#and then made me wonder if it would have been balthazar

[kerra-and-company]

I don’t know why this is what my brain decided to think about, but I can’t stop thinking about my characters and the different versions of angry you get with each of them--especially Kerra, Cyp, and Nisha.

Kerra, at her angriest, will show every single bit of it. Whether it’s on the battlefield or in an official chamber of some kind, you’re going to get the bared-teeth-smile Kerra, full of fire with hard violet eyes who will absolutely tear you to shreds--with words or weapons or both. She can be subtle. She’s a diplomat. She’s a spy. But in that much anger? No way in hell is it anywhere close to subtle.

Cyp, on the other hand, is cold and vicious when he’s angry. In my main ‘verse, he’s far from an expert at cutting with words, but with weapons, including his mind? Definitely. He can tear you to shreds with what he’s feeling on the inside, or what he’s felt before, and look at you with the stone-cold glare of someone who, beyond anything else, is certain you deserved it.

Nisha is a third case entirely. Xe spent so much of xyr early life trying to be strong, to be in control, to be what was expected, and so xe never fully let xemself get into a position to figure out what xyr anger at that level would look like. But when that did happen later down the line, the times Nisha’s been at xyr angriest have been a combination of anger and grief. Claw Island was one instance, where xe tore into Risen after Risen after Risen with a stony face but fiery eyes. And the second was on the spire at Skimshallow Cove--a completely reckless attempt to chase and kill a god for who he’d just taken from xem. Nisha’s anger is more of a storm than anything else.

#gw2 #kerralind #cyprian #nishannai #kai speaks #don't know why my brain went here #but here you go #i hope this makes sense #this also made me wonder which god kerra would be blessed by if she had been born human and not sylvari #and then made me wonder if it would have been balthazar #but...yeah #kerra's anger is fire #cyp's is ice #and nisha's is lightning #thanks for listening to my ted talk

[funficwriter]

A Wolf and A Snake (Wriothesley x Reader)

Chapter 3: In the Low Gardens

A/N: Thank you all so much for being patient with me! I wanted this chapter to be fun to read, but had so little time to write this week. I just hope I have a little more freedom in the future. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: Being a noble meant that marriage was a chess game, not an affair of love. Unfortunately for the pristine Balthazar family of Fontaine, Y/N has long been enamored with love and sought it out before their priorities. After her grey, boring time of courtesy, she meets Duke Wriothesley, who makes her yearn for the first time in her life, and it's the same for him. Threatened by the idea of losing this first, it seems they'll stop at very little to be together...

Taglist: @yue-caelum, @reyy-chanx, @mis-disaster, @ladyarchiviste, @keigo-hawks-takami-simp

Warnings: Talk of murder/violence/corruption, yandere talk, Wrio gets a lil primal, a few smutty details, does scheming behind the back count as a warning? Lol

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Your parents were not the type to sing, least of all sing to express joy. But whenever they peered at you from the balcony, they looked like they could explode in song any minute. They never looked as jubilant, as proud of their daughter as they saw her, arm linked with the chivalrous and gentle Duke Archandelle.

You supposed any other girl would kill to be in your place. Duke Archandelle hailed from a long and well-respected lineage, and made a fortune for both himself and Fontaine's economy through his commerce. He was rather handsome, had a voice described as 'light honey with mint', and towered over you, the lady he was going to protect with that advantage. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives. On top of that, he was cultured, up-to-date with Fontaine's classical and modern trends, but was no pansy; He was an excellent swordfighter and hunter. You almost heard their voices yelling at you: "You've got the perfect gentleman falling at your feet, and you're not grateful?! How dare you!".

There you two were, in one of your manor's many gardens. This was the highest, prettiest one of all, and had a lovely table among the flowers where you would soon take your tea. Both of you were well-dressed, engaged in conversation (he carried most of it) and took tiny steps to ensure it stayed that way. You looked like the perfect royal Fontainian couple. Add on the fact that Archandelle has decreed himself 'fervently in love' with you, and didn't look like he was going to give up... No wonder your parents were probably even happier than they were on their own wedding day.

'Fervently in love', my ass. If I wasn't so angry, I'd laugh. Maybe with his stupid monologues or my last name's history book... My Wriothesley could teach him a thing or two about love.

"And I say, it was so dastardly for them to write that ending! I mean, to let these filthy 'protagonists' get away with their crimes! I can think of youngsters reading this novel. What will they think? How are we raising them and- My dear, are you with me?".

The funny thing about his tirades was how they can be condensed to the same strand of puritanism, either outrageous or righteous. You barely had to listen and should he feel testy, you had an answer.

"Ah, forgive me, my dear Duke. I was just appalled at the text, to the point where I didn't know what to say. But do know I'm in full agreement!".

He beamed: "Why, of course you are. Your parents raised a fine and virtuous young lady who knows right from wrong.".

Your agreement seemed to have calmed him down. He stopped to take your hand and kiss it.

"One of the countless reasons I fell in love with you.".

Liar!

You wished you could shut him up. As he embodied the peak of your social class, he also had all the ideas you wanted to criticize as loud as you can, but couldn't risk. One of them was this picking on cultural output not based on whether it was good, whether they liked it, but whether it was 'moral' or not. What's more is the power they hold. Should something not be 'moral', that would mean another secret trip to the bookstore for you, before it got fully banned.

Though you couldn't shut him up, you had two tools up your arsenal: The first was thinking of Wriothesley, which made you surprisingly more patient than you imagined. The second was hearing Archandelle be less of a whiner, more of an admirer.

"Say, my Lord, surely you've seen some good plays where this doesn't happen, right? I'm sure we'll all need good recommendations.".

Once again, he beamed, and you could tell he was restricting himself from being too physical. But perhaps he felt a bit more daring, because he put an arm around your waist and carried on walking, while talking about 'good' plays he's seen (which you were sure were total dogshit if it came from him.).

The butler had called you for tea time. It wasn't the day for your favorite dessert, but a quick wink from Agatha, who was passing by, let you know who twisted his arm into bending the unofficial rule. You felt a bit of remorse for not being able to tell her who you really liked, but you decided to do it when you were in a more secure position with Wriothesley.

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

Curse whoever decided that falling in love with a half-wolf (or any hybrid, for that matter) was a curse, and bless your own canine lover for using his affinity towards the night to pick this one. The stars shined along with the soft moon, with only a few cloudy wisps passing by. The air was crisp, cooling but not so much that you had to stay in.

The hour struck. Your heart did a leap so brusque, you had to take a deep breath. The clock said it all: It was time.

You picked a simple dress for your rendez-voux; Flattering, but no hassle. Your mother wasn't fond of it, because she thought it didn't 'do justice to your beauty'. Another one of millions of differences between you two, separating her and your father into the loud and showy sun, while you counted the minutes until you could entangle your hand into his under the moon. Though everyone slept, the night was still young... Should you desire it, would more than that happen?

No one could police your desires if you thought of them.

Let him hold me again. Let him hold me securely, claiming me as his under the full moon as his own culture decrees. I'm asking a lot... But please, let him kiss me before Duke Archandelle does and let him scream it out to the world so it could throw me into his arms.

As you made your way down, your reverie was only interrupted when you passed by your elder brother's room. Being married, he split his time between his new villa and your manor. You weren't looking forward to his next visit, especially when he caught wind of your 'engagement' with Duke Archandelle and sent you a long, pompous letter congratulating you as his 'equally prestigious sister, upholding the Balthazar's powerful unions'. Ugh.

In retrospect, perhaps you should have hurried along; Just after you continued, you bumped into a curvaceous figure you knew well (after all, she held you more than your mother) and made an audible "Ow!".

So much for not being caught, least of all by your own hissing governess. Should you be caught, she'd surely get heat for not making sure you were in bed.

"Y/N! What are you doing out of bed? You have lessons tomorrow, don't you?".

As she talked, she pulled you away from your brother's door and the bedrooms of the floor. After all, she was just in as much danger as you were.

"Agatha! Hey, um... I was... I was going down to grab a glass of water. I'm thirsty.".

Forget the fact that you weren't in your sleeping attire and that your voice was racked in nerve. How could you have hoped to lie to her, your true mother figure who knew every inkling of you hiding something on your face? Her quirked-up brows clearly let you know that she didn't buy it, but what really made you want to spill the beans was the slight glimmer in her eyes: She was hurt by you lying to her.

"Really, Y/N? After all those years, you think I'd believe that? I have raised you as my own, yet you act as if I were hired this morning.".

"Agatha, I'm so sorry. Please don't be sad, I'll tell you but...".

You couldn't believe it; You were about to tell someone that you were seeing another man behind your arranged partner's back. It would be one thing if he were some king and your parents were idiots at making their final verdict. But you were seeing Duke Wriothesley of Meropide. You were seeing a wolf-hybrid, a dangerous kind to human beings (even though you'd argue that correlation does not equal causation). You were seeing a prison warden, a polite but hardy, brutish man.

Agatha could sense that your secret was a big one. She ran a hand through your head: "My dear, I've always kept your secrets, haven't I? What is so scary that you would hide it from me of all people?".

"Oh, Agatha, it's not scary at all. It's wonderful and lovely and beautiful. It makes me get out of bed with hope in my heart. it sends me to sleep as the happiest girl of Teyvat.".

Her face broke out into a smile: "By Focalors! What is it then?".

"But I'm the only one who sees it that way! It's not scary to me at all. He brings me all the joy in my life, and yet if anyone found out that would spell the end of me and him! Agatha, why did you have to be up tonight of all nights?".

A moment of silence eclipsed, you wallowing in the realization that you gave her a hint. In both your hearts, you felt that she knew you didn't like Duke Archandelle, as with most royal women. But to go to the lengths of seeing another man... Did she think you had it in you?

"Who is he, Y/N?".

"Duke Wriothesley of Meropide. We snuck by the last two socials, and we were planning to meet up tonight in the low gardens.".

You could see the shock in her face. Anyone would be, pairing you with him of all gentlemen. You couldn't blame her. If anything, you wanted to burst in tears, put your head at her feet and thank her for her tolerance. Rather than alerting even the most insignificant servant in the house, she patted your hand and stayed.

"Does he make you happy?".

"Yes. Happy enough to live.".

"That's a lot of happiness. A level you've always deserved, but if you're honest, only recently acquired. If at last my prayers for your joy are answered and they come in his form, who am I to judge you?".

A small, meek smile made its way on her face. You threw your arms around her shoulders.

"Thank you, Agatha, thank you!".

She helped you up, then looked out of the window. Whether it was at the skies or the gardens below, you couldn't tell nor had the time to ask. She grabbed your hand and continued the way downstairs.

"Let's not keep him waiting.".

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You stepped out, feeling light and relaxed under the cool moon. Then there he was: Your very own prince charming, who was expectantly waiting in front of the garden's backdoor. His ears perked up. Once he saw you, your time of admiration from afar was over. A few loud steps resonated before you felt his embrace engulf you, and at last you were in his arms and everything felt (was) alright.

What made it better was his reciprocation; From the big, dumb smile, to the twitching ears (how cute!) to the feeling of his strong muscles protecting you from whatever misery could strike you right then and there...

"If I told you of how much my heart screamed out for you, you wouldn't hear the end of it.".

He kissed your hand as per usual. You supposed that if you wanted more, you had to catalyze it yourself: "I don't want to hear its end, Wriothesley.".

You didn't have to hear it, for you were still held against him. His heart was beating frenetically, reverberating into your own body.

Only when he looked up and saw Agatha, that wonder dwindled.

"What the... Who are you?".

"Wait, Wrio. She's on our side. She's the only one who supports our romance.".

He let out a small 'oh', trying to relax but with worry clear on his face. Agatha, being ever so talented at soothing, stepped in.

"Greeting, Lord Wriothesley. I am Y/N's governess. Forgive me for being out, I wasn't supposed to know of this. I just caught her by accident, but I promise I won't tell a soul.".

He took a moment before speaking up: "Agatha? Oh, Y/N has mentioned you before. In that case, I'm glad it was you who caught her, and no one else. And thank you for keeping up the secrecy, though it won't be that way forever. I intend to marry her, one way or another.".

"Frankly, anyone who can take care of her and makes her happy is great, in my opinion.".

Her warm, motherly smile has lowered many people's guards. You could tell his worry was fading away, knowing she could be trusted. He nodded one more time, and off you two went. The good thing about the low gardens was the fact that unless someone was close, no one could hear you. It was the 'abandoned' garden per se. While it wasn't as grand as the higher ones, it had many beautiful flowers, a lake, and you could never uncouple your memories of playing hide-and-seek there with Agatha or your friends.

But nevertheless, it didn't stop your displeasure at the fact that you weren't recognized at his yet. You wanted to show all of Teyvat who you really loved, who had the right to call you 'mine'.

"I wish... I wish I could have shown you the higher gardens.".

He squeezed your hand and you looked up to him. You could have died with the beautiful vision in front of you: Did the moon make his piercing eyes glow better, or was that just you?

"My love, there will be a day where we can stroll out in the open, in whatever garden you want. And besides...".

He looked on his surroundings as you kept walking, now linking arms.

"I like the secrecy aspect that comes with this one. It's like... Like our social world doesn't want you to be mine. And yet here and now, you are. Always were, always will be.".

It made you blush. It only got worse when you wanted to tuck a piece of hair, and he caught a glance at the wolf bracelet: "And from the looks of it, you want to be all mine, don't you?".

"Oh, yes. I wear it all the time Father isn't around. I'm sorry if I was morose earlier. It's the fact that I can't stand being someone else's fiancée, especially when I had no say in the matter.".

"Don't beat yourself up. I know well that we're on the same wavelength. I'm already scheming on it, too...".

While you loved talking about being his, you knew that alone wasn't enough. There had to be some sort of plan, some idea as to how he'd get you. And much to your happiness, he wasn't empty-headed to doom you to just keeping your affair, an affair. You leaned close to listen.

"So I'm presuming he wants to marry you because of your family name, yes? Like all other shitty noble marriages...".

You laughed a bit: "That's the one.".

"I already have an investigator to look further into his. Depending on whether he committed serious crime, going above the general corruption that's too often seen and brushed aside, you as his future wife have the right to file for a 'Motion of Marital Worry'. Then the Court could look into how that may affect you, and thus stop you from marrying him even if your father objects.".

This was... Wonderful.

"Why, Wriothesley, I love a man who's proactive! But I have one worry about this plan: Fontaine may be less corrupt than other nations, but there's still crime that's deemed as 'not serious', especially from our class. What if they bribe someone? That's what always happens.".

"Nah, don't worry. I myself am well acquainted with some... Important figures in the judicial system. They'll be sure to look out for such a motion with your name or mine on it. And if the crime is very serious, there's no way they'll turn their head.".

He stopped walking, letting the soft howl of the wind play out before continuing: "And anyways, that's only the first plan. I've got more ideas in case it doesn't work.".

"You really think ahead, eh?".

"If it concerns you? I think about it all the time. Even my sleep is yours.".

All the time. All the time, for me. This union was nothing like the trash your father wanted to force you in. In the other one, you belonged to Archandelle, but contrary to his spiel about love, he didn't belong to you. Maybe not other women if he were 'loyal', but you saw his attitude towards seeing you as a Balthazar, versus seeing you as... You. He really only belonged to himself.

"Don't worry. If he didn't do anything, I'll just make him. If his hand is clean, I'll twist it until it bleeds then yell bloody murder until he's sentenced for life.".

Wriothesley long made it clear, and he kept making it clear to reassure you. His loving gaze, his obsession, his thought of you that went as far as remembering everything you've ever loved or told him (and believe me, it's a lot) said it all: He belonged to you, and you belonged to him, as true love should be.

You stroked his cheek, taking in his eyes as he did yours: "And when you twist him into the wrangled, bloody mess you can make... I'll cheer you on. I'll praise like I'm watching the greatest of theater.".

Perhaps it was the fact that everything has been so dreary, or that the full moon just made people playful, but you broke away from him, your arms brusquely rejecting him and giving you distance. His stunned look hurt you a bit, but the fun you wanted was priceless.

"But Duke Wriothesley, the prince must always fight hard for the one he desires, yes?".

His boot made a quiet crunch as he approached you, and you took a step back. In a way, it was fun, withholding yourself from him as he ached for you. However, he reciprocated your playful smirk, understanding what your intention was. As you stepped back, you did the occasional twirl as your dress flowed with the moon's shine.

Teasing him was so fun: "Aren't I right? Isn't what he desires most, the most guarded and forbidden by everyone else? Shouldn't he be ready to do anything if he loves the princess that much?".

"My... Are you underestimating the limits I'll break to call you my wife? While I try to be calm to avoid prejudice, I have no issue tuning into my violent side if it's for you.".

The string snapped. You turned back and ran off: "We'll see about that, Your Grace!".

How long has it been since you ran? You forgot the freedom, the breeziness it offered.

"I'll make you see, alright!"

But that wasn't where your true excitement laid. It was the quicker, heavier crunching sound right behind you.

Off the wolf went, chasing down his partner. He had the advantage of being fit, and his hybrid blood granting him more speed than the average human. But you were also flighty and you knew the garden better than he did. Whenever he thought he had you, you ran back another corner, and even pulled your tongue at him if he was far enough.

At some point, you hid close to the lake. He had not reached this area yet, so you were safe to catch your breath. If only this could last beyond your couple of hours together! Not even factoring the end yet, you thought of him, smiling and chasing you both literally and figuratively. Only when you looked down to check on your dress, did you notice your legs clenching tight and the sudden warmth, the higher you went...

Perhaps you should have remembered that you were still being chased, ergo had no more time than a few quick breaths. You didn't hear the rustle of the bushes. Before you knew it, large hands grabbed your waist and their owner let out a victorious growl, lifting you up.

"Oh no, the wolf got me!".

"Damn right, he did! Now you're his to devour!".

He wanted to carry on, but a loving state always reduces one to recklessness. He tripped on a pebble, but made sure to switch so he'd take the fall rather than you. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as he expected.

"Wriothesley, my dear! Are you okay?".

He chuckled at your worried face: "Nah, don't worry. It was way softer than I expected. Hah...".

A crimson blush spread upon both of your faces (but especially yours). It just dawned on you: You were on top of him, like on his body, and the chase excited him in the same way it did you. His red cheeks and the hard poke you felt against your thigh said it all.

"Archons, I... I'm so sorry, Y/N. I tend to enjoy that sort of stuff, running around and chasing...".

"It's okay... I enjoyed it, too...".

The time stopped when you (slowly, yet surely) shook off the awkwardness, as you sat up in his lap. How do you proceed from there? How do you deal with feeling so clueless in what you want? You barely processed that, as you ran a hesitant hand through his hair.

"I really like your ears.".

"There it is.".

His arms tightened around your waist as he replayed the phrase in his head: "I really like your ears.". And you liked his dark attire above all the others'. And you liked his voice and his way of comportment, and by Focalors, you were madly in love with the human and wolf halves of him, never conditionally or pretending some part of him did not exist.

In the midst of this prolonged yearning, you two could no longer wait. He leaned down and sealed his promises with the kiss you've long thought of and saved just for him.

The full moon made its appearance on the lake reflection. The wind rustled the plants around you a bit. Unbelieving that this was actually happening, you pulled him in closer, wishing you could merge your bodies together. Even when you were dipping slower, slower into the ground, you knew he wouldn't let you fall harshly. You knew his tight grip was ever present to protect you from that or any other dangers, and its warmth of love and appreciation was only for you.

And you took in his mint breath, each time breathing in more and more. You were starved for your lover, and so was he, keeping you in his arms and away from a world that wanted you two apart. It already did enough of that throughout the day. The night was yours.

You two broke away, panting and looking into each other's diluted pupils. Sometimes, you couldn't believe how being with him was like having your own puppy. He whispered: "I love you with the marrow of my bones.", before dipping his head into your neck to kiss it. If marrying him, sharing the same bed, meant you could nuzzle your face into his fluffy hair, you had another reason to fight away from your other suitor.

Happy with its softness against your running hand and face, and his sweet kisses, you couldn't help but purr out: "I can't wait until... Until we can do this all the time, whenever we want.".

"Hah... And that time will come. I've already handed so much to the world, I'm not handing you out too.".

He looked up at the sky to tell the time, then chuckled in a morose manner: "Time sure flies by when I'm with you. It's like I lose control over it so easily.".

He made a sad, but true point; For one, you had to head back into your chambers, because dawn would emerge soon enough and you needed time to change, actually sleep... There was also the fact that even if he got onto the active part of taking you from your father and Archandelle (funny, you just remembered his name), your parents would probably want to have you married soon. Time was of the essence, and that essence was short-lived and impossible to take back.

As he walked you back to the backdoor, hands squeezed tight, he leaned in: "My dear, can I ask you for a favor?".

