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skeletondeerart · 1 year

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You’re One of Us Now.

Sully Family x GN!Reader (platonic) | Word Count: 1816 Words

Tw: Minor mention of Self Harm.

Written before the release of Avatar: The Way of Water, some facts may be inaccurate.

Synopsis: Having grown up in the confines of the RDA, you plan to fake your death on a data collection expedition to become one with the Pandoran jungle, yet you stumble across an unlikely family of Na’vi who take you in as one of their own.

The reader is seventeen.

Pandora was all I had ever known, having grown up in the RDA’s base I understood the dangers of the world outside. Yet despite this I yearned for the embrace of the forest, yearned to live as one of the people, to leave humanity behind and forge a new life among the Omaticaya.

But I was a soldier, a weapon of war against my will… and I wanted out.

Yet for now I have to pose as a perfect cog in the machine. I conform to Quaritch’s rules to earn the privilege to be selected for intel expedition. Whist being a soldier, I was exceptional in navigation and botany. I hoped that my skills would put me as a candidate for the upcoming expedition in three days.

Standing at attention on the training grounds Quaritch marched back and forth eyeing us all off. He was more imposing than ever, the towering Navi body he embodied was enough to strike fear into even the toughest of men.

“All right ladies and gentlemen, in light of last expeditions failure in attempting to gather subsequent data of neurotoxins used by the Omaticaya, it has resulted in the loss of five of your fellow soldiers.”

My breath was caught in my throat as Quaritch listed off the names of the next team, that was until the final candidate was called, it was my own. I held in my smile as I knew it was my only chance of getting out of the program.

After being sent back to my room, I lay down on my cot and watch the raindrops dribble down the windowpane, I watch the wind sway the trees and animals call out into the night as the as I finalise my plan to escape under the noses of my squad.

Before I knew it, I was wearing the oxygen mask and prepped with my botany data collection devices. Stepping out of the pressure lock we march single file out of the gates and into the wilderness. My squad and I marched for what felt like hours before we reached a zone reading high levels of toxicity, as the five of us spread around the location collecting data on the flora I call out.

“I’m heading North-west as I see a specimen not yet recorded on the data bank.” My squad not even rearing their heads from their specimens made noises of understanding, one even calling out to “Watch out for the locals”.

Treading carefully, I come to a stop once I was sure I was out of sight before preparing my diversion. Taking my pocket knife out I slashed at the tress nearby mimicking the claw marks of a Thanator and spraying Thanator scents around the area. I then nicked my hands and smeared my blood around the scene, kicking the dirt around to mimic a struggle and my data devices leaving them strewn across the ground.

With a last bitter smile, I took the blade to my uniform and sawing off the crest of the RDA and leaving it as the scene. I then ran off into the unknown leaving my old life behind, blissful tears accumulating in my mask as I free myself from the shackles of humanity and let my mind and soul become one with the forests of Pandora.

I ran until my legs gave in as I collapse into a field of plush grass and I gaze up at my surrounds, trees loom over me shielding me from the light rains that wash over the lands. That’s when I heard a gasp and scampering nearby. My head darts to my left as I watch carefully for movement. That’s when I see her, a young Omaticayian girl crouched and almost invisible against the bioluminescence of the forest she dwells in.

“Hi, I won’t hurt you, I’m not with them.” I call as I see her eyes dilate and ears twitch with recognition of my words.

“Your human.” The Na’vi states yet remains hidden.

“Indeed I am.” I smile gently but I make no indication of moving as not to frighten the girl away.

After a moment of reflection, the Na’vi stands and walks towards me apprehensively, she towers over my sitting form as I gaze upwards. She points to herself.

“I’m Kiri, and you?”

“I’m (Y/n)”

“-(Y/n), what a strange name” Kiri mutters to herself but I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at her words. Her eyes dart back to mine from my sudden noise. Kiri’s wide eyes trail down my figure, as if she was analysing me for any threat.

“KIRI, WHERE DID YOU GO?!” A man’s voice calls in Na’vi tongue from deeper in the forest.

“COMING FATHER!” Kiri calls back as she races towards the forest line, that was until her Father beat her there alongside two young boys trailing close behind, his eyes scan her form for injury as his eyes observe his surroundings… until his gaze lands on me. I sit there petrified of the look in his eyes.

Weariness and protective.

My breath catches in my throat, even if I wanted to run I couldn’t, it was like I was paralysed. He pulled Kiri behind him as the younger boys peeked out from behind their Father.

“Who are you and what are you doing this far in the Omaticaya’s lands” He spoke in fluent English.

“My name is (Y/n) (L/n), I was a soldier and botanist, I’ve abandoned the RDA to dedicate my heart to the forest and everything living within it.” I spoke with complete resolution despite my heart thumping in fear of what he would do to me.

He approached me as I remained sitting in fear that he would strike me down if I moved an inch. I gazed upon his imposing figure as his dreadlocks framed his stern eyes that flickered over my body.

His face contorted in a scowl once he spotted my pocket knife nestled in my boot. My gaze follows it, my gaze widened as I came to this realisation.

“Here.” I spoke curtly as I pulled the knife out and handing it to him keeping it closed. He took it and caught sight my wound on the palm of my hand.

“Your injured.” He spoke his tone softening as he gathered that I wasn’t a threat to his kin.

“Self-inflicted.”

His eyebrows furrowed in what appeared to be a hint of concern. I elaborated.

“I had to fake my death to escape… I used my blood to mimic a Thanator attack.”

“I see.” He said. He mulled over his thoughts for a moment before continuing.

“I’m Jake Sully. These are my some of kids, Kiri, Neteyam and Lo’ak.” He introduced gesturing behind him.

Kiri smiled back at me as she stuck up a little thumbs up in approval.

“So why did you leave the RDA (Y/n).”

I let out a sigh as my mind flashed back to my childhood within the RDA as I spoke carefully.

“I- I was born in the base, confined to its walls for years before being forged into a soldier. Yet despite this I always had a passion for botany – plants – I had yearned to be able to freely explore the forest and grew an appreciation for the Na’vi through the data files… I never thought I fit in… I felt like an outcast.” I took another breath to calm myself, “I understand if you want to kill me due to my affiliation, and I won’t hold any resentment to you or your people if you so decide.”

“Come.” Jake stated and offered me a hand. I accepted it without a second thought, my hand only wrapping around two of his fingers. Jake pulled me to my feet and proceeded to lead me deeper into to forest. Neteyam – I came to learn who was the oldest of the boys – spoke to me in curt English.

“Hello, I am Neteyam. You are short.” He stated, he seemed quite proud of himself for speaking to me. I smiled gently at his attempt of communicating with me.

“Hello Neteyam, I’m (Y/n). Nice to meet you. You are correct I am short.” I replied.

“I’m Lo’ak!” The shorter boy piped up. “I’m great at speaking Sky People language.”

“English Lo’ak. These Human’s speak English.” Jake corrected from his position from the front. Neteyam laughed and gave his younger brother a punch to the arm, which resulted in a yelp from Lo’ak. Jake spun around at the noise and glared at Neteyam as he deducted what happened.

“Apologise Neteyam.” Jake spoke in Na’vi.

“What!” Neteyam exclaimed.

“Now –” Jake growled baring his teeth. With a stutter Neteyam apologised picking at his fingers.

“S-sorryyy Lo’akkkk –” Neteyam apologised as he continued walking.

We soon reached a point where Jake motioned Kiri, Neteyam and Lo’ak to begin their accent up into the trees, they fly up the trunk with ease. Jake looked at me as I gape as how far the climb is. He then bent down and motioned me to climb onto his back. I gently pull myself onto his back careful not to bump his queue. We quickly reach the top and I see an intricately woven home nestled into the trees canopy. Standing on the edge of the home is Kiri, Neteyam, Lo’ak, an older Omaticayian woman I figured was their Mother with a small child in her arms… and a human boy.

