I think.”

“And here I thought all druids were like Halsin, with more lovers than fingers to count them on!” Gale lay back down, pulling Aurora with him, and letting her snuggle against his chest once more. “It is… hard to believe one as alluring as you did not have suitors lining up around the woods for a chance to spend a night with you…” His fingers traced circles along Aurora’s back tenderly as he spoke.

“Well, I have spent the last few years mostly by myself in the woods… And before then, I had pleasant enough friends, but none who quite caught my eye the way you have…”

“I am honoured, truly, my love. Astounded, but honoured.” His grip on her tightened, as if he wanted to pull her so close she was part of him; Aurora happily obliged, nuzzling as tight against Gale’s strong, bare body as possible.

“I love you, Gale of Waterdeep.”

“I love you, Aurora Thornrose.”

If only this moment could last forever.

#fanfic #bg3 gale #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 tav #smut

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

Text

𓅨 An Accepted Apple

An Accepted Apple: Morpheus’s point of view of An Offered Apple.

Warnings: Morpheus is Looking for an Excuse to Make a Move (Reader Inadvertently Gives Him One), Oblivious, Naive, & Meek Reader, Morpheus is Head-Over Heels in Love W/ Reader, Segmented Reading, Reader Accidentally Asks Dream of the Endless to Marry Her.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Librarian!FemaleReader.

Word Count: ~6.5k

An Offered Apple | Masterlist | An Innocent Apple

You were an unusual human, Morpheus knew that much. Plenty of humans argued with his sister over their death, they begged for more time, they offered human currency, they even denied dying in the first place. But not you. You had simply refused to leave your library, stating that not even death could remove you from your beloved books. His sister never made deals with mortals, but you had stubbornly wormed your way into making one with her and ended up as a librarian in his realm. You had easily won the heart of Lucienne with your love for books, but your painfully shy nature made you scarce and Morpheus rarely saw or heard you. Morpheus had a new resident in his realm and he didn’t even know you.

Morpheus changed the page of the story of dreams he had in his lap, his eyes scanning the pages for the knowledge he required. Lucienne was in the process of pulling several more books he needed from the library which would arrive shortly. Matthew, who had been standing to Morpheus’s right on the stairs, took to the air. Morpheus was only half paying attention to his raven when he heard a soft voice.

“Hello,” Your voice was perhaps the sweetest Morpheus had heard in centuries. “You must be Matthew.” No, your voice was the sweetest he had heard in centuries, and lifting his eyes ever so slightly, Morpheus caught sight of his new flighty librarian. You held a stack of books against your chest, the very books he had asked Lucienne to bring him. She must have sent you instead.

“Oh! You’ve heard of me?” Matthew replied happily. “Yes! I serve Morpheus… or at least help him out. And you must be Y/N, the new librarian Lucienne is very territorial over.” The corner of Morpheus’s lips twitched at Matthew’s observation. Lucienne was indeed territorial over you, your shyness and meekness aside… you belonged to the library and if anyone tried to take you away? They would have to deal with Lucienne herself. Morpheus dropped his eyes back to his book, knowing that you wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing that you were being watched. Certainly not by him. At the very least he could enjoy the sound of your melodic voice.

“…mind that, Lucienne has tasked me to bring Lord Dream the books he requested.” At the overly formal calling of his name, Morpheus lifted his eyes once more and met your gentle gaze. He heard you let out a faint noise shortly before your eyes dropped to be floor in meekness. “If you will excuse me, Matthew, I should make my delivery and get back to the library.” Morpheus watched as you scurried forwards, entirely frightened and keeping your eyes trained on your toes. You offered the stack of books, a slight tremble in your hands. “The books you requested, Lord Dream.”

Morpheus closed the book and set it aside. Then he took reached for the books, his fingers brushing against yours. He marveled at the warmth of your flesh for only a fraction of a second before your fingers retracted ever so slightly. But you didn’t fully retract from his touch, at least not until Morpheus had a full grasp on the books.

“Is there anything else I can do for you while I am here?” You queried, your eyes nervously darting around. You were looking everywhere but at Morpheus. He took note of this, wondering why you seemed so on edge around him. Had he not opened his realm to you? Had Morpheus not given you the very job that you loved with everything you had? He had given you everything, did that not show you his favoritism? Perhaps you simply had your face in your books too much to notice, never mind, he could try harder.

“If you wouldn’t mind returning this book to Lucienne for me, I would be most appreciative,” Morpheus responded, offering the book he had been reading to you. You took it without question and turned to leave, Morpheus couldn’t help but call to you. “Y/N…” You froze in your tracks like a frightened deer.

“Yes, Lord Dream?” Morpheus gazed at you. Would you not look at him? Were you that fearful of him? No, your eyes lifted to his. Morpheus gently aired out his question.

“Will you not address me as Morpheus?” Morpheus inquired, hoping that you would at the very least, would feel more comfortable addressing him less formally. He didn’t expect your face to flush and to hear your heartbeat pick up in pace. Not fearful, that was good.

“Well— I’m mean— I’m— surely I am… not in a position to address you with such familiarity…” You were stuttering for words in an adorable mess. “I’m just an assistant…” Always so meek and mild… where was your spark of passion? Your fiery determination? Morpheus raised his midnight eyebrow in question. Surely you could see your worth beyond that.

“Are you? Will you still be resistive to the notion even if I ask you to address me as such?” Morpheus spoke, hoping that you would be more agreeable to a less formal relationship. One that might bear the fruit of a more intimate relationship. You looked taken aback by his words like you hadn’t ever considered the possibility of such a thing.

“I— well, if my lord demands so…” Ah, this was going to take some work… but Morpheus had time and patience.

“I do not demand so, Y/N, I simply wish you to call me by my name. While I am the king of Dreams and Nightmares, that does not mean I cannot be friends with those that reside in my realm.”

“You wish… to be friends… Lord Drea—“ You cut yourself off, a clear indication that you were considering Morpheus proposed wish. He hoped that you would be agreeable. Then you corrected yourself to his joy. “Lord Morpheus.” His name fell from your lips like nectar. Sweet, honeyed, and addicting. Morpheus replied to mitigate your unease, a touch of amusement in his eyes. Had you really thought him so terrifying?

“I do, should you be so inclined. I do not think myself to be in a position to force you into something you do not want.” Your lips parted for a moment, words failing to flow from your desirable lips.

“I— uh... my lord, I mean… yes, I think I would like that.” You stuttered out shyly. “I don’t have a lot of friends and Mervyn says I spend too much time with Lucienne or with my nose stuck in a book… so, yes, I would like to be friends with you… Morpheus.” Again his name fell from your lips and Morpheus basked in the echoes of your voice. Yes, he could get used to hearing his name falling from your sweet lips. Morpheus felt a smile creep to the corner of his mouth, then when your shoulders relaxed and your face settled the same, his smile widened a fraction. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think that should be all, Y/N. Thank you.” Morpheus replied, eyes carefully observing you. You bowed your head and headed out of the throne room. He could see an immediate change in your posture and pace. You were walking less like an animal of prey and your steps were more sure. He had managed to put a crack in your wall of nerves. When you were gone, Matthew fluttered over.

“Wow, sir, I think you managed to get her to relax a bit!” Matthew commented happily. Morpheus found his eyes lingering on the archway you had disappeared through, his mind following you as you headed back to the library.

“Matthew, would you please go see if she is well?” Matthew eyed Morpheus and had he still been in his human form, he would have been grinning. “There is no need for her to fear anyone here. Certainly not me.”

“Well, sir, Lucienne did say that she suffers from low confidence and is quite shy and well…” Morpheus raised an eyebrow at his raven. Matthew shifted in place.

“What is it?”

“You’re kind of intimidating and imposing, sir,” Matthew pointed out. Morpheus’s eyes blazed at his raven. “What!? It’s true!” Morpheus resisted the urge to sigh.

“Matthew, please, check on her,” Matthew gave Morpheus a wing salute and swooped into the air, diving in the direction Y/N had gone. Morpheus’s gaze went slightly foggy as he peered through his raven's eyes.

Matthew knew the moment Morpheus started using his eyes and forced himself to not roll his eyes. It was painfully obvious to everyone in the palace, let alone The Dreaming, that Morpheus had a thing for the human Death had brought to the realm not even two months past. There mere fact that the Endless had put you in such a position of power, so early on, was clear evidence. Morpheus was smitten… only you were entirely oblivious and had zero clue to the fact that you had the heart of an Endless wrapped around your fingers! You were the literal definition of oblivious.

Lucienne and Mervyn even had a bet on how long you would remain oblivious to the Endless feelings.

Matthew fluttered into the library and coasted through the shelves until he saw you standing by a table with the book Morpheus had given you to return to the shelves.

“Hello Matthew, do you need something?” You asked as Matthew coasted over to the bookshelf nearest to you. Aware of the presence of Morpheus in the back of his mind, Matthew squawked out a response.

“Hi Y/N!” The raven nearly cringed at the pitch in his voice. Surely it was a dead giveaway because you frowned and took a step closer.

“Are you alright, Matthew?” Matthew shook his head and wings, trying to rid that odd feeling of having Morpheus in the back of his mind.

“Perfectly fine, just thought I’d see how you were doing,” Matthew spoke, his voice still very much high. He hopped a few paces and shook his head again. “Lucienne told me about you…” Matthew continued, he saw that you flushed in embarrassment and scrambled to correct himself. “Nothing bad! Just that you struggle with confidence… and I know Morpheus is kind of intense.” Matthew. Morpheus’s call of name in warning had the raven hopping several spaces across the bookshelf with a loud squawk. Your face filled with concern.

“Matthew?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” Matthew blurted out. “I’ve just been dealing with a... headache… that comes and goes.” Matthew inwardly cackled at referring to Morpheus as a headache.

“Maybe you should ask Lucienne about it then? I’m sure she’s dealt with headaches like that before being that she was Lord Dre— Morpheus’s, first raven.” Matthew felt Morpheus's joy at your use of his name. Naturally, the Endless was head over heels for you already. Matthew bobbed his head in agreement with your words.

“Yeah, yeah, good idea, good idea, we should do that,” He said, trying to nudge Morpheus in his mind to, you know, back off before he gave them away. Matthew then cleared his throat. “Anyways, not to point it out or draw attention, but are you okay?” You started moving for the shelves.

“I’m okay,” You said as Matthew coasted after you. “I’ve heard a lot about him from Lucienne and Death.” He felt Morpheus's curiosity for what the pair had told you about him, but Matthew diverted the topic elsewhere, his own curiosity taking precedence.

“You talked with Death?” Matthew asked while watching you heft the book into a spot on the shelves.

“Once, right after I died,” Right, Matthew had forgotten that you had died, just like him. I may or may not have gotten into an argument with her. I didn’t want to stop tending to my library… that’s how I ended up here.”

“You argued with Death!?” Matthew blurted out in surprise, trying his best not to start laughing. How could you argue with Death when you were fearful of Dream? “How!? No offense, but you look like you have the confidence of a bunny!” Clear embarrassment flushed across your cheeks.

“I like books, okay! I wasn’t going to let death stop me from enjoying my first and only love.” You argued back at Matthew, the raven couldn’t help it and started laughing.

“For a human as timid as you are, you sure pick weird battles!” Matthew left you fuming in place, coasting his way back to the throne room. When he flew up to Morpheus, he earned an eye from his master. “What? She looks fine to me, sir.”

“Must you tease her further Matthew?” Morpheus sighed. Matthew couldn’t help but cackle again.

“But she’s so easy too!” He cried out in between breaths. “Looks like you’ve got competition with the library!” Morpheus glowered at his howling raven but didn’t respond. After all, Matthew was, naturally, correct. Could you love something other than books and the library?

Morpheus needed a book of dreams for his latest research. He could have Lucienne bring it to him, or he could go to the library and ask for it on the chance that you would be around and he could perhaps, make small talk. That is if you were so willing… Striding into the library, he found the endless halls quiet, more quiet than usual.

“Lucienne?” Morpheus questioned, his eyes scanning the aisles for his head librarian. Morpheus appeared in the main study area and found you, sitting alone at a table.

“Lord Morpheus,” You greeted ever so softly, your sweet voice lighting up the silent hall. Morpheus was glad to know that you were no longer addressing him as Dream. You rose to your feet. “If you are looking for Lucienne, I am afraid she is not in the library at the moment… is there anything I can help you with?” Morpheus eyed the book on the table, interrupting your reading was not something he wished to do.

“I do not wish to interrupt your reading…” You, ever the saint, waved his words off immediately.

“Nonsense, my lord, I am a librarian and I am here to help. Are you searching for a book? What is the title?” It would seem that you would not back down from your job. Morpheus expected nothing less, and couldn’t help the small smile that appeared. Your eyebrow raised in counter and you pushed for. “Well?” Your pushiness was much like Lucienne’s.

“I am in need of a book of dreams, Robert Spencer,” Morpheus told you, his eyes watching as you immediately walked towards an aisle across the room. You disappeared into the fray and Morpheus sighed. Was this going to take up too much of your time? “I do not wish to drag you away from your reading Y/N…” Morpheus heard your echoing snort, and his eyebrow rose higher. It was nice to see, or at least hear, you more relaxed. “You seem to be very invested in your research…” Morpheus trailed off when he felt your presence behind him now.

“This is my job, my lord.” Morpheus turned in place, surprised at how well you could navigate the library. You held the book out to him another eyebrow raised in question. “Robert Spencer, book of dreams. Can I find another book for you, my lord?” Morpheus took the book from you, maintaining that precious eye contact as long as he could. He was surprised that your eyes didn’t drop to the floor in submission.

“No, that is all, thank you,” After Morpheus spoke you promptly sat back down in your seat and returned to your reading. Morpheus took this chance to spend a few last moments observing you. While you were indeed a timid and meek human, he could see that once he got to know you, you bloomed with passion. Just as he knew you did. He just had to give you the time you needed.

Morpheus found that you liked to frequent the gardens at sunset, a ritual that signaled the end of your day. He had decided to seek you out this night. The setting sun's bright rays were highlighting your face in a gentle glow. Morpheus often wondered many things about the job you so loved.

“Does it ever get monotonous?” He asked you from a few paces away. You turned back to him, your sparkling eyes meeting his. Morpheus went into further explanation. “Being a librarian, you are always shelving books, shifting them around, retrieving and returning.” He could see you considering and contemplating his words.

“At times, sir,” You softly replied with a twitch of your lips. You were truthful in your words. “But at the same time, Lucienne and I get to read the books that appear and there is nothing like the excitement of a new book whose pages have not been turned.” Ah, Morpheus could understand that very well. You loved reading more than anything (he was planning on changing that), and the books that appeared daily gave you plenty to read. But it was still questionable if you were truly happy in Morpheus’s realm because you still jumped at every shadow.

“Are you happy here, Y/N?” Morpheus questioned. You didn’t hesitate even a millisecond in your answer.

“More than happy, sir.” Your answer was reassuring and you addressing him as sir? A major improvement from Lord Dream. But Morpheus desired more, he desired you to be entirely relaxed with him. Comfortable enough to call him by his name, comfortable enough to smile confidently around him, comfortable enough to be his. Morpheus could get you there. He would get you there. With time.

It was Matthew’s birthday and after speaking with Lucienne, Morpheus found that you were out in the market, shopping for ingredients to make the raven a birthday dinner. Morpheus hoped that he could spend some time with you out of the confined of the palace. Morpheus found himself wandering through the market, slowly moving through the crowd in the direction of your pull. You were in front of a stall that sold berries, and you were looking intently at the blackberries.

“It seems that you are aware of Matthew’s love for blackberries,” Morpheus commented with a twitch of his lips. Of course, you would know of Matthew’s favorite snack. You had probably figured out all of Matthew’s favorites just for his birthday. You smiled brightly at Morpheus, already making the trip to the market well worth it. You bought two cases and slipped them into the basket at your hip.

“We’ve been reminiscing about our favorite foods from when we were human,” You explained, maintaining your smile as you started moving in the direction of the palace. Morpheus stepped forward to fall into step beside you, his eyes taking in your relaxed and stress-free body. “Matthew’s second love after hotdogs is blackberries. He mentioned that his grandmother use to make this blackberry tart and he repeatedly got scolded for snacking on them.”

“Then I suggest hiding them unless you wish Matthew to eat them all.” Morpheus couldn’t help but add a teasing note to his voice. You giggled softly at his words.

“Not to worry,” You replied, flashing a nearly blinding smile at Morpheus. That smile soaked into his heart like a warm blanket around a cold body. Morpheus would do anything to keep that smile on your face. “I don’t plan on letting Matthew know what I’m up to until everything is finished. He can gorge on the rest of the blackberries after I’ve finished the tart. As it turns out, his grandmother made a cookbook and her recipe is in the library. All I have to do is not mess it up and he should be a very happy raven.”

Morpheus returned your infectious smile and leaned closer to you.

“I am sure that he will appreciate the gesture regardless of how it turns out,” Morpheus told you as you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. They were so gentle and happy Morpheus would have frozen time if he could, just to hold onto this moment. Your eyes dropped forwards and you adjusted your grip on your basket. Then Morpheus felt curiosity run through your mind. You wanted to ask a question but were hesitant to do so. “You wish to ask me something?” Morpheus asked, hoping that you would feel comfortable enough to speak what you wished around him. Your eyes dropped to the cobbles beneath your feet and you slowly came to a stop.

“I’m not sure if it's within my rights to ask,” Your words were infinitely soft, indicating just how unsure you were of your question. Morpheus couldn’t have a lapse in confidence when he had struggled to build it up.

“And if I inquired you of your question… regardless of its nature, will you ask me?” Morpheus prompted, hoping that you would be inclined to air your question. Your eyes lifted to look at him once more. Resolve burned in your breathtaking ones.

“Do Endless need to eat? Or is it a needless task that you only partake in when you feel so?” You asked. Morpheus wasn’t expecting a question as mundane as consuming sustenance… when you felt so unsure. Morpheus raised his eyebrow at you as his lips twitched in humor. All that worry over something so simple? He had much work still ahead of him to mitigate your nervous nature.

“We do not experience hunger, nor do we need sustenance to maintain life… but my siblings occasionally consume human food,” Morpheus explained gently, hoping that he was sating your curiosity and would put ease in your body once more. “Death is partial to the street food in her travels to complete her job.” Morpheus was delighted to see your curiosity take the front where worry had reigned.

“When was the last time you ate something?” You pushed on, excitement dancing within your eyes. “Is it something you enjoy? Or does it not really cross your mind because you don’t need to eat?” Morpheus’s head tilted in consideration. He couldn’t remember the last time he partook in human food.

“It has probably been centuries since I last consumed human food and… no, I suppose I do not really think about eating since it is not necessary to sustain my life. You do not need to consume subsistence and yet you still partake.” Morpheus pointed out, interested in learning why you still continued with the practice.