"Of course. Anything for you.".

"Next time you have to meet that idiot your parents call 'your fiancé', look at whether he behaves out of the norm. Specifically, if he's nervous or uncomfortable. Or maybe if he talks more about politics.".

"I see...".

"Nobles who feel like they have something to hide always act like that. Depending on what's found against him, he could be called for questioning. That's enough to cause unrest.".

You laughed: "As with every other noble guy. You'll probably find worse skeletons in my father's closet.".

"The question isn't whether there are skeletons. It's how you use them.".

You liked that idea a lot, enough to make you smirk. Now that you thought about it, there were many 'skeletons' around you, especially those belonging to your father. And now, you were growing into a position where you could use them, where you could be as knowledgeable in the law as Wriothesley and use it to your advantage. Sure, that might get you called 'disgraceful', but you'd be ripping yourself away from them faster, ergo into your lover. And if Fontaine was all about fairness, what was happening to you was unfair. You were just rectifying an error.

"Uh-oh. My mischievous darling is smiling like that of all ways. What do you have in mind?".

"I just liked what you said. It feels a lot like how the world works.".

"It's not far off.".

Agatha was sitting down next to the backdoor. She stood up and bowed, but her smile grew bigger when she caught sight of your intertwined hands. You felt very lucky to have her by your side.

Before bidding goodnights, Wriothesley turned you to him, and kissed you one more time, before stroking a strand of hair from your face: "Dream of me. Let us meet in the realm of sleep and continue this, until we won't have to dream anymore.".

"I promise.".

Much to your heavy heart, you headed back in, and he was off to the nearest teleportation waypoint. The ending of your meetings always brought sadness to your heart, but he worked so hard for a reason; He would rather die than you two not be together. His very passion was you, and you knew that if he was yours, some things had to be done. And you were sure that could happen, starting with the favor.

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

"Y/N, you said he made you the happiest girl of Teyvat?".

"Yes.".

"Well, you sure look like that right now! How was it?".

#yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley x reader #yandere reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader

[nikethestatue]

The Agreement

Chapter 5

Elain Archeron

Elain was carried over the threshold, bridal style.

Azriel insisted on it.

He swung her in his arms once they were on the porch and then shouldered the door, as he carried her in his arms. She didn’t know why he wanted to do it like that, but he insisted upon it. Or rather, didn't give her the chance to argue with him.

She clung to him, feeling overwhelmed. Her hair had dislodged from her bun and from under her hat and tugged on his black jacket, the golden threads in such contrast to his formal coat.

The house staff was small indeed. That was the first thing that Elain observed. Considering Lord Night’s title and wealth, she expected a double row of servants greeting him, but there were only four people. Two males, and two females.

Azriel clasped his hands behind his back and introduced them,

“Mr. Devlon–the house butler. Mr. Balthazar–my valet. Miss Nuala–house maid. Miss Cerridwen–house cook.”

The two women were young, in their 20s, and identical twins. Additionally, they looked…exotic. Something about them immediately reminded Elain of Azriel. They possessed the same sharp, beautiful features, dark soulful eyes, black hair, and tall graceful figures. 

Mr. Balthazar seemed to be of similar stock: he was young, brawny, muscular, and dark–just like Azriel. Lastly, Mr. Devlon was the same, only older. Wherever they all came from, the fact that they all emerged from the same location was obvious. 

It wasn’t the first time that Elain wondered about Azriel’s origins and how he came about to receive this hereditary title, while not being entirely British. But it didn’t matter. What mattered were his next words:

“Please meet Miss Elain Archeron. She is my confidant and companion for the foreseeable future. Miss Archeron has full access to the house. Mr. Devlon, please inform Branson that if Miss Archeron wishes to take the automobile, he is to drive her.”

“Of course, my lord,” the butler nodded. 

Azriel continued,

“Miss Archeron is to dine with me at dinner, unless I state otherwise. I would prefer to take breakfast together as well.”

Elain didn’t know what the proper way of responding was, because she wasn’t the help and he seemed to be talking to everyone at once, so she just nodded. 

“Miss Archeron’s rooms will be in my wing of the house,” Azriel announced blandly, while Elain blushed violently. None of the servants seemed to react at all. Everyone acted like this was perfectly normal.

“Nuala, please take Miss Archeron upstairs. Elain, settle in, and then we’ll eat lunch.”

That was all the introduction that was given.

Elain felt strange–like she was having some kind of out of body experience, as she walked behind Nuala. It was going to be a challenge to tell the twins apart–they looked exactly alike. Even though they were servants, both moved with unhurried grace, and seemed very elegant, and compared to them, Elain felt frumpy, and…common. She was common. Gone were the days when she enjoyed picnics and races, when she attended celebrations, receptions and balls. When she and her sisters were the talk of the town and whatever they wore was discussed at length. When suitors inquired about their availability and their father needed to select the most appropriate ones. It’s been a long time since she felt pretty, or since someone desired her. She was surprised by Lord Night–he seemed genuine. For some reason, he was taken with her. Perhaps she was some kind of a charity case for him and he pitied her, which wouldn’t be surprising, but she hoped that it was more than that. She hoped that he was in fact attracted to her, despite her thinness and her awful dress. Because she knew that her dresses were ugly and there was nothing fashionable or stylish about how she dressed. She was a charity case. No matter how she looked at it, she was a whore and a charity case–she needed to whore herself out to a wealthy man, so he could take pity on her, fornicate with her and pay her for it. 

The thought made her depressed, and melancholy washed over her so potently that she felt like she was about to cry. Thank god Lord Night stayed behind, because right now, she was on the verge of tears, her lip wobbling, and she kept biting on it, to keep herself from sniffling. She felt dirty and cheap, and embarrassed. At least these twins, these Nuala and Cerridwen earned honest wages. They worked and they were paid, and they didn’t need to spread their legs to make a shilling. 

Maybe, it would’ve been better if Lord Night was Jack the Ripper. He could’ve just murdered her and she wouldn’t have to go through with any of it.

“Oh, cheer up, Miss Archeron. It can’t be all bad!”

Nuala’s soft, cheerful voice jolted Elain out of her mental stupor. “Lord Night is a good and kind lord. Strict and a bit aloof, but he is fair and generally considerate. Whatever your business is with him, he’ll treat you well.”

If only Nuala knew that business Elain had signed up for!

“This is your bedroom,” they stopped in a hallway and Nuala opened the door. “His lordship requested that I take you to the shops tomorrow,” she prattled on, while Elain surveyed the wonderful bedroom. It was finely appointed, with a large bed, and beautiful Oriental themed wallpaper, which depicted delicate paintings of cherry blossoms. There was a console, a wardrobe, a full length mirror too. Not a doily in sight. The room was pretty and feminine, but there was nothing unnecessary in it. Even the mantle of the white marble fireplace only had a small vase with jasmine flowers and a small clock on it.

“I would not want to inconvenience Lord Night,” Elain said quietly, while Nuala opened the pathetic satchel that Elain brought with her and began to bustle around the room, sorting through the meagre possessions.

“You won’t be inconveniencing him. But if he gives an order, we follow,” he offered Elain a meaningful glance, the expression on her lovely face warm, but cautionary. Elain took it as whatever Lord Night tells you to do, do it. No arguments.

“The shops are faster, though if you prefer a seamstress, we can get you one tomorrow. But the lord would like for you to have dresses and other items as soon as possible.”

What Elain didn’t know was that last night, Azriel told Nuala ‘take the girl shopping at once. She looks homeless.’

Now, Nuala flitted about the room, showing Elain all sorts of things that weren’t expected–

“We have electricity in the house,” she announced. “If you wish to use kerosine lamps, let me know, but this switch turns on the lights, and the switch on your bed lamp is right here,” and she pointed to it. 

Electricity was rare and expensive. Not that Elain was exactly surprised that Lord Night would have his house outfitted with electricity, but still, such extravagance was mind boggling.

Before she could inquire further, Nuala told her ‘we have a generator’, as if Elain was expected to know that that was. All of Nuala's movements were easy and fluid, and while opening another door she said, “this is your bathing room and the loo.”

Elain peeked into the large bathing chamber, which was clad in marble and tile and had a great tub, as well as another enclosure. Nuala again preemptively explained, “this is a shower. His lordship prefers a shower, because he is not one to linger in a bath for long. I would imagine he wouldn’t care about your preferences, but he had installed showers in all the bathing rooms and even we have them in the servants’ quarters.”

“I’ve never been in a shower,” Elain admitted, amazed by all these fascinating contraptions.

Nuala wasn’t done–”the toilet flushes,” she told her and pointed to the long string attached to the water tank. “Pull on that and…done!”

“How’s this even possible?” Elain marvelled, overwhelmed by all the luxuries and these amazingly convenient devices.

“His lordship has great interest in scientific innovations. After he returned from the World Fair last year, he set about updating all the residences with the newest fixtures. There are things in the kitchen that you wouldn’t believe!”

“Oh, there are many interesting items at the World Fair that I saw and was intrigued by,” Azriel’s deep, low voice startled both of them. He was standing in the doorway, watching the two of them with a pleased expression. It was probably odd to have two women oohing and ahhing about toilets and kitchen equipment, but he seemed amused, but also satisfied. 

“Miss Archeron,” he looked at Elain, “when you are settled, come to my office. Nuala will show you where.

“Otherwise, is everything to your liking?”

Though alarmed by his order to see him in his office, Elain nodded and said, “everything is lovely, my lord. The room is perfect.”

“I am glad.”

He left and Nuala opened the wardrobe, where there hung a smattering of clothes.

“If you wish to change for lunch, there are some items to choose from. His lordship would like for you to have a proper wardrobe–luncheon attire is more relaxed–this blouse,” and she withdrew a hanger with a chiffon blouse hanging off it, “and perhaps this skirt?”

All Elain heard from this was ‘luncheon attire’. Back in her childhood days, they changed for every meal–at least her parents did, as well as Nesta–but it’s been a long time since she needed to think about changing outfits throughout the day.

“Since his lordship wants you to breakfast with him,” Nuala continued, “you do not need to dress. You may attend in your house dress. However, for lunch and for dinner, you would be expected to dress accordingly.”

She helped with the buttons on Elain’s dress and once it was off, her nose scrunched and she popped her lips.

“What is the matter?” Elain gasped, seeing Nuala’s disapproving look.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Nuala took the dress and folded it. Elain made an involuntary lurch towards it, seeing that it was only one of her two dresses, and someone taking it away seemed…final. 

“Oh, I will just take it to the laundry,” Nuala assured her softly. 

“But I can have it back?” Elain asked nervously, still eyeing the dress. 

“Of course.” Nuala smiled at her, her face gentle and friendly. “Don’t worry, Miss Archeron, we’ll take good care of you. What’s yours is yours.”

“You may call me Elain.”

“Alright, Elain. But, his lordship wouldn’t like the corset,” Nuala said bluntly, looking over Elain’s basic corset.

Blushing, Elain ran her hands over her body and looked down at her beat up boots and thick stockings.

“He told me that much,” she murmured.

Nuala smiled softly and then went rummaging in the dresser. 

Swallowing hard, Elain asked, her voice barely audible, “Are you,” 

Nuala looked over her shoulder, and looked at Elain with kindness in her eyes.

“Aware of why you are here?” she offered simply. 

Elain only nodded once.

“I know enough…His lordship takes us in his confidence. He told us about his plans.”

“He is demanding,” Elain pouted and Nuala chuckled.

“Not really, but he certainly knows what he wants.”

Nuala laid out a pair of…something on the bed. Silk and lace underwear Elain could at least recognise–though it was so beautifully made, it was almost unbelievable. 

“What is this?” Elain asked, inspecting the other item. It was made of the same gorgeous delicate materials, but she was unfamiliar with the contraption.

“It’s a brassiere,” Nuala explained. “His lordship saw it presented at the World Fair and he took interest in it,”

Muttering under her breath, Elain pondered, “what hasn’t been presented at that Fair?”

“It supports your bust. It’s quite comfortable, and if I may say so myself, it is superior to a corset. You don’t need to wear this right now, but this is what his lordship would want you to wear…I believe he’s ordered a number of sets…”

“Oh my…he’s ordered undergarments for me?!” Elain gasped.

“Oh, believe me, Lord Azriel does not care at all about such trivial things. It’s difficult to embarrass the man. If he wants you in lingerie, then that’s what he will have.”

-

Ten minutes later, Elain walked down the wide, airy hallway in her new clothes–the blouse was beautiful, chiffon and silk, with sleeves that fluttered around her arms. It was more revealing than what she was used to, but she didn't mind it. The skirt was also silk, comfortable and not constricting. Whoever ordered the clothes definitely had good taste.

Nuala told Elain where Azriel’s office was located and she knocked on the door.

“Come in, Elain,” he called out, somehow knowing that it was she who stood on the other side.

Azriel was standing by the window, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, showing off muscular forearms.

It seemed so…domestic.

He turned around and brazenly looked her over, before saying, “you look nice, Elain”.

“Thank you, my lord. The clothes are beautiful,” she said softly.

Azriel’s office was big, with warm walnut furniture and light upholstery. True to form, not many unnecessary things on any of the surfaces. 

“Sit, and don’t be so nervous,” he told her and pointed to an armchair. Elain did as she was told and he reminded her, “you know, this is your house now. No need to be bashful, or uncomfortable.”

She nodded and sighed, and then told him, with unflinching honesty,

“It’s just happening so quickly, my lord. I am coming to terms with all of this…”

He moved away from the window and walked to his desk, as he began shuffling through some papers.

“I understand, Elain. It’s moving quite quickly for me as well. So…let’s slow it down, yeah?”

She glanced at him hopefully and asked, “How?”

“A bit of business first.”

He handed her a folder and said, “your copy of the contract.”

Elain grabbed it and pressed it to her chest, as if he would’ve taken it away from her. Azriel didn’t comment, but propped himself against the desk, and crossed his legs at the ankles. 

“I’ve added your points,” he told her calmly. “The kissing, the pastries and the flowers.”

She looked up at him in awe and murmured, “truly?”

“Of course. We agreed to it. It’s all there.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Elain. It’s my pleasure.”

“I took the liberty of opening up two bank accounts for you, in your name.”

“Oh?”

“One is your own personal account, for the moneys that you’ll be receiving from our agreement. The other account is the one you can share with your family. I assumed that you wouldn’t want them to see everything that you would be receiving, and therefore, thought that this is an optimal solution.”

“I…thank you,” Elain gasped, “I haven’t even thought of all of this.”

It didn’t seem to surprise him, so he smiled and then drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, thinking about something. Without his jacket, and with the sleeves rolled up, the scarring on his arms and hands was even more obvious and Elain wondered if it hurt him to this day? The scarring on his left hand and arm was brutal and extensive. And yet, she secretly wanted to touch him. Instead of being repulsed by it, she was attracted to the marred skin, and wished to run her fingers over it, feel its texture, press her lips to it. These were inappropriate, lascivious thoughts which confounded her and made her feel confused, and caused her great, but desirable discomfort. Perhaps it was the silky blouse too, with its immodest neckline and its sensual material. But she definitely was feeling an unfamiliar fluttering in her lower belly, which was both very pleasant, but also disturbing. 

Azriel folded those thick, muscular arms on his wide chest and Elain recalled how she bumped into it earlier this morning. How it felt to be next to him, next to his great, masculine body. How he smelled. He smelled delicious and she could scent him right now as well.

“Miss Archeron?” he called out, raising his brow at her in inquiry.

She felt her skin heat and a wave of flush rolled over her body.

“I am sorry, sir. I was daydreaming…”

“Is that so?” he smirked his naughty smirk and her blush only intensified. “May I inquire about what?”

She glared at him and then snapped rudely ‘no!’

“No?” he chuckled. “What is so secret about your daydreams?”

“Nothing my lord,” she insisted. “May I go?”

“No.”

She glared at him, and those damned arms of his, and that face, and the strong neck, and the shoulders that could batter through a door and…

“Why?”

“We aren’t done talking,” he shrugged.

There was a long pause, where he just observed her, and she was trying not to squirm under his heavy gaze, until he scrubbed his chin and sighed.

“I’ve decided against having a physician examine you.”

“Examine me?” she gulped. “What for? I am healthy.”

He tapped those long fingers on the desk again and said, ‘to confirm your virginity, for example’.

Elain almost fainted right then and there.

“My lord…sir…” she huffed and babbled in horror, “I can assure you, I absolutely,”

“Simmer down, Elain,” he waved his hand at her, “as I said–I've decided against it. I trust you, but I also don’t want to embarrass you.”

“I appreciate it, my lord,” she exhaled loudly. “I…I would not want to go through that.”

“I can imagine,” he agreed. “But, I would like a doctor to see you, and make sure that you are healthy. Without any intimate examinations,” he added quickly, when he noticed her paling face. “Just your vitals and such. I imagine that you haven’t been getting all your nutrients, and therefore, I'd like to know what I can do to make sure that you are eating healthy.”

“My lord, you are doing so much already…” Elain protested weakly, shocked by his continuous generosity. 

Azriel took a silver cigarette holder out of his pocket and lit up a cigarette.

He pulled a long drag into his lungs and then said, “Elain, you’ll soon learn that when I commit, I commit fully.

“I will commit to you. Not only can you count on my exclusivity, but I will devote much of my time to you. Your health. Your happiness. Your satisfaction.”

He smoked slowly, while watching her. Elain was getting used to his intense stares, which seemed so…hungry. Like he desired her. He watched her so closely, it seemed as if he was keeping himself in place, and his gaze devoured her where his hands wanted to follow. For the first time in her life, Elain felt wanted. Azriel, Lord Night needed her. Wanted her, for whatever reason. 

“My lord,” Elain whispered softly, looking at him from under her lashes, “will we…engage in,”

He grinned and teased, “carnal fornication?”

“Tonight?” she gasped.

He pulled another drag of his cigarette and asked, “is that what you’d like, Miss Archeron? To be mine tonight? For me to take your precious maidenhead? For your first erotic experience to finally take place?”

Before she could even answer, he continued,

“Truth be told, we don’t have to wait until tonight. My bedroom is just two doors down the hall. Yours–two doors away from there. We can head on there right now,”

“My lord!” she even stomped her foot in outrage, making him laugh, “you are being scandalous! I shall not fornicate in the daylight,”

Shaking his head, he tsked at her, 

“Ahhh, but Elain, perhaps you should re-read the agreement. Any time I desire is one of the non-negotiable points.”

“Still!”

Stubbing his cigarette out in a crystal ashtray, he popped his lips, “Worry not, lovely Elain. I am not taking your virginity just yet. You don’t need to disrobe in front of me, at night or in the daytime.”

“You aren’t?” she sounded both relieved and perplexed.

Absently, he promised, “we’ll have time. I don’t need to hurry this up.” He took a sip of whiskey which was left on his desk, and whispered, “But…” he stepped closer to the chair where she was sitting, and then carefully, but firmly lifted her up from the chair, until she stood before him. He looked down at her, and she now realised that despite her average height, she only reached his shoulder. He dwarfed her with his massive presence, his beautiful amber eyes watching and looking intently. But what Elain had learned in the past day was that unlike everyone else, Azriel Night didn't just look. He was the only one who saw. He saw all the sad and broken parts of her, he saw her pathetic poverty, her pride, her desperation, her hope. There was no hiding from him. He saw and he did not judge and he did not question and he did not diminish.

At that moment, Elain was overcome by another insane urge–to wrap her arms around his neck and climb him like a tree. To have his thick, strong arms close around her, and hold her. Hold her and hold her and never let go. She wanted to bury her face in his neck, and simply release…everything. She wanted to unburden herself of her worries, her complexes, her concerns, her fears. He seemed like a man who could just ease all of them off her back and make her light and happy. Maybe she was just starved for affection. Or attention. Or anything. Any human kindness.

So she clasped two of his fingers together in her fist and held onto his hand. He didn’t move for a moment, or longer, but let her hold his fingers in her hand, but then he asked, his voice gravelly, but tender, “do you remember what I told you before?”

“You told me many things,” she breathed, trying to commit his spectacular face to memory. That gorgeous face dipped lower until it was in line with her own, and suddenly, the tip of his nose brushed against her cheekbone. He nuzzled on her face with his nose, his lips dangerously close to hers, and Elain briefly wondered if she was having a heart attack, considering the intense palpitations that she was experiencing. Everything in her turned hot and strangely needy and her breasts felt thick and heavy, which startled her. Somewhere inside, in her most secret place, a painful, hungry twinge made itself known. She gasped loudly, not knowing what was happening to her, and yet, on some primitive, primal level, understanding that what she was experiencing was in fact desire. Arousal. Elain wanted him. Wanted Azriel’s scent of tobacco and cedar to waft over her, and the warmth of his body to envelop her, though his arms remained at his side, and she was just clutching his fingers in desperation. But she wanted his breath, his nose to make gentle circles around her face, wanted the scrape of his cheek on hers. He inhaled her deeply into his lungs, savouring her scent, and her eyes closed of their own volition, her aching breasts needing the closeness of his chest. 