“Neytiri, Spider, Tuktiery, I’m home” Jake called as he carefully slid me off his back. I nervously hide behind Jake at the look Neytiri was giving us.

“Jake why is there a human on your back.” She hissed in Na’vi.

“I can explain ‘Tiri.”

“Explain what? that you brought another human into our home.” My eyes widened as I try and quell the tremors of her wrath. The toddler – I assumed was Tuktiery – began to whine in her Mother’s arms as the commotion.

“They are not one of them, I can sense they are good, please trust me!” Jake begged his lover.

Neytiri glared down at me and let out a sigh.

“One chance Jake, one.” Neytiri caved.

“Thank you, my love.” Jake turned to me with a smile.

“You’re one of us now” He smiled his gaze falling down to my wound again. “Let’s get you cleaned up now.” Jake offered as he grabbed some medicinal berries, I had never seen in the data files before. My eyes shone and he crushed them into a paste and applied it before wrapping it in cloth. As he finished tying the knot Jake looked down to me and smiled softly.

“Your safe here, I understand what’s it’s like to not fit in.” He whispered for only me to hear.

“You were from the Avatar program weren’t you.” I stated in a whisper.

Jake could only smile knowingly at my statement.

“Welcome to the family.”

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pooksgetspooked · 4 months

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Hierophilia

Summary: A devout priest of unshakable faith stumbles upon what could only be called his own slice of heaven. With no creature holier than you roaming the mortal realm, it serves to be beyond troubling when Leon finds himself quickly falling into the clutches of corruption by the mere presence of you. Pairing: Leon s. Kennedy x Angel!Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k

Content warnings: MDNI! Religion, Corruption, no explicit NSFW, possibly blasphemy

Growing up, Leon has had his faith waver every so often. His darkest moments lulled by the temptation of all things sinful and unholy, whispering for him to indulge himself and to let go of his inhibitions. However the teachings of his mother was ingrained within him; as though woven into the very fibre of his being, and the vice it had on him never relented, keeping him always within the path of light. Despite his moments of weakness, he never caved. He never thought he would face such conflict again after devoting his life to the church, setting out to become one of the youngest priest the church has seen. Upholding his duties and following the word of God, he flourished to become the gracious man everyone knew him to be today. He was a figure of warmth and comfort, someone to confide in during trying times in exchange for genuine solace, free from any judgement. Upstanding and virtuous, Leon always made it a point to help those in need to whatever extent within his capabilities, his heart brimming full at the notion of being able to give aid to so many people and heal their plight. You were different. An exceptional case that he made a personal mission to assist and see to. It was by some stroke of luck; a miracle he liked to call it, that you came stumbling upon the church back gardens. Dilapidated and ramshackled, the overruned plot of green rarely ever saw the presence of anyone, save for the Leon himself who occasionally ventured out back for a breather and to bask in the serene nature. He had considered tidying up the place himself one too many times, but each time he came close to making up his mind, he would always find some little signs of life making home. Some snails treading on the cobble, bunnies that frolicked around before skittering into the ground once noticing Leon, or on the rare occasion, some deers would stumble upon the little makeshift forest and graze on the grass. It didn’t take long before he came to the consensus that the gardens would be a sharing space for him and nature, and that he would have to put up with the irksom tickle of the weeds against his skin. Out of all the sightings he would recount in his daydreams, you were his favourite by far. As he ventured out back on another one of his off days, he was surprised by the sight of fluttery white wings, soft and fuzzy, and far too large to belong to that of any known bird. Hunched over and wings cresting to shield the mystery that enclosed within those confines, he found himself in a daze, his mind going blank and his breath stolen from his lungs. It was only when he took a subconscious step forward, the soft crunch of the ground beneath him caused the wings to retract to reveal a softly glowing halo floating above a mop of hair that looked too soft to be real, before spinning around to reveal your face, wide eye and lips parted in surprise. Both of you were stunned, with Leon trying to grapple at the sight you were to behold, and you, a clutch of baby bunnies squirming in hand, and the mother rabbit perched beside you, somehow just as stunned as the both of you. Leon found his words failing him, his mind lagging behind while he tried to speak, “you… you’re… are you real?” his words came out lame and dumb, as though drug addled and sluggish. You couldn’t help but giggle, the surprise quickly wearing off as you gently returned the baby bunnies into their nest in the ground with the mother close behind, before returning your attention to the man, “yes, I am real. It is a pleasure to meet you” Your smile was a touch nervous, as though unsure of everything. Leon could see the way you fidgetted, gaze flitting askance as you took in the chapel behind him, “i’m sorry, should I not be here? I could find someplace else if I am unwelcomed here,” you swallowed thickly, growing a little more anxious under the intense stare of the man.

Seized by all sorts of questions, the priest could barely hold back his thinly veiled confusion, or his barrage of questions. What was a priest supposed to do, when stumbling upon a creature only documented in books, of dubious existence that was now concreted by his gaze upon the benevolent creature. Were you sent here on a mission of sorts? Maybe to right all the wrongs that plagued the world in steed of God himself? Because heavens know that that was long overdue now. “Ah! No, no no please, you’re welcome to stay,” his mind finally caught up to the present, reeling at her words as he frantically waved his hands to stop her, “i’m sorry,” he laughed dryly in disbelief, “I’m just… so overwhelmed. I don’t even know what to say,” he ran a hand through his hair, trying to come up with what to say, where to start with his ceaseless myriad of questions. “Overwhelmed?” Your wings shuddered, expression knitted as your lips pursed, “I’m supposed to bring comfort and tranquility, not heightened emotions,” even in the midst of your self questioning, you still looked heavenly. The soft glow around never flickering and the soothing cast of warmth caressing his being just by standing in front of you. You were like a piece of heaven itself, fallen out of the sky to bless the earth; to bless him. “No you do! Really, you do, I’m just- I never imagined I would ever meet an angel in my life. Please, pardon me, i’m not usually so uncomposed and unkempt,” his nerves were growing frazzled now, as though crushed by the familiar sense of inferiority that he hadn’t felt plague him since his days as a child. Through his nerves however, he wasn’t lying to comfort you; you did enemate some unexplainable sense of comfort that lulled his soul, as though alleviating it of some prior weight he had never noticed, the sensation was merely shrouded by the multitude of scrambled emotions that suddenly seized him.

With a yearning to alleviate and heal, you hesitantly reached out to the man, hands open to gently rest upon his forearm, “please do not apologize. Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need a moment to yourself? I may leave the premise if that can quell your being.”

Acting behind some unknown force, Leon found his hand holding onto your wrist, gentle enough to not hurt yet firm enough to keep you within his grip. “No, no,” he sucked the air back into his lungs, lips parting as his chest rose and fell before he found it within himself to settle and calm, “please don’t leave,” he swallowed thickly. Blue eyes burning into your gaze as his thumb rubbed against the underside of your wrist, “I just have so many questions. May I ask you some?” That was the start of a blossoming kinship. Leon learnt from that encounter that you weren’t meant to be here, and rightfully so considering you had little to no knowledge of the worldly happenings. Not of how the world operated, and not of the terrible news plundering the world, countries at a time. Not of all the suffering and anguish the people faced, no. You were blissfully ignorant of everything, and Leon found himself wanting to keep things that way.

This feat that Leon set out on turned out to be more difficult than he initially believed to be. The revelation of your presence stirred all sorts of outrage and desperation within the Chapel the day Leon introduced you to their community, seeing as you didn’t have any place to go. Devote believers awed and marvelled at you, singing praise and rejoicing in the salvation God would bring with him, with you being their first sign of the return of Christ. They tailed you at any possible turn, hands desperately trying to hold onto any part of you, occasionally getting too handsy with how they would tug at your wings and reach for your halo.