“I think it is out of habit, and I enjoy eating…” You paused and it was clear that you were thinking of your answer.

“I can see why you don’t. It’s not something that is necessary. Though I do think you are missing out on the beautiful produce here in the village. They taste extraordinary.” You wished for him to enjoy the fruits of his people’s labors? For you, he would do anything and this was more than a simple task that was sure to put a blinding smile on your face.

“If it will please my librarian, I should think I could try one,” Morpheus told you, loving the way your face lit up. You reached into your basket to grab one of the produce you had bought. Then, you presented him with an apple. Morpheus felt every molecule in his being freeze. Were you really asking such a thing? After struggling with confidence for this long? You seemed to sense his hesitation and started retracting your hand. You must have taken his reaction as a no.

“If you don’t like apples, I can—“ Morpheus reached out to wrap his fingers around yours, stopping you from taking back your offering. Your body stiffened and he felt your fingers tremble slightly beneath his. “Morpheus?” Morpheus lifted his eyes to yours when you called his name. Just his name. It was serendipitous and everything he had wanted these past few weeks. Morpheus took the apple from your hands, staring at it with wonder and reverence.

“No, I— like apples.” Morpheus softly answered, cradling the apple to his chest. It would be his greatest treasure, given to him by you after you had selected it yourself. He would preserve it for all eternity in reminder. Morpheus looked into your eyes and saw confusion. Were you still worried that he would reject you? “I will treasure this apple, thank you, Y/N.” Relief flooded your features and that blinding smile reappeared. Morpheus felt instant relief.

“Good! I should probably hurry back to the palace,” You then replied, tapping your basket and looking forwards at the palace. “I need to get dinner on before Matthew catches me with the blackberries.” Morpheus smiled down at you in, glad to see such a happy soaked smile on your lips once more and elated that you wished to be his.

“Shall I escort you to your destination to ensure that my raven does not catch sight of your treasure?” Morpheus playfully offered. Your proceeding laugh was like bells.

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Morpheus was pleased to have the pleasure of walking his betrothed back to the palace for what would hopefully, be the first of many.

Matthew’s birthday had passed and Morpheus had found it amusing that his raven had eaten himself nearly sick on the extra blackberries you had. He was more than pleased to see that you had been ever so happy with how your cooking had turned out. Morpheus was quickly learning that you had passions outside of the library, cooking being one of them. He would eat whatever you made if it put that lovely smile on your face.

At the moment, Morpheus was making his way to the garden where you liked to sit and watch the sunset. It was a colder day, this day. Morpheus had wanted to give you and the residents of The Dreaming tastes of The Waking World with seasonal weather. The look on your face when the trees had started to turn color was one that he would give anything to see time and time again.

Exiting the palace, Morpheus quietly weaved through the carefully maintained gardens Mervyn was very proud of and spotted you on your favorite bench. You were practically glowing in the sunset and it would have been quite a sight if Morpheus had not seen you shiver and tremble in cold. You loved the changing season but you were ill-equipped to handle the temperature. Morpheus was removing his coat immediately as he silently walked up to you. When he reached your shivering frame, he gently laid the shimmering material around your shoulders, willing it to protect you from the cold. Your eyes lifted to his and your fingers reached to remove the coat. Morpheus stopped you.

“I believe you are in greater need of my jacket than I, Y/N,” Morpheus spoke gently before walking from behind you and standing in front of the bench. He gestured to the space next to you, hoping to join you for a moment of intimacy. “May I?” Your eyes sparkled before you countered.

“It’s your bench, Morpheus.” Morpheus returned the teasing smirk your lips were curved into.

“And yet you are the one it cradles,” He spoke, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at him and gestured to the space.

“Please do,” Morpheus took a seat next to you and watched as you pulled his jacket closer to your skin, a barely there sigh of contentment passing through your lips. The rays of sunset lit up your face and your eyes squinted. “Does it ever get overwhelming? Feeling everything, that is. Experiencing so many dreams… you carry the emotions of all life in the universe on your shoulders, how do you not get encompassed by it?” Morpheus smiled at you, his eyes never once leaving your radiating face that shimmered with happiness.

“Practice,” He responded, glad that your eyes turned to his once more. You had never looked more ethereal than in this instance, your face illuminated by shimmering dying light. There was another gust of wind and your hair was picked up and tossed about, covering your face. Morpheus reached up to brush the strands clear, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. He couldn’t help but trail his fingers across the arch of your cheek, marveling at the softness of your skin. “I’ve had eons to do so, and yet, I still find myself learning something new.” You stared at him, your attention no longer on the dying sunset. Morpheus’s adoration for you only grew the longer your gaze remained connected with his.

Morpheus knew that you were overworking yourself to get Lucienne out of the library. He wished he could tell you to stop working so much but knew better than to get in the way of his little librarian and betrothed. That would only end up with you being mad at him. So he would let you work until you fell asleep on your own volition, then he would bring you to your home to get proper rest in your bed. He’d done this a few times before, and tonight it would be no different.

You were once again passed out at the table, face pressed against the book you had been reading and hand next to your head, pen rolled not that far away. He carefully gathered you into his arms and cradled you gently as you shifted in his arms. Morpheus had long since found that you liked to snuggle closer when he held you, choosing to press your face against his neck while draping your arm over his shoulder. You liked to be close and he enjoyed every second of it. Morpheus was especially partial to the soft exhales he could feel on his neck. Your breaths were like a gentle tickle against his skin, something only he would ever experience.

Sand swirled around his and your bodies, swiftly taking you to your cottage in the village. You didn’t spend that much time in it, most of your time is spent in the palace… but Morpheus knew that you liked to have something to call your own. It was your little slice of heaven Morpheus was more than willing to give you. He’d give you the entire realm if you asked of it. But you never would. You were happy with what you had.

Morpheus carried you to your small bedroom and tucked you away, already feeling the loss of your touch and breath from his skin. But he couldn’t bear to ruin your idyllic dreamscape by moving you once more. He trailed his fingers along your skin, relishing the last touches of contact.

“Sweet dreams, my beloved,” Morpheus whispered to you, his words slipping into your dreams with a gentle caress. You sank deeper into your mattress with a satisfied sigh.

Morpheus had sent Matthew out to check on you after you had remained in your cottage for three straight days, not once returning to the palace. Something terrible must have happened for you to have neglected the library you loved so much. It was agony waiting to hear back from Matthew, but he would give you your privacy this time. His betrothed deserved that much.

Matthew swooped into the throne room and coasted over to where Morpheus sat. Well, he was pouting that his beloved had been absent for three days but he was not going to admit that. Looking down at his Raven, Morpheus gave Matthew an expectant look and raised his eyebrow. Matthew fluttered his wings.

“Well, sir, I believe that she realized that she asked you to marry her and is currently drowning in embarrassment,” Matthew explained, the raven would have shrugged his shoulders if he had them. Embarrassment? What did his beloved have to be embarrassed by? He had accepted her offer and had he not taken care of her these past few weeks as it was now his duty as her betrothed? “She says she’s just a librarian, I think she doesn’t feel adequate to marry you.”

Morpheus didn’t like that, he didn’t like that at all.

“I have accepted her proposal and will refuse anyone else,” Morpheus stated his lip curling. “And should anyone think to consider otherwise I will rectify that immediately.” Matthew bobbed his head in agreement. He would have loved to point out that you had no idea what it meant to hand him an apple… but Matthew, along with everyone else in the palace, had been waiting for you and Morpheus to get together. He wasn’t going to ruin this.

“You have to remember, sir,” Matthew added, making Morpheus look at him. “She struggles with confidence and probably worries about what the realm will think.”

“She should not, it is my decision on who I take as my queen is it not?”

“Tell her that, sir,” Matthew replied. “She probably needs more reassurance than the average woman.” Morpheus nodded in agreement. You would need more reassurance, he should have known that. Morpheus looked up to the archway that would lead out of the palace.

“Perhaps I should visit her and mitigate her fears?” Morpheus spoke.

“No, no, I think she just needs some time, she looked really tired,” Matthew said, knowing that you would probably get worse if Morpheus appeared before you now. You needed time. “Can I speak freely sir?”

“Of course,” Morpheus replied.

“I think she is scared,” Morpheus narrowed his eyes at Matthew and the bird was scrambling to explain his words. “I— I mean I don’t think she entirely thought about what she was doing when she handed you that apple. Maybe she didn’t fully realize what it meant and she’s overwhelmed? You have to remember sir, she’s human from the modern age.”

Two days had passed since Morpheus had sent his raven to check on you. Two days in which he knew you needed for appropriate rest. Two days in which he knew you had not slept. When you should have been getting better and ready to return to your normal duties, you had been spiraling into an exhaustive state. Morpheus couldn’t stand it any longer and had set out to visit you in person. Your cottage was on the outskirts of town and walking up to your front door, Morpheus knocked.

Seconds passed in eternity, and finally, the door was opened a crack revealing you shakily holding a coffee cup. Morpheus caught sight of your red and fatigued eyes. You looked exhausted and near moments from fainting in a slump of sleep.

“Y/N,” Morpheus called, his eyes running everywhere and taking in your appearance and not liking that you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. “May I come in, or is this a bad time?”

Your eyelids fluttered at him and you silently stuffed to the side, opening the door wider to let Morpheus into your cottage. Morpheus stepped into your cottage and shut the door behind himself. Then he saw you going to take a sip of the coffee and intercepted you, plucking the coffee from your hands.

“I doubt you need caffeine right now.” You let him take it and gave the caffeinated drink a mournful look as he set it down on the nearby table.

“I was going to drink that,” Your voice echoed the physical exhaustion on your features. Morpheus looked down into your face as he softly snorted. Then he reached up to caress your cheek gently.

“You need sleep, not caffeine.” Morpheus corrected you gently, he gently brushed the clear bags beneath your eyes. “Why have you not properly rested.” Your gaze averted from his.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” Your voice was scratchy as you started to sway in place. “I apologize for my absence, sir, I’ll be back at the library as soon as I can.” You went to rub your eyes and Morpheus stopped you, maintaining his grasp on your hand.

“I am not here to question your absence from the palace, Y/N, I am here… because I fear that I have chased off my beloved librarian.” Your face didn’t change at his words and Morpheus raised his other hand to cradle your face.

“I’m just a human.” You weakly protested, leaning forwards and pressing your face into his chest. Morpheus was quick to wrap an arm around your back and hold you close to his body. You were seconds away from falling asleep.

“Perhaps, but you are my human,” Morpheus replied gently, maneuvering his arms around your body to pick up your body and cradle you further against his chest. “And my human needs to sleep.” You went to protest.

“But— but—” Your short protest was weak and sputtered out.

“Y/N, we will talk later,” Morpheus spoke into your ear, nuzzling his face against your unkept hair against your messy, and matted hair. “I wish for you to rest.”

“But we need to talk...” You didn’t get to finish your protest before you were fast asleep in his arms. Cradling your body in his arms, Morpheus looked to your bedroom. He could place you in your bed and tuck you away to sleep… but there was no guarantee that you would stay asleep until your body was fully recharged. No, rather than place you in your bed as he had before, he chose to transport you both to the palace and bring you to the queen's wing he had specially made for you to occupy when you married him. He would be able to watch over you there, ensuring that his future queen was properly resting.

You had been a flustered mess when you had woken up, and Morpheus, overtaken by your adorableness, couldn’t help but steal his first kiss from your lips. You had frozen in place shortly before heat burned across your cheeks and you started slapping him on the chest with an embarrassed squeal. Softly chuckling in amusement, Morpheus brushed his fingers over your hair once more before bending down and resting his forehead against yours.

“Do you feel better now, my dream?” He questioned, his fingertips lingering over the skin beneath your eyes where bags had once been prevalent. You nodded though your cheeks still felt like they were on fire.

“Are you really okay with this?” You whispered in question, eyes dropping down. “I’m not confident, I’m not a goddess or a muse… I’m no one. Surely there would be a better choice.” Morpheus took hold of your face and made you look into his eyes.

“Y/N, I will have no one but you by my side… and what you are is my beloved, that is all you ever need to be,” Morpheus told you with conviction. You stared back at him with uncertainty in your eyes… but only for a few moments. Something in your mind changed.

“Morpheus?” You asked softly. Morpheus's lips twitched in a smile.

“Yes, my dream?”

“Can you kiss me again?” You asked. Morpheus, in that very moment, decided that you should never have to ask for such a thing again. Then he gave exactly what you asked for, pressing his lips against yours with the hunger he had felt growing within him since you had first offered that apple.

Date Published: 10/6/22

Last Edit: 10/6/22

An Offered Apple | Masterlist | An Innocent Apple

#morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman

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evolutionsvoid · 10 months

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It should be no surprise that when someone thinks about the dangers of the wild, most tend to focus on the animals. How could you not? With razor claws, huge fangs and a hunger for flesh, it's just like in all those horror stories or pulp novels! Though I argue that not every place is filled to bursting with bloodthirsty beasts, it is important to understand what species live in the environment you are visiting and which of them may be aggressive or territorial. But it isn't just animals that may pose a problem when delving into wild forests, jungles and other such biomes, as plants and fungi can be just as dangerous or even more! Stinging leaves, sharp thorns, infectious spores and so much more! Part of their danger is the fact that most people don't pay them any mind, and don't realize the threat until they step right in it. It's just a flower, what could it possibly do? Well, it depends on what species you are dealing with, ranging from "itchy skin rash" to "looks like we will have to amputate." Sound extreme? Believe me, I am not exaggerating here. There are tons of dangerous plants and fungi, and I don't just mean ones that are bad to eat. At least those ones you can avoid by not being an idiot and not shoving unknown specimens in your mouth. Just get a plant ID book and don't eat stuff you can't identify exactly. But back to my original point! What I was saying is that there are indeed flora and fungi that can ruin your trip to the woods and your life on this planet. The Manus Bloom is a very good example, as most people think it just some pretty flower or funky plant until they decide to admire it up close.

The Manus Bloom is an active plant that spends a good portion of its life unrooted. Their stalk is incredibly flexible and lets this plant move and coil like a snake. They do have roots at their very end, as they do grow from the ground as a seed. When they reach maturity, however, they uproot themselves and take on a more mobile life. The full grown ones can still bury their roots in the earth from time to time to absorb soil nutrients, or parasitically latch themselves to a much larger plant. At the other end is a impressive display of leaves, splayed wide in a hand-like arrangement. Their pink coloration causes people to think they are petals and that the whole structure is a flower, but the real bloom is not so obvious. When it is the season for flowering and pollination, a thin stalk emerges from the center of the leaves, tipped in a tiny flower. Here is where the pollen is produced, formed in sticky packets. Manus Blooms do have pollinators, typical bees and wasps, which is why the flower is positioned so far from the main body. It turns out, those leaves aren't just there to be pretty.

If you were crazy enough to get a closer look at these leaves, you would notice a vast amount of pores dotting their pink surface. The faint shine of liquid would reveal to you a glue-like substance that leaks from these openings. The hand-like arrangement of leaves are absolutely soaked with this adhesive, which is useful for catching food. Manus Blooms are carnivorous, using their colors and sticky fluid to trap insects and other small critters. It is why their flower is kept far away from their leaves, so that their pollinators don't fall for this trap. Other creatures will see it as just another plant, or be lured in by the sweet smell they give off. Some folk suggest that even the shine of the fluid may fool some prey into thinking there is water trapped in its open leaves. However they are lured in, they will soon find their doom if they make contact with the leaves. The fluid is a potent glue, and it gets prey stuck real fast. Most attempts to escape from its grip only causes them to get further coated in this mucilage, ensuring there is no escape.

To help speed up the process or snare prey that is too wary, the Manus Bloom will manipulate its own leaves like fingers, grabbing nearby prey or squeezing them in folded leaves to further coat them. The serpentine stalk lets them coil up and launch themselves at quick speeds, perfect for nabbing victims that refuse to get close. Once prey is caught, the secondary effect of the mucilage will reveal itself. The fluid isn't just a glue, but a digestive enzyme, and a potent one at that. It will begin to eat through prey like acid, melting them down so that their nutrients can be absorbed by the leaves. Hopefully prey suffocate themselves on the glue before this kicks in, because I imagine it is a pretty painful way to go. When prey is reduced to a fully digested goop, it will wipe its leaves off on a nearby tree or the ground to dislodge the bits it can't absorb.

Manus Blooms are ambush hunters, though they don't do much to actually hide. They tend to latch themselves to trees and other tall vegetation, so that they are exposed to passing prey and are easier to see. When positioned, they remain perfectly still, acting like any other rooted plant. This way, their small prey can spot them and move in for a closer look. However, it turns out that the Manus Bloom doesn't just eat bugs and tree mice, as they are more than happy to grab hold of a meatier meal. When positioned at the right height in the forest, their sticky hands can grab hold of passing beasts. Larger animals may not notice them as they travel, and may accidentally bump into one as they navigate the sea of vegetation. The mucilage lets them to stick to hair and hide, and the Manus Bloom lets go of its perch to hitch a ride. It will secrete even more glue to cement itself to the flesh and it will begin to digest.

At some point, the beast must notice the burning sensation in their side, and realize this thing is literally eating a hole into them. Some may try to shake them loose, but the glue makes their grip unbreakable. Their only hope is to violently rub the parasitic Manus Bloom against a nearby tree or rock, as that can damage the plant enough that it bails. They can take a surprising amount of punishment, but eventually they will call it quits if they are beat around enough. They will break their hold and drop off the animal, but this tends to remove a hefty layer of skin and digested flesh with it. Even with the plant dislodged, the left behind glue will continue to burn away for a good while after. If you ever see a beast in the woods with a horrible burned hole in their side, know that they had a run in with a Manus Bloom.

So these plants are capable of latching onto larger creatures and burning away their flesh with acidic glue. Sound horrifying? Well, we aren't done yet, as the Manus Bloom isn't always a patient hunter. With their snake-like movements and coils, they can actually choose to attack nearby creatures, launching themselves at food that is just close enough. So even if you don't physically touch one, they may decide to close the gap. This is why I said getting a closer look at one is a bad idea, as even being near them means a chance they may spring forward like a viper and grab hold. Some may dangle from branches and drop down on prey, or they may use their hand-like leaves to take a swing! Another, less elegant, name for the Manus Bloom is "Slapper," as they can whip their bodies around and slap that sticky hand onto anything within reach. And once they are on, it is almost impossible to avoid getting burned. Don't even bother trying to pull them off, it won't work. Even if you had the strength of troll, you would just rip the plant to pieces and still have them glued to your body. Instead, you need to find a knife or properly sharp object and start carving it off, doing your best to slip the blade between the plant and your skin. I will warn you, it isn't easy! Slicing it up and peeling it off is your best bet, but accept the fact that you are going to lose skin doing it. Minor burns and cuts are acceptable, when compared to having an entire chunk of your limb or body being melted off. Waiting for it to finish and drop off on its own isn't an option, unless you want to lose some weight real fast and real messily.