“I told you,” he murmured against her skin, his lips sliding softly against the apple of her cheek, “that I wanted to kiss you.”

“Yes,” she half-moaned, her hand clutching his forearm, her fingers dipping into the dents and grooves of his scarred skin. 

And then he bit her.

His teeth pressed and lightly clamped over her cheek, and a sob of enjoyment and need escaped her parted lips.

He bit her. 

His hand shot up and he gripped her jaw, his hold firm, but not abrasive. He turned her head to the side, positioning her the way he wanted to, and then tenderly, slowly he bit her again. He bit her in the hollow of her cheek, and then travelled lower, to her jaw, peppering it with tiny sharp nips. 

Elain was trembling violently against him, clutching at his forearm with both hands, her legs soft and useless beneath her. Thank god for the support of his other arm, when he wrapped it around her waist and held her to him, bearing her weight, lest she dropped on the floor like a platter of vanilla pudding.

She was panting like a mule, all thoughts of decorum and propriety having flown out the window, or at least out of her head, the moment his lips and his teeth began their torturously delicious journey over her face. She was breathing him in like she was drowning, the fine scent of his body making her feel drunk. And that was before he even touched her neck.

A needy masculine growl reverberated from deep within his chest, and it made Elain whimper pathetically because she understood, at once, and without doubt, that this was her doing–he wanted her and she made him just as ravenous as he was making her. Meanwhile, he tucked her head to the side and dragged his teeth over the delicate skin of her throat, pressing just enough to make her feel it. He didn’t leave any marks, but skated along the pulsating vein on her neck, popping it between his lips, while his thumb caressed the back of her neck slowly and indolently. He bit a little harder, and Elain buckled against him, while he hushed ‘shhh’ into her neck, his tongue darting out and licking over the bite, soothing the bit of pain that he delivered. 

However, the bites didn’t stop. 

He grazed her collarbones with his teeth, and then lightly lifted the pretty flowy sleeves of her blouse, baring her upper arms, which he stroked lightly with the backs of his fingers. Easily, he threw Elain’s arms around his neck, and her body stretched against his firm body, while she clung to him like her life depended on it, pressing her breasts into his chest. 

Oh god…he felt good. He felt incredible, and mindlessly, she dug her nails into his neck, wanting to feel his skin, his soft hair, the breadth of his shoulders beneath her hands. When he lightly bit her earlobe, her eyes rolled back in her head, and then, he did something…oh god…she didn’t know what he was doing, but it was indecent. Utterly, deliciously forbidden. The tip of his tongue flicked her lobe back and forth and then he sucked it into his mouth. It was obscene. If someone had told Elain 2 days ago that she would be panting and writhing against a man she barely knew, while he was licking and sucking on her earlobe, she’d recommend in no uncertain terms that they’d be admitted straight to Bedlam. But here she was, needing more. It felt amazing. His breath was warm and his tongue and his teeth and the things that he did with his mouth…

“Oh my god…” she cried out, her toes barely touching the floor, as she hung onto him, and Azriel held her up effortlessly with one arm. Suddenly, his large, strong, warm palm landed on her throat and clasped it, making her groan loudly. He was not squeezing, or restricting her air, but held her neck in his hand, as if listening to something, his face buried in the crook of her neck. 

“Easy there, lassie,” he murmured and before she could respond, his lips descended upon her skin. He held her neck in his grip and nuzzled on her throat, kissing her delicate skin, laving on it with his hungry tongue, the strokes lavish and forceful. 

Elain’s head was swimming with lustful, confusing thoughts. She chose to simply let go for now. She wanted to feel all of his possessive urgency, experience the touch of his lips, savour the ownership of his hands on her. She wasn’t going to have this first ever again, and she knew that there was no way out. Not that she wanted out. She already adored her lovely bedroom, and she already wanted to try and shower in that marble bathing room of hers, she already enjoyed the new wardrobe and the clothes that she was wearing now, but most of all, she wanted to bask in the closeness of this intensely masculine, aggressively dominating man, whose eyes were filled with such tender longing, but whose touch made her whole body ache and succumb to him. Maybe she should’ve tried to hold her own for a little longer, but he was not someone that she wished to reject, even a little bit. The moment she saw him yesterday, dark and mysterious, oddly honest, but demanding, uncompromising and unflinching, but fair and generous, she knew that she’d have to say ‘yes’. To him. To everything. 

God. The man could kiss. His lips were remarkable–soft, but urgent and firm on her neck, taking and taking, and giving her such pleasure, she wanted to shout. He promised that he’d give, and that she’d take and here they were, wrapped in each other, starved for closeness, each one being what the other one wanted. 

Azriel kissed her neck, nosing into the little spot behind her ear, the touch making her shiver with pleasure. She thrust her fingers in his thick, black hair, keeping his head near her neck, wanting him to continue the sweet torment of his lips. Without warning, he sunk his teeth into her flesh, no longer toying and teasing her, but overtaking her with more urgency, his hands hot on her body, one squeezing her waist, the other still firmly controlling her neck, as he lavished it with his kisses and bites. When he bit harder and then sucked her skin into his mouth, mauling it between his teeth, Elain hissed and moaned from the pleasurable pain that he was marking her with.

He bit her.

Long and hard, he bit and licked on that special, sensitive spot on her neck, showing her no mercy. She was buckling against him, trying to escape the pain, the branding, but he wouldn’t let go. Pulling back at last, but not releasing her, Azriel looked at her flushed face. His eyes were dark and hungry, his high cheekbones reddened, and she’d mussed his hair with enough enthusiasm that for once, he didn’t look impeccable. His thumb rubbed the spot on her neck when he just bit her, and he kissed the tip of her nose, before whispering, “would you like me to show you the garden?”

Dazed, Elain stared back at him, the point on her neck aching pleasantly, and she touched it, tangling her fingers with his. He kissed her nose again, his lips so close to hers, she almost lunged upward to have him put his mouth on her own.

“No!” she just about shrieked, feeling wild and unsatisfied. If he was going to release her from his arms, surely she’d just drop dead at his feet. She wanted more. 

Azriel chuckled smugly and brushed her cheek with his own, the subtle stubble grazing over her skin in a most decadent way. She hummed softly to herself from sheer enjoyment.

Whispering into her ear, his wicked tongue playing with the lobe again, indecent and unabashed, he asked, “I thought you like to garden, Miss Archeron?”

She much preferred when he called her ‘lass’ than ‘Miss Archeron’ but she wasn’t in the right presence of mind to argue about that.

“No.”

“No what?” he prodded.

“I don’t want garden,” she panted. “I don’t want…anything…”

“Anything?” he repeated, and when he bit her earlobe again and tugged on it with his teeth she made a sound that was borderline animalistic. 

“I don’t want garden!” she insisted. “I want this,”

“This?”

“Stop it,” she stomped her foot. “I want more kissing! Give me more kissing!”

Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he murmured into her neck,

“As my lady commands…”

Just to make sure that he didn’t get any stupid ideas about going somewhere, she wrapped her arms tighter around him and then heard him say, “you may kiss me back, you know.”

“I don’t know how to kiss you, so you kiss me,” she demanded. “Also, more biting.”

“Kissing and biting?” he was laughing openly now, and the glorious smile on his face was something sublime. Elain stared at him in awe, while sensing that it was likely he wasn’t this jovial and open with anyone. Maybe, somehow, for some strange reason, she was the rare recipient of his mirth, or his happiness, and the realisation made her feel excited. It was a privilege that was granted exclusively to her. 

“Let’s go,” he wrapped his arms tightly around her body, while he took a step forward, lifting her off the floor entirely, “I want to show you the garden.”

She frowned, but he nuzzled on her jaw, nipping on it lightly and said, “You know, I can kiss you in the garden too!”

“Oh,”

“The whole house, the garden, the park–all made for kissing and biting you.”

“But others will see,” she said, still worried.

“Doubt it. And if they do, what are they going to do? Will Mr. Devlon turn me in to the authorities for kissing you?”

She smirked. 

“Then I’d like to see the garden.”

The mansion was immense and Elain knew that it would take her some time to learn its layout and all the rooms. There seemed to be multiple parlours, drawing rooms, sitting rooms, smoking rooms…The style was reserved. Miles of white marble, it seemed, and clean, unfussy lines everywhere. His words rang in her head: I am a man, Miss Archeron. No doilies. 

There were definitely no doilies anywhere. 

He probably ransacked a marble quarry somewhere, but at least the elegant coldness was broken up by the presence of slate, which frankly, was also a stone, and thankfully some wood, glass, leather. It wasn’t exactly cosy, but it was elegant and beautiful nonetheless.

They didn’t encounter any of the help on their way through the house, and Elain felt encouraged and when Azriel picked her up properly, and carried her in the cradle of his arms, instead of dangling her like a baby, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and leaned her head against his chest. He certainly didn’t protest, but caught her finger in his teeth and bit it playfully. She laughed. 

“I told you I’d bite you, lass,” he reminded her, his face buried in her hair. “And here you are, liking it.”

“I do like it,” she nodded. “But you don’t need to carry me,”

“I don’t have to,” he agreed, “but carrying you is a personal pleasure that I think I will indulge in a little while longer.”

Azriel walked through a back veranda, and then stepped outside. 

It wasn’t a huge garden, and it was a little wild from what Elain could see, but there was an untamed sort of beauty to it, which she admired. It felt like everything was let go a bit too long, and needed a steady, loving hand to care for it.

There was a weeping willow next to a small fountain, and that’s where Azriel brough them. A wrought iron table and chairs stood beneath the swaying branches of the tree, and he sat Elain down. A tea service was left on the table for the two of them–somehow, the servants knew where their lord was going to go and they saw to it that he was taken care of. 

Once she was settled, he slumped into the chair across from her. There were also two leather binders on the table, and he opened them up, skimming whatever was inside. 

Elain was still feeling flushed and completely disarrayed, especially when he unbuttoned a couple of buttons of his shirt and lounged back in his seat. God he was big. He took up a tremendous amount of space, with his long limbs and his big, powerful body, and Elain…loved it. She stared at his relaxed form from under her lashes, mesmerised by the muscular forearms and the strong chest that was peeking from beneath his shirt. She could’ve sworn that she saw ink on his chest, but that couldn’t be right?

“Come on, lass,” he encouraged her, “get us some food.”

Elain snapped out of it, and began bustling around with the tea and the luncheon which was left out for them. There was bread, and cold sliced beef, a vegetable pie, fresh butter, and young vegetables sauteed with herbs. 

“My goodness, that’s more food than we had for Christmas,” she muttered. 

He glanced at her from his papers, and then said evenly, but gently,

“Elain. I am very wealthy. I am not saying this to boast, but as a statement of fact. You have to accept that. But I am also a military man, and my tastes are simple, so while this may look unusually lavish to you, bread and boiled beef is hardly elegant fare. Cerridwen knows what I like and it’s usually dishes without too much pomp. I am rich, but I am reasonable in my demands.”

“I understand, my lord,” she nodded. “May I serve you?”

“You don’t have to,” he told her, though his gaze wouldn’t leave her or her hands, as they moved about and sorted out the dishes, “but if you’d like to, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Then I would like to,” she decided and placed a slice of pie on his plate, along with beef and bread. “Is that work?” she inquired, once she piled food on her plate as well, and then nodded towards his binders.

“It is,” he sighed. “There is no escaping work,”

“You hold a job, my lord?” she looked baffled.

“I do, and sometimes it takes me away from here. I would expect you to travel with me,” he added instantly, and offered her a meaningful look.

She blushed and nodded.

“Don’t worry. We will be discreet.”

He lounged in his chair, his booted feet crossed and resting on the edge of the fountain, and Elain couldn’t help but notice how big they were. Big feet. Big hands. Everything just so…large. Not to mention all his apparent musculature. And the size of his shoulders. Which he rolled, as he read through his reports. Somehow, he made the simple roll seem very sensual…or maybe it was just her and her inappropriate thoughts. She still felt his lips, his teeth and his fingers all over her. The bite that he has sucked into her neck ached. His body flexed with every movement, and she wasn’t sure if he was moving for her benefit, or because he needed to stretch his neck and spread his arms and shoulders, but by golly, she was almost drooling. 

“Would you like me to go?” she murmured, flustered, almost wishing that he’d say ‘yes’. And she could just leave and not be subjected to this torment. 

He glanced at her and raised his brow.

“Not at all. I rather enjoy being in your company, Elain. Why, do you have somewhere to be?”

“No, of course not. I just thought that maybe you were busy and preferred to be alone,”

“I’ve been alone too long,” he interrupted her. “Now, I want to be with you, lass. In fact,” he scratched his chin thoughtful, “now that I think about it, and now that you are here, I think I shall require that of you,”

“What exactly?”

“For you to be in my vicinity when I am around. You can do whatever you want, but I want you to be by my side,” he decided firmly.

“You’ll get tired of me soon enough,” she chuckled a self-deprecating laugh.

“I doubt it,” he contradicted her flatly. Then, his eyes grew darker and heavier, the look on his face changing and the lilt of his voice becoming even deeper and huskier. “In fact,” he added, “watching you is becoming my favourite thing.”

He closed his binder decisively and then said,

“Come here, lass,”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, since she was already here. 

“I want to feed you.”

“Feed me?” she mumbled.

He extended his hand and clasped her wrist, urging her up. She stumbled and the next thing she knew, his arm was wrapping tightly around her waist and he was pulling her into his lap.

“My lor-,” she began exclaiming, but he pressed his finger to her lips and shook his head.

“Az, lassie. Azriel. No ‘my lords’, as I ordered before. Save it for when we are in public.”

He sat her across his lap, balancing her on his firm thighs until she was somewhat comfortable, though her thoughts were in complete disarray. She was sitting in his lap! The idea seemed preposterous, but here they were, in a sensual embrace, his large, warm body surrounding hers intimately. He was a duke. He knew the Queen! And she was sitting in his lap and he wanted her to. It was mind-bendingly bizarre.

Azriel gently lifted her sleeve and pressed his lips to her upper arm. 

“Oh,” she mewled with delight. She didn’t even care if she was being vocal about the pleasures of the flesh–it seemed to her that Azriel was enjoying all the sounds that he tore out of her chest with his sinful ministrations. 

“I cannot wait to see you in a dinner dress,” he admitted, his breath warm and still scented with whiskey and tobacco, his knuckles running lightly over her forearm, and then up to her shoulder, which he kissed softly. “I know you will look marvellous. And I can’t wait to see more of these gorgeous arms,”

Elain laughed and waved him off, “They are just arms. They aren’t gorgeous!”

“I beg to differ,” he kissed her neck, burying his face in it and kissing her all over the back of her neck, and then he hooked his finger into the collar of her blouse and pulled it down a bit, so he could kiss the top knob of her spine.

He speared some roast beef on his fork and then brought it to her lips, whispering, “open up”. She did, feeling ridiculous, but at the same time incredibly cared for. Who would ever do something like this for her? Feed her, while kissing her hands and her arms.

He fed her vegetables, more beef, as he waited patiently for her to chew, and the look on his face was that of pure contentment. As if this was his most favourite thing to do in the world. It was strange but in those moments, Elain felt like he was offering her sustenance as well as shelter, as if they were performing a long-forgotten mating ritual of eating food together in privacy as a couple. 

But they weren’t a couple. This was a business arrangement and she needed to remember that.

They were not lovers, and although she enjoyed his tenderness and his affections, and his kisses were wonderful, she needed to keep her head clear. It was paramount for her own well-being that she did not get too attached to him.

“My lor-,”

Azriel shot her a glance of rebuke, and she quickly corrected herself.

“Sir. May I ask a question?”

“You don't need to announce every time you wish to ask a question, Elain. Ask away!” he chuckled, and then reached for her hair, trying to pull the pin that held it up. But Elain’s hand shot up and stopped him mid-motion. He paused and looked at her, a somewhat bewildered expression on his face.

“May I see your hair?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Sir, when,” she swallowed, “will our arrangement begin?”

“Hmm, do you wish for it to begin promptly? As I told you before, I want to make you comfortable in your new environment, Elain,”

She raised her chin and said dryly,

“Maybe I don't wish to be comfortable.”

“Maybe I decide that,” he cut her off just as dryly.

“No, my lord, perhaps I don’t want you to court me…or do nice things for me,”

“You don’t?” the look on his face morphed into something cold and detached.

“Why should I? This is all quite temporary,” she reminded him, stoic, though he still saw through her bravado. “So I don’t see the need to pretend,”

“You think I am pretending?”

“I am not sure if this is the correct word, but,”

Callously, he said, shrugging, “If you prefer to forgo all intimacy and kindness, Miss Archeron,”

Oh, they were back to Miss Archeron now.

“Then I will have no qualms about bending you over this garden table and riding you to my heart’s delight.”

“I…” she blanched, frightened by his cold tone and the threat that fell off his lips so easily, “I didn’t mean it like that, my lord. Sir. I only meant,”

He interrupted her and warned,

“Take what I give, woman, and don't fuss. I am not always feeling this charitable. If you want to see the other side of my personality, I will show it to you. Doubt you’ll like it though.”

Her hand shaking, she reached out and then drew her fingers over his cheek, noticing the rigid movement of his jowl,

“I am sorry…I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve been nothing but kind,”

“Don’t force me to treat you like a whore, Elain,” he ordered firmly, glaring at her. “It’s not my wish and I don’t want pay to be the basis for our relationship. 

“If I want to court you, I will court you. Believe me, you will appreciate it down the road.”

His hands clasped her waist and he removed her from his lap.

“I will see you at dinner,” he said flatly, as he got up from the chair.

“Are you angry?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “I don’t like confrontation,”

“Oh, neither do I!”

He ignored her and continued, “and I don’t want to quarrel in my home. Understood?”

“Yes,” she nodded and sighed.

He looked at her for a long while, at her bowed head and the slope of her curving shoulders.

Then, she felt his big rough palm slide under her jaw and he lifted her head, so she could look at him.

“I am not upset with you,” he said softly, his tone mellower, especially when he noticed her eyes wet with tears. 

“You are,”

“I really am not. I understand, and I will be reminding myself of this all the time–I know this is new to you. I realise how discomforting this must feel. To some extent, it feels the same for me. That is why…” he paused, thinking it over, and then explained, “I want to make it less painful. I want to put you at ease with me, with your position. I promised to cherish you. You will be the mother of my child, and I want good-will and cohesion between the two of us.

“Let me court you.”

Gently drawing his thumb over her eye, he added, “please”.

The pleading ‘please’ did it for her. 

Elain sobbed softly and nodded. 

“Yes. Please.”

“Alright, lass. Don’t cry,” he urged her. “There is a silver lining to this!” he smiled at her.

“What is it?”

“We just had our first quarrel!”

#the agreement #chapter 5 #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elriel fanfiction #my writing #acotar fanfiction #elriel fanfic #victorian era

[baldursgrave69]

There Can Only Be One

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) has let her guard down with distractions of Enver Gortash. She should know better as a bhaalspawn, there is always another lurking around the corner, looking to usurp the favorite.

Pairing: Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 2K

Tags: bhaalspawn typical mentions of violence (blood/viscera), angst, pre-game

While writing this I was listening to: Daylight by David Kushner

Find me on Ao3 here

Agnes sat at her desk in Moonrise Towers, her head propped up on her hand as she absentmindedly doodled on a piece of paper. Her quill made short strokes along the page as her mind wandered. She wondered what Enver was up to. She hadn’t seen him in several days as he was busy working on things in the city. Agnes hated the fact that she missed him. Before him she never even considered what it might feel like to truly miss someone like this. As she littered hearts around the paper, she heard a familiar click of boots down the hall, her attention immediately snapping to the door. She could easily recognize his gate. Agnes watched as Enver rounded the corner, his expression uncharacteristically neutral. Agnes quickly flipped the paper she’d been drawing on over, raising an eyebrow at him.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked, trying to hide the excitement in her voice at seeing him. He stood in the doorway, stock still as he looked at her. “I had some things I needed to attend to in the colony. I’m heading there now, would you join me in a bit? I’ve got something to show you,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. Agnes surveyed him for a moment, something felt off but she couldn’t place her finger on what it was. He was usually so excited to see her “Sure,” Agnes said cautiously, leaning back in her chair. Enver nodded, flashing her a smile before exiting the room swiftly. Agnes sat for a moment, replaying the interaction in her mind. Something about the way he looked at her felt… colder than normal. There was an unfamiliar air about him that left the hairs standing on the back of her neck. She shook the thought from her mind, surely she was just being paranoid. When was the last time she had slept? Or eaten anything? Agnes flipped her drawing back over, scribbling a note at the bottom and tucking it into her pocket. As she exited her office, she stopped at a floor length mirror, inspecting her appearance. Agnes straightened her posture, tugging at her ill-fitting clothing in an attempt to make herself look better. “I need better clothes,” she mumbled to herself as she prepared to leave. A sense of dread washed over her as she was heading down to the colony, her mind wandering back to Enver’s demeanor. The way he looked at her made her uneasy, he wasn’t usually so formal with her. She attempted to shake off the feeling, blaming the feeling on her lack of sleep.