The smaller, but just as big in presence of the community was beyond desperate. They were those who had their own pleas and grievances that had gone unanswered countless times by God. Those people harassed you, hissing all sorts of demands for answers and for you to perform miracles outside of your capabilities, too blinded by their despair to see that you weren’t responsible, or had part in any of it, much less could you do anything about it. It was at that point that Leon made the decision to stick close to you for your safety and wellbeing. He could see you grow dreary from the increasing pressure of being around everyone, expectant for you to be their salvation. The soft glow around you seem to grow weaker, your complexion growing more dull and your wings more sunken. It was as though everyone was robbing you of your energy, which wasn’t all too far from the truth. Despite the treatment you had received from the masses, some negative and most a little too positive and wanting, you always made it a point to listen to the plight of the people despite being helpless to do anything to actually make an impact. You’d soothe what you could, comfort who you can, and heard whoever spoke as though you had not a single ill bone in your body, and Leon would later learn that it was something alike your purpose of creation.

You were a creation of God, just like any of them, but it seemed like you were an angel crafted for a more intimate role of being a companion for God himself. You often recalled what it was like back up in heaven, the breathtaking view from up above within your sanctioned tower, what it was like growing up in heaven and your tight knit relationship with God. From what Leon understood, most angels come to be as adults, but you were the exception in this case, where God spent his time nurturing you since your youth. Perhaps he wanted a taste of something akin to fatherhood, and the familial relations that came with it, and hence made you. The more time he spent with you, now making it his duty to watch over you whenever you were out and about, the more he learnt about you, heaven, and God himself. It was fascinating to hear about what he was like. A strict father figure yes, but he was kind and patient with you all the same. The both of you were close knit, and from the way you phrased it, it sounded like you were all both of you had. It made Leon somber as he found himself reminiscing some of his youth and the yearning for the type of familial love you shared with God himself, or at least, that’s what he initially thought until time slowly began to unravel. It started off small, with little questions about how you wound up on the mortal realm since you weren’t at all supposed to be here. The simplest way you could put it was that you accidentally fell. You got too curious and bold one day, defying God’s rule to not stray too far from the tower and never wander too near the edge of the clouds. Never going too far into detail, you would give a strained smile, curt flap of your wings, and just go on to talk about how God must be upset at you for disobeying him.

The seams began to crack from there. Leon could sense something more sinister beneath your tales and fond memories. How you never saw much of anyone outside of God and the occasional visitors or some significant figures in the castle. How God would always have some means of monitoring you at all times, just in case his child got a little too imaginative and curious. How God would confide in you about his deepest sorrows and regrets, the dents it made in your psyche and how you always tried your best to come up with something to cheer him up like the sweet daughter you are. It sounded overbearing and gripping, yet you didn’t seem to realize it yourself, all too happy to delve back in the recounts of shared laughter and joy.

It troubled him. Like a long forgotten sensation, he found himself questioning his faith. He had pondered in his youth, why God would allow all the cruelty and unjust go unpunished in this world. Was he not all loving as everyone preached him to be? An all powerful being, capable of everything at just a whim of want? Leon couldn’t understand it. He made his own conclusion early on. If God is all loving, then he isn’t all powerful; and if he is all powerful, then he isn’t all loving. He decided to leave it at that, and never tried pursuing for more answers. As his faith wavered, a crisis was nigh. His entire life built upon the faith in God, and now he had a living testament to the figure of worship, and it was ruining him. It forced him to face the pursuit he tried to cast away early in his life, to give consideration into the figure he kneeled before on a daily basis, and he hated it with every bit of his being. It was ruining him, just as you were ruining him. His emerging discord was tearing him apart, and through it all, he was facing another dilemma he was desperately trying to keep from surfacing. His growing fascination with you. He didn’t know how someone could be so kind and free of sin. You were unlike anyone he knew; never greedy, always compassionate, ever gentle, even when faced with the most hostile of people. You were ethereal, and embodied the very bit of the word. It was easy enough to wave it off as a deep interest in you because why wouldn’t he be? You were a living, breathing angel who was presented to him, a priest. You were supposed to be living proof of his faith, and you withheld so much information within you, it was only natural for Leon, and anyone really, to hold a deep fascination in you. That’s what he told himself, until his mind began to wander. It started with his gaze, and how they would dart too low, how they would stare at a little too long, too hard, at some place anyone would deem as inappropriate. It was troubling for Leon, how he’d find himself a little too warm and too aware of your friendly touch, how the air felt too thick and he struggled to breathe, much less think through a muddled, heavy haze within your vicinity. Like a man guided by barely restrained instinct, he returned your touch with a firm grip, sometimes a gentle hand clasped around your arm, other times a well placed hold on your waist to move you behind him when the flock of people got too excited.

It only got worse from there. He tried to keep his distance from you when walking with you, unwilling to feed into this festering desire, but unwilling to leave you vulnerable to te mob of people that always followed you everywhere, not even risking leaving you alone when seemingly no one was around. Sometimes you’d pray with him, kneeling at the alter beside him as you both whisper your prayers, and Leon’s thoughts would wander off just a second too soon for him to catch. A flash of you on your knees before him, cinture wrapped snugly around your neck with the other end firm around his hand so that he could tug the holy cord and tip your head up enough to peer into your eyes. That was only scratching the surface, and Leon could already sense his downfall. He thought his dick was but a decorative piece at that point, having not gotten any sort of attention or reaction for years on end, he knew something was dreadfully wrong when it was revived a few nights after his first inappropriate thought made it’s appearance. His room window faced the back gardens where the both of you first met, giving him a lovely view from up above of the place that now held a near and dear spot in his heart. He had been praying towards the window that night, hands clasped with his cross in hand in front of him as hushed prayers fell from his lips. Prayer for forgiveness and guidance, to purge him of his sins and shield him from sin. He so desperately wanted to stay within the light, but he had all but slipped away from it the moment his head lifted, and he saw you down below in the gardens. Seeing you there came as no surprise; ever since your arrival, you had took to the gardens as though it was your personal sanctuary and helped clean it up while still maintaining the natural flora and fauna. Within a couple weeks, the gardens was flourishing better than it ever had, the plants far more green and the woodland creatures flourished under your care. The shock that caused Leon’s mouth to grow wet was the sight of you donned in your night gown, the sheen white fabric clinging onto your frame while you frolicked in the pond, soft laughter chiming outside as you played with the fish that somehow seemed to reciprocate your friendly behaviour, swimming around and splashing you. Just the glimpse of you felt like a sin he couldn’t wash away, yet he couldn’t look away. It felt as though he had secured his one way ticket to hell now, but he was enamoured with the curves of your body, how the wet fabric was fainty see through. His eyes fixated around the hollow of your collarbones, the perk of your nipple, the curve of your waist and the outline of your legs. He couldn’t breathe. That night, you set a holy man on a path driven into madness.

Dead in the middle of the night, he was curled up in his bed, the white sheets moist with his sweat as he clutched onto the cross of his rosary with eyes screwed shut to try and block out the depravity of his mind and the throb of his dick. On the verge of tears, he heaved and panted, head swimming in the suffocating air of his room while he tried not to give into temptation. Never in his life has he ever been so swayed to stray from the holy path that was set out for him, not until now.

Through the growing pit of sickness, he continued praying, hoping to pray his thoughts away, only for more pervasive thoughts to cloud the rolling reels behind closed eyes. Pushing you against the cross and tying you there with the intention to bring you closer to God and make you even holier than you already are, hands that could easily engulf your breast trailing over the side of your chest, thumb grazing the fabric over your nipple while his lips dipped to your collarbone to take a bite.

He couldn’t help but imagine your cries, the arch of your back and how your nipples would perk with under the attention, back arching closer to his chest under the whim of your bodily wants. Hands slithering underneath the arch and wrapping around your waist as blood tinged his tongue.