I hope I painted a nasty enough picture when describing these things, because Manus Blooms are real bad customers for those who travel the wilds. People who are forging a path and not paying attention will bump into one and have it latch on, resulting in a frantic struggle to get it off. I have heard of folk who have lost arms and legs to these plants, having it eat enough flesh off that an infection later sets in and the limb has to be amputated. There are even some tales of those who decided to admire it or perhaps leaned in to smell some of that sweet aroma. Having one of those latch on to your face? Yeesh, I don't even want to imagine that. Maybe the best option there is to find the fastest and most painless way to die before you get the sensation of that glue eating through your face and eyes.

Obviously, locals despise these plants and destroy them whenever they find them. Even dryads aren't a fan, as they will happily latch onto anything that moves. Even if the glue doesn't fully eat our flesh like it would meat, it does cause a burning itchy sensation and the glue is capable of smothering us. The existence of the Manus Bloom makes it extremely important to wear protective gear when traveling into the unknown. Layers of clothing that covers you from head to toe helps a whole lot. If the Slapper gets a hold of your clothing instead of your flesh, then you can rip that sleeve off and cast away the horrid plant before it can cause any actual damage. Dryads have also been able to create a thinning fluid to help counteract the glue and acid, making it easier to scrub it free from your body and also lessening the burn of the enzyme. Even then, any encounter with a Manus Bloom is a panicked one, and I am glad to have never gotten one on me. Let this entry be a reminder that stopping to smell the roses should only be done when you are absolutely sure those are only roses....

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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

"Manus Bloom AKA The Slapper"

Another entry to help represent the other kinds of carnivorous plants of the world! Pitcher plants and flytraps stand aside! Now is the time of the butterwort! FEAR THE SLAPPER!

#plant monster #butterwort #carnivorous plant #monster #creature #art #drawing

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blackjackkent · 3 months

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The first room to the east in the House of Hope is labeled "Outer Portals" and, true to its name, is full of them:

In order around the room, we have portals to: Athkatla, Neverwinter, Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Mephistar, Luskan, and Menzoberranzan.

Hope isn't thrilled with our sidequesting:

"When is a door not a door? WHEN IT'S A JAM JAR!"

"You won't find a way out here. Or a way in."

"What is this place?" Hector asks.

"This is the Chamber of Egress," she says, low and agitated. "The portals here criss-cross the planes, but they won't open to the likes of you and me. This is how Raphael consults with his clients so efficiently, no matter the time, no matter the place." Again that sudden rise to a yelp of agony. "AND IT'S HOW HE STALKS HIS PREY!"

"There must be something useful here," Hector says carefully. He's getting used to the woman's rapid shifts in tone and didn't jump this time, but it's hard to retain his control and not let her agitation stoke his own into panic.

"Oh, there is, there is!" she says eagerly. "If you stare into the portals long enough, your mind starts to do cartwheels and tricks you into thinking you're falling into a horrible yawning void!"

"It's one of my favorite ways to pass the time!" she adds brightly, then stabs a finger at his chest. "But you have no time to waste, or time will waste you! And what you need from the House is in the Archive. NOT HERE!"

And with that, she vanishes again.

Despite the warning, we will of course go poke at everything. Hector has a little commentary on each of the portals, which is absolutely him reciting facts from books he read at the monastery as a way to distract himself from freaking out:

Also had a VERY interesting conversation with the guardian of this room, a grumpy little gnome named Nubaldin:

"The Chamber of Egress - waystation of the Hells, providing access to Raphael's clientele wherever they might make their home. I am its keeper, Nubaldin. Very much *not* at your service."

"Do you know Hope?" Hector asks.

"The greatest pest of all!" Nubaldin grouses. "I've always thought Hope to be a dirty, empty little word. She suits it well."

"Any idea where I can find her?" Hector asks evenly.

The gnome shrugs. "She pops in and out of existence all over the House, but whatever you've seen is just a trick of the light. Her corporeal form is down in the dark, bound by unbreakable chains in Raphael's dungeon. It used to be *my* prison, Nubaldin's very own pit of pain; I was its keeper. But that was a very long time ago."

"Why don't you work in the prison anymore?" Hector asks, more than a little uncomfortably. He doesn't really want to know, but information is information, and information seems valuable while they're trapped in this place.

Nubaldin sets his jaw angrily. "I made a mistake. Raphael doesn't tolerate mistakes," he growls. "We had one houseguest by the name of Gortash, a mischievous little blot of a boy, and he slipped through my fingers."

Hector blinks, so thrown by this information that for a moment he forgets to be nervous. "Gortash was here? Lord Enver Gortash?"

"Lord?" Nubaldin laughs disdainfully. "Is that what he calls himself these days? The sniveling little shit. He was the son of a cobbler or somesuch meager tradesman, sold to Raphael by his loving parents to pay off a petty debt. Lord indeed. I used to bruise my knuckles on his whimpering little face. I'd like to have snapped his neck."

...Yikes. There's certainly no redeeming Gortash in Hector's eyes at this point but that's a pretty nasty origin story.

"You'll be pleased to hear I killed him," Hector says, deadpan dry.

Nubaldin brightens up at once. "You fabulous murderer!" he crows. "Oh, I wish I could have seen him grovel and beg and bleed. Maybe his soul will come to us one day!" He takes a step closer to Hector, his expression taking on a leering aspect. "Such a splendid deed deserves a splendid reward, and there's no better reward in the hells than the pleasures and pains of the flesh. There are few sensations that can't be indulged in Raphael's boudoir. I'm not permitted to enter, but I know a secret way inside. Make your way to the balcony next door and you can find your way inside. Just make sure not to fall. It's a long way down."

Ugh. Hector isn't sure if he feels more uncomfortable with being called a "fabulous murderer" or being told to indulge sensations anywhere in Raphael's fine establishment. However - we DO want to see all the rooms in this place for any information or thievery they can offer up, so this is useful information. (Nubaldin also told us that both Hope's cell and Gortash's former one are downstairs, which definitely adds to our interest in going down to check that out also.)

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle

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greensleeves888 · 2 years

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Widow's Pique - Chapter 31

Overview: Penny is a 41 year old mother of one, existing day to day in the normal world until a chance encounter changes everything, for everyone.

Author’s Notes: Hey Tumblrs! So this is my first ever story (not counting the shit I created at school). So be easy on me! I apologise for any typos, and for my misunderstanding of basic punctuation. This story has a little bit of Yours Truly woven into it. It’s a slow burn, full of angst, inner monologues, and insecurities but promises a happy ending of sorts! Using just my imagination and countless hours “researching” Mr. Cavill, I hope I can portray a different side to this fascinating man. Please indulge me …

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Plus Size/Curvy OFC (Penny) Chapter: 31 of ?

Word Count: 10.5k!

Warnings: Angst. Pregnancy. Alcohol. Weight issues. Foreplay.

Disclaimers: This is all fiction baby!

Over 18’s only. No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material, and claiming it as your own.

MASTERLIST

Big kisses in advance for your Re-blogs, Comments, and Likes - they mean SO much to me xxx There is a Spotify playlist that accompanies this story - to listen click here

Widow’s Pique

"White or Pink Pen?"

"White, always white" Penny shouted from her office over the sounds of Dusty Springfield.

She was dancing on the spot as she worked on an intricate collage piece at her idea bench. Moments later a large, warm pair of hands crept onto her hips as Henry joined her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the artist at work honey, but I just couldn't resist those wiggling hips".

Penny spun around and laced her hands behind Henry's neck, continuing her swaying. Henry took the opportunity to steal a kiss from her smiling lips and a squeeze of her ample backside in the process.

She rested the side of her head against his chest as they continued to move to the music. Henry peppered her hair with more kisses as he squeezed her close.

"You ok mama?" he asked as the song finished.

"I'm good thanks." she spoke dreamily.

"What can I do for you, get for you?"

"Nothing Honey, I have everything I need." she rested her head back against his chest as she rubbed her hands over his strong, smooth back, tucking her hands up under his t-shirt to feel his soft, warm flesh.

"Was that Fernando on the phone?"

"It was indeed."

"All ok?"

"All is ok. Going swimmingly in fact"

Henry had kept his word and had made the wedding planning as stress-free as possible. In the space of two weeks the date had been set, invites sent, catering and entertainment sorted and even the flowers. By using the professionals (and throwing undisclosed amounts of money in their direction), most of the hassle was out of their hands, leaving Henry and Penny just to make the fun decisions. The venue was easy; Penny's back garden was perfect for an informal late summer wedding. The field behind would house a marquee for the meal and evening entertainment. All that was needed to finalise was Henry's suit and Penny's dress.

"So are you excited to sort out your dress tomorrow, Pen?" he asked, knowing she was apprehensive.

"I am, I just hope they can make me something comfortable and pretty. God knows how much bigger I'll be in another two weeks time!"

Henry rumbled a small laugh, placing his hand on the side of Penny's stomach, rubbing it gently.

"You're going to look stunning Pen, I have no doubt."

He was careful with his choice of words, knowing how uncomfortable she had become lately. He was also worried the baby might arrive before they had the chance to get married. Penny certainly looked ready to go. She hardly complained though, in fear of him becoming even more over protective of her.

Henry insisted on driving Penny to the dressmakers, parking up in a secluded alleyway to access the discreet entrance for high-profile clients. Marianne and Helen were already inside, sipping champagne despite it only being 11am. He wore a tracksuit and baseball cap as his 'disguise' as he graciously helped Penny out of the beast. He made sure Penny was happy and comfortable inside the boutique before being shooed away by his mother.

"I'll meet you all back at yours later ok?"

"Yes dear, now clear off darling, you're not supposed to be here." Marianne quipped as she waved her hand dismissing Henry from the lavish room. Henry grumbled and kissed Penny gently on the lips.

"Any issues, call me ok honey?"

Penny nodded and crossed her heart as she helped move him towards the door.

A tall elegant lady and two young assistants wafted into the room to greet Penny.

"Ms Green? I'm Lily. It's a pleasure to meet you, thank you for choosing us to make this special piece for you."

Penny blushed, not sure she was up for all the fussing. "Thank you, Lily. And thank you for seeing me so quickly, as you can see, time is of the essence." she laughed as she patted her bump.

Although Penny had been trepidatious, the experience was unfolding to be much more relaxed and enjoyable than she'd expected. Despite spending most of the time in just her wedding underwear she enjoyed being swathed in different fabrics, Lily draping and folding the most stunning lace and silk around Penny to find the look that worked best. There were even a couple of pre-made maternity wedding dresses that Penny could try on. Unsurprisingly these were too small still for Penny, making her feel huge again. Lily was so serene and patient, listening intently to everything Penny liked and disliked. The idea of the dress slowly came together from shape ideas and inspiration from the other dresses she was shown. All of Penny's concerns were met, and Marianne and Helen even managed to keep their stronger opinions to themselves.

Once Penny was back in her own dress she hugged Lily and popped to the loo whilst Helen brought her car around to the side entrance.

Helen's drove a Tesla Model 3, which seemed like it was on the ground when Penny tried to sit elegantly in the passenger seat. She regretted wearing such a figure hugging outfit, adding to her inflexibility.

"I hope you're hungry ladies as I've booked a table for lunch at Bertrand's."

"Oh, I thought we were going back to yours Marianne? Won't Henry be waiting?"

"He'll be fine with Colin, It'll do you both good to have some time apart."

Penny wasn't sure what she meant by that but her stomach growled happily in the anticipation of food.

The beautiful Art Nouveau facade of the swanky restaurant opened up into a vast maze of eclectic but lavishly furnished booths, perfect for discreet dining. On their way to their table they hardly saw any of the other diners, but the hubbub of conversation proved that the place was full. Penny was glad of this, really not wanting to get recognised in her current state.

After a delicious array of crudités Helen and Marianne revealed their motivation behind the lunch.

"Penny, we wanted to talk to you about the wedding." Hells began, glancing nervously at Marianne.

"We, well a few of us are a little worried that this might be a bit too much for you at the moment. If you wanted to change your mind no-one at all would think bad of you."

Penny finished crunching a radish as she took in what was being said. Marianne took this as a bad sign.

"Penny, dearest. You know I adore you both, and I know Henry better than he knows himself. Once he puts his mind to something he's a force to be reckoned with. We just want to make sure that you're not feeling too pressured. We just worry, that's all."

Silence fell on the table as Penny slowly sipped her water.

"Honestly, you have nothing to worry about. I'm ridiculously calm about the wedding. It's as much my idea as it's Henry's, he's not pressurising me into anything. I swear. If anything it's been taking my mind off birthing this huge-ass baby."

Helen snorted, and instantly covered her mouth in embarrassment.

At that moment Marianne's phone rang, it was Henry.

"We're just grabbing a bite to eat darling. Penny was famished." Marianne winked at Penny as she continued to 'uh-huh' and 'ok' to Henry's call.

"She's fine Henry, we are taking good care of her, it's all very private here too so please don't stress. See if you can help your Dad move the treadmill upstairs while you're waiting." All three ladies chuckled at the thought of Henry wrestling the machine up the staircases.

After the call, lunch progressed as normal. Talking of their outfits and the guest list.

"Henry's requested no phones at the wedding too, that'll be interesting. He's also hired security! I've never heard of security at a wedding, I think it's a bit OTT really."

"It's all quite standard for this kind of do Penny. Let's just hope the press don't get a whiff of it beforehand, you don't want helicopters buzzing over the house." Helen joked, but Penny suddenly sat up a bit straighter, looking concerned.

Marianne held her wrist "Are you ok my dear?"

"Could that really happen? I not a big fan of paparazzi or helicopters." Penny shuddered thinking back to the time Henry was whisked away from her.

"There's always a small chance of it being leaked, but Henry is more than on top of the privacy for everyone, especially you my darling." Marianne squeezed her wrist again before finishing her fish.

Penny sat back, feeling a small braxton hick threatening. Her appetite for her fancy sandwich suddenly lost.

Four days before the big day the house and grounds were already buzzing with people. The marquee was set up. the walkways being laid, the car parking mats covered the field next door, and swathes of festoon lights were being hung in every space. A small barn-style building was being constructed at the end of the garden. This was the covered area for the wedding, where Penny and Henry would stand. It was beautiful, even before it was decorated. Penny wondered if they could keep it.

Today Lily was visiting with the final fitting of the dress, Penny couldn't wait to see it. Henry's tailor was already downstairs, making final adjustments to Henry and Ben's suits.

"Jesus George, the waist is cutting into me, is that right?" Henry complained, feeling a bit hot and bothered.

"Well, Henry that will be because you are a little bit fatter than the last time I measured you. I'm going to have to let this out, quite a lot too by the looks of it."

Henry breathed in and looked in the mirror. Ben sniggered at him.

"Hey, short stuff, the same will happen to you when you get to my age." Henry joked as he breathed out again and patted his pooch. He'd not paid that much attention to his own physique of late. Especially as he'd cleared his schedule and had cut down on the training. What he'd forgotten to cut down on was his calorie intake. He looked again in the mirror as George fussed around his waistband, getting impatient with Henry's movement.

"It's not too bad is it George?" Henry rubbed his stomach, purposefully pushing it out even more for comedic effect.

"Hmm, nothing that a girdle wouldn't fix, now keep still."

Henry looked at Ben and pulled a face like a naughty school boy.

"No competition for Mummy's though Ben, right?" he joked "Don't tell her I said that please!" he added, suddenly becoming serious.

Ben motioned locking his mouth and putting the key in his t-shirt pocket.

The gate buzzer seemed to be going off every 10 minutes with one delivery or another. This time Colin was sent to answer the door as Lily and her two assistants arrived carrying a huge garment bag between them. He smiled, nodded and again wordlessly ushered them towards the stairs.

Penny was in her bedroom with Kate helping her tie her hair back. She was already suffering in the heat, a large fan blasted warm air at her in an attempt to cool her down. She fiddled with the back of her white bra as Kate swotted her hand away and sorted it for her. She'd resorted to bearing a belly band to support her bump. Henry helped her with it every morning now, it gave her some relief on her aching back and hips. He'd also cradle her bump for her as he stood behind her. It was such a relief until he gave up complaining it was uncomfortable and pulling his back.

A light knock on Penny's bedroom door signalled the arrival of Lily and The Dress. At this point Penny just wanted something white that fitted. Lily greeted Penny like an old friend, Penny loved how elegant and serene she was. She hoped some of that would rub off on her right now.

"Are you ready for this Penny? Any adjustments we can make today, we have our kits with us, so don't worry at all ok?"

The garment bag was hooked onto the top of the door frame as the two young assistants Eloise and Suni slowly unzipped and lifted it out to present to Penny.

"Oh, my, god Lily! It's absolutely stunning, you're a freakin' wizard! The detail, the fabric, it's, it's, just beautiful - so beautiful." Penny covered her face as she shuddered a huge cry into her hands. Kate rubbed her back as she too hitched her breath with tears in her eyes.

"Right, enough of the hormones Mrs Bump. Let's wrangle you into this and see how it looks." Kate barked, knowing that they needed to get a move on.

Another knock at the door signalled mild panic thinking Henry was trying to come in until Marianne spoke from the other side.

"Is it here? Can I see it Penny?"

Carefully, the several pairs of hands helped Penny step into the silk slip under-dress. Lily skilfully began lacing the back as the cool, soft fabric began to mould around Penny's curves. The bias cut of the fabric clung to Penny's shape without restricting her movement.

Next was the sheer lace part. Suni and Eloise laid this out on the floor in front of Penny. She carefully stepped into the centre as the delicate fabric was lifted up carefully. Marianne stood with her hands over her mouth. Tears in her eyes, unable to speak. Kate was also uncharacteristically quiet as she swallowed her emotions, not wanting to set Penny off again.

Slowly Penny threaded her arms into the long sleeves, thankful that the fabric had some give to it. Nothing felt tight, everything fitted so well. Lilly and Suni began to fasten the tiny buttons at the back as Eloise adjusted the fabric to the right position. Penny smoothed her hand over the beautiful open mesh cotton lace, tracing the large swirls and leaves.

"Now Penny, the good news is that we just have half a dozen buttons to reposition, tell me, how does it feel? How do you feel in it?

At this point Eloise angled Penny's floor mirror towards her. She stared at her reflection, unable to find the right words, amazed at what she was seeing. Her large bump looked perfectly at home within the dress, something Penny never expected. Her hips were smooth, her arms looked slender, and even her boobs were flattered but tamed within the stunning outfit.

Realising that everyone was waiting for her to speak, Penny cleared her throat.

"I - I bloody love it!!" as she jumped up and down on the spot squealing.

Everyone else followed suit as downstairs in the kitchen Henry, Colin and Ben stared up at the ceiling.