Agnes made her way through the illithid colony, the air damp and musty. She never got used to the smell down here, the slimy walls and intellect devourers that scattered around made her shiver. She cursed at the thought of having to change her clothes immediately after leaving. Agnes entered the necrotic library, looking around for her partner. She spotted him standing at the workbench facing away from her. It was surprisingly empty, none of Balthazar’s ghouls were around like they usually were. Agnes felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, something was wrong. Her hand instinctively moved to her side to rest on her dagger, but to her surprise it wasn’t there. Had she left it in her office?

Agnes felt a pit in her stomach widen as she cautiously approached Enver Gortash. “You made it,” he said over his shoulder. Agnes looked around, noticing a large chair near the workbench, one a doctor might have in their practice. “What’s going on?” She asked, keeping her distance from him. Enver turned to face her, he had her dagger in his hand. The pit in Agnes’ stomach widened, a flame of anger burning in her. “What the hells… why do you have that?” She snipped, walking towards him to grab her weapon. He grabbed her arm harshly as she reached for her dagger, his gauntlet digging into the flesh on her wrist. She studied his expression, his face was stone cold, no emotion in his eyes. She tried pulling her hand away from him, but he grabbed her tighter.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, the metal tips of his gauntlet breaking skin. As she was caught off guard, he twisted both of her arms behind her back, quickly securing them together. “This is going to be fun,” he coldly whispered in her ear. Gortash spun her around to face him, pulling a flask from his coat pocket. “Enver stop this,” Agnes pleaded as he pulled the top of the flask off with his teeth. He grabbed her braid, yanking her head back using his fingers to pry her mouth open. “You always were a fool. Careless. Letting him twist and tumble your mind matter, allowing yourself to lose focus,” the man laughed, a shrill maniacal cackle that Agnes had never heard from him. “Father would be so disappointed”. Suddenly, Agnes realized what was happening. She tried to struggle as the figure before her forced a hot, burning liquid down her throat. “Orin,” Agnes gagged on the acidic liquid running down her throat. She knew the smell, it was a paralytic potion that her depraved sister loved to use on her victims. The figure of Gortash began to laugh, the sounds warping from his familiar voice to a shrill cackle. Before her eyes, Agnes watched as Enver’s body contorted and cracked, the sounds of bone snapping as he transformed from the man she knew so well to her bhaalspawn sibling, Orin the Red. Her face curled into a wicked smile as she let out a blood curdling cackle. Orin grabbed Agnes by the throat, throwing her into the chair. “Oh how I have dreamed of this day, sister,” she circled Agnes, running her own dagger lightly across her face.

“I’ve been waiting for so long for the favorite one to let her guard down. Father will be so pleased when I destroy you and take your place,” Agnes could do nothing but watch as her sibling began to slice the dagger into her face, carving designs on to her skin. The pain was excruciating, Agnes could do nothing but hope that Orin wasn’t going to take her time. “Now that I have you, I am going to destroy you. I’m going to twist and poke your brain until you no longer know who you are. I am going to take every memory you cherish until you’re nothing but a husk” Orin let out a deranged laugh as she continued carving into Agnes.

As Orin smeared Agnes’ blood across her face like a painting, Agnes prayed. She prayed to her father Bhaal for forgiveness. She prayed that Orin would grow bored of toying with her. And she prayed that Orin never told Enver what happened to her. Several hours passed as Orin destroyed Agnes. Toying with her brain, slicing her skin. Barely conscious, Agnes could feel everything she knew slipping away. She held on to what little memories she could, trying to imagine she was anywhere but in the colony. Pulling on the memory of her and Enver Gortash dancing on the rooftop. “You’re pathetic,” Orin hissed. “You should be pleading, begging for father’s forgiveness. But you’re thinking of that Baneite scum, aren’t you?! You’re weak!”. Orin walked around the chair into Agnes’ view. Agnes watched as her sibling took the form of her favorite person. With a low chuckle, Enver held her dagger to her throat. “Look at his ‘favorite assassin’ now! He never loved you, he only wanted you for father’s power.” With a final stab, Agnes’ vision faded.

Enver paced his room nervously. Agnes was never punctual, but she always came. It had been hours since they agreed to meet. He could feel that something was wrong. As he decided to pull on his coat and look for her, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Heading out?” He turned to see Agnes standing in the doorway. He began to relax until he realized she was covered in blood and viscera, the metallic smell of blood in the air. She never came to his room this way, she didn’t like tracking work to their space. “I like that there’s no gore here. A welcome change,” she had once said. Agnes strode up to Enver, dagger in hand. Enver felt a pang of worry. Had the Urges taken over? Was this it?

“I was actually going to look for you. Where have you been?” he asked, watching her nervously. Something felt off about her. She looked like herself, but her mannerisms were all off. The way she moved was more erratic than normal, less controlled. “What’s wrong?” he asked nervously, backing away as she came closer. Enver watched as Agnes’ neck cracked to the side, her limbs becoming stiff and rigid. Suddenly, her face changed. Her red eyes turned completely white, her black hair suddenly blonde. Before him, his lover turned into a monster. It was Agnes’ sister, Orin.

“What the hells are you doing?” Enver backed away from her, reaching towards a dagger he kept under his pillow. Orin cackled devilishly, waltzing around Enver’s room, touching his books and moving things out of place. “Sister has become such a distraction for you, lordling,” Orin turned towards him, running her fingers along the dagger she had taken from Agnes. Enver suddenly felt a burst of anger. “What have you done to her?” he growled angrily, walking towards the changeling with his dagger pointed at her. Orin continued to laugh as she detailed every cruel and heinous thing she did to Agnes. Describing how she had twisted her brain, scrambling every memory, destroying who she was. Orin spared him no details of the hours of torture inflicted upon his partner. Enver’s body went cold as he listened to the bhaalspawn describe how she plucked each memory of him from her sister’s brain.

“Why?” is all Enver could say after Orin finished detailing the depraved actions she took against her sister. Orin laughed, enjoying watching Enver squirm at the gorey details. “She was weak. Distracted,” Enver stood in disbelief as his world crumbled around him. He had prepared for this to end badly. For their love story to end in tragedy. He didn’t expect to be the one living it, though. He was always sure she would end him. And he was okay with that. This was far worse, he never planned to mourn her. Anger filled him as he watched Orin from across the room. In an act of impulse, he ran at her, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her up against a wall.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you right here,” he hissed, lifting her off of the ground by her throat. Orin smiled, suddenly shifting back to look like Agnes. Enver let her go, staggering back. “You cannot. I am now Bhaal’s Chosen. You have no choice,”

She was right. He was bound to the Chosen of Bhaal and Myrkul to complete their mission. To raise the cult of the Absolute, control the elder brain, and rule the city with the Black Hand of Bane. “Where is she?” he hissed. Maybe he could find her, find a way to fix her. “It doesn’t matter, Baneite. She’s gone, really. Everything she was has been turned to mush.” Orin closed her fingers as if to simulate the way she dug around in Agnes’ brain. “Besides, if she does ever see you again, she’ll only feel terror,”

Enver staggered back, realizing the gravity of what Orin was telling him. She had taken his form when she destroyed her. “You..” Enver felt white hot with rage. He watched as Orin in Agnes’ form flitted about his room, knocking his books off of the shelves. “Things will be better now. Now that you aren’t distracted by my sibling.”

“Get out.”

“Oh don’t be so down, you weren’t going to work out anyway. I just removed the distraction for you,” Orin laughed, circling behind him. “I did you a favor, '' she whispered. With a snap of her fingers, she was gone. Enver sank in his desk chair cradling his head in his hands. Looking up, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper left on the desk. As he opened it, he saw a sketch of a man with dark eyes and hair with hearts littered about. Looking closer, he saw a note at the bottom. “-From your favorite assassin”.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #baldurs gate posting #bg3 oc #tav bg3 #bg3 durge #the dark urge #durgetash #baldurs gate durge #durge x gortash #dark urge x enver gortash #lord enver gortash #baldurs gate gortash #gortash bg3 #lord gortash #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash x durge #enver gortash x dark urge #dark urge x gortash #gortash x tav #bg3 fanfiction #durge oc #durge bg3 #durge #my durge #bhaalspawn posting

[freyjas-musings]

E/riel’s keep changing/backtracking the plot for Elain. First, it’s she’ll go to the Prison and help find the Dread Troves, and become High Lady/High Queen of Dusk. Then, it’s she’ll be a spy with Azriel and once again hunt down Dread Troves. And now, she’ll conquer Ramiel and be involved with the Illyrians/Illyrian plot. However, didn’t E/riel’s say that Illyria was done after ACOSF and SJM isn’t going back to it?🤡 the backtracking is funny.

E/riel’s care about Elain’s story, but they keep changing the narrative to where her journey/plot fits Azriel’s. And realistically, their plots are completely different. Some E/riel’s are just now trying to claim they came up with the idea of Elain defeating Koschei, even though Elucien’s and Gwynriel’s have been saying this for a while. Elain’s plot will be Koschei and Azriel’s will be Illyria and MAYBE the queens/Autumn. If the mortal queen and Autumn Court are tied into his plot I think it would be because Gwyn is involved, but I’m not sure.

Listen given that some of those great minds came up with Balthazar is Elain theory nothing surprises me anymore .... 😅😅😅

As far as plot lines go if I were to guess :

Azriels book - Illyria, made weapons , Autumn will be the plot lines with a Gwynriel centric romance and Emorie sub plot romance.

Elains Book - Human queens, Koschei, Day court and Spring will be the plot with an Elucien centric Romance and Jassa sub plot romance.

Am I a 100% sure ? No ... but at the moment it looks like it .... I would be interested to see if she mixes any more of the world walking stuff ...the likely candidate from the ACOTAR world being Nesta.

Dread Troves and weapons, Prison and Valkyries will always always be Nesta's plot lines.... people can stop borrowing it or perhaps just write wonderful fanfics that stans can enjoy... I have read some brilliant Gwynriel fanfics with koschei as the central plot line .... its fun and so well written .... so by all means ... but as far SJM goes I doubt she would ever mix Troves and Elain...

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #pro gwynriel #gwyn acosf #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x azriel #azriel #post acosf #acosf theory #anti elriel

[outeremissary]

2023 Wrapped!

This is my first ever time doing a year end art summary (using this template)- I always wanted to when I was younger, but never felt I was creating enough work or that it was "serious" enough or good looking enough to be worth compiling. It's been interesting to reflect on a year that included so many creative ups and downs (and life ups and downs in general). If you'll permit me I want to do the little reflection ramble too, even if it's an inadvisable 5 (or now 6) in the morning where I live.

Some of you who followed me on Twitter probably know that I only "learned to color"- or rather found a way that worked for me enough to finish things consistently- in 2022, and rather late in 2022 at that. This is pretty much the first year where work I considered "finished" or "polished" included things that weren't greyscale, and it's absolutely the first year where I had attempted to do something in color almost every single month. When I look at this and see the range of hues it has, I really feel an incredible sense of achievement. I would not have imagined 14 months ago that I could stitch something that looked like this together, and 12 months ago I can't say I'd have felt confident either.

Despite having a huge artistic slump in the back half of the year (along with a sharp downturn in my mental health in general) I was astounded to find that for the first six months I had so much work that I loved and was proud of that it was hard to put this together because I constantly felt like I was leaving favorites out- works that I thought were iconic or were huge milestones or I just really loved. That was unbelievable. And that was only sifting through the "nice" stuff- I didn't even consider a mountain of sketches and doodles that I adored! Even in my busiest months and the months I was recovering from a major medical procedure (I got top surgery!!!) I had something to show, and May being a WIP is less because there was nothing in that month than because Aurien and Vio were the only ones who were fitting in the damn frame (side note: I'd be more thoughtful with template than aesthetic if I ever did this again).

Even in the five months I was convinced I had done absolutely nothing, I found again and again that I had more than I thought for every month (except November, where it turned out everything I thought I'd done was early December. you've been spared DUrgetash). I was creating even when I was convinced that I was never going to be able to draw again. And I was creating enough that I got to be picky filling this thing out and choose Tristian for October just for a laugh when other options were out there, and enough that I had options when I was struggling to fit something I wanted into the template frame.

Side note: Miss Leonelle, you were tragically robbed by the damn frames.

In making this I also saw again and again the connections that I made throughout the year. I have had the incredible fortune to make wonderful friends this year and to build on bonds that I already had- even some where I perhaps didn't deserve the chances I was given. @mountainashfae is all over this summary- in April, May, June, August, and November- and I've often felt I spent as much time on Vio as Balthazar this year, but there were at least seven other baronesses, KCs, and other incredible OCs I had the privilege of drawing this year who I desperately wanted to fit onto this and was not able to for one reason or another. I'm so happy to know so many creative, passionate people and to be allowed so close to the things they hold so dear. To everyone who has shared their creations this year- not just with me, but with anyone on the internet or in real life or quietly in DMs or in a Discord or wherever- you're incredible, and I hope you're proud of what you've done. And if you struggle with that, I hope you can be proud of the way you're growing even now.

If you've stuck with me this far, thank you. Sincerely. I really appreciate that there are people who enjoy looking at my silly little drawings and reading my occasional rambles, even if I'm a little erratic on putting things up and usually a bit distant by choice from fan communities. And if you continue to stick around, I hope that you continue to have a good time.

I don't know what to expect from 2024 when I've got a laundry list of projects from 2023 I haven't finished, but I'm hopeful about what it'll contain. There's a lot I want to do- more full illustrations, working on other media, trying more ambitious projects- but for now it's enough to just think about picking up the things I've left off and continuing to tie up those loose ends.

Here's hoping we all can find something we want in 2024, as terrible and unknowable as the new chapter is.

#really obsessed with the single non PF/D&D thing on this being fucking Library of Ruina. huh!! I still haven't played more than two hours #my carmen didn't make the cut but maybe another carmen counts too. #I think in total there are 2.5 things on here that were never posted on tumblr. june made it here as a sketch but I don't think color? #if I have drawn something for you this year I love your character and had fun. :') #if I ever did this again I would maybe just do something with normal squares that didn't look cool. for practicality #emiway time for me to pass the fuck out. everyone outside of the US truly I am posting for you with the times I choose to not sleep #love you all have a good whatever time it is #emi art

[alchemist-of-thebes]

KH OC Week Day 1

Hello! How fun that KH OC Week is finally here! Actually, even though I've known about it since it started, I've never actually taken part in it. But I'm trying it! I'm trying so hard! I've been writing for a very long time, but only started dabbling in KH-related stuff because of @hinataoc. My characters were really originally mostly made to help support her characters and her stories, but the ol' writing bug would bite me every here and there and eventually I started writing little stories and adventures of my own for them. I've got a few now, but this week I think I'll just focus on the two OCs that started this journey for me. So... uh, here we go.

Day 1: Introductions

◾Tell us about your OC!

To start off my first OC Week, I’d like to introduce two of my characters - Velcia and Velcia! …Wait, what?

Yes, I’m afraid that it may seem a bit confusing at first. Both characters share the same name and very similar appearances, but they are in fact very different people! So let me introduce them both and tell you a bit about each one.

First, credit to the amazing @amyhayanora for the wonderful art of these two for me! She did such a good job of bringing them to life.

Now, to get started! On the left we have the first “Velcia”, who lived in Daybreak Town as a Keyblade Wielder up until the Keyblade War.

KHx-Era Velcia:

Her true name is “Valencia Florere”, but when she arrived in Daybreak Town all alone at the age of 3 years old she was unable to pronounce her own name properly. Nobody in Daybreak Town could have known otherwise, and so her mispronunciation “Velcia” was how she was known. For just this one introduction, I’ll use her ‘real name’, though don’t expect her to recognize it!!

As a toddler, Valencia was rescued from the Lanes Between Worlds by The Master of Masters, who did not deem fit to provide to anyone else an explanation of how she ended up there. Not having the faculty to raise a babbling baby, The Master of Masters created a digital data world modeled after Enchanted Dominion. This snippet of a world was completely devoid of danger, and it was here that Valencia was raised alongside a digital Aurora by the Good Fairies.

Pleasant and peaceful though it was, being raised by digital facsimiles of real people does tend to leave one a little odd, and by time Valencia was old enough to leave this fictional nursery she was quite an odd girl indeed.

Shy, awkward, and almost entirely lacking in social skills, Valencia was nonetheless an aspiring artist who quickly honed her craft as she worked to document as many Wielders and events in Daybreak Town as she could as a sort of reclusive self-styled historian. Her fingers and hands usually have pencil smears on the sides from all her drawing. She does wipe them off constantly, but she’s also drawing constantly so it’s a bit of a self-defeating endeavor.

She doesn’t try to be annoying or obnoxious but has a vague sense that there are things that she does that bother other people that she can’t really seem to change. This leaves her with a bit of a lack of confidence, but she’s always so eager to learn more and add more things to her books she pushes past her awkwardness anyway. 

Poor Valencia is terrible at fighting and quite a pushover, who did her best to stick to the periphery and hope nobody would notice her working quickly to sketch them into one of her many books. It wasn’t until she finally met a young man named Balthazar that she was really able to find a stable friend and companion. 

Valencia found she had a strong affinity for the World of Olympus, dearly loving everything about it. Of all the Projected Worlds, Olympus was where she spent the most time and as soon as she was able she bought a set of Olympian Robes from the Moogle in Daybreak Town; but stuck to wearing her more familiar boots, pants, and other various accessories. She didn’t know what her true homeworld was supposed to be, but she hoped beyond hope it could be Olympus.

The events leading up to the Keyblade War were nearly as devastating to Valencia as the War itself, and during the war she was struck with what should have been a fatal blow and left for dead - but a very odd thing happened. An unusual Heartless appeared on the battlefield and whisked her away from the chaos, bringing her to Olympus and healing her before ultimately being destroyed.

Now living on the world of her dreams, Valencia eventually managed to put the traumas of her past behind her and start a family. Her now-powerless Keyblade and the name “Velcia” were both passed down through the generations, and each time one “Velcia” passed away the next-born daughter received the name and the heirloom Keyblade, and after some time that brings us to…

KHII-Era Velcia

Velcia Anthes, daughter of Hephestus and Ioanna Anthes, was raised in Thebes as a Potion-Maker and Alchemist by her father after her mother mysteriously vanished when she was two years old. Named after her Keyblade-Wielding Ancestor from her mother’s side, Velcia received the Heirloom Keyblade and grew up hearing stories of wielders from her grandmother and marveling at the tales.

Coming from a family of scholars on her father’s side, Velcia is keenly interested in learning everything she can about the fundamentals of both magic and potion-making; and her devotion to learning magic hit an all-time high after her father and cousin were killed by Vanitas during the events of KH:BBS. 

After this, she was taken in by her aunt and uncle who helped her to stay strong and focus on her studies as they worked together to overcome the pain of losing their loved ones. Thanks in no small part to their support and the integrity of her father, Velcia is kind, graceful, and has every bit of the elegance that her KHx-era ancestor lacked; but most of all she is driven and determined to help anybody she can, especially if it means they can avoid the sorts of losses she dealt with growing up.

Thanks to time spent participating in events at the Coliseum when she was younger, Velcia combined her effective if rudimentary physical fighting skills with her growing array of spells to become a competent red mage who was very confident in her magic abilities. In her mid-twenties during the events of KHII, Velcia thought that her life as a potion-maker was perhaps all she would ever be.

One fateful day she meets a visitor from another world named Samantha, and almost the next thing Velcia realizes she’s being asked to come use her magical powers and knowledge to help Sam and Hinata chase down a dangerous Replica called Thaanix. This, it turns out, is only the start of her adventures…

--------

That’s about it for my introductions! I will include answers for both Velcias going forward for the rest of the week, but will likely have more information and pictures posted for the Modern-Era Velcia as I have more stories and art for her. Truth be told, the picture above is really the only proper picture of KHx-Era Velcia I have! Thank you for reading these little bits about my characters, I really hope you’ve enjoyed them.