The final straw in the midst of his mindless prayer was the vivid imagery of you staring up at him through fluttering lashes, down on your knees with his cock sprung free, tip flushed and shaft begging for your touch. The sensation of your lips on his dick, peppering the tip with kisses before shyly sticking your tongue out to give a kitten lick to the precum budding at the slit, watching the string stick on your tongue and connect on his dick even as you gently pull away. He hadn’t realized the sob for forgiveness falling from his lips as he pulled down his pants, dick springing free just like how he imagined in his dream. He couldn’t stop the mantra of chants, seeking guidance and salvation as he thumbed the slit, rubbing the copious amount of slippery precum on his shaft as he gripped around his dick like a vice, all while the vision continued to play behind his eyes. He could feel your tongue, soft and wet licking a stripe up from the underside of his dick before plush lips wrapped around his dick, causing him to groan. Tears leaked from his eyes from how you slowly bobbed around the head of his dick, never going any further than the dip of his head, your tongue flicking over the slit and circling the mushrom tip that has him whining and gasping for air. You were robbing him of his faith, draining it with every little timid lick. He was growing dizzy, lungs aching and the burn coiling in the pit of his guts as his hips stuttered. Mutters of “laying on of hands,” slipping off his tongue as his hands wrapped around the back of your head, slowly guiding your mouth to take him deeper, the ring of spit around his dick going further and getting wetter the further you went before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Like a snap of restraint, his mouth fell open in broken moans as your head was pushed all the way down, throat closing tightly around the offending intrusion while you gagged with tears pricking the corner of your eyes. A sight to behold, teary and hollowed cheeks while staring up at him with those bright, wide eyes.

The burning twist in his guts was tipping too quickly. Lightheaded and back arched towards the high heavens, Leon cried into the night as the burning hot splatter of his cum marred his skin and the fabric of his shirt, the sticky white seeping into the fabric like how it clung onto his hand as he continued to pump himself dry. His dick throbbed within his grip, spasming while his core tightened like he was hit by a lightening as punishment for his sin. His chest heaved erratically while his eyes cracked open to peek at the ceiling through tear-muddled vision, his body quivering while his thighs jerked. Dear God, He was done for.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #i'm making it darker later #leon s kennedy x reader

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boxofbonesfic · 8 months

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Title: Brave [6 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: The pass takes its toll on the pack.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: i’m having a ridiculous amount of fun with this story, can you tell? as usual, reblogs and feedback are appreciated and always welcome.

The storm rages at your backs as the pack travels west. Wind rips at the furs you have wrapped around yourself, a makeshift shield for the freezing rain. The water stings your hands and face like little needles, and you hunch down over your horse. The rolling hills of the grass sea crest higher and higher until they are hills no longer, but great cliffs that begin to rise darkly in the distance. You swallow a nervous lungful of air, and taste ozone and horse-sweat on your tongue.

The Orcs ride close together now, forming a tight shape as they move through the grass sea. What did Carol call it? The zikaegina. Lightning cracks overhead, and for a moment, your eye is drawn to movement—but darkness crashes down too quickly for you to make sense of it.

A bird? Above the storm? You grip the reins tight, remembering the stag. It’s wild yellow eyes, slavering jaws.

“The sea is where chaos reigns free, where Halith’s light cannot reach.” That was what they had told you in the chapel. “The further you go, the more godless it becomes.” You shiver. You know only the falsehoods you have been taught by king and country—and the land has been savage, yes, but also beautiful. Halith’s light had never reached you in your father’s house, when you had prayed and begged for it, so why should you care if her indifference cannot reach you here? You look up at the sky, riven into pieces again with a burning bolt—

There are different Gods here, you can feel it.

The cliffs jut up before you like jagged teeth, spearing the clouds above them. Fog rolls out of the mouth of the pass, so thick you fear you might choke on it. Carol rides up beside you, her back ramrod straight. With one hand she tightly grasps the reins, while the other rests on the pommel of the great-sword at her hip. At the front, Steve silently holds up his hand, forming a tight fist as he slows his horse. The tension is as thick as the fog. You know the horses feel it too as they shift, their ears flicking about nervously.

I wonder if they hear something we do not.

“Eyes up, little human. Eyes up.” Carol whispers, her voice barely audible. Though the rain stings your eyes, you do as she says, staring upward into the dark fog. The sounds of wind and rain echo off of the slick rocks, but the air feels eerily still as the storm rages far above you.

We are not alone here.

You are reminded of Carol’s warning—other things used it too—and you hunch lower. One of the horses whinnies, the sound echoing up the quiet cliffside. The rider silences it as Steve turns, his hand held up as a sign to stop, to wait.

The screech echoes all around you, the horrible, piercing noise of it making you clap your hands against our ears to block it out. Trembling, you cast a terrified look at Carol. Slowly, she raises a finger to her lips. Quiet. Above you, somethingskims low through the fog, something dark.

Something big.

No one moves. The horses stand stock still, and when you look down at your own, his eyes are bright with fear, rolling back and forth in his head. An answering cry pierces the storm, and this time when lightning illuminates the sky, you see it. It clings to an outcropping of rock, crawling silently down the slick stones. It is covered in, dark, wiry fur, with leathery wings that tremble excitedly as it reaches a horrible talon down toward Steve—

Quicker than you’d thought he could move, Steve grabs for his axe, swinging it upward in a clean, bright arc. There is an awful wet, tearing sound as he cleaves the screaming creature in two, black blood spraying his face. His horse whinnies, rearing up as Steve rips the axe clean of the thing’s body. Its carcass falls to the ground, steaming in the cool night air, and for a moment there is silence.

“Zhut! Ride!” Steve’s bellow trembles in your bones. “Make for the city!”

Chaos erupts around you, but it is as though time has slowed to a crawl. You watch, horrified as more dark shapes drop from the sky above you, descending on the scrambling pack in a flurry of hungry claws and teeth. The rider in front of you loses his head in an instant, the bat-thing slamming into him as its jaws open unnaturally wide. You blink, feeling his warm blood on your own face as it bites down with a sickening crunch, its snout and chest covered in sticky red. It turns those big, hollow eyes to you, a long tongue darting out to lick at the blood staining its face. You have no time to reach for the bow at your back as it lunges for you, talons outstretched—

The beast’s black blood joins that of the Orc rider’s on your skin, stinking and acrid as Carol’s blade lands with a dull thunk. One of its claws lands in your lap, and you scream as it twitches. You sweep it to the ground, and Carol grabs you by the shoulder, shoving a short, curved blade into your shaking, bloody hands.

“Ride!” She screams the word into your face, pointing forward into the mist. You snap the reins, holding on for dear life as the horse rears back, hooves fiercely pawing at the air. You and Carol take off, with her swinging the sword around your heads, trying to fend off the screaming, hungry swarm. The blade in your hands would be little more than a dagger for Carol, but for you, it is a short sword, light enough for you to wield with a single hand as you cling desperately to the reins.

Claws clip your cheek, your shoulder, your horse screams—you don’t realize you’re airborne until you hit the ground, the breath knocked out of you. You scramble up to your feet as your head spins. There are three of them, attached to the writhing body of your horse not twenty feet away. Your ears ring with the sounds of battle around you, and the sour tang of blood burns in your nostrils. Others, your own.

“Run! You must run!” Carol beckons you forward, and your thighs burn as you run toward her horse. You can hear another of the creatures behind you, its wings beating against the wind as its claws narrowly miss the skin of your back—it crashes into you, sending you sprawling into the mud for the second time. It lands on top of you, it’s bloody jaws frothing as it snaps at your face. You grab for the sword, straining as its rotting breath rolls across your cheeks—

The creature squawks in pain and then goes still and limp on top of you. Its blood leaks down onto your hands from the hilt, your sword buried in its chest. Numb and dizzy, you stare up at the seething sky above you.