"Either the dress looks good, or there's a huge spider in the bedroom", Henry joked as he picked up Ben for a hug. "Let's go check on the progress outside, short stuff." and they went to track down Fernando, the wedding planner.

After lunch more pampering arrived for Penny, a fresh hair colour and spray tan whilst Marianne and Colin readied the spare rooms for more guests.

Even Callum was helping by re-gravelling the track and tidying up the entrance through the farm.

Penny had needed another nap so Kate left her to rest whilst she surveyed the back garden, marvelling at how pretty it already looked. She found Henry in the marquee looking frazzled.

"Hey, hot stuff - how's it all going?"

Henry blew a sweaty curl from his forehead as his face cracked into a tired smile.

"It's ok, there are a few delays with some bits and bobs, but on the whole, ok. There's just so much last minute stuff. Is Penny ok?"

"Yeah, she's having a cat nap. I thought you had a guy for all this running around?"

"I do, I just want it to be perfect."

"Well it won't be perfect if your blood pressure is through the roof and you feel like shit will it? Now come inside and have a drink and a sit down - no buts."

"Yes Mrs Roberts" he saluted as he followed Kate back through the garden, his beady eye checking off other things he still needed to ask Fernando about. Kal bounded up to him, knowing he need a bear hug.

"Leave the dog Son and come and get a cold one, you've done enough for today." Colin instructed.

Henry laughed at everyone's concern, he felt truly grateful of how helpful everyone had been. He grunted in discomfort as he sat down at the dining table, grabbing for some buttered bread.

"Why don't you get an early night after you've eaten poppet?" Marianne suggested.

"You all trying to get rid of me or something?" he muttered with his mouth full.

"Not at all, you just need to save some energy for the big day son, and of course tomorrow evening."

Henry had refused a stag do, convincing himself he would jinx everything and send Penny into early labour if he were to go somewhere, so instead his brothers were coming to the farm to give him some kind of a traditional send off.

Kate had organised a similar evening for Penny despite her reluctance too. Henry had pleaded with Kate not to do anything too rowdy.

"It's not a stag do Pops, just a few of us having a couple drinks and playing some poker ok?"

"Of course, of course." Colin winked at Ben, who had been clinging to his new grandad like a limpet since he arrived.

Henry decided an early night was very appealing if it meant escaping the fussing, and the chance to spend some alone time with his Penny.

"Hey sleepyhead." Henry whispered as he kissed Penny's forehead.

"Oh, shit. It's dark already, you should have woken me up." Penny groaned, as she shuffled and shifted to sit up. Henry went to help her but she clamped her arms down in defiance "I'm fine Henry, I can sit up myself!"

Henry stood back, hands in the air. Too tired to laugh or get annoyed at her snapping. Instead he began undressing on the way to the bathroom to clean his teeth.

Moments later Penny appeared to use the toilet.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait." she apologised for her unladylike gesture.

"You can poop in front of me my dear, I really don't mind."

"I'm not pooping, just having a wee. Your daughter is using my bladder as a yoga mat."

Henry chuckled, she was always 'his' daughter when she was causing trouble. He had a feeling this would still be the case once she arrived. He was more than ok with that, already knowing she would have him around her little finger from day one.

Back in bed, Penny remained sitting up as Henry plonked himself down face first and wrestled with his pillow for a comfortable position.

"You're exhausted Hen." Henry murmured into his pillow. Penny reached over and began rubbing his shoulder muscles, Henry groaned again. After a couple of minutes he shifted to lay on his side, taking Penny's hand and kissing it.

"You shouldn't be fussing over me, I should be fussing over you, my love"

Penny smiled softly "You've not stopped for days, you're going to be exhausted by Saturday."

"I'll be fine. I'm strong, like ox" he joked as he flexed his bicep half heartedly.

"I'm sorry for snapping earlier, I know I've been a prize bitch lately."

Henry smirked and blinked slowly. "You've not been a bitch, you wouldn't know how. So you've been a bit testy. So would I carrying around our not so little beany baby 24/7. You're doing so well honey, I'm so very proud of you."

Penny's skin shivered with his praise. Henry schooched up to sit closer, his large warm hand atop Penny's round stomach. Henry dipped his head towards her belly and kissed it. Penny rested her hand over his.

"Mummy and I can't wait to meet you our darling girl. Just keep on baking nicely, ok?" he kissed her again as Penny wrapped her arms around her beautiful, sweet man. Overwhelmed with happiness and emotion. She began to cry, a regular occurrence lately, as Henry shushed her, peppering her hair with kisses as they both drifted off to sleep together.

The next day seemed just as hectic as the last few. Not helped by the arrival of more Cavill's.

Kate's sole purpose seemed to be in following Penny everywhere she went, making her sit down and drink and eat enough. Whilst Kate had to visit the loo Penny escaped into the back garden to check on things. She found Henry and Callum helping roll barrels of beer towards the marquee. It was only 10am but the sun was already scorching hot. Both men were red faced and very sweaty.

"You know there are dozens of guys here that are hired to help with this kind of stuff!"

Henry straightened up, his back obviously hurting him.

"Why are you out here Penelope?" he scowled at her, ignoring her comment.

"Because I'm sick of being under house arrest, I want to help."

"Somehow I don't think you're going to be much help at the moment Penny." Callum joked.

Henry shot a worried glance at Callum.

"I'm pregnant, not useless Callum." Callum looked at the ground, knowing he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Pen, most of the stuff is lifting and shifting stuff. You really think that's a good idea?"

She pursed her lips, knowing she had a weak argument.

Surprisingly Henry added "Find Fernando, he's in the marquee, he might have a job for you."

Penny perked up and turned on her heel as she tried her best not to waddle away towards the marquee.

Callum gave a surprised look in Henry's direction.

"Don't worry, Fernando will send her away. He's terrified she's going to have the baby any second now." Henry laughed.

"Aren't we all?" Callum added as they shared a concerned look at each other.

The plan that evening for the 'non' Hen and Stag do's was for Helen's girls to host a fun games and pizza night for the children upstairs, whilst the men tested out a section of the marquee and the bar outside. This left the ladies with the downstairs of the house. Whilst Penny was upstairs trying to find something to wear the other ladies were setting up balloons and decorations as a surprise. Henry poked his head in through the back door only to be shooed away by everyone.

Out in the marquee, Colin was mixing up cocktails as Charlie and Simon cooked up a meat-fest on the barbeque. Tom was in the DJ Booth, reliving his youth whilst Callum helped Piers and Nik set up the poker table. Henry purposely didn't want any celebrity friends there tonight, despite feeling guilty for not inviting them. Some he'd invited to the wedding though but he didn't want it to feel like a showbiz event, it was about him and Penny.

Callum was surprised to get an invite tonight. He wasn't sure if it was the best idea considering his feelings towards Penny. Over the past few months, he'd tried to keep his distance, but Penny and Henry both tried to keep him in their lives.

Henry arrived back from the house "So let's get this fucking party started then boys!" Much to the amusement of the other Cavill brothers. Despite strict orders from Marianne, they were going to make their brother's 'stag do', an evening to remember.

Kate found Penny rifling through her wardrobe, piles of clothes already discarded on the bed. Penny was red faced and swearing under her breath as she fanned her face with her spare hand.

"Oi, Green, what the hell are you up to?"

"What does it look like? Trying to find something to fucking wear! Nothing fucking fits!"

"Woah, alright Gordon Ramsay, chill. Let me chose. Where's the first thing you tried on?"

"On the bed." Penny gestured, with a petulant look on her face.

Kate could help but smirk at her attitude, but was careful not to rile her up too much. She flipped the pile of clothes over and found a simple round neck bodycon dress made from a beautiful dusky pink stretchy fabric.

"What was wrong with this one Pen?" Kate asked.

"Too clingy, looked like Kim K on a very bad day." Penny tried to joke, knowing she was being difficult.

"But does it fit?"

"Yes.."

"And is it comfy?"

"Hmm, I guess so…"

"Great, that's what you're wearing. Put it on and stop your whinging woman."

Penny sighed and stomped over to grab the dress from Kate.

"Henry bought me this, I look like a fucking sausage in it Katie."

"I don't care, no-one cares. They just want to see you and celebrate with you ok. Stop being so difficult woman." Kate knew she was pushing her luck being so bolshy with her, but she figured it was the only way to get the night started.

Penny readjusted her boobs once she pulled the dress down. Kate grabbed some hairspray and fluffed up Penny's hair. A quick flick of mascara and lipstick and Penny was finally ready.

"Fucking Kim K would wanna look like you Pen, you look hot honey!"

Penny daren't even look in the mirror, knowing Kate was just trying to make her feel better.

After copious amounts of barbequed protein, the men readied their bravado for the poker game. The Cavill brothers, in particular Charlie, seemed supremely confident that he would fleece everyone before the night was over. Colin quietly smirked, knowing from experience that the opposite would be more likely.

"Deal me in, I'm just going to check on Pen." Henry slurred, already several beers in.

"Woah, woah, woah!" came the combined protest "Leave the woman alone, if there was a problem, you would hear about it Hank - so sit the fuck down." Piers barked.

Henry sat down with a pout.

Kate led an anxious Penny past Ben's room after goodnight kisses, and loudly announced her arrival to the gaggle of girls downstairs.

"Surprise!!!! Happy Hen, Engagement, Baby Shower Penny!!!" the well practiced chorus sang out.

Penny clutched her chest and held back more tears as she saw the beautiful balloons and banners that the girls had put up whilst she was getting ready.

"We thought we'd roll them all into one Pen, as you don't like to waste any time!" Kate whispered as she patted Penny's backside.

Julia walked up to Penny, giving her a huge double cheek kiss and then tying a pretty flowery belt around her waist as Charlotte placed an equally tasteful floral crown atop Penny's head.

Several photos were taken with the custom balloon backdrop as Marianne poured the Prosecco.

Penny reluctantly agreed to a couple sips before complaining it was giving her heartburn.

Her dress was a big hit, with everyone admiring Penny's impressive bump.

"When I was pregnant with Hughie I swelled up like a balloon, do you remember Pen? It was fucking awful, you're just all belly Pen Pen, like you were with Ben. So not fair how you can look so good when you're so pregnant!"

"Did Henry pay you all to make me feel less huge ladies?" Penny asked, half seriously as she was feeling super self-conscious in her figure hugging outfit.

"I see Hank is trying to compete with you Pen in the belly department." Heather joked, nudging Penny with her pointy elbow.

"Heather, now that's enough. You know better than to comment on Henry's weight, he can get very sensitive about it." Marianne chastised.

"He's always the first to take the piss out of my Charlie if he's starting to look a little chubby, it's nice to see the tables turned." Heather continued, as Vicky and Charlotte nodded in agreement.

"Well I love his new tummy, it suits him too." Penny added, feeling bad that Henry's weight was being discussed.

"That man can make anything look good, even a gut!" Kate chuckled.

"Well that's enough fat-shaming our lovely Henry, let's all grab some food and then we can get the games underway." Helen instructed.

"Games?" Penny asked reluctantly.

"Read 'em and weep." Piers gloated as he laid down his winning hand amidst groans and obscenities from the rest of the table.

"Fuck this, I need a piss." Tom threw his cards down and headed off into the dark field outside, tripping over two guy ropes on the way.

"So bloody lucky Piers, next year we're going to Vegas son." Colin added

"You're on Pops, as long as we can take Hank to pay for everything."

Henry sat up from resting his head on the table, struggling to keep his eyes open after the constant flow of whiskey.

"Shall I run in and get coffees?" David suggested, being the most sober of the group.

"I'll come with you." Henry lurched out of his seat.

Callum stood to support him, "Maybe let Dave go for now Henry, you might want to sober up a bit before you go back inside."

"Hmm, kay." he agreed, feeling lightheaded from standing up so quickly.

"Let's finish up this meat and get the after party started boys." Charlie added with a chicken drumstick already in hand.

"Report back on the situation inside will you Dave?" Nik asked as David wove his way back to the garden.

The Hen party was well underway as David tried to sneak in the back, it took 5 seconds for Helen to spot him.

"David, what are you doing here?"

"Coffee." was his deliberately short response.

Helen was too tipsy to question him, "How civilised!" she chuckled before heading back to the makeshift dance floor.

Penny was trying her best to keep up with everyone despite being the only fully sober adult in the building. 'My humps' came on the sound system and one by one the ladies grabbed cushions, bowls and spare clothing to shove up their dresses to mirror Penny's impressive humps of her own.

Penny was screaming with laughter at the ridiculous sight before her. Glad that Kiri and Marianne were taking lots of photos to document it. Penny joined in as best as she could rubbing her bump against the others.

David looked up from the kitchen, shaking his head in amusement.

"There we're doing what?" Colin asked, confused by David's explanation.

"They'd all wedged cushions up their dresses to give them big bellies, like Penny's." he repeated as he set the heavy tray of coffee and cups on the bar.

"What the fuck? That's hilarious." Tom piped up.

"What was Pen doing?" Henry asked, now leaning against the bar, messily making himself a coffee.

"Dancing and laughing."

"Jesus Christ, if those women put her into labour there'll be hell to pay." Henry grumbled, trying to squint through the opening in the marquee towards the house.

"Chill bruv, she's in safe hands." Simon added, trying to stop Henry worrying.

"Maybe we should go back in the house with cushions up our tops and join them." Piers joked.

"Dad and Henry won't need the cushions though P" Charlie quickly quipped.

Henry broke the laughter with his angry rebuttal "Fuck off Chuck, I knew you couldn't help but take the fucking piss."

"Ah come on Hank, I'm only joking, so what, you're carrying a little extra timber these days."

"Don't they call it a sympathy belly?" Nik retorted with a snigger.

"Both you and Simon did the same when your girls were expecting." Nik pointed to Charlie.

"I can still take you all down brothers, just remember that."

"Let's fucking have it then!" Charlie shouted with excitement as he practically ripped off his shirt and ran towards Henry, attempting to wrestle him to the ground.

Several minutes later a bemused Tom, David & Callum leaned against the bar as they watched the five large men act like kids again, shirts off, clumsily trying to pin each other down onto the floor. Henry was bearing the brunt of most of this after his challenge.

"Are they always like this Col?" Tom inquired, as Colin sighed and nodded.

"Fucking hell Piers, mind my face." Henry grunted as he tried to get away from his brothers. They helped him to his feet as he grumpily wiggled his nose, checking for damage.

"Let's try something a little more civilised shall we chaps?" Tom began, as the Cavill boys wiped their faces with their tops. "A little arm wrestling competition will sift the boys from the men I think…"

Callum looked up at the ceiling and chose to Irish up his coffee…

After an enforced break to let Penny rest, the classic baby shower games began. Labour or orgasm faces, famous baby photos, nappy snacks, and guessing the weight of the baby.

Ben sneaked down to check on Penny and see if he was missing out on any fun. He made sure to give Penny the biggest hug, with a kiss for his baby sister too before he scampered back to his own party.

Penny was helped up to go and cut the stunning three tiered buttercream cake. It had edible flowers pressed into the icing and a beautiful gold crepe paper flower on the very top. The ladies had all worked up an appetite, so before long they all were tucking into the deliciously moist masterpiece.

Penny stood looking out into the back garden, the festoon lights making everything look romantic. She could see some movement inside the marquee, but it was too far to make out what was what. She could guarantee that Henry was already three sheets to the wind, but she was glad he was letting his hair down after how hard he'd been working lately.

"Right-ho, everyone pair up and get comfy. Remember the rules gents, and may the best man win." Tom announced as he sat down to square up to Charlie. David was against Simon, Callum against Piers, and Henry against Nik.

They took turns so they could watch each match. The aim was to all arm wrestle each other, and the two with the most wins face-off at the end.

Callum was reluctant to join in, not sure if he was up for the testosterone-fuelled challenge, but he was also a little curious to see if he could beat Henry.

Nik, Tom, Henry, and Callum all faired well unsurprisingly. Tom gloated knowing they'd underestimated his natural strength. All that rock climbing was finally paying off. Charlie pouted every time he lost, only managing to beat David. Henry was being pretty cocky, sure that no one would be a match for him. He knew Nik was his biggest opponent, so braced himself for a challenge. But his flippant attitude to Callum led to a quick surprise defeat. Henry's pride was dented. His brothers found this beyond hilarious. Tom and Callum were deadlocked in their match for so long that the others started to get bored. They were both evenly matched. But Callum's larger frame eventually won for him. Finally once the scores were totted up the last match to decide the winner was on. Henry vs Callum.

Both men shook their arms and stretched. Trying to revive their overworked muscles after so many matches. Both tried pretending that they weren't too fussed about winning, but once they sat down, face to face again the atmosphere changed. This time Henry wasn't going to underestimate the farmer, he knew Callum would love to have bragging rights from this, but Henry wasn't going to allow it. He was fucking Superman for crying out loud, his inebriated brain kept reminding him.

After the first minute, both held up their sides. Each huffing and puffing with exertion. Sweat dripped off the end of Henry's nose, whilst Callum's neck and face were bright red.

"Ready to quit yet Supes?" Callum goaded.

"Just about to ask you the same thing Giles." Henry spat, with gritted teeth.

The other men shouted out their support and tried to put them off at the same time. Charlie was filming on his phone, adding to Henry's annoyance.

After another few minutes of stalemate, Colin piped up.

"Boys, you're going to cause yourselves some mischief like this, let's just call it a tie now."

Both ignored Colin and looked into each other's eyes. Neither wanted to give up, but neither felt they could keep this up much longer. Henry's bicep and forearm were on fire, his fingers threatening to cramp. The tendons in Callum's neck looked painful as he breathed heavily through his flared nostrils.

"Decorative muscles don't always equate to real world strength Cavill." Callum muttered, using what felt like his last attempt to put Henry off.

"And shoving your arm up a cow's arse does too then?" Henry added with a cocky smile.

From nowhere Callum found some extra energy as he managed to push Henry's arm to the side. Henry dug deep and used every ounce of strength, but at this compromised angle, he just didn't have the power to come back. He grunted loudly and suddenly the back of his hand hit the table, he'd lost.

"What the fuck Hank?" Charlie shouted at him.

Henry stood up, knocking his chair over in the process as he angrily walked back to the bar to reclaim his drink before heading out into the field.

Callum was amazed he'd properly beaten him, after accepting that their first match was a lucky punt. Disappointingly he didn't feel as elated as he'd expected either. He stood up, rubbing his arm as he received several pats on the back in congratulations.

Penny leaned against the kitchen island nibbling on some red peppers, one of her main pregnancy cravings, as she shifted her weight to her other foot. Marianne walked up behind her giving her a small back rub as she passed.

"Do you want me to check on them Penny?" she asked.

"Who?" Penny replied, knowing exactly who she meant as the kids had only just been checked on by Helen.

"The boys outside my dear, I can see that you're fretting a little."

"Am I that obvious?!" Penny chuckled, holding her bump as it moved. "I guess I'm feeling a little needy, I just hate being apart from him at the moment. I feel safe when he's around."