Anyone who would like to read any of the stories I've written can find them either on my AO3, or on @hinataoc's Fanfiction.net page (which also has a plethora of other very good stories by her that you should check out). Archive of our Own Fanfiction.net

In addition, I have been in the middle of posting a new story about the Modern-Era Velcia called "Return to Eos", with a new chapter posted every weekend. I'm trying to post a little snippet of the chapters here on Tumblr as they go up, so if you are interested you can keep an eye out for those, too. Lastly, thanks very much to the @khoc-week crew (small as it may be this year) for hosting this event. :D

#KHOCWeek2023 #KHOC Week #Kingdom Hearts #Velcia #Two?! #sheeshers cheepers

[fieldofdaisiies]

gwyn x balthazar | 4k words | warnings: none | masterlist

Clotho sits behind her old, worn desk. And Gwyn has been looking at her for over five minutes, not yet stepping forward from where she is partly hidden behind a bookshelf. 

Clotho's is lost in the embrace of an old book, her eyes fully focused on the text in front of her. She hasn't noticed Gwyn yet. Although Gwyn somehow hopes she will. It would make it easier for her. 

Clotho would wave her over and she would start talking. 

But she can't stay hidden any longer. Mor is probably already waiting for her. They are supposed to leave in a few minutes, so Gwyn can't waste any more time. 

She treads carefully as she steps out of her hiding place, her fingers fisting her robes. She inhales deeply, calming her speeding heart. 

It is just one question. Not even a majorly dramatic one. But what if it is? What if Clotho says no? What if she is disappointed in Gwyn for even asking for something like this?

I am overthinking this way too much, Gwyn tells herself and lets go off her robes. 

With a deep, steadying breath, she musters the courage to approach Clotho, her footsteps barely making a sound against wooden floor. The moment she stops in front of her desk, the High Priestess lifts her head. 

A paper appears on the desk. So, you finally made up your mind?

Gwyn has to smile, a little giggle slipping through her lips — Clotho just knows everyone too well.

"I did," she says, nodding. Then Gwyn clears her throat softly, her heart racing as she continues, "I, ahm, I've wanted to ask you something…"

Clotho nods, her look telling Gwyn to continue.

Swallowing her unease, the young priestess chooses her words carefully, as if tip-toeing around something fragile. "So, there is this…this…this male…" Gwyn pulls her lower lip between her teeth and something sparkles in Clotho's eyes. 

"I've met him…I mean, I somehow did…And, well, he seems to be a very, very good male. He's not  a brute, no he is good in his heart and mind. And the others…" Her voice trails off momentarily.

Clotho observes Gwyn intently, as if wanting to look right inside her heart and soul, wanting to see if Gwyn truly means it, if this male truly means it. Yet, she does not react. 

Drawing in another breath, Gwyn continues, her voice gaining some confidence. "The others…Nesta, Emerie, Cassian, Azriel... they all know him too. They trust him, and I do too." 

Her fingers fidget her robes once again and Gwyn hesitates to go on. She feels how cold sweat coats the back of her neck, her skin growing hot, her breathing a little heavier. 

"I... I'm…I was…no, I am wondering if it would be alright... if I can invite him to, you know, to a service. He is kind, and has a good heart, and I would like to invite him. Only if that is alright, of course. That is why I am asking."

The High Priestess' gaze softens, her eyes shining brightly. She remains silent, of course, but her words are getting written on the paper in front of Gwyn. 

He truly is kind and a good male?

Gwyn nods.

You like him? Like him a lot?

Gwyn nods again, a faint blush gracing her pale cheeks. She feels how her body relaxes, and the skin of her face grows warm. 

And he likes you? Means only good things?

"He does, or at least I think he likes me. But he only means good things, I know this." A smile parts her lips and she tips her chin. Clotho smiles as well, slowly bowing her head. 

You have my blessing, Gwyneth. But you will have to ask the others as well, this is not only my decision.

Gwyn has technically already done so. She sent the letter to Balthazar, that she would love to visit Windhaven and see his woodcrafting space, two days ago, announcing her visit for this day. 

Right after she sent the letter, she started asking her fellow priestesses for allowance to invite him. To her utter surprise, even Merrill had agreed. And now she also has Clotho's blessing. 

This is a good day, Gwyn thinks. She grins, when she takes a step back from the desk. "Thank you! Thank you so much. This means the world to me!"

Clotho smiles a little brighter, her eyes twinkling like the stars in the night sky. 

Now nothing can stop her. She will invite him here, show him her space as well. This is a major step. One that is both exciting and absolutely terrifying. He will be the first male to ever see this space — her very personal space. But it feels right. She wants Balthazar to see this. She wants to see how he reacts when she tells him everything about her life, when she lets him in. She has to see it, has to let him know, in order to go further with whatever it is between them. 

But telling him, after he let her in on his worries, in his life, feels right. And it feels good — the thought of telling him makes her feel comforted. She knows whatever she has to say then will be safe with him. 

Because everything he told her, is safe with her. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes widen with surprise as she ascends the staircase to the House of Wind, where Mor is waiting after changing into more Windhaven-appropriate clothing. Mor always looks stunning, but today she appears to have gone the extra mile. Gwyn can't quite put her finger on it why, but Mor looks absolutely beautiful in a tight plum-colored dress that perfectly accentuates her curves, her hair tied in a high ponytail.

Gwyn can't help but wonder why Mor has gone to such lengths, especially since it is just for a trip to Illyria. A small smirk graces Gwyn's lips, and her thoughts immediately drift to a certain Illyrian female, the one she calls her best friend — Emerie. Those stolen glances, the quiet giggles, and the way both of them blush when around each other — could that be the reason why? Most certainly!

"Good to go?" Mor asks, her voice joyful.

"I am, thank you for taking me." Gwyn smiles as she walks up to Mor who already reaches out her hand for her. "Oh, don't worry, I have…business to deal with up there anyway. You know, those males sometimes just need a female to talk business." Mor grins, her eyes sparkling brightly.

They walk outside, to the balcony, the sun already high up in the sky, its warm strays falling upon their skins. "I will stay until you want to go home, if you want to leave immediately after arriving it is also fine. You tell me, alright?"

Gwyn's heart warms at the kindness, at the thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she says and it is then that mist wraps around them, they become weightless, their feet leaving the ground and just a moment later touching it again. Winnowing — still something that Gwyn finds herself marvelling at. 

The air is crisp up here, it always is. It always is cooler up here, Gwyn thinks and for a moment her mind drifts back to the Blood Rite, to how they were thrown into it with only their nightgowns on their bodies. It is still a miracle that they made it out alive. That they won. Emerie and her made it to the top, became Carynthian. Nesta won as well, she also made it out alive! And so did Balthazar, no matter what his father would have said — he made it out alive and that is a big win. 

"Will he come pick you up?"

Gwyn turns to Mor. "Yes. I asked him if he could meet me at the training pitch, as it is the only place I know around here."

Mor nods in understanding and the two females set out to walk over to the training pitch. It is midday, so hardly anyone is around, most Illyrian males are probably eating right now or taking a nap after lunch. The females are probably working in the kitchens, but all of this will change soon. Soon Balthazar will be officially announced as camp lord, and everything will change for the better. 

They arrive at the pitch, already a bit later than arranged but Balthazar is no where in sight. Gwyn does not grow nervous, but a tiny kernel of unease blooms inside of her. Where might he be? Did he forget her?

"You don't have to wait with me, Mor," Gwyn tells the blond female next to her. Mor is observing her surroundings, her eyes squinted, her hand placed against her forehead as she looks around, observes. "Of course, I do. I am not leaving you here alone." "Balthazar will be here soon." "Yes, and until then I'll wait with you." There is no room for protest, the decision is final. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"When did this happen?" Balthazar slings his arm under his mother's shoulder, trying to help her up. "And why? What were you doing?"

"I was up in the attic, Baz. Trying to look for some things."

"There are no things up in the attic that are important." "Your f—" "Don't!" His voice is filled with both concern and warning. He does not want to hear it. He does not want to hear that his mother nearly broke her neck by trying to retrieve old things that belonged to his father. 

"I am sorry, Baz," she says in a voice tinged with hurt, and a tears trail down her cheeks.

Worry floods his being, eliminating any other thought or feeling. What if that happens and he is not around to help her?

His hands, strong and steady, support her fragile figure, offering both physical and emotional help. Balthazara assesses her for any signs of injury, his eyes scanning over her body, but she seems fine. And yet, his mother's vulnerability, her pain, grips his heart with icy claws, and sinks its fangs into his whole chest. With tenderness and care, he reassures her that everything will be alright, his voice laced with both love and worry. And Fiara clings to him, as if never wanting to let go. 

He helps her mover over to the couch, his gaze flicking to the old grandfather clock on the wall. It tells him he is already late. Again!

Balthazar ensures his mother is seated safely. He kneels beside her, wings draped on the ground and takes her hand in his. "Mother," he breathes and a tear slides out of Fiara's eyes. 

"I am sorry, Baz." Her voice trembles, her chin quivering. 

With gentle words and his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, he tries to ease her discomfort and get rid of any pain she may be feeling. Fiara's eyes are closed, her chest lifting and falling with deep inhales. She seems to fall asleep.

So, Balthazar carefully lets go off her hand and straightens up. "Mother, I have to go and…deal with something. I will be back later, but please, promise me to not go up there again. If there is something you want, Thena or I can retrieve it for you, but please don't do it yourself."

His mother nods weakly, her gaze meeting Balthazar's through heavy-lidded eyes. "I promise," she whispers and leans back against the cushions, eyes closing once again. 

Balthazar quickly bends down to place a kiss on the top of her head and pulls a wool blanket over her fragile figure. "I'll be back for dinner. I am cooking, you don't have to worry about that."

He is not sure his mother still hears this, maybe she is already fast asleep. 

The moment the young Illyrian is outside the door, he is running. He is running again, like usual. Somehow, he is always running. But when it comes to Gwyn, he would run everywhere. At any time. And as fast as he can. 

He runs past the huts, hurdles through the small pathways between the tents, turns around the corner of yet another hut and takes one last sprint towards the training pitch. A thin film of sweat coats his entire being, but Gwyn has already seen him bloody and dirty, so she will be able to deal with that as well.

"Gwyneth," he breaths when he comes to halt, voice breathless, but not from running, rather from how stunned he is once again by her beauty. He forgets to breathe, to think, to exist — she is stunning, almost like a queen or goddess. 

His eyes are solely trained on her, on the smile, this bright and beautiful smile, that parts her lips. 

"Balthazar." Her teal eyes sparkle, as they trail over his features and Gwyn takes a step forward. Only then does Balthazar's gaze move to the female next to her and he bows a little at the waist.

"Lady Morrigan." "Lord Balthazar of Windhaven!" The blonde female smiles at him, and reaches out a hand which Balthazar quickly shakes. 

Gwyn, even if it makes absolutely no sense, and especially since she has only a short time ago pondered about Mor and Emerie, feels a pang of jealousy inside of her when their hands touch. It is so odd and irrational that Gwyn has to shake her head. But she knows this feeling, knows it is jealousy, even though it makes absolutely no sense. 

"Lord Balthazar, you know where Lady Emerie's shop is?"

He thinks for a moment, but then nods. "Of course, I do." "If Gwyn wants to go home, you will immediately get me. You will find me there. Or you will bring her to me, do you understand?"

"I do," he says, voice stern and sincere. Of course, he would do this. Immediately. 

"Good, otherwise, me and my favourite dagger will do very lovely things to you, to very important body parts of you." Warning flashes brightly in Mor's eyes when she steps past him. 

For a split second, something like shock passes over the young Illyrian's face, but he quickly finds himself nodding once again. And so Mor leaves, flashing Gwyn an encouraging and happy smile which the young priestess returns. 

Balthazar seems a little nervous when the young priestess searches his gaze. His brows are furrowed and he is nibbling on his lower lip. He inhales a deep breath, solid chest rising with it, and wipes the palms of his hands down his thighs. "Alright, my woodcrafting space. Shall we?" He asks and nervousness takes root in his chest.

Gwyn is the first person, outside of his family and Corrian, to ever see this place. He has never shown it to anyone, no one has ever been in there — this feels like a major step in his life. Like he lays his soul even more bare than he had already done when he had told Gwyn about his father and his nightmares. 

"But first, how are you feeling today?" 

His voice, so low, with the slight rasp, and so comforting dances over her skin and Gwyn finds herself smiling. "Thank you for asking, I am feeling very good today." Her smile turns into a grin that Balthazar mirrors with his lips. 

"And you? What about you?"

"Never felt better," he says, but the smile on his lips does not reach his eyes and Gwyn immediately knows something is up. She herself is surprised about how well she can read him already. 

Her own smile falters, brows furrowing. "You are not being honest, are you? Did something happen?"

A little huff accompanies Balthazar's sad smile and he says, "My mother fell earlier and I am a little worried about her. But it is all alright, she is sleeping now."

"You can go to her!" Gwyn blurts out. "Stay with her. You don't have to spend time with me when—" "I want to spend time with you. As I said, she is sleeping, it is perfectly alright. I want to be with you this afternoon, spend time with you. It is the best thing that can happen to me today, the nicest distraction from all the chaos right now." His smile is now more sincere, honest and does reach his eyes. He means it, he really does. 

"Alright, shall we?"

Gwyn nods excitedly, but when she looks around to where a few Illyrians start to return to their chores outside, and also to the smaller training pitches, a kernel of nervousness blooms inside of her. Her heart quickens when her gaze ping-pongs between the males. Then she looks up at Balthazar with a hint of panic in her eyes. 

He must sense her unease, taking a step towards her. 

Summoning her courage, and pushing past the restraint that held her back the last time, she looks up at him, her voice soft and hesitant, "Would it be alright if... if you—could, please, hold my hand while we walk over to your hut?"

Gwyn lowers her gaze, her fingers curled around the lower edge of her sweater. She feels vulnerable in this moment, not strong. 

But she knows how easy it is to lose control in moments like this, to fall back into all patterns of angst and panic whenever a male gets too close. She does no longer want to be afraid. And she knows that Balthazar holding her hand will help her keep control. He will give her the necessary comfort, the necessary strength she needs in this moment. 

She waits for his response, her eyes briefly meeting his before flickering away. It is such a simple request, but a tremendous step for Gwyn. She hasn't touched a male like this in ages, and most definitely not after…Sangravah. But Balthazar does not scare her, his closeness does not worry her, and his touch, it won't hurt her. 

Something like pain passes over Balthazar's face, almost like he can sense that there is some deeper pain hidden inside of Gwyn. Some secret that makes her so cautious, so wary, so…scared. 

"You never have to ask for something like this, Gwyneth," the young Illyrian whispers. 

He reaches out his hand, not grabbing hers yet. He gives her time, lets her take his hand when she is ready for it. 

Gwyn's fingers tremble slightly as she slowly reaches out, her hand hovering near his for a moment before finally making contact. The touch is delicate, her fingers sliding into his in a tentative grip. The skin of Balthazar's palm is a little callused, probably from all the fighting with swords and the woodcrafting he does. 

Balthazar has never felt something like what he feels when Gwyn's palm brushes his. Her slim hand perfectly fits into his broad hand, like they were made for one another. 

He holds her hand, not tightly, so she can pull it back whenever she wants to. But the spark, the sensation that explodes on their skins the moment their palms really meld, does not go unnoticed by either of them. 

Gwyn's eyes briefly meet Balthazar's, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability evident in her gaze. With a shy smile, she draws in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and begins to walk alongside him, her grip tightening ever so slightly when they head towards the huts of the Illyrian war camp.

"Thank you," she says, her tone barely above a whisper. Balthazar does not answer, but he gives her hand a gently, assuring squeeze and it is all Gwyn needs in this moment. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes are wide as she takes in the interior of the hut. She stands in the middle of it, turning and spinning on her heels so she can look at every little corner, every nook, of the room, so she won't miss a single thing. She can still feel his touch against her palm, how good it felt, and how right it was. It was perfect, and it was a big step she is now happy and proud she took. 

"You made all of this?" she breathlessly expresses. 

"Yes." Balthazar looks happy, bouncing on his toes, wings and hands folded behind his back. Instead of looking at the room, he looks at Gwyn, watching her as she swirls and looks around. So stunning… his lips part in silent admiration. 

"Is this the chair you mentioned last time?" 

Balthazar explains to her that it is, and also tells her what it still misses but that it will be finished soon. He also shows her the other objects, certain small stools, a box, a shelf that he has only started recently, little figures and many more things. They wander through the whole hut, it is small, but there is just so much too see and Gwyn is so interested. She wants to see everything, wants to run her fingers over every smooth surface. And she also wants to hold his hand again. 

The dedication he pours into every project is very visible and Gwyn is happy to learn a little more about him whenever they meet. He is an interesting, intriguing male, with a heart of gold and a mind as sharp as a blade. She loves that about him. Somehow she has always dreamed to meet a male just like him. 

"How do you now feel about the camp lord business?" Gwyn suddenly asks, glancing over her shoulder at Balthazar. 

The smile on his face vanishes for a split second and he says, "Better. And alongside my sister and my best friend, I definitely have you to thank for this. I am starting to believe that I can do this. That I am ready for this."

She turns, so her front faces his and reaches out to hold his hand once again. "You don't have to thank me for showing you the obvious. You are perfect for this position, you were just too blind to see it."

Balthazar smirks, his hand tingling where it touches Gwyn's. "Did you just call me blind?"

A grin parts her delicate lips and for a moment Balthazar's falls drops to her mouth. 

"Well, you are blind. You clearly don't see your potential, your skills, your power." She traces her thumb over the siphon on the back of his hand to make her point clear. Balthazar nearly shudders at the feeling, his breath getting caught in his throat. 

"Gwyneth," he hums.

The priestess' cheeks warm a little, her breathing turning heavier. It is the way he says her name — her full name. It does something to her, makes her body feel something she hasn't felt before. But hearing her name on her lips, it is…no words can describe the emotion she is feeling. 

Somehow it feels like in all those romance book, when the love interest whispers dirty somethings into the female's ear. Yes, yes, this is somehow comparable to what him saying her name feels like. And Gods, will he ever say her name like this to her when they— She can't think about this right now. This would be scandalous!

"Would you like to come see a service some time?"

Balthazar seems to not understand immediately. His forehead lies in furrows, his hand loosening its hold on Gwyn's. She giggles softly, loving his confused expression. He is still so very handsome, but Cauldron, does he look adorable like this. 

"I am a priestess and we have services and I was wondering if you would like to attend one. I asked, if it is alright for everyone, and it is. You may come, if you want to."

She looks hopeful and finally Balthazar nods. "I would love to. Will you sing again?"

"I will."

"Then there's nothing I'd rather do. When can I come?"

Gwyn's heart does many happy skips at his excitement and the grin blooming on his handsome face. 