“Up, my brave warrior,” Steve replies, rolling the body off of you. He swings you up into his arms, seating you firmly on his horse in front of him. “Eyes forward.” He hands you the reins, brandishing his axe. “I will do the rest.” You do as he says, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. You don’t stray, not when the axe whistles through the air above your head, or when the narrow pass widens out back out into the grass sea, the creatures screams echoing behind you.

to be continued…

#cevans fandom #cevans fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #steve rogers #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers au #Orc!Steve Rogers #Orc AU #dark fantasy #steve rogers smut #boxofbonesfic #bones drabbles #drabble series

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azsazz · 1 year

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Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 3,991

(Part One)

_________________________________________

Absolute silence. Absolute stillness.

The tremor of magic slides through the room as shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and their retinues. A wave of heat flashes across your face as even Beron’s protective shields come out, and something exciting stirs in your chest because of it. The power flitting through the room weighs heavy on everyone’s shoulders, their faces solemn as they look between each other wearily, sizing each other up, but your lips twitch, itching to break out into a grin.

You can almost smell the bloodshed waiting to happen.

You can’t help but watch how the Night Court participants react to Tamlin’s arrival. Rhysand’s face is set into that well-practiced bored look that Eris had told you about. You can practically feel the dark power rippling beneath his skin.

Feyre tries to school her face into the same cold caution her elder sister wears, but she fails so miserably your laugh nearly slips. Not even the daggers the shadowsinger shoots you has your smile faltering, and you lean in a little closer to Eris beside you, if only to play the part you knew so well as you dismiss him, feeling the embers of Beron’s eyes following your every move. At the sight of the vague distaste on Mor’s face, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Feyre’s discomfort is palpable in the large room that has suddenly shrunk three sizes since the arrival of the missing High Lord. Your attention returns to Tamlin, his gleaming green eyes fixed solely on the new High Lady of Night and her mate.

He smiles broadly, his sharp teeth white as crow-picked bones, the kind that can rip through flesh with the ease of the freshly-sharpened blade at your side, the kind that can land a killing blow with one well placed bite. A shiver slides up your spine at the thought of Tamlin slaughtering someone with those wolfish teeth.

Thesean rises from his lush chair as if to greet the tardy male. His captain remains seated beside him with a hand on his sword.

“We were not expecting you, Tamlin.” Thesean gestures beside him towards his cringing attendants. “Fetch the High Lord a chair.”

Tamlin doesn’t acknowledge Thesean, instead, his eyes stay locked on Feyre and her courtiers.

Something in his smile changes, turning more subdued. You can see clearly the effect it has on Feyre, the way she stiffens under his unfaltering eyes, turning more and more vicious the longer he looks.

He’s clad in a green tunic, the color of full grasses you’d only seen once. He dons no crown, no adornments that show off his wealth like many of the other High Lords. Eris twists his thick gold ring around his first finger, a circlet of leaves that make up his family crest, his only true show of wealth.

Beron is the one who breaks the tense silence and you refrain from rolling your eyes, knowing what punishment it will catch you if he notices.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from his last disciplinary action.

Azriel’s brows furrow in your direction as you shift uncomfortably in your chair, fingers brushing over your sleeve where the mark lays. It’s a fleeting brush of his golden gaze as it hardens on the Autumn Lord two seats down from you.

“I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here.”

Still, the High Lord of Spring does not look away from his prey, watching every breath Feyre takes.

Beron continues anyway, “Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.”

You have to give it to the asshole High Lord that you’d very much like to put in the ground. He isn’t afraid to ask the real questions, the ones everyone so desperately wants answered but doesn’t dare ask.

Finally, Tamlin’s gaze shifts, not towards the male speaking to him, but to the shining ring on Feyre’s finger. To the dark swirl of ink etched across her hand, flowing beneath the glittering, pale blue sleeve of her gown. It trails up, up, up to the crown of onyx jewels in her hair, glittering in the sunlight.

Nobody moves.

You’d heard of what she’d done to him and his court. The deceptions, the lies, all of it had spread across Prythian like a wildfire, poisonous and all consuming. What she’d done to him in her rage…you would have to agree that the beast keeping her holed up in his mansion deserved nothing less. If the Autumn and Night Court weren’t on such terrible terms, you think you'd actually like to get to know Feyre and become her friend.

The change in Feyre’s stare is evident. Her molten wrath at the memories of what he’d done to her turns her pale gray eyes into something sharp-edged and brittle.

Thesean’s attendants return, hauling a chair between them. They set it between Oakland and Helion’s entourage. Neither look thrilled about it, Oakland trying to smother the look of disgust with his wine glass, but they aren’t stupid enough to physically recoil as Tamlin sits.

The High Lord of Spring says not one word.

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand and your head tilts as you stare at the pink slashes cutting across his dark skin, curious as to how he’d gotten them. If he’d been close to Death when he’d received such an honor.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

Thesean clears his throat, but no one looks his way.

Not as Tamlin surveys the hand Rhys has resting on Feyre’s knee.

The loathing in the Spring King’s eyes practically simmers.

Everyone in the room braces themselves as he opens his mouth to speak.

“It would seem congratulations are in order.”

His words are flat–flat yet sharp as the claws he’s hiding beneath his golden skin.

Feyre says nothing.

Rhys holds Tamlin’s stare. He holds it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roils beneath it. A cataclysmic rage, surging and writhing around the room, threatening to take everyone out in a single snap.

But Rhys addresses Thesean instead, who has reclaimed his seat, yet seems far from any sort of ease, “We can discuss the matter at hand later.”

Tamlin tacks on calmly, “Don’t stop on my account.”

The light in Rhysand’s eyes gutters, as if a hand of darkness wipes the very stars from his violet gaze. He reclines in his chair, withdrawing his hand from Feyre’s knee to trace idle circles on his seat’s wooden arm. “I am not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.”

You, along with Helion, across the reflection pool, grin like lions.

“No,” Tamlin replies with equal ease, “You’re just in the business of fucking them.”

The entire Court goes silent.

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor are as still as Death, fury rippling off of them in silent waves, something that has utter delight rushing through your veins. As if Eris can feel your excitement, he places a hand over your knee under the table where no eyes can see, not that anyone is paying the two of you any attention anyway, not while there is something far more interesting to watch.

He squeezes softly in warning.

Don’t fuck this up.

Whether Tamlin notices the courtier's anger or cares that the three of the deadliest people in the room are contemplating his demise, he doesn't let on.

Your mouth parts slightly to taste the air. It’s all you give yourself for now, the metallic tang of bloodshed waiting to happen. You want to feel that red warmth across your skin, ache for the slickness between your fingers, painting your skin crimson, warm like the Death you love so dear.

Rhysand only shrugs, smiling faintly. “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.”

“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.”

The Night Court ruler’s blink is the only sign of his confusion.

A claw slides out of Tamlin’s knuckle.

Kallias tenses, a hand drifting to the arm of Viviane’s chair–as if he’ll throw himself in front of it. Honorable of him. But Tamlin only drags his claw lightly down the carved arm of his own chair. You’re wickedly transported to the thoughts of all of the times you’d done the same with your blade, watching the life drain from your foe’s eyes. Your stare becomes more intense.

Tamlin smiles at Feyre knowingly, the High Ladies pallor turning white as the motion triggers something within her.

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”

Feyre says quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.”

Your smile hurts.

Green eyes slide to her once more, glazed and foreign. He lets out a low snort, then looks away just as quickly.

Dismissal.

Kallias asks, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

Tamlin’s claw digs into the wood, puncturing deep even as his voice remains mild. “I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern–to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge–either her or her…master’s.”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” Feyre breathes. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.”

Tamlin angles his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

The grin drops from your face.

Feyre’s cheeks are stained red. This isn’t an outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of her dignity, her credibility. Beron beams and your stomach churns at his delight–while Eris carefully monitors.