Marianne wrapped her arm behind Penny, giving her a tight squeeze.

"That's very sweet my dear, not needy at all. And perfectly natural in your condition too."

"I'm sure they're having a good time, and don't need us checking up on them," Penny admitted, making herself drag her focus away from the garden.

When Henry didn't return to the tent Callum poured a couple of whiskeys and went in search outside.

He found Henry sitting on the wooden ceremony platform at the back of the garden. He'd watched as Penny looked wistfully out into the garden and her sweet interaction with his mum. Tears had tumbled down his cheeks.

"Hey" Callum announced.

"Hey", Henry added, sniffing and wiping his face as he gladly accepted the scotch.

Callum plonked himself down beside Henry, almost losing his balance in the process.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just watching the ladies inside, smiling at their happy faces and bursts of laughter.

"Looks like they're having a good time?" Callum interjected.

"It does."

"You ok Henry?"

"Yeah, just needed some air."

Callum swigged the last of his whiskey down with a grimace. He was feeling bad thinking he'd upset Henry.

They both looked up again as a loud cheer was heard from the house. They could see Penny hugging Kate and creasing up in laughter.

"You're a fucking lucky man, Cavill."

Henry turned to look at Callum, wondering where this praise was coming from.

"I know - I know it's no secret how I feel about Penny, but above all I'm just glad she's happy again. You make her happy. Despite your noodle arms."

Henry chuckled and nudged Callum sideways, grabbing him before he toppled over.

"Thanks mate. I never thought I'd find her, I thought I'd never find this kind of happiness. We just need to find this for you too buddy." Henry put his arm around Callum.

"I'm working on it. I'm working on it."

"Don't fanny about this time though, Life is too fucking short."

Callum nodded, sucking in his emotions as they threatened to escape.

"Come on, let's go back to the lads." As he hauled himself up and held a hand out for Henry.

Karaoke was the next segment of Penny's Hen do. Heather and Charlotte started off the proceedings with their duet of "Islands in the Stream" and Helen continued the theme with her very warbly version of "Nine to Five". Penny was quite enjoying being the sober one amidst the gaggle of loud, sozzled women. Kate decided to attempt her favourite Van Morrison tune, dedicating it to Penny, even though she had blue eyes. A few of the kids sneaked downstairs to see what all the noise was about before deciding that they preferred their video games to their mothers vocal talents.

Heather was desperate for Penny to join in, but she felt far too comfortable in her chair, and sober to be tempted. So Heather roped Marianne and Julia into a murdering of 'It's Raining Men'.

Back in the marquee Tom was back on the decks to his one loyal fan, Charlie. Reliving their Ibiza days. Henry walked straight past, spying the last sausage and grabbing for the scotch. Piers beat him too it as he flung his arm around his little brother and poured them both another drink.

"Can't believe you're finally tying the knot little brother." he shouted.

Henry nodded, and grinned. "About bloody time eh?" Henry raised his glass, "To my beautiful bride to be." he shouted as he staggered back slightly. All the men raised their drinks.

"To Penny!" they all cheered.

Tom returned to the main table where the conversation had turned to ex-girlfriends.

"Si, remember that girl you used to date with the lazy eye?" Charlie began, getting far too excited by his recollection. "whatever happened to her?"

Simon gave Charlie the death stare and raised his middle finger to his annoying younger brother.

"She broke my heart Charles, you know that you little runt."

The rest of the brothers and Colin all found this hilarious.

"What about that Spanish girl Charlie?" Simon retorted. "the one you bought a car for and she left you the week after?"

"She was Portuguese actually, and it was only a Fiat 500, not a fucking Porsche, no biggie." as he returned the middle finger gesture enthusiastically.

"What about that nice young girl that you used to court Henry? The one with the dubious family background." Colin asked, with a knowing grin already on his face.

"She was lovely, but unfortunately her brothers were the next Krays and frightened the absolute life out of me." he turned to Tom "They threatened me with castration if I dishonoured their sister!"

"Castration eh? Who would threaten such a thing?!" he winked back at Henry.

A quite lull in the conversation allowed the baseline of one of the karaoke songs to drift through the night air.

"They fucking singing in there?" Nik shouted, standing up to look outside. "Right boys, I think it's time we merge these parties, who's coming?"

"Finally!" Henry shouted, feeling glad to see his Penny again.

Helen was just starting 'Copacabana' As Charlie, Tom and Piers noisily flung open the back doors to announce their arrival.

"Someone ordered the Dreamboys Ladies?" Charlie shouted as he made a beeline for Heather with his sexiest walk.

Penny craned her neck to see the newcomers as she spotted Henry and Callum stumbling through the door together. Henry's shirt was partially unbuttoned. And what buttons were fastened were in the wrong holes. Callum was still topless as was Nik after the arm wrestling tournament.

Callum suddenly felt a little conspicuous now with several females eyes upon him.

"What the hell have you lot been up to? You all look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards." Kate laughed as she tried to fix the mess that was her husband's hair.

Henry reached the back of the sofa and kissed Penny's forehead as she leaned back to smile at him. He then dramatically rolled over the back of the chair, narrowly missing Julia's drink.

"Woah, steady on honey." Penny added, chuckling at her lumbering man.

Henry composed himself and with a soppy smile manouvered himself to sit close up to her.

"My beautiful Pen Pen. I missed you." he smooched, lips searching for hers.

"Missed you too Yogi, did you have fun?"

"I did, I may have had a lickle too much to drink though, sorry." he pouted, looking up at Penny with puppy dog eyes.

"That's ok Hen, I don't mind. Just don't throw up on the carpet later."

"Right!!" Tom spoke loudly into the mike, making Penny jump. "All you lovely ladies have been making the sweetest of sounds, but now it's time for the men to show you all how it's done. Big man, come here and serenade your betrothed." He gestured to a reluctant Henry as Penny smiled and pushed him a little to gee him up. Everyone shouted encouragement and before long he relented and hauled himself off the sofa, slightly swaying as he finally straightened up. Tom walked over to him and ushered him back to the karaoke machine.

"So, what will it be cherub? Pick something that'll make her cry." Tom whispered into his ear.

After a bit of deliberating Henry pushed his hair out of his eyes, rotated his shoulders, and took a deep breath as the first chords began. All eyes were upon him as Penny cringed in embarrassment.

She grabbed a cushion to hide behind when she realised what he'd chosen, knowing she'd be in tears before too long.

Henry's deep baritone attempted the American screech of "Oh Lord, won't you buy me, a Mercedes Benz.." Only Penny knew the significance of this and laughed as the others looked at each other and her in mild confusion. Henry kept his gaze fixed on Penny during the whole song, enjoying her reaction. They both thought back to that bitterly cold, grey Saturday in January. Such a chance meeting. A real turning point for them both. It truly felt like fate had intervened in their lives to make their paths cross. As Henry finished the last note Penny shuffled to stand up, Henry's strong arms ready to help her as she stood and they embraced. Their tears weren't the only ones after witnessing their dedication to each other.

"Oh honey, that was beautiful." she managed to say, as Henry's broad shoulder muffled her face. Henry kept hold of her for the longest time until Charlie grabbed the mike…

----

Penny had just finished what felt like her thousandth toilet visit of the day to find Henry waiting for her outside in the corridor. A naughty look in his eyes.

"Henry."

"Penelope." he replied as he stepped towards her and swept his hands around her curves. "This dress is un-fucking-believable Pen. I've been trying so hard not to ravish you in front of our friends and family. I'm literally struggling right now." He took her hand and led it over the impressive bulge in his dress shorts.

"You're kidding right? I look like an over-stuffed sausage Hen." Penny blushed, enjoying Henry's continuous exploration of her stomach, boobs and bottom. She tilted her head back as he gently pushed her back against the door.

Henry ignored her comment, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers.

"Can we have lots of babies honey, I want to keep you like this forever." Henry breathed heavily his eyes dark with arousal.

Penny raised her eyebrows at him "Christ almighty Cavill, you're practically feral tonight. Let's just get this little Princess sorted first before we talk about any more. And then we'll see how frisky you are when there's a newborn in the house."

Again, Penny's words washed over his inebriated brain and he continued to paw at her and kiss down her neck, pulling at the neckline of her dress attempting to find her nipple.

Tom walked around the corner nonchalantly and smacked Henry on his backside.

"That's what got you into this situation you horny fuckers, move aside, I need to drain the lizard."

Penny chuckled, relieved it wasn't either of Henry's parents that caught them.

"Come on honey, let's get you some water to cool you down." Penny suggested as she ushered her big bear back towards the party and Heathers singing.

Henry was stolen away by Simon, Charlie and Colin to sing Bohemian Rhapsody whilst Penny stood stretching her back against the kitchen island, wondering whose hangover would be worse tomorrow morning.

Callum sidled up to her.

"You ok Penny?" he asked, trying his best to sound more sober than he was.

"A little achey, but enjoying the entertainment." she chuckled.

"You look amazing by the way." he mumbled, instantly regretting his compliment. His cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penny looked up at him, trying to judge his emotion after his unexpected praise. He looked over at the others with an unconvincing passive expression on his face.

"Thanks Callum, everyones been so sweet trying to make me feel less like a bloody whale."

"No!" he stated, louder than they both expected. "It really suits you - being - being, pregnant. You're - glowing Penny." Penny looked back up at him, to see him looking back down at her. A strange expression on his face. Penny smiled, hooking her hand around his arm and giving him a small side hug.

"I'm genuinely happy for you, you know that right?" he continued, Penny looked over to see Henry's eyes on them briefly.

"Thanks Callum. You ok?" she asked, squeezing his arm and resting one hand on his shoulder.

He nodded and smiled. His eyes glassy with tears as he drank from his beer bottle.

Penny opened her mouth again to say something, anything. But an increasingly loud squeal broke the moment as Julia and Kate (who were getting on like a house on fire) barrelled up to Penny to grab her away.

"Pen-Pen, you can't say no. They've fucking got it!" as she pulled Penny away reluctantly. She looked back as Callum smiled and shooed her away. Julia unsubtly stayed behind to seize her opportunity with the farmer.

"No, No, No. It's been too long." Penny protested, seeing what she was being dragged towards.

"Come on Pen, let's have it!" Tom encouraged as Nik and Charlie joined in.

Henry stood watching this with a befuddled expression as Marianne adorably re-buttoned his shirt for him.

"Can't chicken out now Pen, unless you're too old to be cool babes." Kate goaded.

"Fuck off Roberts, give me that mike." Penny narrowed her eyes at her bestie as she abandoned her awkwardness for the challenge.

Penny launched into her memorised and well-practised rendition of 'Alphabet Aerobics', not dropping a beat or missing a word. Most of the Cavills were agog at Penny's unexpectedly skilled rap, Charlie was bouncing around like a puppy with excitement.

"Shit the bed Penny! You were fucking amazing!" Charlie shouted, draping one arm heavily over Penny's shoulders. Henry appeared to rescue her as Charlie switched to Henry's shoulder. "Did you know about your woman's hidden talents Hank?!"

"She's a woman of many hidden talents young Chuck." Henry purred with a dramatic arched brow.

"Rap Battle it is then Penelope Green." Tom announced as Penny shook her head.

"I'm too pregnant for all of this Thomas!" she protested.

"Come on! You don't hear Dre making that fucking excuse do you?" He began to giggle, finding his own joke hilarious.

Penny relented easily and performed several more hip hop classics alongside Heather, Kate, Tom, Charlie, and even Henry.

The lyrics to 'It's Tricky' coming out of Henry's mouth were hilarious for all involved. Henry hammed it up as only actors can do and gave it his best shot. Penny genuinely thought she was going to wet herself at one point with laughter.

Eventually, the singing turned into a more chilled end to the evening of chatting, drinking, and more eating. Penny was back in her comfy spot with Henry and Kate sat on either side of her, both having their own conversations with her unborn child.

Kate leaned forward, hands cupped on the globe of Penny's stomach. "Listen up short stuff, Auntie Katie will be making such a fuss of you when you finally get here. You might have been a surprise.."

"Kate!" Penny exclaimed as Kate dismissed her with an annoyed wave of her hand

She continued "You might have been a surprise, but you will be so loved and will bring us all so much bloody happiness. Now stay in until the 10th as I have money riding on that date."

"Katie, you're incorrigible, and so bloody soppy. Love you." she reached as well as she could and pulled Kates head towards her lips.

It was Henry's turn to offer his wisdom. "Mummy's done a fabulous job of baking you, my little cupcake. Can't wait to see your pretty little face and kiss your tiny toesies. Now just keep chilling for a few more days, my little girl." He instantly held his hand over his mouth. Realising his slip up.

"A girl?!" Kate asked "A Girl!!" she then shouted as everyone's attention was caught.

Penny shot pretend daggers at a cringing Henry as their news was out. She didn't really mind, and seeing the joy it brought everyone who now knew she couldn't be angry at him.

Kisses, handshakes, and hugs came from all directions as Marianne burst into tears. "Just perfect darlings, we needed more girls. Wonderful news." she sobbed as Colin patted her back.

Penny stifled another yawn just as Henry looked around.

"Right Mama, you need to sleep, let's hit the hay."

Penny protested politely, but was more than ready for her bed after such a full on evening.

Henry grasped her hands and slowly helped her stand, he could tell she was in a reasonable amount of pain despite her smiles.

"Thank you everyone for making this such an amazing evening, I'm sorry to be such a lightweight but feel free to keep the party going!" Penny spoke as Henry held her tight.

"Thanks guys, love you all!" Henry added as he ushered Penny past several more kisses and hugs.

If Henry had been sober he would have carried Penny up the stairs seeing how uncomfortable she was. Instead, he tried his best to guide her hips forward to take some of her weight. He also couldn't resist grabbing her arse in the process too.

They poked their heads into Ben's room to see them all fast asleep and the room filled with bodies. Penny had never known so many people to be in her house overnight.

Despite his lack of coordination Henry tried to help Penny to clear away the pile of clothes on the bed, left from Penny's earlier stress. After removing her floral decorations she began to wriggle out of the dress. Unsurprisingly Henry appeared to help. Kissing her shoulders in the process.

"Hmm, Pen, you're gonna get me all worked up again honey," as they stared at each other in the floor length mirror. Both watching Penny disrobe. Henry abandoned his clothes by his feet as he stood behind Penny and watched his reflection massaging her heavy breasts and taut stomach.

"Hold that thought, Cavill. I need to pee." as she made a dash for the bathroom. After cleaning her teeth and removing her makeup she returned to the bedroom to find Henry asleep on the bed.

"Gah!" she complained, as she haughtily pushed his knee over to his side of the bed so she could enter her cave of cushions. After finally finding a reasonably comfy position Henry snorted himself awake.

"Ung, fell 'sleep" he mumbled "Sorry baby," he said, his voice muffled by his pillow. He reached his arm up and plonked it heavily onto Penny's bump.

"I noticed." Penny said with subtle annoyance, hoping to get some time alone with her bear.

Henry sat up, with one eye open. Penny chuckled at his comical expression.

"I'm awake now!" he stated with a cheeky grin. He sidled up to Penny, mirroring her pose.

"Did you have a good night honey?"

"I did indeed, although I missed you lots." he admitted coyly.

"Missed you too Yogi, even though you were only in the field."

After a moments silence Henry piped up.

"Pen. Do I….. do I look fat?" he asked sheepishly, staring down at his stomach. "I'm sorry I've let myself go lately, I'll work extra hard to get back into shape."

It took everything Penny had not to laugh at his endearing comments, but she knew how much of a sensitive subject this was.

"Henry, honey." she took his hand and squeezed it. "First off, you don't look fat, you're not fat. You can be whatever shape you want to be, whatever makes you happy. Not me, not your family, not your fans, you honey. You're so used to trying to maintain an unrealistic physique, exhausting yourself, depriving yourself, and for what? A few photos, a few moments in a movie. It's crazy. And actually unhealthy in lots of ways. This is normal honey." she rubbed his softened stomach.

"You still think I'm sexy Pen?" he asked in all seriousness.

"You're fucking kidding me right? I'm sat here like this and you're the one thinking you're fat and unsexy?!"

Penny stared at him, seeing that he was still full of doubts and insecurities.

She pulled his head towards her chest as his arm cradled her belly.

"Baby, you're such a doofus at times. Do I really need to tell you that you are the sexiest freakin' man alive?!! That all I want to do every time I see you is run my nails down your back and lick your chest."

Penny flung aside her largest pillow and with all her strength swung her leg over Henry and straddled him.

"Fuck, Pen. Steady on honey." he gasped, as his hands automatically grasped her waist. "Christ almighty" he continued as his hands roamed up and down her. She was wearing a soft cotton sleep bra and matching knickers. She rested on her side and slipped off her bottoms before sitting back over Henry again.

"Pen, oh god. This is so fucking hot. But Pen, Pen." he threw his head back onto the pillow as she grasped his cock, tugging it and then rubbing herself over it. He rutted upwards as he grasped her thick thighs, Penny supported her back as she moaned loudly in pleasure.

"Pen, stop, we can't."

Penny took Henry's hard dick and lined him with her entrance. Henry was torn, reaching out to massage her breasts. She began to slide down onto him slowly as he grasped her arms.

"No! Pen, we can't risk it." again she ignored him, lost in her passion.

"Stop!" he shouted, finally able to make her listen.

Penny looked at him in confusion and hurt. "Why?" she asked.

"The baby, Pen. What if you go into labour?"

Penny continued to sit down further onto Henry, feeling the delicious stretch. She clenched, making him throw his head back in pleasure again.

"I'm fine honey, I've got weeks until she's due."

"I just don't want to risk it before the wedding Pen Pen." He held his large paw against the side of her pouting face. "Lay back down and I will help ease your frustrations, my love."

Penny relented, pouting, feeling tired and uncomfortable now the moment was lost. But she soon perked up on feeling Henry's strong digits delving between her legs. Penny ground against his touch, needing more friction. Henry's tongue swirled noisily around Penny's nipples as he readjusted his position, kissing her as he moved. He knelt on the bed, between her legs. Smoothing his hands up along Penny's legs, hips, waist, and breasts. A greedy grin on his face. Penny clenched at his electrifying gaze. His desire and lust felt ready to explode. Unexpectedly he froze and scrunched up his face. He raised a finger.

"Hold that thought, Pen" as he leaped off the bed, hopping as one foot was wrapped in the sheets, heading for the bathroom. At first, Penny thought he was going to throw up, which would have made her feel absolutely devastated, considering where he'd just been, but the familiar sound of him peeing like a racehorse echoed from the ensuite, and a loud "Ahhh…" on top.

Penny chuckled as she waited for him to return. After some noisy hand washing and fumbling in the dark, Henry plodded back over to her, locating her feet first and climbing between her legs again.

"Right. Where were we..?"