"Sunday. The next one is on Sunday."

~~~~~~~~~ tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

#gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x balthazar #balthazar #balthazar acotar #acotar #acosf #acofah #acourtoffateandhealing

[hoziernaturalevents]

Hoziernatural Recs: Rare Pairs

Sign-ups for the 2024 round of the Hoziernatural Multi-Ship Bang are open, and people will soon be working to create a whole new batch of Hoziernatural content! However, for those of you who would like something to read between now and posting, we have some recs to fill that need 💜

Everything listed below is a rare pair, but if you're a person of varied taste, then check out our Wincest, Destiel, and Gen/Character Study rec lists!

Honey, There Is No "Right" Way by @rauko-creates

Beta: @petrichoravellichor

Hozier Song: Someone New

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 10,181

Pairing/s: Balthazar/Castiel, Past Castiel/Dean Winchester, Past Balthazar/Hannah

Warnings: Internalized Acephobia, Internalized Arophobia

Additional Tags: Ace!Castiel, Aro!Balthazar, Demiromantic!Cas, Demisexual!Balthazar, Queer Themes, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Roommates AU, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character

Summary:

“That’s not how you feel about her.”

“Castiel, that’s not how I’ve ever felt about anyone. This whole…” He waved a hand in the air and propped up against the arm of the couch, “in love business...it’s complete bollocks. If you ask me, people’ve just seen too many blasted movies, got so hopped up on the rush of getting to know someone that they think that's it, that’s love, but it isn’t. Love is…” He glanced down at Castiel. “Love is choosing the person you get on with best, someone you’re able to be mates with and that you find attractive. All this ‘romance’ rubbish is just propaganda.”

Castiel looked at his friend. He thought about the warm feeling that grew inside him when they were together, the way his heart beat just a little faster every time Balthazar was close. “Yes...perhaps you’re right.”

i prayed my mind be good to me by @withthekeyisking-writer

Hozier Song: In the Woods Somewhere

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,789

Pairing/s: Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Emotional Manipulation, Coercion, Conditioning, Stockholm Syndrome, Disordered Eating, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming

Additional Tags: Hallucination Lucifer, Post-Episode 7x15 Repo Man, Episode 7x17 The Born-Again Identity, Lucifer's Cage, Horsemen's Rings, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sam's Cage Trauma, Sleep Deprivation, Groping, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex

Summary:

"You know you want to, Sammy. You know you miss me. You know you should come get me out."

"No. No, that will never happen."

His hallucination hums, looking at him with dark eyes and something almost resembling pity. "Oh, Sam," he says. "Yes, it will."

Mid-Youth Crisis by @sunshine-zenith with art by @rauko-creates

Beta: @rauko-creates

Hozier Song: Jackie and Wilson

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 9,162

Pairing/s: Rowena MacLeod/Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester, Castiel & Mary Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lily Sunder & Kelly Kline

Warnings: Minor Blood/Injury, References to Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Additional Tags: Oblivious Mary Winchester, Humor and Fluff, Finding New Love

Summary: Resurrected and thrust into a strange modern world, Mary finds herself frustratingly connecting with a certain red-haired witch. After watching Cas decide to fall to be with her son Dean, Mary starts to wonder: is she happy? WAS she ever happy? Does her chance at happiness happen to lie in an unexpected place?

Someone New by @nickelkeep with art by @deancodedcastielenby

Beta: @iambiowaresbitch

Hozier Song: Someone New

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11,647

Pairing/s: Cain/Castiel/Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester

Warnings:No Major Content Warnings

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Polyamory, Foursome (M/M/M/NB), Non-Binary Character, 5 Times, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM

Summary: Cain has been mourning his wife Colette for two years. Despite the promise he made her, he hasn't attempted to date again. Enter his best friend Crowley with a devious plan to help him find Someone New.

#hozier #spn #hoziernatural #spn rare pairs #spn poly #spn femslash #Calthazar #Samifer #Mary/Rowena #Cain/Castiel/Benny/Dean #spn fic #spn art #rec list

[justmightyshadows]

This chapter came to me a bit faster than some of the others probably because it is setting up what is to come. It has tender moments but is mostly filling in lore and dissing Selune.

Aylin and Isobel picked a place in the upper reaches of the furthest tower when they set up camp outside of Baldur’s Gate. Isobel tried to remove some of the dust before the others arrived but had barely made a safe space for the fire before Muira stood before them. She wore a long black night gown with a high split up her leg that had been picked out for her by Minthara who had recently fallen into the habit of dressing her lately. Minthara followed behind her in a matching black jumpsuit that had a plunge to her navel. They sat silently across from Aylin and Isobel as the pair tended to beginning of the small fire.

Isobel cast a couple quizzical looks at Minthara - her eyes showed the yearning of a question forming on her mind - but she chose not to speak. The silence was punctuated by the small pops of the embers until eventually Muira sighed and spoke “Out with it then winged one. I need to know what happened. How did you get caught and what magic trapped you?” She began to pass around small glasses to drink out of and a large bottle of elvish spirit which Minthara looked at with disgust.

Aylin threw two overflowing glasses back and wiped the excess from her face with the back of her arm. “I was caught by Ketheric, he used my oath against me. I was distraught at the time over my dear Isobel’s death and searching for ways to do good for Selunite’s in the area. He wrote to me about a threat to them there so I made my way quickly to offer my aid. In other times I would have waited for reinforcements or at least an ally at my side. When I arrived I was overwhelmed by Shar’s forces and bound by the necromancer Balthazar.” Isobel reached over tenderly and stroked Aylin’s face but Aylin lowered her hand gently and moved forward. “At first I was resigned to my fate. To die truly felt like a relief I could not have had any other way, every death felt like a chance to be by her side again. In truth I was not sure if immortality was a real thing, a long life yes but to be killed as I was, I did not think it possible. At the same time I could feel every blow that Ketheric took and his pain ravaged me as well.” She filled her glass again and poured it into the back of her throat. Minthara wondered if it did anything to numb her at all or if the act itself made her feel better, more mortal. “Killing him was a joy I did not think I could have but my pain had already been endured, there was no turning back time.” She shifted in a rare moment of uncomfortable energy and allowed Isobel to hold tightly to her arm.

“You endured a great deal but did you not see the signs? Did you not know he was a Sharran?” Muira asked in an even tone. She watched the facial expressions of them both to glean any clues about the truth of this tale. “I knew he was a sick and twisted man but I assumed it was by grief not by falling to a lost goddess. I spent no time around him or that area after Isobel died. There was nothing I wanted more than to be far from the places that held our memories together.” Her voice quivered and Isobel began to look in concern she thread her hand under Aylin’s tunic and rubbed her back while she poured her another heaping glass of drink. Aylin tipped it back as well and looked off into the distance.

“I pity your predicament in a way, but I had far more technical questions in mind than your emotional state. How did they bind you for so long? Was it with the magic that I suggested?” She made a manageable glass for herself and pulled a small bejeweled bottle from her waist lining and passed it to Minthara who sighed in relief at the drow wine.

Isobel furrowed her brow in confusion “What do you mean that you suggested?” Aylin interjected loudly over her questioning “Do not stir trouble for me, child of Umberlee. I will not stand for it.”

Muira ignored Aylin and shifted her intense gaze to Isobel instead moving her legs to widen the slit which drew everyone’s attention to her thighs. “I came to visit sometime before you died and tried to convince Aylin to bind herself to you if she felt you were her true love. I explained the soul bridge to her and she rejected me fully.” She let a bit of the drink slip from her mouth down her chest and pretended to look surprised. “I assumed she was either too self-righteous or not in love enough to take my advice.”

Aylin jumped up shaking the twigs in the low burning fire, her eyes glowing white with fury while Muira finished with a cool “I warned her the magic could be used against her otherwise. I could not be the only one to think of it. She never told you this?” This angered Aylin even more as she pointed down at Muira “You have no right to come here and stir up trouble in such a way! I did not tell her because I did not trust you! I still don’t. You are too power hungry and too willing to make alliances with dark forces.” She turned to face Minthara “Look, even now who you keep in your bed.”

Minthara rose in a dramatically slow way and breathed out “She keeps someone in her bed who is worthy of the position. Do not blame Muira for your inadequacies and careful where this sentiment goes. You are so far an ally but an enemy can be made just as quickly.” Muira rubbed her hand gently up Minthara’s leg and pulled down at her waist as she spoke to Aylin directly “I was born of a dark force! That is your problem with me golden one, and when I extended my hand in friendship you rebuked me on prejudice alone. Now you must live with where that has put you. You are angry with yourself far more than you are angry with me.” Minthara settled to the floor reluctantly crossing her legs but brought Muira underneath her arm in a protective way as she glowered at Aylin.

“Tell us Isobel, what trapped her for so long.” This time it was Minthara who spoke catching the cleric off guard, she flinched a bit dramatically at being addressed by her. “A soul cage. It bound her and kept her in a state of suspended stasis while her life force, her soul, was used almost like a shield by Ketheric.” She avoided Minthara’s gaze instead looking at Muira with soft eyes, as if she hoped her admissions would win her favor.

“It sounds similar to the soul bridge which would be more of a shared connection. You are both too young” She gestured at Minthara and Isobel “but this was a favorite of the gods before, to make their favorite mortal warriors -immortal through the binding of their soul to something immortal, in most cases a blessed weapon. Many a legendary weapon has a soul bound to it, giving it the properties and knowledge of the warrior it homes. The truly powerful can even extend their mortal body and transfer between the two shapes.”

Muira felt the heat of the drink across her body as she tipped another glass back. She gave a soft kiss to the underside of Minthara’s jaw who smirked at Isobel’s jealous face. “There is nothing stopping you now Aylin, once I’ve gotten the details for the soul bridge you should not make the same mistake twice.”

Aylin looked down at Isobel and spoke in an apologetic tone “It would offend Selune to give my immortality to another.”

Minthara laughed harshly and made a sweeping motion at the room around them. “Look at where we are? You owe Selune nothing! She let you rot away for a century, she let her sister kill you thousands of times and for what? She sent no army, no weapon, no warrior to your aid. We lifted the curse and felled Ketheric on our own. You owe her nothing, oh mighty paladin. ” She let the last sentence fall as the insult that is was and enjoyed the angry look on Isobel’s face.

“We owe her everything.” Isobel whispered, she drank her first glass into the silence of the room. Muira let the silence drag on as she stared longingly at Minthara, she gave another playful kiss and Minthara gave her a stern look to behave. She did not mind pda but seemed to be taking stock of the company before them.

Isobel yawned, tired from the talk and seemingly annoyed by the display of affection before her. “It matters not, we will lead two different lives for two different lengths it seems. However, to destroy this cult you still have our help. You saved Aylin, you saved me and you helped Jaheira as well, that is not something we take lightly.” She spoke directly to Muira, and held her gaze, then lowered her head slightly in deference.

Muira rose and put a hand out to Aylin “You do not need to trust me yet - look into it on your own. Ask yourself if you can endure her death again.” She then put a hand out to Isobel who raised it to her mouth and gave the knuckles a light kiss as she whispered “I owe you a great debt, child of Umberlee. I hope one day to repay it.” Minthara bristled to her side as they said their goodnights and headed back to the tent.

They had barely crossed the threshold before Muira has opened a map on their bedroll. “They gave us the information we were looking for. In Baldur’s Gate we need to find that book on soul binding to weapons. I think it holds the key we are missing. We also need to enter the Wave Mother’s Temple. I believe we will be safer there than sleeping in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.” She circled two areas and then added two symbols in the corner for Bhaal and Bane. “Of course we must also kill Orin and remove this tadpole.” Minthara listened absentmindedly as she sat in front of Muira. She reached out and rubbed both of Muira’s arms following behind with soft kisses that trailed up to her neck. She pressed their bodies together and leaned into Muira’s ear enjoying the feel of the demi-god’s heart rate quickening from her touch. “You will give me this gift then my love?” There was no doubt what she meant. Her question was as tender and soft as she’d ever been but in a way that was drenched in a sort of desperation. She wants to live forever. “Yes, of course, ussta kulggen*(my shield)” Minthara moved to rest on her lap pressing her weight into Muira. “Promise me you will not stop until we are bound as such.” She flickered her tongue along the edge of Muira’s ear. “Usttan Iglata. ** (I promise)” she moved her mouth to bite down harshly into Muira’s neck. “Make it so then, my love. Before we do not get the chance and end up like them.” She pulled back a bit to stare deeply into Muira’s eyes, the dark brown of the gaze returned looked like pools of the deepest water. “I would never allow us to be like them. You have my promise.” She rubbed her head into Minthara’s and continued “Rest now. I will be lookout while you meditate. I have plans to make.” Minthara nodded and shed her clothes wrapping herself in the soft blankets and furs that Muira kept for them. She draped one hand over Muira’s crossed legs, even in resting she yearned for the closeness of their bodies.

Muira waited for Minthara’s breathing to slow before she called out to Aenwyn. In a flash her trident shifted and aneleven was before her. She had piercing emerald eyes, light gray skin and jet black hair that falls neatly below her cheek, across her face is a large scar that crackles gently with electricity. Her head is adorned with a three pointed circle and she wore a billowing green dress that fell above her knee. “My lord?” Her voice is almost two each word in perfect unison but the harmony of it sung like a small choir. “Watch the perimeter while she rests.” Muira did not look up from her reading when she spoke, staring instead at a small book on binding spells. “Of course my lord.” Aenwyn gave a small bow and walked off, the sound of her feet nonexistent as if she hovered right above the ground.

The night labored along slowly until Minthara’s breathing became shallow. She writhed in agony, sweat beading on her forehead. “No” she whispered into the darkness over and over. “Aenwyn, bring cold water now!” Muira called out. Within seconds Aenwyn was at her side with a small cool basin as they stared over the drow. “She looks haunted.” Aenwyn’s voice was even as Muira dabbed at the sweat that had formed on her lover’s head. “Give her time - if she isn’t awake in an hour you must wake her.”

Muira nodded and allowed Aenwyn to plant a gentle kiss on her head. “Stay close, Aenwyn.” She called as Aenwyn stepped out of the tent. “I am never far my lord.”

#OC Muira #Muira #bg3 #ao3 #ao3 wr #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #minthara #dame aylin #bg3 aylin #bg3 isobel #bg3 oc #bg3 minthara #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 lore

[cainluvr69]

Surely, We Can Make Miracles Chapter 19

Previous Chapter

Shylock: …nn… … …You are…?

Hwylryn: Hwylryn.

Shylock: …Are you a wizard…?

Hwylryn: Hehe… What do you think?

Lennox?: Hwylryn.

Hwylryn: Balthazar.

Shylock: …

Lennox?: Someone has destroyed the mermaids' jail. Go figure out what happened.

Hwylryn: Don't wanna.

Lennox?: You can't "not wanna".

Hwylryn: Balthazar. I've gotten rid of Gwawlyn's enemies.

Lennox?: The Northern twins, yes?

Hwylryn: Yep. Aren't I great?

Lennox?: Yes, if you actually took them down. I've yet to see their stones.

Hwylryn: They'll die. You know how effective dragon venom is. … I wonder if Gwawlyn would be happy with this. He liked those twins. They were strong, for wizards. They had the same face despite there being two of them, just like us, and that was fun…

Lennox?: Uh-huh, is that right. Hurry up and get moving. Kukuku… I see you've awoken, Shylock.

Hwylryn: Are you listening, Balthazar?

Shylock: Why not listen to what he has to say?

Lennox?: I'll listen later. Kukuku… I see you've awoken, Shylock.

Shylock: You're just trying to start the conversation over?

Hwylryn: Balthazar. I got rid of Gwawlyn's enemies, you know?

Lennox?: And so what?! I never even met that dragon in the first place.

Hwylryn: But… You remind me of him. You're violent, short-tempered, rude…

Lennox?: Hwylryn. You don't need to elaborate.

Hwylryn: Haha… Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe I'm the one you resemble instead. Drifting down to the West because we couldn't keep living in the North.

Lennox?: … Shylock.

Shylock: Yes?

Lennox?: Wait for a while.

Shylock: Please, take your time.

Lennox?: …Hwylryn, what's wrong. What are you getting so sentimental about?

Hwylryn: A whole lot of things happened all at once. I thought I was going to encounter my most bitter foes, but instead I made a friend.

Lennox?: A friend?

Hwylryn: Yep. Tomorrow, we're going to line up early at that store together. We're going to get cake together…

Lennox?: You're going to get cake? At a time like this…?

Hwylryn: We're going to get torta di cocco. I gave you some too, didn't I?

Lennox?: You did, yes…

Hwylryn: Wasn't it good?

Lennox?: I guess.

Hwylryn: I'm going to be lining up with Akira tomorrow to get more.

Shylock: Akira…?

Hwylryn: You know them?

Shylock: Do you perhaps mean the Sage?

Hwylryn: That's right, they did say something about being the Sage. I made friends with Akira.

Shylock: So you're a friend of the Sage… …Could you tell me what your relationship with Balthazar is?

Lennox?: That doesn't concern you.

Hwylryn: We're old friends. Well, I think we're friends…

Lennox?: Cease this useless prattle!

Hwylryn: …I won't talk about that. I just got intrigued by him, so I decided to help him out. Balthazar told me about you, Shylock. Back before Adams Island sank.

Shylock: … Thank you, Hwylryn.

Hwylryn: You're very welcome.

Shylock: …Balthazar.

Lennox?: …What.

Shylock: Did you not turn to stone when Adams Island sank?

Lennox?: …

Shylock: How did you survive? What have you been doing all this time? Were you lurking here in the ocean depths this whole time?

Lennox?: …That doesn't concern you.

Shylock: This is how you've been planning on sweeping me off my feet?

Hwylryn: He just went and did that without talking to me about it first. He doesn't really care about my…

Lennox?: Silence, Hwylryn!

Hwylryn: … Whatever.

Lennox?: Wait! I didn't mean to offend you! There's still something I need you to do! Hwylryn…! …He's gone… What was he going to say I don't care about?

Shylock: Well, you certainly aren't considering his feelings, for one.

Lennox?: Hmph… And what do you think you know about him? You haven't even realized what he truly is.

Shylock: I know more about him than you do, at least.

Lennox?: You know what he is?

Shylock: I couldn't care less about that. I'm talking about his heart.

Lennox?: His heart?

Shylock: He told you that he's taken down his brother's foes, and he told you that you resemble that same brother. He thinks of you as a stand-in for his brother, Balthazar. That was why he wanted you to say something about how he'd taken down his enemies.

Lennox?: Did you read his mind?

Shylock: I don't need to do something like that to know what he wants.

Lennox?: Have you read my mind as well?

Shylock: Oh, yes.

Lennox?: …

Shylock: …

Lennox?: Then tell me. Tell me what I'm thinking about right now.

Shylock: I will not.

Lennox?: Why not? Do you have no confidence?

Shylock: Balthazar. In the North those who are strong are victorious, while those who are weak are not, yes? But that's not how it works in the West. The West is a country of desires. The one who desires is the one who loses. And you desire me. You want me to surrender myself to you, to be helpless before you, but the very moment you began to want me… Was the moment that you lost. After all, whether I give you what you want or not is all up to me.

Lennox?: … And yet I could turn you to stone here and now. I can make you experience enough fear and pain you'll beg me to turn you to stone! Do you want that, Shylock?

Shylock: Feel free to give me whatever you like. Though I imagine it'll bore me to sleep.

Lennox?: You're bluffing…

Shylock: Oh, my. This is neither a bluff nor an act. You see, I've found my heart set aflame recently.

Lennox?: …tsk. <Mare Praeda>!

✦✧☾✧✦

Mitile: Nero! The torta di cocco shopkeeper is coming here soon! He said he'll make torta di cocco for us with the castle kitchen!

Nero: That's great to hear! I'll have t' go see him later.

Riquet: Nero. Claudia wants to talk to you.

Claudia: I'm so sorry. No matter what I say, Dianne refuses to leave her office… You have something very important to ask of her, and yet she's not conducting herself the way a lord should. Please, let me apologize on her behalf. Is there anything that I could do to help you instead?

Nero: Well, I guess y'can talk with me so we can try to get the people 'round the castle to chill out a little. Why's the new lord refusin' to come out of her room? An' why's she hidin' stuff from us, an' why's she trashin' the castle magitech, an' what's up with her edict with the wizards' bazaar…

Claudia: The reason she won't come out of her office is because she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to deal with what's happening, but once she steps foot out of that room, she'll be expected to deal with it. And so, she's blocked herself inside.

Mitile: But why? If she doesn't know what to do, she should try talking to people to figure it out…

Riquet: Are the other people in the castle treating her coldly?

Claudia: Oh, certainly not. They've all been working here since she was little.

Nero: Right, one of 'em said somethin'. Somethin' about Dianne bein' a crybaby…

Claudia: Dianne's always been a darling little angel ever since she was a child. Everyone adored her. And she had a tendency to burst into tears when faced with just about anything. She'd cry at hearing compassionate stories, when thinking about her studies, or even halfway through introducing herself. Once, when the previous King's cousin, Lord Antonio, visited us here, she burst into tears in the middle of her introduction. Everyone around her went white as a sheet. They were dead certain he was going ask if she'd never learned any discipline, or if no one's ever scolded her before. But Lord Antonio simply said, "What a darling girl she is," and wiped her tears… And he forgave her, just like that.

Nero: That ol' man's got some good in him, huh.

Claudia: Huh?

Nero: Oh, yeah, I know the guy too.

Claudia: Ah, I see. My apologies for speaking so self-centeredly…

Nero: Nah, don't worry about it. Keep talkin'.

Mitile: (I can't believe Nero's calling someone related to the old king "that ol' man"…)