Rhys turns his head, looking Feyre over from head to toe. Then back to Tamlin. A storm about to be unleashed.

But it’s Azriel who says, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. Something preens in your chest at his words, at the open threat on his face, bright eyes dark with the shroud of Death itself.

Surprise flashes in Tamlin’s eyes–then vanishes. Vanishes, swallowed by the pure fury as he realizes what that tattoo coating Feyre’s hand is for. “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?” A hateful smile curls his lips. “You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no…”

A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Tamlin finally faces the other gathered High Lords and their retinues. “They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind–after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us…Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain–what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition–and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.”

You catch Feyre holding back a snarl at the heinous words aimed at her mate.

Rhys releases a dark laugh. “Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.”

Ire contorts Tamlin’s face at the condescension. But he faces Kallias. “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerks his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane–the few other members of their retinue who remain silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” A finger flung in Rhysand’s direction.

The silvery glow about Kallias dulls.

Even Viviane seems to dim. “We came here to decide that for ourselves.”

Mor stares at her friend in quiet questioning. Viviane, for the first time since the Night Court had arrived, does not look toward her. Only at her mate.

Rhys says softly to them, to everyone, “I had no involvement in that. None.”

Kallias’s eyes flare like blue flame. “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.”

There isn’t anything anyone can do, except watch Rhys’ golden skin pale. “I tried to stop it.”

“Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,” Kallias says, and this time you don’t feel that loving caress of Death, you only hurt for the children that had been ripped away from their parents at such a young age. You know that Death herself will take the best care of them, and sometimes not all death can be justified. “That you tried.”

Rhys’ mouth tightens. “There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,” he says to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. “Not one day.”

“Remembering,” Kallias answers, “Doesn’t bring them back, does it?”

“No,” Rhys says plainly. “No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.”

Viviane glances between her husband and Rhys. “I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to–stop her.” Pain tightens her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of territory.

You had heard the whispers of things of what happened during Under the Mountain and snippets of what Eris could choke out, but you had never really believed it to be much truth as it came from the gossipping handmaids of the Autumn Court manor that you were bound to, even while the High Lord and his family were trapped below.

Rhys says nothing.

Beron snorts, the sound makes you cringe. “Finally speechless, Rhysand?”

Feyre’s hand slips to Rhys’ arm. Tamlin marks it, but she doesn’t seem to care. She says to her mate, not bothering to keep her voice down, “I believe you.”

“Says the woman,” Beron counters, and it’s all you can do to not look like you’re a part of their façade as a unified family. “Who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead–for Amarantha to butcher as well.”

Rhys swallows and Feyre’s grip tightens on his arm.

His voice is rough as he says to Kallias, “When your people rebelled…” And you recall exactly how Winter had rebelled against Amarantha. And the children…that had been Amarantha’s answer. Her punishment for disobedience. “She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.”

Viviane’s face drains of color.

Rhys continues, “I…convinced her that it would serve little purpose.”

“Who knew,” Beron muses, “That a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’ voice is low with warning. His hand tightens on your knee.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Feyre fix their gazes upon the High Lord of Autumn. None of them are smiling.

They look as though Eris might become High Lord sooner than he plans.

That flutter kicks up in your stomach again at the lethal looks in their eyes, especially that extra sparkle in Azriel’s.

If only you could help make that happen.

But Rhys goes on to Kallias, “She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead–I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it.” His breathing hitches slightly. “I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defense of you as a warning sign–she didn’t tell me any of it. And she kept me…confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them–and it was already done. She…she sent a daemati with them. To…” He falters, but you all know what had happened. The children’s minds–they’d been shattered. Rhys swallows. “I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her.”

What he must have witnessed within those soldiers’ minds…

“Where did she confine you?” The question comes from Viviane, her arms wrapped around her middle.

No one is entirely ready for it when Rhys answers, “Her bedroom.”

His friends do not hide their rage, their grief at the details he’d kept even from them.

“Stories and words,” Tamlin says, lounging in his chair. Your anger flares like the fires of the Court you’ve been chained to for nearly a century. “Is there any proof?”

“Proof–” Cassian snarls, half rising in his seat, his wings starting to flare.

“No,” Rhys cuts in as Mor blocks Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit. Rhys adds to Kallias, “But I swear it–upon my mate’s life.” His hand rests atop of Feyre’s.

Your stomach whorls at the realization that he must have known what coming here, presenting his front just as they are, would cost him. What he might have to reveal beyond the wings he’s managed to hide so well for so long.

Tamlin rolls his eyes. You can see the utter restraint Feyre has to keep her from lunging for him–from ripping out his eyes in the name of her mate.

But whatever Kallias reads in Rhys’ face, his words…he pins Tamlin with a hard stare as he asks again, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

A muscle flickers in Tamlin’s jaw. “I am here to help you fight against Hybern.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian mutters, and you silently agree, catching his glowering gaze with a slight nod of your head. His brows twitch into a furrow before he dismisses you, untrusting of the pet so cozied up to Autumn.

Tamlin glares at him. Cassian, folding his wings in neatly as he leans back in his chair once more, offers him a crooked grin in return.

“You will forgive us,” Thesean interrupts gracefully, “If we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.”

“Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?”

Silence. Tarquin, across the pool, watches and listens–either because he’s the youngest of them, or perhaps he knows some advantage that lies in letting them battle it out themselves.

Tamlin smiles at Feyre again. “Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands?” He lets out a low snarl, and Rhys tenses in his seat at the sound. “I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?” His teeth shine white as bone. “It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer towards Nesta, who is frowning with distaste. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

“Watch your mouth,” Mor snaps.

Tamlin ignores her wholly and waves a hand towards Rhysand’s wings. “I sometimes forget–what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?”

“You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,” Helion says, propping his head on a hand. “Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.”

“You’d be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one.”

“No one says war can’t be lucrative,” Helion counters. Tamlin’s lip curls in a silent snarl that makes you wonder if he’d gone to Helion to break Feyre’s bargain with Rhys–if Helion had refused.

“Enough,” Kallias says. “We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with.” Those glacial eyes harden as he takes in Tamlin again. “Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?”

The mocking, hateful gleam fades into granite resolve. “I stand against Hybern.”

“Prove it,” Helion goads.

Tamlin lifts his hand, and a stack of papers appears on the little table beside his chair. “Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane…Everything carefully gleaned these months.”

“Noble as it sounds,” Helion continues, “Who is to say that the information is correct–or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?”

“Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?”

Nesta murmurs, “You can’t be serious.” Mor gives her a look as if to say that he certainly is.

“If we need to ally against Hybern,” Thesean said, “You are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin.”

“I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha’s bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I’m warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well–as if they’d been anticipating it. Don’t think he wouldn’t sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata–and were the only ones to arrive in time to play savior?”

“They received word,” Varian cuts in coolly, “Because I warned them of it.”

Tarquin whips his head to his cousin, brows high with surprise.

“Perhaps you’re working with them, too,” Tamlin said to the Prince of Adriata. “You’re next in line, after all.”

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathes to Tamlin as Varian bares his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” She points toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae–after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress–I’m sure the trait runs in the family.”

Nesta lets out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she says to Tamlin, “Perhaps you should first look in the mirror.”

Tamlin snarls at her and your excitement returns. You may see some action after all.

Casisan snarls right back, “Watch it.”

Tamlin looks between Feyre’s sister and Cassian–his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorts. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Feyre’s power begins to rumble throughout the room–a behemoth rising up, yawning awake.

“What do you want?” She hisses. “An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?”

“Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?”

Her cheeks flare.

Tamlin growls, “The moment you let him fuck you like an–”

One heartbeat, the poisoned words spew from his mouth–where fangs lengthen.

Then they stop.

Tamlin’s mouth simply stops emitting sounds. He shuts his mouth, opens it–tries again.