"Actually, Hen. I'm feeling super tired again, sorry…"

"Oh.." he said, surprised by her sudden switch. "Ok, my sweetness. I'm sorry for ruining the moment."

Penny didn't disagree with him. "Just make sure our wedding night is more romantic honey," she said, sleepily. Tucking her pillows around her as she made herself comfortable.

Henry leaned over and kissed her shoulder, helping tuck another pillow behind her at the same time.

"Just you wait Penelope, Daddy's going to pull all his tricks out of the bag."

They both giggled at his bravado as Henry snuggled up behind her, smoothing his hand up and down the contours of her hip and thigh as she quickly succumbed to her sleep.

Authors Comments I hope you enjoyed the run-up to the big day. The interactions with their friends and family. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you liked reading it!! Thank you all for your continued support with this epic saga that is slowly coming to its natural end xxx

Chapter 32 coming soon...

155 notes · View notes

ronaldofandom · 1 year

Text

A Love Eternal / Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna

This is a post-RRR series. I have often wondered what happens to them after the last scene - this is my take on it.

Main characters will be Ram, Bheem, Jenny, Sita and Malli. This will be angst and love and fluff (I am on a break from smut).

No warnings for Chapter 1. ~3700 words. The series will have 6-7 chapters. Happy reading :)

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Chapter 1

(Links to Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11)

The reunion had been cheerful and poignant. There was not a single dry eye when Bheem showed up with Ram as he had promised. And with weapons, like Ram had promised. Sita and Babai held Ram in a tight embrace - they thought they had lost him for good this time, with no scope of returning. They held him close, soaking in his presence, making their heart believe that this was indeed their Ram. In flesh and blood. Alive and kicking - not lifeless. Their gratitude for Bheem knew no bounds.

Bheem. Who had been mauled by Malli, his tribesmen, and his Delhi family the moment they laid eyes on him. Malli had straightaway gone and jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. The others also enveloped him in a group hug. The last few hours had been nerve-wracking for them. They hadn’t stopped him when he set off to free Ram all by himself. They didn’t have the heart to. And they knew he wouldn’t listen anyway. But the thought of him getting captured and tortured again had eaten away at them. The tears flowed freely as they were reunited with their dear Bheem.

Jenny was watching everything from the sidelines. The two families welcoming their loved ones back. Desperately checking for injuries. The silent prayers, the lingering hugs, the shining eyes, the hopeful smiles. She was witnessing the outpouring of love and could feel the warmth from afar. Her eyes never left Bheem, though. The name still felt a bit strange on her tongue. She had known him as Akhtar - innocent, sweet, charming Akhtar. She had such fond memories of Akhtar. But all hell had broken loose the night she first met Bheem. Her world had turned upside down since then. She knew fully well though that her anguish was nothing compared to Bheem’s or Malli’s or the rest of them. Her suffering was emotional (and a lot milder), but theirs was brutally physical too. They were fighting for their right to live with respect and to preserve their way of life. Which the vile British empire was intent on destroying. She had always been critical of colonialism but since the incident with Bheem, she detested it with a vengeance. She detested everyone responsible for Bheem’s suffering. Including Ram, to an extent.

Her tribulations came to a halt when she saw Bheem walking towards her. Finally. She had patiently waited for her turn, and finally, he had looked at her. Jenny reminded herself that it was a happy occasion - she should keep her emotions in check and welcome him with a smile. Relieved beyond measure to see him come back in one piece, she walked towards him and met him halfway. They hesitated. And then, he sweetly extended his hand toward her. She shook her head - that wasn’t enough. It won’t suffice. She needed to touch him, to feel him close to her, to believe that he had come out of it alive. So she hugged him and felt his arms go around her instantly. The hug was brief, but it was comforting. They held hands afterward, and Bheem smiled at her - expressing with his eyes his immense gratitude for everything Jenny had done for them.

Everyone noticed the hug. Everyone. Malli and Ram were the first to smile. Followed by Bheem’s Delhi family. His tribesmen looked at them quizzically - it was a strange sight for them; they had never seen their Anna like this. Sita was curious - she whispered to Ram to enquire about Jenny, and Ram told her the full story. Both of them were sweetly oblivious to everyone’s gaze, though. Jenny did feel multiple pairs of eyes on her, but quite frankly, she didn’t care at that moment. She would have her few precious moments with him; to hell with the world.

The group decided to stay put that day so that the two men could recover. Their injuries were severe, and they were in no condition to travel. They set camp close by and settled in. Jenny had carried some medical supplies with her, anticipating that those would be needed after the escape. And she was right. They were needed badly. In their adrenaline rush, the two men hadn’t realized how terribly they were hurt. Ram had fresh wounds from the two months of captivity. And Bheem’s older wounds had barely healed while he got new ones last night. As the group spread out to tend to specific tasks like planning logistics for tomorrow, keeping watch for any incoming threats, cooking, etc., Jenny took out the supplies and handed half of them to Sita, explaining a few intricacies to her. She understood immediately and went to tend to Ram.

When Jenny looked for Bheem and couldn’t find him anywhere, she panicked. Her first thought was that someone had retaken him, and their location had been compromised. Just then, she heard that unmistakable voice and tune. Her PTSD nearly kicked in - it was the same tune that Bheem had sung on the day of the flogging. But while that was filled with defiance and pain, this was filled with sweetness and love. She followed the sound - it was coming from a bit ahead in the forest. She reached a clearing, and the sight ahead melted her heart. Malli was sitting in Bheem’s lap, hugging him tightly. He was rocking her back and forth and humming this happy tune, gently brushing her hair and kissing the top of her head. The girl was still traumatized clearly - the thought of losing her Anna another time was too much for her to bear. She wanted to soak in the comfort of his presence and proximity. His arms were the only place she had felt safe in since this ordeal had begun. The tranquility and peace on Bheem’s face was evident - having been reunited with his people and finally getting to fulfill the promise of taking Malli home.

They both noticed her at the same time, and Malli ran to her. Jenny had been her only source of comfort in her captivity, the only one who had cared for her, the only one who had any iota of humanity. And Bheem had just told her how she helped them escape. Malli’s heart was filled with love for Jenny, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Jenny bent down to her knees and hugged her. When they parted, Malli kissed her cheek, and Jenny kissed her back. The girl ran away happily, waving goodbye to her Anna, leaving the two of them alone. It was the first time they had been alone since she had invited him for coffee in her room. When he was still Akhtar for her…

Battling those thoughts away, Jenny sat next to where he was sitting on the fallen tree log and opened the medical kit. When he started to protest, she shut him down instantly. When he tried to do it himself, she swatted his hands away and asked him to take off his kurta. He hesitated, but she coaxed him, and he finally relented. She had steeled herself mentally for his wounds, but nothing could ever prepare her for what she actually saw. His body was a testament to the horrendous torture he had undergone. His skin was split at many places - new patches of skin appearing over older wounds. Most bruises had started to heal, but some were still inflamed. The worst affected were his wrists and ankles - the cuts & lacerations there were still deep and fresh. The scars will be inevitable and permanent. His skin will forever be a witness to what he had to endure. Even if the physical wounds heal someday, the mental trauma will stay with him forever. Images of that god-awful day flashed before her eyes - his clothes dripping with blood, his body limp & lifeless, pools of blood at his feet. She didn’t know whether he would survive the next hour. It was the worst day of her life. Ridden with shame and guilt, she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Could she have done anything? She could have tried, at least. She doubted very much that her uncle would have cared for her feelings, but he might have cared for her money - that’s the reason they insisted on keeping her with them in India. Maybe that could have swung his decision - but she just stood on that balcony like a lifeless little doll and didn’t even lift a finger for him. Forget meeting his eyes; she had fallen so far in her own eyes. This was going to haunt her forever.

Jenny hadn’t realized that her hand was frozen mid-air, and some stubborn tears had escaped her eyes, despite her best efforts. Bheem, who was observing her carefully throughout, understood the source of her anguish immediately. That’s the reason he was reluctant to show her his wounds. He hadn’t shown it to anyone in the last 2 months - tending to them himself. To avoid the exact reaction that he was witnessing on Jenny’s face. But the girl had a way of getting through to him - it was hard to say no to her. He gently wiped the tears from her face and held her hands in his - making her look into his eyes. Trying to tell her that he was better now, that it didn’t hurt as much anymore. Trying to tell her that he would forever be indebted to her - she had helped save Malli and his Anna; that was as good, if not more, than saving his own life. Trying to tell her that her tears were hard for him to bear.

She calmed down after a bit and started to tend to his wounds. He sat patiently, letting her take care of him, for her sake more than his. She carefully applied the antiseptic to all open wounds. It was a strong gel, and she worried it would burn, but he didn’t let out a single sigh. Thankfully, the new injuries weren’t much, and she managed to nurse and bandage them soon. Once done, they smiled at each other and returned to the camp.

The rest of the day passed without much event. Ram, who was significantly more injured, had managed to regain some strength. Ram, Bheem, and Babai were currently going over the logistics for tomorrow, discussing the safest routes to get to their respective destinations. Jenny was sitting in one of the tents, observing them from a distance. As always, Bheem had been the life of that small gathering, too - breaking into giggles and joking with Ram. The two men had hugged and made up; it was as if nothing had ever happened between them. Bheem had also ensured everyone was kind to Ram and that there was no bad blood. The only one he gave some leeway to was Lachchu - he didn’t expect him to forgive Ram so easily. Lachchu continued to be wary of Ram and kept some distance from the group. But he didn’t have the heart to say no to his Anna - so he tried his best to be civil with Ram, for Bheem’s sake.

‘I wanted to thank you.’ Jenny turned around to see Sita standing close by. She walked to her tentatively and sat down next to her.

‘Thank me? For what?’ She asked with genuine surprise. She had spent the day filled with guilt and remorse. Thanks was the last thing she had expected to hear.

‘For everything, Jenny. For the medicines. For defending Ram and Bheem at your party. For the kindness that you showed them throughout. For taking care of Malli. And, for helping my Ram escape the jaws of death.’ Her voice broke at the last bit.

‘And, for offering to travel with us to our village to mitigate the risk of us getting apprehended midway. It was smart thinking - the patrols will not stop the vehicle if they see you.’ Sita reached out and held Jenny’s hand, pressing it ever so slightly.

‘Sita, there is no need to thank me. Even if I try helping out for the next 1,000 years, it won’t compensate for what you guys have been through. Because of….well, my people.’ She hated to call them her people. She hated that she was associated with them in any way. ‘It’s the absolute least that I can do, believe me.’ Sita smiled at her. She could see why the two men and Malli were singing her praises.

‘Would you still thank me, though, if I tell you that I tried my best to stop Bheem from entering the barracks last night? I told him it was too dangerous - that he would most certainly get captured. Or killed on the spot. I tried every form of emotional and physical blackmail to reason with him. But he didn’t listen. He kept repeating that he had misunderstood his Anna and would save him at any cost - even if the cost was his own life. He said he had made a promise - to return Ram to you. I gave up; I had to.’ Jenny looked at Sita, expecting to find reproach and hurt in her eyes, but all she saw was warmth and understanding.

‘I get it, Jenny. You did that to protect Bheem. I might have done the same if I were in your place. All is fair in love and war, after all.’ She smiled at her knowingly, and Jenny looked away, unable to meet her gaze. Her eyes landed on the two men again, who were lost in their own world. Sita spoke after a few moments.

‘You get why Ram did it, though, don’t you? Why he had to arrest Bheem and….the atrocities he had to commit? He was not this person - but time and circumstances have hardened his heart. So much that no one could make his way inside, not even me. But then came Bheem, and the rest is history.’ Sita’s eyes were brimming with love; Jenny could see that the emotion could spill over any second.

‘Sita, I am the last person in this world you guys owe any explanation to, seriously. After everything my people have..’

‘Stop calling them your people, Jenny.’ Sita cut her off abruptly. ‘You are nothing like them. One can’t control where one is born. But one can control the person one becomes - and you are a beautiful human being. Stop blaming yourself. None of this was your fault.’ Jenny nodded weakly but was still widely unconvinced.

‘And I do want to explain this to you. Because I see the way you look at Ram. Even now, you are wondering how Bheem has forgiven him so easily. So much so that he risked his own life for him. Even after everything Ram put him through. You think he is naive and gullible and too innocent to trust Ram like this, don’t you?’

Jenny didn’t have the heart to tell Sita that it was exactly what she thought. She couldn’t say it to the woman who worshipped Ram. Who had prayed night and day for Ram to be returned to her. But her own heart didn’t allow her to deny it either. So she stayed quiet and continued looking ahead.

‘It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to look so guilty. Like I said, I may have felt the same if I were in your place.’

‘You weren’t there, Sita. You didn’t see the way he arrested Bheem. You didn’t see how he tortured and flogged him. Bheem was going to be hanged because of him. I saw it all - it will haunt me forever. The images flash before my eyes every time I shut them. You didn’t see the evidence on his body. You didn’t hear the whiplashes tear his skin. You didn’t see the pools of blood. You didn’t hear his scream when they pulled his body apart.’

Her voice broke. Sita reached out and hugged her, slowly running her hands on Jenny’s back. Both women were overcome with emotion for the men who were so special to them.

‘You are right. I wasn’t there. I did not witness the pain that Bheem was subjected to. But let me tell you one thing, Jenny. I know my Ram. I know how much he values Bheem’s friendship, and trust me, it broke him too. He tortured himself every day for what he did to Bheem. For anyone else, he would have dismissed the thought because his mission was so sacrosanct for him. But Bheem was and is very special to him. Bheem may have forgiven him, but Ram would never ever forgive himself. He will continue to blame himself and repent for his crimes. He will continue to burn in agony, and I will have to drag him out of it somehow. Please don’t think that this is water under the bridge for him - that he has been forgiven so easily. No part of it will be easy for Ram. He will never truly forgive himself, even if Bheem insists or demands him to. They both have a lot of love for each other. It was this love that made Bheem go back for Ram. And it was this love that made Ram realize that he couldn’t sacrifice Bheem for his mission. He risked his own life to save Bheem, you know that. He put his promise to his Baba aside only for Bheem. Love made him do that, Jenny.’

‘Was it?’

‘I am sorry?’

‘Was it love that made Ram free Bheem? Or was it the realization that Bheem was far better placed to bring about the revolution that was his life’s goal? Would Ram have still saved Bheem if he wasn’t convinced that Bheem would be a potent weapon in their freedom struggle?’

She knew she was driving a knife through Sita’s heart by saying this, but she couldn’t help herself. Jenny balked at the idea that Ram saved Bheem out of love. If he truly loved Bheem, he never would have tortured him in the first place. Sita was still. Her heart was heavy. She knew Jenny was partly right. Would Ram have saved Bheem, irrespective? She knew he was torn - but would that have been enough to sacrifice his mission? She couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud. Because honestly, she wasn’t sure. In fact, Ram may not have done that.

‘If Bheem had faced this choice - that to save Malli and fulfill his mission, he needed to sacrifice Ram - do you reckon he would have ever done that?’

Silence. And some more silence as Sita digested that question. It had hit her like a truck.

‘You know he would never even consider such a thing. And THAT is the difference between the two men.’ It hurt her as well to say this to Sita, but she was still reeling from the claim of Ram’s love for Bheem.

‘You may be right, Jenny. Bheem may be a better man than Ram. But again, he didn’t suffer the childhood trauma that Ram did. While I was with Ram every step of the way all these years, even I can’t claim to fully understand what he has been through. This has always been his burden to bear. He hasn’t had a single normal, carefree, loving day since he was a child. You can imagine what that may do to an adult, let alone to a child. That has been his everyday reality. I can’t speak for his morality or choices, but I can speak for his intent and commitment. Those have never wavered. That’s why I love him. And I will continue doing that for the rest of my life.’

It was Jenny’s turn to stay silent and look at Sita. The defiant love in her eyes was again threatening to spill over. And she had to admit that she could never possibly grasp the extent of the emotional damage on Ram due to what happened to him. Had it been anyone but Bheem who had borne the brunt of it and who had gotten hurt, she may have forgiven Ram by now.

The two women found a strange comfort and understanding with each other. Both differed in everything else in life but were united by their feelings for the respective men. Men, who they were defending passionately to each other. They were so engrossed in the conversation that they didn’t even realize when the sun had set and when the group had set up a small campfire nearby. It was only when they heard the sounds of Bheem and Malli running after each other that they broke from their reverie. Their eyes followed the child and the overgrown child - who were smiling with joy after ages.

Jenny instantly broke into a smile looking at them. Sita followed suit, closely looking at Jenny throughout.

‘He is sweet, isn’t he?’ Sita asked slyly.

‘Of course, he is.’ Pat came the reply. Sita smiled at her, and she realized how quickly she had responded.

‘I mean, yeah, you could say that.’ Sita continued smiling at her.

‘It’s just a matter of few days, you know. Once we safely deposit the weapons in the village, the three of us will go to Adilabad. You will be back to him soon.’

‘Sure. I mean, it’s fine, yeah. There is no rush. This is important, and other stuff can wait.’ Jenny tried to string together a sentence. Sita grinned wider and held her hands again.

‘My dear, if I can see the way you look at Ram, I can also see the way you look at Bheem.’ Jenny looked down, unable to come up with any kind of response to that statement. She hadn’t realized she had been that obvious.

‘Now, you just sit here. I will send some dinner, AND I will send Bheem. Spend some time together - we will leave at first light tomorrow.’ She started to walk away, but Jenny held her hand.

‘Ummm….what will you say to him?’

‘Oh, I will just tell him you aren’t feeling too well. Then he wouldn’t leave your side till tomorrow morning.’ Sita winked at her and walked away.

......................................................................

That was Chapter 1. I loved exploring the Jenny-Sita dynamic, haven't seen much on them. The idea is to explore more such dynamics in this series. As always, feedback and comments are very very welcome :)

@irisesforyoureyes @rambheem-is-real @thewinchestergirl1208 @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @rorapostsbl @anyavaramyr @yehsahihai @budugu @chaotic-moonlight @rasnak2 @fadedscarlets @idk-abt-life @maraudersbitchesassemble @juhiiiiii @justmeand-myinsight @mikabilis @rambheemisgoated @rosayounan @jrntrtitties @obsessedtoafault @rambheemlove @jjwolfesworld @alikokinav @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @bromance-minus-the-b @ramcharantitties @dumdaradumdaradum @lovingperfectionwonderland @annieginny @chaanv @ssabriel @sally-for-sally @bitchy-bi-trash @milla984 @doodlesofthelastpage @boochhaan @mesimpleone @carminavulcana @filesbeorganized @ladydarkey @meastradeur @teddybat24 @fangirlshrewt97 @stanleykubricks @stuckyandlarrystuff @burningsheepcrown @veteran-fanperson @voidsteffy

#rrr #bheem #ntr jr #jr ntr #love #tarak #bheem rrr #komuram bheem #charan #rrr fanfic #rambheem #bheemjenny #charak #jenny #ram #sita rrr

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aegoniiwifey · 7 months

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MAAM!!! YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THAT DELICIOUS HANSEL AND GRETEL AU AND THEN WALK AWAY!!! IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT NONSTOP NOW!!!