Claudia: That event went from being just a funny story to tell at gatherings all the way to being something to boast about. After all, someone as illustrious as Lord Antonio himself had pardoned our youngest child's adorable tears. My sister wasn't the only one who was so happy about it that she went spreading the story everywhere she went. But it wasn't an incident Dianne herself was proud of. She did her very best to not cry. She didn't want to be called a crybaby anymore.

Mitile: I really understand how she felt…

Riquet: Did you used to be a crybaby too, Mitile?

Mitile: I… I wouldn't say I was that bad. Even though the grown-ups just smiled about it and didn't have any bad intentions behind what they said about me, it was still embarrassing.

Nero: Yeah, I've been there too…

Riquet: You have, Nero?

Nero: Yeah, well… No one had a lick of common sense or basic decency where I used t' be.

Mitile: What did they say?

Nero: I ain't repeatin' that in front of kids.

Claudia: Could you whisper it to me?

Nero: I definitely ain't sayin' it in front of a noblelady!

Claudia: Oh my, how terribly shy you are. Now then, where were we?

Riquet: We were talking about how Crybaby Dianne hated being called that.

Claudia: Ah, yes. Dianne had support during all this from my father--her grandfather--Lord Dionis, a man famous for his military exploits here in the West. He taught her swordsmanship, and he patiently showed her what a brave, wonderful human she could be. Thanks to his guidance, she became the gallant swordsman you see now. She barely resembles who she used to be. But… This is no longer an era where mastery of the sword can carry her; it's an era of magical technology. Someone said that to Dianne and my father. Even a fresh-faced rookie soldier could defeat the famous Commander Dionis with magical technology on their side.

Nero: Ahh… That musta been hard for the lil' missy to hear.

Mitile: (Now he's calling the local lord, Lady Dianne, "the lil' missy"…)

Riquet: But isn't magical technology very widespread in this country?

Nero: Not everyone feels the same about these kinds of things. 'Specially in the lil' miss lord's case, when it's got to do with what saved her heart, her grandpa's martial arts… It's no wonder she ended up feelin' so aggressive about magitech.

Claudia: That's right… Dianne began to hate even just the very sight of magical technology after that. She was so hostile towards it that she began putting her support behind the wizards without properly getting to know them first…

Riquet: So that's what happened. I'd heard that she was very friendly towards wizards, so I'd been looking forward to meeting her. But she didn't seem very friendly when I talked to her.

Claudia: I'm so sorry she let you down like that… She really doesn't have any prejudices against wizards, I assure you. But that description of her isn't an apt one. Still, to pretend to want to be friends despite having no real intention of it…is a terribly lonely thing.

Mitile: How can we get along better with Lady Dianne…? I thought I didn't really like her very much, even though I didn't know much about her until just now… But, after listening to what you've said about her…I don't think she's someone I can hate. I completely understand her frustration with being called a crybaby and with having her grandfather mocked like that. And the people in the castle and the island residents are the same too, aren't they? I do think that throwing out a big magical technology installation and making things hard for the head chef is going a little too far, but… If she could be honest with the people around her about what's making her miserable, or about what she needs help with…

Nero: Yeah, that ain't happenin'.

Mitile: Why not…?

Nero: 'Cause if she talks about what's hurtin' her or says she needs help, she's gonna go back to bein' Crybaby Dianne. And if that happens, she'll be lettin' everyone down. That's what she's thinkin, at least. Did I get that right, ma'am?

Claudia: Yes… I'm sure that's it.

Nero: No matter how people laughed at her or how bad it hurt, she worked as hard as her gramps did at the sword, and used it to change who she was. But y'can't heal wounds that reach all the way down to the soul so easily.

Riquet: …Like the wounds received from <the Great Calamity>?

Nero: Exactly. Mitile's completely right, is the thing. She should let herself get helped out if she's strugglin'. As long as there's people around her that are willin' to help, that is.

Mitile: …Nero…

Nero: But if they see how pathetic she really is, even just once, they'll be disappointed in her… If she says she can't do it alone, they'll say she's incompetent and look down on her. That's what she's been tryin' to avoid, but all she did was trap herself between a rock and a hard place. Even when she's surrounded by people, if she can't trust 'em, it's the same as havin' no one around at all.

Riquet: …

Nero: Even though she wants help so bad she could just explode. But she's so scared of the idea that if she actually says that to anyone, they're gonna laugh at her, mock her, and tell her it's all her fault anyways that she's not gonna say a thing about it.

Riquet: …Saying that you want help is… Something I did not realize could be so difficult for someone. (But I think Oz, Prince Arthur, and Cain are all like that, too…) (If that's true, then the times Oz has spoken with me are all very precious occasions…) (It's not something so simple that everyone can do it…) (It's something that's only possible because a special kind of trust has been formed…)

Nero: There's a lot of people like that. Hell, even I'm not immune to not wantin' to say it…

Mitile: I… I'd want you to ask me for help, Nero. There probably isn't anything I can do for you, but… I won't laugh at you or criticize you for it.

Nero: Thanks. I'm pretty fond of that part of all of you Southerners. It's the kinda thing that can save a guy…

Riquet: Me, too… I won't get upset with you.

Nero: Haha. Don't start tellin' lies, Riquet.

Riquet: It's not a lie! As long as I know the circumstances, I won't get upset with you. I don't want to hurt you by getting mad at you, Nero.

Nero: Hey, it's fine t'get mad. There are times where it's needed, even. Besides, ain't forgivin' people even when you're mad at 'em one of your specialties?

Riquet: I…suppose so…

Nero: Just forgive me as much as you can when that day comes, alright? Anyways… More than anythin', I need to go talk with her Lordship.

Riquet: You're planning on being the one who talks to her?

Nero: I mean… Well… Like… Someone's gotta do it… Even though I think I'd be pretty crap at it… But, well, I think I know what she's goin' through right now. She doesn't know what to do, but she does desperately want someone to help her out. Talkin' about it with one of her relatives or some brat's just gonna make her want to disappear even worse. So I figure I'll be good enough here… …I figure, but…my confidence is slippin' away… Riquet, how about you go instead?

Riquet: You need to make good on what you said you would, Nero. I think you're exactly right about both her and yourself.

Mitile: I'm sure your words will echo in her heart! You've got this!

Claudia: I think so as well! You can do this, Nero!

Nero: Thanks for cheerin' me on, guys… D'ya think y' could take me to her office, ma'am?

✦✧☾✧✦

Figaro: …Hah… …Lord White's presence… … (…I can't feel it anywhere…)

Painting Snow: …gh…

Figaro: …

Painting Snow: …uugh…

Figaro: Lord Snow… Lord Snow, can you hear me?!

Painting Snow: … …Fi…garo… …Where is…White…

Figaro: …

Painting Snow: I can't quite…grasp his presence… Where is he…

Figaro: …He's here. Lord White is right here. He's watching over you, Lord Snow. Don't worry.

Painting Snow: … …Heh…hehe… …Figaro, dear…

Figaro: …Yes…?

Painting Snow: You're such a kind child…

Figaro: … …Oz will be back with medicine before you know it. So stay strong and wait until he is.

Painting Snow: …Alright…

Figaro: You need not worry yourself… I am here, right at your side…

Painting Snow: …That's right… What a truly reassuring…thing to hear…

Figaro: …

Painting Snow: …

Figaro: Lord Snow… …Lord Snow…! … Haahh… He's still…moving a little…inside the frame… … …The moonlight is marking a path over the sea… …Please, don't take him…

✦✧☾✧✦

We split into two groups. The ones headed towards Shylock and Balthazar were… Murr, Rustica, and Chloe, as well as Arthur, Cain, and Rutile. And the ones who were going to be hunting for the cintamani stone were me, Oz, Faust, Shino, and Heathcliff.

Faust: It's highly likely that Lennox is going to be with Balthazar. If you see him…

Rutile: Don't worry, Faust. We won't hurt him.

Faust: Thank you.

Faust was obviously worried about Lennox. But if he joined the Western wizards in saving Shylock… That'd mean leaving the search for the cintamani stone on the shoulders of the younger wizards. And that worried him as well. But he had comrades he could rely on now. Oz was probably feeling something similar, since he was having to separate from Arthur.

Oz: …Are you sure you are prepared?

Arthur: You don't need to worry about us. We're setting out fully prepared to do what we need to do.

Murr: Even if you reel in the sea dragon, it's not like you can fight, Oz. On the other hand, their side would get a special bonus if that happens.

Chloe: A special bonus?

Murr: A powerful wizard's flesh and blood can be used as a medium to perform powerful magic. I don't think even Mithra could win against a sea dragon that's gotten a taste of Oz, if you catch my drift.

Arthur: Lord Oz, when your group locates the cintamani stone, please return to shore and take it to Lord Snow. Faust, it'd be a big help if you could join back up with us, though.

Faust: Got it. I know I'm starting to repeat myself, but please take care of Lennox.

Cain: Lennox is one of our precious comrades. We're not gonna hurt a hair on his head before we take care of Balthazar.

Oz: If both Shylock and Lennox are undamaged… Pursuing a battle against Balthazar and the dragon will be pointless.

Shino: Why.

Oz: For when the day breaks, I shall lay them low myself.

I bit my lip. Did that mean he was going to kill Hwylryn? My heart pounding, I decided to make my intentions clear to everyone one more time.

Akira: Before that happens, I'm going to try to negotiate with Hwylryn.

Faust: Right. Hopefully you'll find the dragon before you find Balthazar.

Murr: But if those negotiations go belly-up and Oz gets eaten, we'll have the single worst-case scenario on our hands. I didn't wanna say it in front of Arthur, but you need to be ready for that eventuality, Faust.

I saw Faust go a little green around the gills at that. He glanced away, hiding his expression. Arthur looked anxious, and Oz said nothing.

Murr: Soooo, time to get this show on the road!

Arthur: Master Sage! We'll definitely return with Shylock and Lennox in hand.

Akira: Yeah! Everyone, be careful!

Cain: You too, Akira! Oz! Be sure you look after them!

Oz: Yes.

And then we parted from one another, following the mermaids' guidance on two separate paths.

✦✧☾✧✦

Mermaid: …! …!

Cain: Looks like it's that way. The moonlight doesn't reach this deep, so I've kind of lost my sense of direction, but I think that's northwest… Is that where Adams Island used to be?

Murr: Yep, you got it! Your military command expertise is shining through!

Arthur: The sunken Adams Island… I never thought I'd see it.

Rutile: I wonder if Leno's there…

Arthur: The mermaids who'd been locked up claim to have seen Balthazar and Shylock there.

Rutile: I hope Leno is okay… Shylock, too……hm? Huh…? When did Chloe and Rustica get so far away…

Cain: Ack, sorry! I got too caught up in following the mermaids… I'll go back to help them right now!

Chloe: We're fiiiine! We can catch up! This way, Rustica. Good job, good job!

Rustica: Why thank you, Chloe.

Chloe: …Hey, Rustica. What did Murr mean by what he said earlier? About something he didn't want to talk about in front of Arthur, but that Faust needed to be ready for…

Rustica: Should it look like Lord Oz is going to turn to stone and thus fall into the dragon's hands, Faust should turn him to stone first so that we may partake of his strength ourselves. I believe that is what he meant.

Chloe: Wh…what…?! There's no way that's going to happen, right?!

Rustica: It won't. They were simply talking about what the proper way to go about things based on addition and subtraction would be. Simple arithmetic.

Chloe: Right… Faust wouldn't do something like that…

✦✧☾✧✦

Shino: (…It doesn't seem like very many people got what Murr was talking about.) (Faust can't attack Oz. His head's too full of Lennox for anything else right now…) (He can't even conceive of sacrificing someone else for his own gain in the first place.) (But I can.) (Sorry Oz, sorry Arthur, but if it's to protect Heath…) (I'll kill Oz before the dragon can if the Sage's negotiations fall through.) (…My hands are already dirty.) (There's no mission I'm not willing to carry out.)

Vespa: …! …!

Shino: …What is it.

Heathcliff: Shino! You started slowing down. Are you okay?

Shino: Sorry. I was spacing out.

Heathcliff: You can't go spacing out at a time like this.

Faust: Are you running low on magic?

Shino: I'm fine.

Akira: But you won't be able to breathe if you run out of magic…

Oz: Will you return to shore, Shino?

Shino: … There's no issue. Let's keep moving.

Next Chapter

#.mhyktl #.eventtl #.main story tl #4th anni

[funficwriter]

A Wolf and A Snake (Wriothesley x Reader)

Letters' Interlude - 2

Warnings: Yandere themes, a bit graphic in the second letter.

Taglist: @yue-caelum @reyy-chanx @mis-disaster

From: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide - Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

To: Baron E. Balthazar - Balthazar Manor, Court Region, Fontaine

To the most esteemed Baron Balthazar,

I feel honored for the chance to be able to write this letter, even more so if you're reading it now. I'm sure you know why I am doing so by now, with your daughter's social success and coming-of-age as a fine young woman.

While I wasn't born a Duke, I have been one for a while. I saw quite a few virtuous young ladies, but young Lady Balthazar shines in the depth of her knowledge, culture, and trueness. As a noble, I'm sure you know how dull our conversational space can be; Everyone is well-educated and knows much of culture, but it often hits a ceiling where that ends. I would argue that they're all repositories of goodness with a cap. But Lady Balthazar is no house or repository with limits; She's a never-ending well of virtue, one that goes beyond instruction and basic fact. Each time I thought I saw it all with her, she amazed me with a new level of tact, kindness, or wisdom. She has certainly been blessed to have you provide such great education, but I must say you are also fortunate for Celestia to give you a daughter with her own penchant for continuously seeking virtues as a noble and as a person. I think that is what sealed the deal in my love for her.

I'm certain many nobles will liken her to doves or flowers. I would like to be honest about my feelings, even if I deviate. In that one night, I felt that Lady Balthazar is much that I love; She's my favorite type of dark chocolate. She's unearthed tomes holding the secrets to Spantamad's unresolved questions of ice and thunder. She's the soft operatic melody that rings out in sole nights not for human fame or money, but an impetuous desire to be heard by the stars. Her laughter's is Mondstadt's festival winds. Her steps are Liyue's clinking of good charms. Her speech is my cup of tea reflecting the full moon upon which I was born. Even beyond the borders of Fontaine, where I spent most of my life, Lady Balthazar spans upon my entire world and I'll never lead a joyful life if I have only experienced this once.

Obviously, a presence as electrifying as hers only deserves the best. I myself have long wanted a wife, so I made sure that by the time one made me as lovestruck as your daughter, I can be the best husband possible within my arsenal. When I became responsible of the Fortress, I made sure I used my power to assure Fontaine would be a place of safety and fairness. I want to wonder our beautiful avenues with her by my side, while she enjoys herself, free of any fears of danger. In a way, I feel that much of what I do is for the citizens I love, and the first on that list is your daughter.

I thank you for your time and attention, as well as the grace you granted me to meet the loveliest of ladies.

With all my regards,

Duke Wriothesley.

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

From: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide - Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

To: Lady Y/N Balthazar - Balthazar Manor, Court Region, Fontaine

To my beloved, deserving of happiness alone,

I'm hoping that the appearance of Frosty cheered you up a little, especially after tonight. Deep down, I knew your father would try to use my being a wolf hybrid as a weapon against me. He's not the first, and certainly won't be the last.

I spent the last few hours praying to Focalors that something, anything good could happen before Frosty and lift your spirits a bit. Ever since I became infatuated with you, I felt like you're mine. Your emotional extremes - both positive and negative - have become mine as well. Even if I didn't cry, your tears were mine, too. And that is part of loving a person, whole, which I believe that in its tragedy, holds something beautiful. In you being mine, you'll never have to face another storm alone. You'll never have to stare down the uglier part of life with your hands shaking, begging to hold another and stay with you in the midst of that chaos.

Learn this well if you wish to know your real lover (that self-righteous Archandelle idiot is not it, even if your father says otherwise); Throughout my life, as a prisoner and as a warden, I have handled humanity's scum. Many nights I thought: "There can't be people worse than what I have just imprisoned.", then came another bastard to astonish me. Over time, I grew jaded about it until last night, when you poured your heart out to me. The lifer criminals I have, in my eyes, could never hold a candle of cruelty that he who made you cry has.

Your tears are the greatest injustice I've witnessed. Your sorrow (especially when you didn't ask for it) is the most urgent of tragedies to remediate. So I swear upon my honor and love, I will end it. I will run, fight, bribe, corrupt, maim or kill whoever dares to trespass upon our happiness, our coupling, our fate to be together forever. Many of our Archons have decreed it: "Whoever stops fate from running its course will see great punishment.". Except here, this punishment will come in the ice beast that they feared, who will roar at them but only ever purr for you.

Please hold on and be assured that you will not belong to that idiot, or that bastard you call a father. Keep in mind that my anger towards him is not yours at all. You didn't ask to be born to him, you did nothing wrong. On the contrary, he saw the gem that was his daughter, and yet decided to make her unhappy. With time and my own plans (That you will be made aware of soon. A bit radical, but will guarantee our ending up together), you will belong to the one you should belong to. Until then, let's keep each other in the loop of what is going on.

You will belong to me,

Duke Wriothesley.

#wriothesley x reader #yandere wriothesley x reader #yandere fontaine x reader #yandere genshin x reader

[oldestenemy]

Just because they have good reason, that doesn’t mean being back in Dragonspyre feels good.

“Balthazar!” Their voice rings out through the Athenum as they round the little corner to where Master Artisan Balthazar Dragonthorn is set up.

“Hello, young Master Artisan.” He greets them with an appraising smile, and the wizard doesn’t want to correct him that, actually it’s transcendent now after…

The wizard takes a breath.

Tries not to wonder how Koyate Ghostmane even knew to direct them to Oztomeca…

It doesn’t matter…

“I’ve got some work for you—a bit more than I can shoulder myself—and I’ll pay for it however you need.” Most of the spirits here have little use for gold, the wizard is accustomed to the odd favors they sometimes request in substitute.

“Oh? And what is it you’re endeavoring to do?”

“Myself and the rest of the soon to be graduates of Ravenwood are rebuilding the Dragonspyre Academy of Magic.”

Balthazar stares. Unblinking and unsettling. And then laughs, deep and hearty and the sound booms out through the mostly deserted athenum. “I’m sorry child—I must be misunderstanding you. The task you suggest is near insurmountable!”

The wizard cracks half a smile. “My thoughts exactly. But that’s why I’ve come to you. Nobody knows the stonework and craftmanship of Dragonspyre better than you do. My classmate Regina will be arriving shortly to talk blueprints and recipes with you, just tell me what you need me to source and I’ll find it.” No matter what. Coming back to places like this for material was trivial, they could finish off most enemies without so much as a wave of their hand.

“Very well.” Balthazar gives them a nod, “I have seen your work myself, I trust you know what you and your friends are getting into.”

“We do,” The wizard assures him, forcing more of a proper smile. “I have to run, a lot of other things to do. Regina will be here soon!” they pass Regina on their way back through the portal to the Basilica. They tell her Balthazar is waiting and ready to hear her ideas.

And then they collapse on the other side of the portal.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

It’s getting easier to stay longer every time.

That doesn’t mean it feels good.

Not yet.

~*~

“Professor Drake, I came to ask about building a dungeon-scaled monstrodome, do you think that would be possible?” They had wanted to start here, with Professor Drake, just to make sure he thought it could be done.

The idea of an entire dungeon being squeezed into a monstrodome had been one Marla had posed, as a more in-depth training method than simply summoning the creatures themselves. The wizard had taken this task themself as they had the largest pool of dungeon knowledge to pull from. It would be interesting to see how their classmates fared against some of the later encounters of the young wizard’s “schooling”.

Cyrus hums thoughtfully, “Monstrologist Burke may be better suited to that question—but I am sure a crafter, and conjurer of your caliber will find the task to be trivial at most.” he pauses a moment, looking towards the crystal on the desk. “Excuse me a moment, the Headmaster would like a word.”

Really…

It was rare for Ambrose to leave his office, given new students often made it their first stop.

The wizard can’t help it, interest piqued by the tone of Ambrose’s voice, they get up and press an ear to the office door. It’s rare they hear him so… is that irritation they’re hearing?

“Cyrus, I am appreciative of your support for your stundents however, this endeavor should have been brought to my attention immediately.”

“Be that as it may Headmaster, I did not find the information relevant to your current cause. Nor did it disrupt the student body here.”

They crack the door open by an inch, just to hear Ambrose respond:

“I would consider it so, Acting Professor Ashthorn has been shirking his classes—”

Ah.

Well then.

That changes things.

“Malorn doesn’t need to be teaching anymore.” The wizard steps fully through the door that leads off the side of the Myth classroom that leads to Professor Drake’s office. “Dworgyn is perfectly capable and is the properly appointed Death professor. The fact that you keep sending new students to Malorn when he hasn’t been able to advance his own classwork in years is beyond neglectful—you’re actively stunting his ability to become a fully fledged Necromancer.”

The wizard knows this isn’t entirely baseless accusation. They remember Malorn and Duncan both lamenting and half-cursing Ambrose for not so subtlely pushing them away from the Death school. Penny was too enthusiastic to notice any of his hesitance when she enrolled, and Marla barely left Nightside anyways. But those two?

Ambrose had been afraid of how close they were with Malistaire.

Perhaps it is a trick of the dancing golden light of the Myth classroom, but Headmaster Ambrose seems almost, angry?

It has been some time since the wizard has welcomed Raven’s voice. They cannot help but agree. He looks at the very least displeased by their interruption. Maybe it’s better to turn this off the topic of school. “Besides, don’t we have bigger worries? Have you managed to break through the barrier Morganthe has created around Khrysalis?” They know the answer before he says it. He would have summoned them the moment he had knews.

“Ah—no young wizard, myself and the rest of the council of light are still attempting to penetrate the dark web Morganthe has spun around—”

“—Then there’s nothing else for me to do. All the other upperclassmen are preparing to graduate. How we spend our down time is of no importance to you, we have approval from everyone we need.”

Out of the corner of their eye the wizard sees Cyrus smirk.

Read the rest here 💚

#wizard101 fandom #wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #cyrus drake #merle ambrose #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood

[mizumiii]