No sound, not even a snarl, comes out.

There is no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rests his head against the back of his chair. “The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.”

The others, who have been watching with disdain and boredom, now turn to the High Lord of Night. Now possessing a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realize who and what, exactly, sits amongst them.

You can’t help but to smile again. Wicked.

Brethren, and yet not. Tamlin is a High Lord, as powerful as any of them.

Except for the one at Feyre’s side. Rhys is different from them as humans are to Fae.

They forgot it, sometimes–how deep that well of power goes. What manner of power Rhys bears.

But as Rhysand rips away Tamlin’s ability to speak, they remember.

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel #acotar #acowar #acowar rewrite #acomaf #azsazz

474 notes · View notes

writtenfangirl · 1 year

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The Light: Epilogue

I wanted to see if it was possible for me to write the sweetest, most tooth-rotting fic I could ever write and I did.

Also, can I just say, I genuinely love reading people’s comments and reblogs on my fics. I write my fics as a hobby and it honestly astounds me that there are people out there who enjoy reading the things I write. It’s a privilege, seriously.

Part 1

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife. However—“

“That is how you truly know this novel is fiction,” Benedict remarked, interrupting Y/N as she read from the book. She was laying on his lap, her back against the grass as the tree they leaned against shielded her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. It was a beautiful day in the countryside, the breeze cool despite the heat of summer. Aubrey Hall sat below them, a towering figure despite their place on the crest of a hill. She could almost see the other Bridgertons out in the lawn, lazing about and spending the day together. Benedict had strictly forbade them from approaching them today and though she loved the other Bridgertons, the quiet was a welcome respite.

They’d taken a day together, just the two of them, after Y/N’s mother had written to her about her father’s current temperament. He still refuses to acknowledge Y/N’s existence after she refused to marry the Duke of Albany and chose to marry Benedict instead and Y/N’s father had told her mother that any child borne of their marriage will not be his grandchild. The letter had brought Y/N great pain and Benedict, in an effort to make Y/N feel better, had prepared a picnic for them and a whole day without responsibilities or talks of grandchildren and babies.

Because children was something at the forefront of every person’s mind when they came upon a childless wedded couple and Y/N’s and Benedict’s lack of a child had begun to worry Violet, especially as they had been married for a year. Despite repeatedly telling Violet not to worry too much about it as they were both very young and wanted to spend the early days of their marriage child-free, she did worry.

Y/N loved the Bridgertons like they were her own family but she missed the time she spent alone with her husband. Hence, Benedict’s idea of a picnic, just the two of them.

“And why is that?” She asked as she brought the book down and quirked a brow.

“I have met a great many men who have large fortunes, most of whom do not wish to marry.”

“What an astute observation, my love.“

“Do you mean to treat me with sarcasm, Mrs. Bridgerton?” Benedict’s brow was raised high but there was no denying the amused grin pulling at his lips.

“I treat you only with the best of my affections.” But her teasing smirk betrayed her true intentions. “Now, am I allowed to continue my reading or do you intend to interrupt me once again?”

Benedict leaned his head back, before tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm. As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice, I do believe there are other activities better suited to it than reading. Although, if I were to interrupt you again, what, perhaps, would be the consequences of such an action?”

“Separate bedrooms.” Y/N’s grin could only be called devilish. She knew how much Benedict detested sleeping in separate rooms. They tried it the first two nights of their marriage before he declared that such an action was more akin to torture than rest. Ever since then, they occupied a single bedroom and it will remain that way until one of them perishes.

“What a grave consequence to such a small infraction. Very well then, my love. Continue your reading. I’d hate to have to learn to tolerate separate bedrooms.” Benedict’s face scrunched up in distaste.

“If we manage to read through the first three chapters, I will sit for you for an hour.”

Benedict’s face lightened, an almost giddy expression on his face. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, a smile gracing her lips. He’d been begging her for the past three days to once again sit for a painting as he thought the backdrop of Aubrey Hall would be beautiful, and though Y/N loved Benedict, sitting for a painting was always painful for her back. It took almost all of her concentration to sit still for the hours necessary to complete the painting and by the end of it, Y/N needed a very long and warm bath.

“Why you always choose me to be your subject is beyond me,” she said with a sniffle, “especially since my face now stands in the National Art Museum because of you. Is one painting of me not enough?”

“You have a very beautiful face. It should be shared with all of England.”

“You know how I hate myself in paintings.”

“How unfortunate for you to have married an artist enraptured by your looks.” This time, it was Benedict who’d let sarcasm run his tone, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I adore art and so a painter for a husband was the natural choice. I simply do not like myself in paintings. I love your landscapes and your portraits of others but not of me.”

Benedict frowned, a serious tone creeping on his voice. “You, my love, are a thing of beauty. The paintings I make of you will always be my favorite. When I one day perish, it is my fervent hope that my paintings of you will be the ones that live on. That it is my paintings of you that the art students of tomorrow will study, that they may learn how passion and love can heighten the beauty of one’s art. Anyone can paint a sunset or draw a landscape but no one else can paint my wife but me.”

She will never ever be used to Benedict’s sudden declarations of love. She had married an artist, that much was true but sometimes, she imagined Benedict could be a poet with the way he articulated orated his love for her.

“You are incorrigible, Benedict Bridgerton.” But her words couldn’t hide the rising blush of her cheeks nor could it hide the bashful smile creeping at her lips.

“For you, my love? Always.” Benedict said with that crooked grin before bending down and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Now make haste and finish your chapters before the sun disappears on us. When I paint you, I want it captured by the light. Such beauty should never be kept in the dark.”

She didn’t pretend to act irate anymore. Instead she kept reading until she ended at chapter three. And when she was done, the sun was still high in the sky yet her husband’s face had turned contemplative.

“I have finished. Shell we go inside that you may now paint?”

But Benedict only frowned, his dark brows meeting together at the center of his face, his bottom lip pushed into a pout.

“Whatever is the matter, my love? The sun is still high in the sky and you still have time to paint. And as I don’t expect you to finish your painting all too soon, you can expect me to sit for you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that one as well until your painting is complete.”

He smiled at her, the little grin she loved so much. “Sorry, my love, my mind wandered but not towards the painting.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “Speak of what ails you, Mr. Bridgerton, that I may find its remedy.”

“I was only thinking—“

“Oh, did it hurt terribly? There, there, my love. Let me kiss your head to make it better,” Y/N teased as she reached for Benedict’s forehead in an attempt to soothe it. If there was one way to ease the mind of any Bridgerton, it was through humor.

Benedict rolled his eyes but he still had that smile on his face. “Stop it. I am being serious.” But he bowed nonetheless, pressing a kiss on his wife’s hands.

“Alright then, go on. What were you thinking of?”

“In all the years humans have existed, there have been hundreds upon thousands of ways we have told each other how much we love one another. Shakespeare measured his love with sonnets while Bach composed music and Da Vinci made art.”

Y/N frowned once again. “Where are you going with this?”

“I make my art as a form of telling you how much I love you but I realize now that, it is not enough.”

“Darling—“

“Art is not a good enough medium nor is poetry or music. There are not enough words or notes or paint in this world that could show, truly, how much I love you. I do not think I love any differently than Shakespeare or Bach or Da Vinci but I do think you make all the difference in the world. If they loved you too, they would have struggled just as much as I do.”

Y/N was at a loss for words. Her heart soared, giddiness spreading all across her body.

She and Benedict had only been married for a year. A full year of bliss and happiness. She’d heard it said by other ladies that marriages normally went stale after six months and she herself had seen how little regard her parents had for each other. In fact, her own mother refused to speak to her father when he refused to come to Y/N’s wedding with Benedict after Y/N refused to be wed to the Duke of Albany. And even now, after a year, he refused to speak to her.