Imagine aegon who’s terribly drunk and wandering around the godswood with no particular place to go, he’s content to just wander amok under the moonlight but something in the air shifts and suddenly where there was only trees and undergrowth there is a little cottage and aegon in the back of his mind recalls stories of children who mysteriously went missing in the godswood and the rumors that a witch lived out among the trees, abducting children and turning them to food, but he’s drunk and no longer a child who believes in such silly stories and so he goes knocking on the door, asking for a place to rest his head for the night and when the door opens there’s a beautiful young lady there and she looks very modest and kind (totally not suspicious like a witch) and she offers aegon a place to stay and food to eat but there’s something oddly enchanting about her and her cottage and the wonderful food she presents aegon and so one night in her cottage turns into two and then in two three and suddenly aegon has lost track of how many days he’s spent in her company but he’s grown soft, his belly is perpetually round with food and his thighs are littered with stretch marks and suddenly realization tickles aegons brain and as he sits at her kitchen table while she prepares him dinner he has to ask, “you’re a witch, aren’t you? The one who abducts children from the godswood?” And she gives him a wistful sort of smile and she tells him “I am indeed a witch but I promise I mean you no harm,” and she explains that she does not abduct children from the godswood and she is not some terrible monster who eats human flesh and she tells aegon she is but a simple kitchen witch but she understands if aegon would like to take his leave now but aegon just hums as he thinks for a moment and he asks if he could stay with her a little while longer and she just lights up and she assures him he can stay for as long as he’d like and they fall in love and she spends her day feeding him sweets and rubbing his belly and fucking him that is all, I just wanted to contribute!

HAHAHAHA WHOOPSIE!!!! I will definitely try to write this AU out, perhaps as a series 🥰

but thisssssss UGHHHHH!!!!

him coming across you, has never seen such a beauty like you before he’s fucking mesmerised 🥴🥹 and the scent of freshly baked goodies is infatuating!!! you offer him and of course, being the glutton he is, how could he refuse?! he just starts eating and the food never ceases but of course, he rapidly starts to put on the weight…. big boy doesn’t know what day it is or how many days he’s been gone for, but all he knows is how full and happy he is, he’d be very content living his life out in the woods with you ♥️

stomach ride the fuck out of him, after a fat feed and coping him after 🥺🥺🥺

#chubby!aegon ii #fat!aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #hotd x hansel & gretel au

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themousefromfantasyland · 9 months

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The Lay of Yonec

by Marie de France, translated by Eugene Mason

@ariel-seagull-wings @princesssarisa @adarkrainbow

In fairy tales there is this type of story where a prince that can shapeshifts into a bird visits a young maiden locked in a tower and makes love with her. Madame d'Aulnoy’s The Blue Bird, possibly the origin of the term Prince Charming or Le roi Charmant as he was originally called, is one of these tales.

In my research I found this charming and bittersweet tale among the lais of Marie de France. Lays or lais are narrative or lyrical poems, usually in octosyllabic couplets, intended to be sung from medieval Breton literature that deal with courtly love and chivalric deeds, often involving supernatural fairy elements. They are like the link between chivalric romances and fairy tales.

Since I have commenced I would not leave any of these Lays untold. The stories that I know I would tell you forthwith. My hope is now to rehearse to you the story of Yonec, the son of Eudemarec, his mother's first born child.

In days of yore there lived in Britain a rich man, old and full of years, who was lord of the town and realm of Chepstow. This town is builded on the banks of the Douglas, and is renowned by reason of many ancient sorrows which have there befallen. When he was well stricken in years this lord took to himself a wife, that he might have children to come after him in his goodly heritage. The damsel, who was bestowed on this wealthy lord, came of an honourable house, and was kind and courteous, and passing fair. She was beloved by all because of her beauty, and none was more sweetly spoken of from Chepstow to Lincoln, yea, or from there to Ireland. Great was their sin who married the maiden to this agèd man. Since she was young and gay, he shut her fast within his tower, that he might the easier keep her to himself. He set in charge of the damsel his elder sister, a widow, to hold her more surely in ward. These two ladies dwelt alone in the tower, together with their women, in a chamber by themselves. There the damsel might have speech of none, except at the bidding of the ancient dame. More than seven years passed in this fashion. The lady had no children for her solace, and she never went forth from the castle to greet her kinsfolk and her friends. Her husband's jealousy was such that when she sought her bed, no chamberlain or usher was permitted in her chamber to light the candles. The lady became passing heavy. She spent her days in sighs and tears. Her loveliness began to fail, for she gave no thought to her person. Indeed at times she hated the very shadow of that beauty which had spoiled all her life.

Now when April had come with the gladness of the birds, this lord rose early on a day to take his pleasure in the woods. He bade his sister to rise from her bed to make the doors fast behind him. She did his will, and going apart, commenced to read the psalter that she carried in her hand. The lady awoke, and shamed the brightness of the sun with her tears. She saw that the old woman was gone forth from the chamber, so she made her complaint without fear of being overheard.

"Alas," said she, "in an ill hour was I born. My lot is hard to be shut in this tower, never to go out till I am carried to my grave. Of whom is this jealous lord fearful that he holds me so fast in prison? Great is a man's folly always to have it in mind that he may be deceived. I cannot go to church, nor hearken to the service of God. If I might talk to folk, or have a little pleasure in my life, I should show the more tenderness to my husband, as is my wish. Very greatly are my parents and my kin to blame for giving me to this jealous old man, and making us one flesh. I cannot even look to become a widow, for he will never die. In place of the waters of baptism, certainly he was plunged in the flood of the Styx. His nerves are like iron, and his veins quick with blood as those of a young man. Often have I heard that in years gone by things chanced to the sad, which brought their sorrows to an end. A knight would meet with a maiden, fresh and fair to his desire. Damsels took to themselves lovers, discreet and brave, and were blamed of none. Moreover since these ladies were not seen of any, except their friends, who was there to count them blameworthy! Perchance I deceive myself, and in spite of all the tales, such adventures happened to none. Ah, if only the mighty God would but shape the world to my wish!"

When the lady had made her plaint, as you have known, the shadow of a great bird darkened the narrow window, so that she marvelled what it might mean. This falcon flew straightway into the chamber, jessed and hooded from the glove, and came where the dame was seated. Whilst the lady yet wondered upon him, the tercel became a young and comely knight before her eyes. The lady marvelled exceedingly at this sorcery. Her blood turned to water within her, and because of her dread she hid her face in her hands. By reason of his courtesy the knight first sought to persuade her to put away her fears.

"Lady," said he, "be not so fearful. To you this hawk shall be as gentle as a dove. If you will listen to my words I will strive to make plain what may now be dark. I have come in this shape to your tower that I may pray you of your tenderness to make of me your friend. I have loved you for long, and in my heart have esteemed your love above anything in the world. Save for you I have never desired wife or maid, and I shall find no other woman desirable, until I die. I should have sought you before, but I might not come, nor even leave my own realm, till you called me in your need. Lady, in charity, take me as your friend."

The lady took heart and courage whilst she hearkened to these words. Presently she uncovered her face, and made answer. She said that perchance she would be willing to give him again his hope, if only she had assurance of his faith in God. This she said because of her fear, but in her heart she loved him already by reason of his great beauty. Never in her life had she beheld so goodly a youth, nor a knight more fair.

"Lady," he replied, "you ask rightly. For nothing that man can give would I have you doubt my faith and affiance. I believe truly in God, the Maker of all, who redeemed us from the woe brought on us by our father Adam, in the eating of that bitter fruit. This God is and was and ever shall be the life and light of us poor sinful men. If you still give no credence to my word, ask for your chaplain; tell him that since you are sick you greatly desire to hear the Service appointed by God to heal the sinner of his wound. I will take your semblance, and receive the Body of the Lord. You will thus be certified of my faith, and never have reason to mistrust me more."

When the sister of that ancient lord returned from her prayers to the chamber, she found that the lady was awake. She told her that since it was time to get her from bed, she would make ready her vesture. The lady made answer that she was sick, and begged her to warn the chaplain, for greatly she feared that she might die. The aged dame replied,

"You must endure as best you may, for my lord has gone to the woods, and none will enter in the tower, save me."

Right distressed was the lady to hear these words. She called a woman's wiles to her aid, and made seeming to swoon upon her bed. This was seen by the sister of her lord, and much was she dismayed. She set wide the doors of the chamber, and summoned the priest. The chaplain came as quickly as he was able, carrying with him the Lord's Body. The knight received the Gift, and drank of the Wine of that chalice; then the priest went his way, and the old woman made fast the door behind him.

The knight and the lady were greatly at their ease; a comelier and a blither pair were never seen. They had much to tell one to the other, but the hours passed till it was time for the knight to go again to his own realm. He prayed the dame to give him leave to depart, and she sweetly granted his prayer, yet so only that he promised to return often to her side.

"Lady," he made answer, "so you please to require me at any hour, you may be sure that I shall hasten at your pleasure. But I beg you to observe such measure in the matter, that none may do us wrong. This old woman will spy upon us night and day, and if she observes our friendship, will certainly show it to her lord. Should this evil come upon us, for both it means separation, and for me, most surely, death."

The knight returned to his realm, leaving behind him the happiest lady in the land. On the morrow she rose sound and well, and went lightly through the week. She took such heed to her person, that her former beauty came to her again. The tower that she was wont to hate as her prison, became to her now as a pleasant lodging, that she would not leave for any abode and garden on earth. There she could see her friend at will, when once her lord had gone forth from the chamber. Early and late, at morn and eve, the lovers met together. God grant her joy was long, against the evil day that came.

The husband of the lady presently took notice of the change in his wife's fashion and person. He was troubled in his soul, and misdoubting his sister, took her apart to reason with her on a day. He told her of his wonder that his dame arrayed her so sweetly, and inquired what this should mean. The crone answered that she knew no more than he, "for we have very little speech one with another. She sees neither kin nor friend; but, now, she seems quite content to remain alone in her chamber."

The husband made reply,

"Doubtless she is content, and well content. But by my faith, we must do all we may to discover the cause. Hearken to me. Some morning when I have risen from bed, and you have shut the doors upon me, make pretence to go forth, and let her think herself alone. You must hide yourself in a privy place, where you can both hear and see. We shall then learn the secret of this new found joy."

Having devised this snare the twain went their ways. Alas, for those who were innocent of their counsel, and whose feet would soon be tangled in the net.

Three days after, this husband pretended to go forth from his house. He told his wife that the King had bidden him by letters to his Court, but that he should return speedily. He went from the chamber, making fast the door. His sister arose from her bed, and hid behind her curtains, where she might see and hear what so greedily she desired to know. The lady could not sleep, so fervently she wished for her friend. The knight came at her call, but he might not tarry, nor cherish her more than one single hour. Great was the joy between them, both in word and tenderness, till he could no longer stay.

All this the crone saw with her eyes, and stored in her heart. She watched the fashion in which he came, and the guise in which he went. But she was altogether fearful and amazed that so goodly a knight should wear the semblance of a hawk. When the husband returned to his house—for he was near at hand—his sister told him that of which she was the witness, and of the truth concerning the knight. Right heavy was he and wrathful. Straightway he contrived a cunning gin for the slaying of this bird. He caused four blades of steel to be fashioned, with point and edge sharper than the keenest razor. These he fastened firmly together, and set them securely within that window, by which the tercel would come to his lady. Ah, God, that a knight so fair might not see nor hear of this wrong, and that there should be none to show him of such treason.

On the morrow the husband arose very early, at daybreak, saying that he should hunt within the wood. His sister made the doors fast behind him, and returned to her bed to sleep, because it was yet but dawn. The lady lay awake, considering of the knight whom she loved so loyally. Tenderly she called him to her side. Without any long tarrying the bird came flying at her will. He flew in at the open window, and was entangled amongst the blades of steel. One blade pierced his body so deeply, that the red blood gushed from the wound. When the falcon knew that his hurt was to death, he forced himself to pass the barrier, and coming before his lady fell upon her bed, so that the sheets were dabbled with his blood. The lady looked upon her friend and his wound, and was altogether anguished and distraught.

"Sweet friend," said the knight, "it is for you that my life is lost. Did I not speak truly that if our loves were known, very surely I should be slain?"

On hearing these words the lady's head fell upon the pillow, and for a space she lay as she were dead. The knight cherished her sweetly. He prayed her not to sorrow overmuch, since she should bear a son who would be her exceeding comfort. His name should be called Yonec. He would prove a valiant knight, and would avenge both her and him by slaying their enemy. The knight could stay no longer, for he was bleeding to death from his hurt. In great dolour of mind and body he flew from the chamber. The lady pursued the bird with many shrill cries. In her desire to follow him she sprang forth from the window. Marvellous it was that she was not killed outright, for the window was fully twenty feet from the ground.

When the lady made her perilous leap she was clad only in her shift. Dressed in this fashion she set herself to follow the knight by the drops of blood which dripped from his wound. She went along the road that he had gone before, till she lighted on a little lodge. This lodge had but one door, and it was stained with blood. By the marks on the lintel she knew that Eudemarec had refreshed him in the hut, but she could not tell whether he was yet within. The damsel entered in the lodge, but all was dark, and since she might not find him, she came forth, and pursued her way. She went so far that at the last the lady came to a very fair meadow.

She followed the track of blood across this meadow, till she saw a city near at hand. This fair city was altogether shut in with high walls. There was no house, nor hall, nor tower, but shone bright as silver, so rich were the folk who dwelt therein. Before the town lay a still water. To the right spread a leafy wood, and on the left hand, near by the keep, ran a clear river. By this broad stream the ships drew to their anchorage, for there were above three hundred lying in the haven. The lady entered in the city by the postern gate. The gouts of freshly fallen blood led her through the streets to the castle. None challenged her entrance to the city; none asked of her business in the streets; she passed neither man nor woman upon her way. Spots of red blood lay on the staircase of the palace.

The lady entered and found herself within a low ceiled room, where a knight was sleeping on a pallet. She looked upon his face and passed beyond. She came within a larger room, empty, save for one lonely couch, and for the knight who slept thereon. But when the lady entered in the third chamber she saw a stately bed, that well she knew to be her friend's. This bed was of inwrought gold, and was spread with silken cloths beyond price. The furniture was worth the ransom of a city, and waxen torches in sconces of silver lighted the chamber, burning night and day. Swiftly as the lady had come she knew again her friend, directly she saw him with her eyes. She hastened to the bed, and incontinently swooned for grief. The knight clasped her in his arms, bewailing his wretched lot, but when she came to her mind, he comforted her as sweetly as he might.

"Fair friend, for God's love I pray you get from hence as quickly as you are able. My time will end before the day, and my household, in their wrath, may do you a mischief if you are found in the castle. They are persuaded that by reason of your love I have come to my death. Fair friend, I am right heavy and sorrowful because of you."

The lady made answer,

"Friend, the best thing that can befall me is that we shall die together. How may I return to my husband? If he finds me again he will certainly slay me with the sword."

The knight consoled her as he could. He bestowed a ring upon his friend, teaching her that so long as she wore the gift, her husband would think of none of these things, nor care for her person, nor seek to revenge him for his wrongs. Then he took his sword and rendered it to the lady, conjuring her by their great love, never to give it to the hand of any, till their son should be counted a brave and worthy knight. When that time was come she and her lord would go together with the son to a feast. They would lodge in an Abbey, where should be seen a very fair tomb. There her son must be told of this death; there he must be girt with this sword. In that place shall be rehearsed the tale of his birth, and his father, and all this bitter wrong. And then shall be seen what he will do.

When the knight had shown his friend all that was in his heart, he gave her a bliaut, passing rich, that she might clothe her body, and get her from the palace. She went her way, according to his command, bearing with her the ring, and the sword that was her most precious treasure. She had not gone half a mile beyond the gate of the city when she heard the clash of bells, and the cries of men who lamented the death of their lord. Her grief was such that she fell four separate times upon the road, and four times she came from out her swoon. She bent her steps to the lodge where her friend had refreshed him, and rested for awhile. Passing beyond she came at last to her own land, and returned to her husband's tower. There, for many a day, she dwelt in peace, since—as Eudemarec foretold—her lord gave no thought to her outgoings, nor wished to avenge him, neither spied upon her any more.

In due time the lady was delivered of a son, whom she named Yonec. Very sweetly nurtured was the lad. In all the realm there was not his like for beauty and generosity, nor one more skilled with the spear. When he was of a fitting age the King dubbed him knight. Hearken now, what chanced to them all, that selfsame year.

It was the custom of that country to keep the feast of St. Aaron with great pomp at Caerleon, and many another town besides. The husband rode with his friends to observe the festival, as was his wont. Together with him went his wife and her son, richly apparelled. As the roads were not known of the company, and they feared to lose their way, they took with them a certain youth to lead them in the straight path. The varlet brought them to a town; in all the world was none so fair. Within this city was a mighty Abbey, filled with monks in their holy habit. The varlet craved a lodging for the night, and the pilgrims were welcomed gladly of the monks, who gave them meat and drink near by the Abbot's table. On the morrow, after Mass, they would have gone their way, but the Abbot prayed them to tarry for a little, since he would show them his chapter house and dormitory, and all the offices of the Abbey. As the Abbot had sheltered them so courteously, the husband did according to his wish.

Immediately that the dinner had come to an end, the pilgrims rose from table, and visited the offices of the Abbey. Coming to the chapter house they entered therein, and found a fair tomb, exceeding great, covered with a silken cloth, banded with orfreys of gold. Twenty torches of wax stood around this rich tomb, at the head, the foot, and the sides. The candlesticks were of fine gold, and the censer swung in that chantry was fashioned from an amethyst. When the pilgrims saw the great reverence vouchsafed to this tomb, they inquired of the guardians as to whom it should belong, and of the lord who lay therein. The monks commenced to weep, and told with tears, that in that place was laid the body of the best, the bravest, and the fairest knight who ever was, or ever should be born. "In his life he was King of this realm, and never was there so worshipful a lord. He was slain at Caerwent for the love of a lady of those parts. Since then the country is without a King. Many a day have we waited for the son of these luckless lovers to come to our land, even as our lord commanded us to do."

When the lady heard these words she cried to her son with a loud voice before them all.

"Fair son," said she, "you have heard why God has brought us to this place. It is your father who lies dead within this tomb. Foully was he slain by this ancient Judas at your side."