A perfect plan - III

Part II - Table of contents

Balthazar x Fem!Tav

Good evening, here is the last part. There's 🌶️🌶️🌶️ in the middle but I was too lazy to break this part in two.

Tav's motivation increased as she found in Bal an unexpected partner, her days were spent looking forward to seeing him again and sharing his embrace in the intimacy of her bedroom. She never progressed as efficiently as now, even the shadows could not stop her. It was a bit strange because her situation had not changed, but to be able to forget it for a couple of hours was doing wonders on her mind. 

This evening Bal was waiting for Tav in the Last Light Inn. It was the first time she was not here before him since he would use his corpses to spy on her and know when she was back. They had informed him she was on her way, but the day had already ended for a couple of hours without her making an appearance. Because of this, he had to play his merchant act with others, which irritated him strongly. Those lovers of nature were so stupid it was nerve-wracking!  There was no point in him wasting his precious time here if he could not play with his little toy. She was the only thing of interest around here, and he could not wait for the day he would break her meticulously apart. It was now just a matter of days, weeks at most, so it made it even more infuriating not to be able to test and bend her more. 

He finally left the place, annoyed to have wasted his precious time. 

“You should have seen her when I smashed her with my halberd!” A giant tiefling boasted in a loud and proud voice just in front of him and the tavern.

“Sorry but I was a bit busy healing your ass without dying myself”, grumbled a half-elf.

“You both did a great job”, a big, muscular wood elf patted their heads. 

“I will never look at coins the same way now”, jocked another tiefling.

“Haha true”, laughed the first one before stopping in front of Bal. “Ooh, good evening little man.” 

She then turned towards Tav with a very implicit smirk as the paladin ignored her by walking past her to reach the merchant. 

“Good evening Bal”, she saluted him too.

He frowned, Karlach’s little spike could not mean less to him, but Tav’s aspect was unexpectedly fueling his annoyance: her armour had holes all over, some particularly alarming on her chest, but even if her skin was as clean as the day she was born, her red was paler than usual.

“We ran out of potion, and mana”, she shrugged as she noticed his glare, “at least we got more than enough gold to buy far better armour.”

“It seemed I took you for more clever than you truly are”, he snorted unhappily, “your boldness in front of danger only spells stupidity.”

A heavy silence fell on the five people reunited in front of the inn. 

“We’ll go first”, Halsin suddenly declared after exchanging glances with Karlach and Shadowheart. “We’ll see you tomorrow”.

And without waiting for an answer, they rushed to the camp, leaving Tav and Bal finally alone. The merchant still felt angry, it was as if all his efforts of the previous months had been for nothing as the woman he had thought being a threat could in fact be easily beaten thanks to her immaturity in front of danger. He opened his mouth to voice his mind but was interrupted by Tav suddenly slamming her hand on the door behind him. She had cornered him against him, using her body to block him.

“What do you think you are doing?” He scoffed to hide the sudden jolt that had struck him.

How could that toy pull such a reaction out of him when he should just have discarded it without hesitation?

“Bal…”, she leaned to his left ear, leaving her voice to sink deeper in his head, “the only thing that is keeping me together right now is to know that I can find you here when I come back. So if you really think those words just leave…”, her voice was soft like honey but her intonation left some daggers to be felt.

Then, Tav left her head resting on his shoulder, her nose tickling his neck. Her last words were craving new marks on his skin, invisible ones. She needed him ? That was marvellous, exactly what he needed, no, what he wanted. His toy was at his mercy… He grabbed her hair to pull her head back before kissing her. As if it was the signal she was waiting for, Tav’s hunger awakened. He fought for control over her mouth, imposing his tongue through her lips, preventing her from parting apart with his hand. He kept going at it until he heard her moan slightly. His awareness was jolted awake, no matter how much he wanted to hear her sing right now, there was no way he would share it with anyone else. So he finally let go of her, she looked at him with a smile, her lips shining with his saliva. She took his hand, as she used to and led him to her bedroom.

There, they got rid of his clothes first, before dealing with her armour. It was so damaged that they had to cut or force open some parts. Piece by piece, Bal witnessed all the bruises the healing had not dealt with, leaving Tav’s body like a strange canvas. 

“Such unnecessary heroism”, the merchant commented with a grimace.

“I needed to come back here quickly,” she playfully justified.

She squeezed her body against his, before kissing him with enthusiasm. Bal decided to press on all her dark spots with a hand while the other one was forcing her to keep kissing him. Tav winced out of surprise, the pain dissolving in the man's mouth.  Her reaction pleased him greatly as he went harder to make her desperately cling to his shoulders. Her legs could barely hold her as tears were building in the corner of her eyes.

“Hold on tightly my little toy”, he advised her while releasing her head before pushing her against a wall. 

With a surface on her back and Bal's head between her hands, Tav was able to stay standing on her two legs. The pain that had almost overtaken came back again, except this time her torturer used his second hand to play with her vagina. Her moan instantly went louder as his fingers played at the same time with her bruises and her clit. 

“Bal… it hurts”, Tav winced against his lips.

“You can only blame yourself for what you're enduring, Doll”, he wickedly claimed with a smile.

It was intoxicating to see Tav reduced to a plaything between his fingers, far more satisfying than anything he had ever experienced. As he scientist he had never been an adept of torture or free pain, everything he had ever done had a reason, an objective. But here, now, he only wanted to hear what kind of lecherous sounds she could make, to see her beg for him… For now, her cheeks were bright red, her mouth gasping for air and her eyes shining with tears, it was a marvellous sight. He could feel her legs shaking around his arm, her hands desperately holding onto him…

“You do not look in that much pain”, he sneered. “You're such a naughty Toy…”

Every time she looked close to her pick, her body tensing, her breath locked in her throat, he would squeeze her injury, earning a deep cry mixed with pain and pleasure. 

“Please Bal let me cum”, Tav ended up begging after another unfulfilled close-up of her climax. 

She was so desperate to get what she wanted! All pride or self-esteem were long forgotten as she felt that she was going to cum at any moment without any lovely stimulation. 

“What an exquisite plea, I could get used to hearing you beg me like this Doll”, Bal whispered in a low, hot voice as his own arousal was starting to take a toll on him, “go one then, beg, pray, implore me for your release…”

“Bal… Please, make me cum”, Tav supplicated, “please, please, I beg you…”

The man pushed his body against hers, his head in her neck to hear better her supplication, his left hand digging into the bruise on her right hips, his right hand playing skillfully with her clit. Her words instantly stopped to be coherent as she was trying to keep begging but now there was a mix of gratitude in it. Suddenly she clenched her hands, her body impaling itself on his hands, and a long, deep moan escaped from her mouth. 

They stayed like this for a moment, Bal basking in the delicious fragile state of Tav. She felt so feeble under his hands, he never wanted to let it go. But suddenly, a strong push shoved him on the bed. 

“You get back quickly on your feet hero”, he scoffed when admiring the paladin standing in front of the bed with eyes shining with excitement. 

He lay his back against the headboard, his cock standing proudly up, even throbbing out of anticipation.

“Do not underestimate me”, she shrugged, “I hope you're ready because you're not leaving here before I say it…”

Before he could answer anything to her, she climbed on him, impaling herself on his manhood before starting a hungry pace. Except this time he was ready, he grabbed her hair in one hand, her hip with the other and started to fuck her properly with large movement. 

“That's so good”, Tav babbled her hands scratching his belly to help her ride his crazy pace.

Bal grunted, as much as he wanted to pummelled bravely, the sensation was overwhelming him. He had underestimated his own arousal since just seeing his cock slide out and in her pretty cunt was enough to squeeze his inners. 

“You're such a treat”, he praised her, “look how you take so lovingly my dick, you love it right? You love how I fuck you!” Each sentence was punctuated by a rough stab. “Say it Doll!”

Tav was already sinking in a white world where only tampered sounds and lights tricking pleasure could reach her. As she was crushed by the sensations left at the hands of Bal, she answered without thinking, only desperate for him to keep going. 

“I like it Bal”, she blathered, her eyes half-closed, her pussy squeezing his shaft, “I like it, Bal…”

Stimulated by her confession, he let go of her hair to play once again with her clit. Her reaction was immediate, she gasped and grabbed his arm to the point of pain. Rather to displease him, it helped him in keeping his climax at bay long enough to make her cum on his fingers.

“I like it so much Bal”, she whispered as she rode her pleasure before slowly laying on his chest, “I like you.”

She then started to kiss him after biting his lips. This position allowed the man more freedom, so he did not hesitate. This time he grabbed her hips harshly to pound senselessly in her cunt. All thoughts had left his mind, as he focused only on his release. 

I like you.

He grunted loudly as the successive waves hit him. His hands stayed locked on Tav's hips, but she did not seem to mind since she simply let her head rest on his chest. 

I like you.

The sentence kept haunting his mind but the only thing Bal let himself think about what just happened was that his plan had finally succeeded. 

☠️

Tav put back her sword in its sheath. Around her, Halsin, Karlach and Shadowheart were doing the same, looting some coins on the way before looking at the skeletons waiting for them in front of the door. 

“Should we make a bet about who's behind?” Karlach offered. 

“I don't think it will be necessary”, Shadowheart replied with a smirk as the door was opened by the skeletons.

The group of four stumbled on the strangest sight. The temple of Shar had been odd but this was unexpected. The shelves were full of strange bocals, grotesque undead creatures, the altar covered with corpse remains, and overlooking all this a man with a bloody-scared grey face half-covered by a hood. 

“Finally we can meet without any artifices, hero of the light”, he boasted with a dramatic gesture of his hands. “I am Balthazar, chief advisor of General Thorm, and entrusted with a mission of utmost importance.”

His smile transpired of self-satisfaction, dripping confidence, shining with expectations. He dissected the raising of her eyebrows, the movement of her eyes checking his face, the tremor of her lips as she was about to speak. What will she say? Would it be anger, surprise, disgust? Everything he had done those last few months had been in preparation for this moment! He would use her disarray to take advantage, to reduce her as nothing more than a pawn in his skilful hand. His arms spread as to welcome her first words : 

“It’s good to see you again Bal”, she smiled.

“There’s no need for your bravado, hero”, he insisted in front of her lack of reaction. “Enlighten me, what does one feel when faced with a horrific truth?” 

His hands clenched in fists as he closed his arms. She could try as much as she wanted to mock him, but the reactions of her companions were giving it away. The disgust on Shadowheart’s face was the most obvious but Karlach and Halsin could not hide their surprise either.

“What do I feel?” Tav wondered out loud before passing a hand in her hair. “Shame I guess? For keeping the truth from you, to be honest, I never told you because it was not putting me in a flattering position…”

The paladin walked closer as Balthazar was scoffing from complacency from seeing her reduced to pouting nonsense. He stared at her as she stopped across the altar to close an eye and point the other with one finger.

“This little thing can see through all invisible, modified appearances. In other words: you can't hide me shit.”

Balthazar's smile froze unpleasantly in front of the underlying of her explanation.

“So about a bet?” Karlach broke the heavy silence that had been installed in the room. 

“I don't understand how we even ended up in that mess”, Shadowheart sighed disenchanted. 

“I'm certain they will sort this out”, Halsin assured kindly.

Tav turned her back to stare at her companions as she was trying to put holes through their skulls. Sometimes she was not sure if they were skilled warriors or just annoyed and annoying children with an unhealthy inclination for bet. 

“Maybe we should continue this discussion without the ki…”, she paused to look at the necromancer's minions. “Urrr… bystanders…”

The horrified and undignified gasps of her friends made her raise her eyebrows with amusement. The reaction on Balthazar's end was less light-hearted.

“I’m a necromancer, why would I give up on my advantage?” He sneered while crossing his fingers in front of him. 

"I’ll give up my sword if it can make it even”, she graciously offered before handing down her weapon to the biggest undead at her left. 

Halsin and Shadoweart tensed, clearly unhappy to see their friend unharmed in front of an obvious threat. But Karlach simply laughed it out while dragging the others outside the room with her. In front of this development, Balthazar's unhappiness did not disappear, but he finally and reluctantly waved to his undead who cleared out too. 

He stared at Tav, running his fingers on the altar as to find something to canalise his agitation. How could the situation have landed so far from his expectations? How could he have not noticed her skill? Or rather why had she played along if she already knew the truth? He liked to challenge his intellect, but here it was as if the mystery was not from the reasoning side.

“Alone at least”, Tav sighed.

Her shoulders dropped a bit, a thing he had noticed her to do when no longer people were looking up to her around. 

“You got what you wanted, now indulge me by revealing to me your true agenda”, he asked her unpleasantly.

He had never felt so tense for a long time. Usually, it would be easy: either he was dealing with slaves he could do whatever he wanted with, or he would simply annihilate anyone mad enough to try challenging him. Except here he could not tell in which category he was.

“I want to get rid of the thing in my head, but you already knew that”, she recalled while slowly walking around the altar. “Just as I told you, I already knew who you were. No, not exactly. I always knew what you looked like. I figured out who you really were not so long ago.” She stopped in front of him before gently taking off his shroud. “After the first time we spent our first night together…”

“I thought you were a paladin? Is it not against your vow to involve yourself with the enemy?” He scoffed with bitter irony.

“I'm an oathbreaker”, she shrugged despite the shadow in her eyes. “I care about only one thing: to stay with those who are important to me. The rest can burn for what I care…”

Balthazar felt her hand on his cheek, unable to even walk away, he let her reveal his face and even touch it. His breath shortened, as he wondered what trick she was using to keep him under her spell like this. 

“I am currently planning to end the world you know ?” He pointed out.

“Then I'm going to stop you”, Tav smiled. “What would be the point to end the world, you would no longer be able to challenge yourself.” 

“How presumptuous of you to think you would stop me!”

“I like you Bal”, Tav revealed without letting go of his face.

Strangely, he felt relieved. So it was not something spurred out in the heat of the moment. He stared as she leaned forward until their lips touched. The feeling was softer than ever before, it made him melt inside. Then Tav's blood mixed with his saliva. 

“That hurt”, Tav scoffed before taking a couple of steps back while wiping the red on her mouth. 

“I will never turn my back on General Thorm, I am his trusted advisor”, Balthazar proclaimed vigorously. “Your world will never accept me, as it did before. Your honey words are nothing but a pitiful temptation!”

He supported Tav's strange two-coloured eyes, ignoring the pounding in his chest as the precious liquid odour was making his head sing for more. Squeezing the dagger in his hand helped him strengthen his determination. There was no turning back no…

“I respect your will”, Tav finally smiled but this time there was something else in her face as she was forcing herself. “But can you tell me why you stabbed me where it did no damage except for the little blood? I'm sure an expert like you can easily find the perfect spot to kill someone or wound him to death, except you did not.” 

For a second there was only both of their loud breathing in the room.

“I’m going to die any day now, but I will not give away my life either. However, if I am to live, I will do it on my own accord. Come with me, I'll show you what's possible, we'll find a place where we can be ourselves.”

She walked back to him, ignoring the dagger still in his hand. Then she gently took his head between her hands. 

“Tell me you don't want it, tell me you don't like me and we should fight to death right now”, she offered him. 

Balthazar chuckled in front of her stupidity, as he was going to simply trust her and… All his bravado stayed stuck in his throat as he simply let her come closer to the point where their lips were almost kissing.

“I won't force you this time if you want to, come get it…”

He grunted, not amused by her audacity but still crossed the last millimetres to be able to finally feel her lips again. The taste of blood was still lingering except this time he did not have time to think about what to do as Tav promptly took the upper hand. She put her right hand behind his hand to deepen their kiss, while skillfully pushing him against the altar and her other hand went to grab his hand with the dagger as they intertwined their fingers against the handle. The necromancer grabbed a leather strip of her armour to prevent him from falling as they were forgetting any restraint. 

“Shall I take it as a surrender on your part?” Tav asked, her lips shining as she looked down at him.

“You shall do nothing of the sort, however, keep going on and I will see what can be done…”

“You silvered tongue”, she hummed before happily resuming her action.

☠️

“So a free shot for everyone?” Karlach offered her bottle to her companions and the skeletons as they had started a bonfire in front of the door.

The end 

#fanfiction #writing #balthazar bg3 #baldursgate3 #balthazar #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #a perfect plan

[wall-legion]

Past Lives, Past Lies

"But why me?" Lyhr looked up at the girl, smiling at her earnest little frown and furrowed brows. She was worrying a small vial between her hands, rolling it back and forth as she awaited his response. "Because she trusts you, sweetheart," he said, without thinking. Isgarren would be mad if he caught wind of him using a pet name with her, instead of "the Wayfinder". Let him be mad, he thought, as he watched her relax. "I've only known her a little while," she was in the middle of saying as he made himself get out of his own thoughts about how much trouble he could potentially get into. "I just hope that this will actually help." "I'm sure that it will." He chuckled. "After all, she's trusting me to try and help, and she barely knows me at all." "Oh, but you're so clever, Lyhr! I'm sure Leyya made the right choice in asking you-" He rested a hand on her arm, interrupting her. "Then she did the same in asking you, Odetta. Fair?" She blinked, looking startled. Not for the first time in his years among the wizards, Lyhr wondered about what it would have been like if he'd had a chance at fatherhood. Some of the recruits who had come in since he'd been there- and now, it seemed, the Wayfinder- brought that out in him. She deserves to know. No. It will only compromise things. That's not your choice to make. It's her past; her truth. She should know where she comes from. He felt himself waver suddenly, and had to take a deep breath. If he let himself separate into his two halves right now, it would only slow things down. It felt like it was coming from miles away, but he could hear her. "Lyhr? Are you all right?" "Hnh? Oh. Yes. I'm all right. Just... just a temporary light-headed spell. Not sure what came over me." Now the concerned look was entirely directed upon him, as she pressed a hand to his forehead. "You don't feel feverish," she said after checking. "I'll let you settle, though. I know how hard it's been, recently, with... everything." She handed him the vial. "Yes, of course. And thank you." He uncorked it and abruptly the room was filled with fragrance. It was floral and calming, and smelled slightly familiar to him. "What is..?" "That's a blend of lilac and bergamot oils. It's my preferred fragrance." She looked embarrassed at the admission. "Leyya said she wanted something to remind her of me, and I figure that scent is a strong memory..." "That's actually damned clever," he said, as he corked it again. Looking back up at her, he couldn't help but chuckle once more. "Look at you blush! Give yourself some credit." "Sorry. I'm not quite used to being clever." She gave a quick curtsy, or did as best she could in her armor, and left his chambers. He walked after her to shut the door, letting his mind wander back as he walked to his worktable to set the vial down. I'm tired of fighting with him, Lyhr. Mabon's voice in his mind made his heart ache for him still. He had never imagined a day without the mursaat around to cajole him into behaving, or to remind him to go find his other half before an important meeting, or to accompany on those rare occasions when they were allowed to go down to Tyria. I know you are, Mabon, but maybe it's for the best. She was so young. She never knew them. Even if she never knew them, her people knew of them. There were those who were loyal to them, and likely still are. If she were to make a claim for the throne- Who would be there to support her if Queen Jennah and her Shining Blades were to attack her if she did? She doesn't have an army, Mabon. The Pact would never actively back someone attacking one of the heads of state. That's why I'm saying we help her prove her claim. Isgarren would never allow it. Then maybe it's time we stop worrying about what he would and wouldn't allow. Lyhr had not heard the mursaat so heated about a topic in some time. They had left the topic there, due to Balthazar attacking Elona shortly after. How he longed now to tell Mabon that he had been right, and he wished they had somehow told this sweet girl the truth.

#short fiction #gw2 mabon #gw2 lyhr #odetta swanheart #gw2 soto spoilers

[alarrylarrie]

I was wondering what you think of this James Corden Balthazar stuff? There's been lots of rumours about his terrible attitude. It surprises me that the boys especially Harry seem so close with him if he's such a jerk to people.

I think it’s been pretty established that James Corden thinks he can treat people however he wants because he’s “famous.” There have been rumors about his terrible behavior for years. And it always seems to be the same- he treats servers and gig workers, people he likely deems as “beneath him” terribly- but is probably super nice to celebs. Including the boys.

Have you ever had someone in your circle who could, on an instant, turn on a server or a customer service rep? I have, and it is the WORST. I would constantly make excuses for them and go behind them to clean up the messes they made by being rude. (I would tip extra, apologize when the other person wasn’t around, etc)

Also when was the last time we saw Harry and James hanging out when it wasn’t being filmed for the late late show or something?

#but I agree the boys I think stay close to people because they think they can trust them? #because they knew them before they were as big as they are now #but people change #they let fame go to their heads #they get money and status crazy #I don’t envy any of them the position of trying to establish close relationships at the level of fame they’re at