With these words she plucked out the sword, and tendered him the glaive that she had guarded for so long a season. As swiftly as she might she told the tale of how Eudemarec came to have speech with his friend in the guise of a hawk; how the bird was betrayed to his death by the jealousy of her lord; and of Yonec the falcon's son. At the end she fell senseless across the tomb, neither did she speak any further word until the soul had gone from her body. When the son saw that his mother lay dead upon her lover's grave, he raised his father's sword and smote the head of that ancient traitor from his shoulders. In that hour he avenged his father's death, and with the same blow gave quittance for the wrongs of his mother. As soon as these tidings were published abroad, the folk of that city came together, and setting the body of that fair lady within a coffin, sealed it fast, and with due rite and worship placed it beside the body of her friend. May God grant them pardon and peace. As to Yonec, their son, the people acclaimed him for their lord, as he departed from the church.

Those who knew the truth of this piteous adventure, after many days shaped it to a Lay, that all men might learn the plaint and the dolour that these two friends suffered by reason of their love.

#fairy tales #marie de france #medieval poetry #knight #chivalric romance

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apocalypticavolition · 2 months

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Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapters 49: What Was Meant to Be & 50: After

If this is your first time seeing one of my posts, you might assume that it's safe to read this post if you've finished the first couple of books of The Wheel of Time. This is a very foolish assumption. My reread is for the whole damn series, so don't keep going unless you like spoilers for everything!

Both of these chapters have the Wheel icon as we're closing out the story.

His memory came in flashes and patches. Old things he could remember, but the last few days seemed like bits of broken mirror, spinning through his mind, showing glimpses that were gone before he could see them clearly.

And this explains why Rand doesn't retain all of his character development going forward: he forgets it all. Dammit Rand.

“Nynaeve? Elayne? How? You were all in Falme?”

Note that these questions go unanswered. Rand presumably gets filled in offscreen in between this book and the next, but we're starting our trend of him being kept out of the loop by the others.

“They are gone,” she said. “Saying ‘no’ won’t change it.”

Min is really not demonstrating herself as a fated love interest to Rand here. She doesn't understand what he's talking about, she's frustrated he's upset he didn't get to see Egwene, and she's only bringing a little emotional support here. The best she's got is trying to buffer him and Moiraine and obviously that's not gonna work. I'm not saying these are bad choices; they barely know each other, why should they act like perfect soulmates? But it's a shocking transition after Min's certainty and Lanfear's gloating.

“I wish you weren’t here,” he told the Aes Sedai. “As far as I am concerned, you can go back to wherever you’ve been hiding and stay there.”

Yeah, Moiraine pulling a Gandalf doesn't really work with her because she's not anywhere near established enough of a figure in this world. I don't blame Rand at all for calling her out, and frankly I'm not impressed with whatever it was she was doing offscreen, which has amounted to nothing practical.

What resulted was neither Padan Fain nor Mordeth, but something far more evil, a blend of the two. Fain—let us call him that—is more dangerous than you can believe.

Indeed, he's especially dangerous because the two forces should annihilate on contact but apparently preserve themselves through his flesh, which seems like a particularly unstable arrangement.

“Your battle took place across the sky, in full view of every soul in Falme. Perhaps in other towns on Toman Head, too, if half what I hear is to be believed.”

An inexplicable miracle. I still don't think there's any real guess as to what might have caused it. I guess the Wheel was just desperate to make things work.

He remembered being called Lews Therin; not only by Ba’alzamon, but by Artur Hawkwing. “I won’t. Light, the Dragon is supposed to Break the World again, to tear everything apart. I will not be the Dragon.”

Two books in and Rand is still trying to refuse the call. But can you really blame him, considering what the Dragon stands for in popular iconography? Any man who'd want to be the Dragon Reborn would be a horrible choice.

When all seven are broken, perhaps even before, the patch men put over the hole they drilled into the prison the Creator made will be torn asunder, and the Dark One will once more be able to put his hand through that hole and touch the world.

Indeed the Dark One's touch is only going to get more extreme, especially once the fourth seal is broken. Let's keep our eyes open next book for any other signs of their weakening besides the rest of the Forsaken being freed no later than this point.

But it did not change the way he felt about Tam, and Emond’s Field was the only home he had ever known. Fain is the important thing. I have one duty left. Stopping him.

Which is why Rand will flee cross country past the Two Rivers and straight to Tear. I don't think it's a disconnect in the story though; we'll see why he becomes more focused on the latter mission later.

“Why would I not stay?” Loial said. “You are even more ta’veren than I believed, true, but you are still my friend. I hope you are still my friend.”

Loial is one hell of a friend. Plenty of people could have run off at this point and I wouldn't blame them.

“It is said,” the one-eyed man said carefully, “that when the Dragon is Reborn, he will break all oaths, shatter all ties. Nothing holds us, now. We would give our oaths to you.”

Note that Rand doesn't demand they break their oaths but rather they interpret his presence as being reason enough to supersede them.

Masema, who hated him. Masema, who looked at him as if seeing a vision of the Light.

Even now Masema is clearly too turbulent to be a good ally.

They were all watching him, all waiting. Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. He made his decision.

Fake cliffhanger! You know there's really no chance of things going the one way.

—from Charal Drianaan te Calamon, The Cycle of the Dragon, Author unknown, the Fourth Age

Spoilers, geez! Though technically you could argue that perhaps this is from the last fourth age. It's not actually specific enough to be any Fourth Age for certain. Note as well further evidence of translation convention in effect: Calamon is clearly the word for "Dragon" and an obvious corruption of Telamon.

In any event, that's book two! I'm going to be taking another break; supposed to be getting a new laptop soon and think I'm going to start using it as my reading machine because I'm just getting annoyed doing it on a tablet. Until next time folks.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #min farshaw #moiraine damodred #loial #perrin aybara #lan al'mandragoran #uno nomesta #masema dagar

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distort-opia · 2 years

Note

obviously Catwoman was written to be Batman's love interest, but King portrays her as only that imo. i barely see her being a full fledged character rather than King's viewing of her. i am aware of the writer the whole damn time. actually enjoying Zdarsky's interpretation with the Penguin storyline. she feels like a character rather than a shell of one. ( and not like a writer's own fantasy 😀)

however many fans adore King's run, i will reread it one day and hopefully see what others do.

She is sort of written to be a love interest by King, but the thing is, everyone in King's stories serves a purpose, is meant to carry a message about Batman. So I can't fully take issue with the fact this is her role in the story, because this is simply the way King uses characters. Bane is a twisted mirror of Bruce's self-destructiveness, Gotham Girl is his doomed sense of hope, etc. etc.

Batman is the narrative, and everyone in it is meant to say something about him; and what Selina is meant to represent, in King's stories, is Bruce's complicated yearning for normality. He wants to love her, he wants to have children and a family and a form of peace, and Selina is... the closest path to that he can imagine, even though she's definitely much more than his idea of her. And this King abundantly attempts to make clear. That Bruce is trying to turn her into something else in order to serve his own needs, and that Selina simply isn't what he projects on her, and that she struggles a lot with not letting Bruce take control.

But yeah, the problem in general with having a character embody a theme or a concept this way, is that they're indeed not fleshed out or have a personality of their own. You'll inevitably only hear the writer. It's what I talked about in the previous ask regarding King's writing, and indeed, Zdarsky doesn't seem to have this problem. Although who knows... maybe upon a re-read you'll also fall into the trap that is trying to make sense of all the threads and symbolism King packs his stories with :)) For me at least, that's the biggest draw; trying to understand and making all the connections. Leaving aside his objective flaws in writing, King's stories at least allow you to go insane with analyzing them because there's stuff to analyze. There's meat on those bones. Not a lot of writing these days has that degree of depth or... effort put into it. Flaws aside, the man does care and does love the character of Batman; he might be a bit confused, but he got the spirit, as the kids say.

#asks #selina kyle #king's writing

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 1 year

Text

Chapter 33- Azare

***

"Saints," Ziva muttered. "I bloody hate pirates."

"Steady, Lapin," Azare told her. "If we're to be technical, they're privateers."

They wound together down the long cliff path toward one of the many smaller inlets that edged Valeris's coastline. It was hidden from the city proper by a crag of mountain, but close enough that Azare could still see the smoke rising from the burnpiles and grave-pyres that smoldered day in and day out, bruising the sky with a pall of ashes.

There were altogether too many bodies to burn, but Isabella had left her orders, and so they burned. To watch it, condone it, was agony, heresy- in Estara, to burn a body was to consign it to oblivion, given neither to Bellana's light nor tossed to the beasts chained at the bottom of the sea. Here in Lapide, it was the proper way, and he'd seen enough deaths to know a fast one by fire was hardly the worst way to go.

So many years he'd fought Lapide. On the deck of a ship it was easy to fight and hate, kill or be killed, give the order or watch his own soldiers turned to bloody corpses on the waves. Less easy when the dead clutched dolls, when he stood near a pyre and smelled the sweet char of burning flesh, stinging his eyes, clinging to his skin long after the last flames had guttered out.

Was it his death at Ziva's hands, some vital part of him transformed by resurrection that had made him see matters so? Or had the simple act of dying merely shifted his perspective? Margaux might have had an answer, in all her heretic theorizing. Or maybe he needed no answer. For the first time in a long time it was not the past that mattered most.

This inlet, a shining crescent of beach bitten into the cliffside, had been well-protected from the monster wave. Young cedars clung to the cliffs, filling the wind with their sweet and woody scent. This coastline had long in Lapide's history been a haven for smugglers and brigands, reavers and slavers, and now the inlet looked the part, full with ramshackle activity. A small fleet of ships were moored out in the clear turquoise shallows; amidst them swayed a black twin-masted brigantine, like a great ragged groak amongst songbirds.

Azare glanced back to the train of wagons that trundled down the path behind them, slow-going and cumbersome, their elk snorting and scuffing in protest. Half of the remaining Witchhunters accompanied them, keeping close watch on their precious cargo, but Azare and Ziva walked ahead, unarmed.

The Fishcutter rose and fell gently on the shallow waves, its anchor hooked deep into the seafloor, masts creaking and wreathed in seabirds. Captain Irene herself sat on the bowsprit, one boot heel braced on the orkwife figurehead's shoulder. She held a battered parasol in one hand and a pistol in the other.

As Azare and Ziva approached, she took aim, and fired. The crack echoed off the cliffside, seabirds squawking in its wake. The pathway cratered inches from Azare's toes. He stopped and lifted his hands, smiling up at Irene.

"You missed," he called.

"On the contrary, my dear, darling Witchhunter. I have you right where I want you." She twirled her parasol, leaning back with a grin. She must have scavenged the thing from the flooding. "Anyhow, you make a better target when you're standing still."

"I'm glad to see you survived the storm."

"Indeed so, Captain Azare, as am I." She made a grand gesture with her pistol. "Found myself a little pocket of paradise in which to batten down the hatches."

"And these other ships?" He glanced around at them, at the portly merchant cogs and sleek lateen-rigged dhows and humble fishing vessels, even a Rashi houseboat three stories tall and decorated with bright paint. Their crews mended sails or fished the shallows or bent busily at cookfires, alive and well instead of crushed and swamped beneath the tidal wave that had destroyed their harbor and fellow ships alike. "Did you lead them and their crews to the same salvation?"

Irene laughed. "Trying to wring a drop of decency out of me, Azare?"

"You can't blame me for trying."

"You'll have to try a lot harder than that."

Azare lowered his hands.

"How about this?" he asked. "As I'm sure you're aware, Queen Isabella is no longer in Valeris. She's taken her swiftest ship and gone after her brother. After the monster. I think we both know what she means to do from there."

"She's a vengeful sort of lass," Irene said. "Got to respect a girl for having a bit of initiative."

"You and I also know she can't be allowed to kill the Leviathan. Either part of it."

"Color me gobsmacked, Witchhunter. I thought you were the god-killing type."

"Once," Azare said. He paced closer. "That isn't what I want anymore."

He signaled to the closest wagon, and it drew nearer, wheels sunk deep into the path. Azare took a corner of the canvas tarp and flung it wide. Its contents seared brilliant sunspots into his eyes, a flare of gold struck off the stacks of queensheads within. Not just coin, but wealth: bolts of sapsilk and byssus, statuettes of amber that seemed to pulse like hearts in the sunlight. Buyani porcelain, priceless and antique, painted by revered masters three hundred years past. Pearls and storm-sapphires, snake-stones and blocks of milled grayamber. A gown of glimmering fish-skin, stitched for Lorenzo's queen on her wedding-day, so fine it seemed to be spun from the reflections of moonslight off waves. Estaran enamel dark as night, stolen from tombs deep in the Ibaris wasteland, claimed as prize by some ruthless Valere regent.

Irene blinked, and stood, dropping her parasol.

"Is that-" she began.

"Your payment," Azare said. He removed a coin and flicked it up to Irene. She caught it in midair. "As promised to you by Luca Valere, so I understand. You can check the other wagons. It should provide sufficient."

Irene turned the coin to and fro, running her thumb over the Valere hawk stamped into the gold. "This is from the royal treasury."

"It is."

"How by the whale did you convince Isabella Valere to part with this much of her precious kit, especially considering her frayed relationship with that pretty little brother of hers?"

"I didn't," Azare said.

"You rotten scum-of-a-thief. How'd you manage that?"

"We are the Royal Witchhunters of Estara, Captain," Azare told her. "We may be few, but I hand-picked these soldiers from the Witchhunter ranks myself. I'd rather have a few good men than an army of fools."

"Not to mention," Ziva cut in, "the City Guard is somewhat preoccupied at the moment."

Irene let out a snort. She shook the gold coin. "I half like you, Azare, I really do. You want to buy my ship, then? Sail her- where? To save our dear monster and the day in the doing?"

"No. I have my own ship for that. I want you to find the pirate lords and convince them to meet with me."

"You're bloody insane."

"Maybe. But these are troubled times. A little insanity becomes vital. I'd do it myself, but I doubt they'd listen."

"So while I go perform this impossible task, you- what? Swan off to go hunt down Luca Valere and pluck the Leviathan from his sister's grasp?"

"Not just Luca. Alois."

"Alois."

"My son."

Irene narrowed her eyes, still fiddling with the gold. "Warms my black heart," she said, "to see a pa worrying so over his boy. It really does. But I'm not interested in your evangelizing. We've something good, here, me and my crew, and with Isabella Valere gone-"

She made an expansive gesture. "-Who knows? An enterprising woman like myself sees a niche, and wonders how it might be filled."

Azare tilted his head to the side. "So you don't want your gold?"

"Oh, believe me, Captain," Irene said. "I want my gold."

She signaled again, and the crags around Azare and the cluster of wagons burst into movement. Rifle barrels slid into view, fresh-oiled and glistening, and blunderbusses like small cannons, and the bristling bolts of crossbows, all aimed down at Azare and the wagons. Close range; they'd never miss. None of the Witchhunters moved; no hand reached for blade nor gun. Azare regarded Irene as she leveled her own pistol at him.

"Poor Witchhunter Severin, he isn't so smart," sang out a voice, and Azare saw Matteo climb into view amidst his fellow crewmen, lute in hand, plucking out a tune. "Leave us the gold or you'll be shot in the heart."

"Your singing is shit," Ziva called.

"Better than your chances of survival, sweet one."

"I'm prepared to be fair with you if it's decency you want," Irene called down. "Back away from the wagons and go up the path, and we'll let you all go. Make one wrong move, and the Witchhunter order will be well and truly extinct."

"Strange you should mention that." He spread his arms. "This isn't the whole Witchhunter order, recall. Only half."

"What?" She searched the cliffs. "Then where's the rest?"

Azare pointed past her, out the harbor mouth, toward the choppy waves of Bellana's Arm beyond- moreso, the shape visible some leagues off. Its sails glinted in the sunlight. "You see that ship waiting out there? You can look with your spyglass, I won't stop you. Go on."

Irene stared down at him, her jaw clenched, then flung her parasol aside. She extended her spyglass, keeping her pistol trained on him all the while, and peered out to sea.

"Recognize it?" Azare said. "A small twin-masted schooner, I should say, painted Witchhunter gray and flying no flags? That's the Mistfox, and you're right. Once, I took her past the Outer Sea and into the heart of the Great Blue, took her through storms and sleet to hunt and kill a god. She's armed to the bilge, Captain, with more spellfire than by all natural rights should be possible. We used four spellfire javelins on our hunting trip. We have two left. One should be enough, I think, to eat up your pretty ship, and you, too, should you fire on me."

"And you," Irene snarled.

"Then we'll be ashes together."

Her face contorted, her whaleglass eye a bright point against her dark skin. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a breath.

"You conniving, salt-tongued, squid-spined bastard," she told him. "I should skin the ginger scalp from you. I should hack out your guts and tan them into braces. I should pop out your eyes and swap in your cursed cuckolding bollocks and tattoo the tale of your trickery on your traitorous, murderous, maggot-mangled hide-"

She cut off her blistering stream of curses and shook, silent, seething. Then, without warning, she burst into laughter, deep and rollicking, a full-lunged cackle that went on for long seconds.

"Oh, I'm damned for sure," she managed after a while. She dabbed at her eyes, whaleglass and flesh alike. "Glowlands take you, Azare, you and your whole bloody lot. Fine. I'll find the lords and do my bloody best to convince them. This'll likely end with me in pieces, but your gold's good and I like the idea of using it to buy my own island too much to protest."

With a sweep of her hand called off her crew. Azare heard Ziva's exhale, glimpsed her hand slide from the hidden hilt of the pistol holstered under her waistcoat. She glanced at him and gave him a shrug, a smile playing around her full lips.

"Steady, Lapin," he told her, and she winked, and a sunburst flared in Azare's heart.

"The gold is yours," he told Irene. "When can you leave?"

She licked her thumb and stuck it with a theatrical flourish into the wind. "Soon as I can get these sails catching air."

"Good." Azare made to turn back to the wagons. "I'll send a couple Witchhunters with you, to keep you honest."

"I'd expect nothing less." She paused. "You care about them, don't you? Not just your boy. The Valere princess, too."

Azare looked back. She watched him from the bowsprit, her whaleglass eye glowing. He felt her regard on him like a knifepoint.

He faced her again.

"As much as I know you care about what happens here," he said. "The world, the Leviathan, whatever you like. It can never be the same, not after this, but it can be made again, made better. You care, even if you pretend you don't."

"That's true," Irene said. "Let us be called gentlemen of fortune, lads, and if not, let us be bones at the bottom of the sea. Don't mistake me, I fight for no kings. But if the world goes to the Hells, what have I left to exploit? What horizons to reach, what wealths and wonders to plunder?"

A ragged cheer went up from her crew, Matteo's lute adding to the cacophony. Irene grinned, sudden as a blow, and flung forth her arm toward them in a broad gesture. "I'll fight, Azare, to catch glory and make myself and my crew better for it. For what's the world with the loss of such fine gentlemen? Silent seas and empty skies, and not a song to fill them. I'll fight for that, and damn the rest."

Azare smiled in return. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

#tales of the great leviathan #grave of the great leviathan #fantasy fiction #original fiction #serial novel #chapter 33

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