She knew she was lucky. She married the man she loved, a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. It was a fate most women of the ton could only dream of yet to her, it was reality.

“Benedict, I don’t even know what to say,” Y/N said, her voice filled with the same amount of love as her husband’s declaration.

“Say nothing. I can read your eyes clearly enough,” Benedict said with a smile before he leaned down and planted another kiss, this time on her lips.

His lips were soft like butter and tasted like summer, like the sweetness of the cool breeze and the light of the sun. He tasted like home.

There were still many things wrong in Y/N’s world.

Her father had still disowned her and they hadn’t spoken since she last saw him that fateful day in the drawing room at Aubrey Hall. There was still the manner of Violet Bridgerton probing for a grandchild. But she knew one thing and that thing brought her peace like no other. Everything could go wrong in this world but so long as Benedict Bridgerton was at her side, then everything would be all right.

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton oneshot #benedict bridgerton fluff

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angelicguy · 11 months

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the funniest thing about dark souls to me. has always been how. is there a word for what im thinking about here. Artistic and considered i guess all the items are, and how nerds immediately break them down into stats for the best buffs. so the grass crest shield, which just has a beautiful design, is associated with nerds statmaxxing

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waltwhitmansbeard · 8 months

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Tea

20. Tea

When Caduceus returned to the Blooming Grove and the rest of the Mighty Nein scattered to the Wildmother's winds, he could scarcely admit to himself the fear he'd had that he'd be forgotten about. With such grand and heroic adventures still awaiting them, from the crests of the seas to the marbled halls of justice, who could remember the quiet, floppy-earred friend in the woods, tending to his dead folks and reconnecting with his family? He wouldn't blame them for it, even if the thought made his fine fur bristle with some strange internal cold.

But he should have known better. He should have known that the Wildmother would not let these flowers bloom so bright and bold for them to shine for the Clays' eyes only. Caduceus isn't sure how they manage it, but they come, not frequently, but enough to keep the hearth warm.

Jester and Fjord bring him tales of the sea, of pirates and monsters and narrow escapes from the law. He bakes with Jester, and he and Fjord sit and discuss their matron in the quiet hours before dawn. Every time they leave, it takes only a day or two for someone in the family to find a brand-new hand-painted sculpture of a dick hidden somewhere in the house.

When Beau and Yasha visit, the latter rarely comes inside, preferring to spend her time among the riotous flowers of the graveyard. Beau speaks cryptically of her work with the Cobalt Soul, enthralling the rest of the Clays with guessing at what she could possibly be talking about, but Caduceus likes to wander out to sit with Yasha, to speak of the blooms and the bees and the sun, and maybe of loss and regrowth as well. When they go, they take some flowers with them, pressed between the pages of a book or neatly bundled in twine, and Caduceus knows that the brief life they'll live outside of the earth is worth the smile they'll bring to his friends' faces.

For some reason, the Brenattos seem to have chosen the Blooming Grove as their vacation destination, as if they do not live full-time in what most of the continent views as the perfect getaway. Caduceus doesn't mind, is happy to educate young Luc on the various insects he happily uncovers from the tall grasses around the the Clay house. Constance is less thrilled by the errant crossbow bolts that seem to find their way into every vertical surface, but Caduceus can see the way Veth's shoulders relax when she can be somewhere quiet, far from the endless coast of Nicodranas. Each visit, right before they pack up their things and prepare to leave, Veth steps into the sun, takes a long, slow breath in, and sighs happily. "No fucking salt," she murmurs to herself, but Caduceus hears her, and he laughs.

His favorite visits, though, he thinks, are the ones he gets to facilitate between Caleb and Essek. He knows how hard it is for them to meet, how much danger the former Shadowhand puts himself in to be with the one he loves, so Caduceus is more than happy to open the Grove to them, to let the trees of the Savalirwood shield them from those who would harm them. Melora herself has a tempestuous, ill-advised love, so Caduceus likes to think she smiles particularly wide on these two wizards, who even still dance around each other like dragonflies. They take the tea Caduceus brews into the garden, and they sit in the shade where the sun cannot hurt Essek's skin, and they murmur to each other all of the things that cannot be conveyed in twenty-five words or less. They never stay for more than a day or two, and before they leave, Essek bestows a fortune's favor upon Caduceus's brow, but he never uses it. He has all the luck he needs, from the favor of the Wildmother to the endless joy his friends deliver to him with each and every visit.

#ask #Anonymous #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #my fic #mighty nein #mighty nein fic #caduceus clay #fjorester #beauyasha #shadowgast #brenattos

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livyjh · 1 year

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In Bloom

Din Djarin x AFAB reader (no gender specific terms used, just body parts)

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2.7k

Can be found on ao3 here

Summary: You’ve been teamed up with the Mandalorian for a few months now, but are still an amateur bounty hunter. Fresh to The Guild. He was kind enough to train you as long as you helped him capture bounties. When looking for a bounty on a weird, woodland planet, you manage to get affected by a poisonous flower.

Din Djarin Masterlist

A/N: This takes place while Grogu is away, training with Luke Skywalker. But the Razor Crest wasn’t destroyed.

I was blushing so hard writing this 👀 enjoy!

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“Just remember not to touch anything. This planet is full of dangerous plants and animals.” Mando tells you for the hundredth time this day.

“I know. I know. Poison and venom and all that.” You roll your eyes as you zip up your boots and stand.

“Okay. You ready?” The Mandalorian turns to you.

“Yep.” You nod and smile.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He opens the gate of the Razor Crest and the two of you step down onto the grassy planet.

There were bright purple flowers and blue trees as far as the eye could see. The trees were weepy; long, drooping branches covered with little leaves. The flowers were small, but there were millions of them.

The gate closes behind you and you and Mando start looking for this bounty.

“This was a… smart place to hide.” Mando sighs.

“How so? There’s hardly anyone here. I’m sure he’s gonna be the first person we come across.” You squeeze your fists lightly, just feeling the texture of your gloves on your hands. You hated wearing them because they made your hands sweat but Mando had told you over and over not to touch anything because “humans aren’t immune to this shit”. That’s a quote. From him. When you tried to question further, he seemed hesitant to tell you but you figured he was just being his non-talkative self.

“Doubt it. There are many farmers on this planet.” He sighs again.

He pulled out the tracking fob that was blinking much slower than you had anticipated. You were hoping to be right on top of this bounty when you landed. No such luck.

You two kept following a shallow path that had been walked through in the grass. People used it frequently enough to wear some of the grass away there. But not often enough for it to qualify as a trail.

Suddenly, a blaster shot flies between you and Mando. You duck and he puts his arms out to shield you.

“Stay back!” He warns you and you move to run behind a tree as another blaster shot flies by.

With your adrenaline suddenly pumping, you don’t watch where you’re going and trip on a tree root, falling face first into a bunch of the purple flowers. Their petals spread and release some sort of dust into your face.

Mando is shooting back and then suddenly everything stops. The blasters stop. The world stops.

“Fuck.” You curse, tears forming in your eyes as you stand up.

You look over at Mando and start to cry. “Oh, Maker. I’m dead aren’t I? I- I- I breathed it in! The flowers- they spewed poison on me!” You say hysterically.

Mando shakes his head and walks over to you, putting his gloved hands on your shoulders. “No. You’re… you’re not dead. But in a couple hours, you might wish you were.” He sighs.

“Not helping!” You shout.

Mando shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Shit, I shouldn’t have brought you. I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “Let me- I’m gonna grab the bounty’s body. I’m sure that was him shooting at us. Then we’ll get you back to the ship and everything is going to be fine.”

You sniffle, breathing in harshly. “How do you know?”

He sighs. “I just know. Trust me. I’ll be right back. You start heading back.”

You nod, wiping the tears away from your face. “O- okay.” You turn and head back to the ship.

The Mandalorian arrives only a few minutes after you, throwing the body in carbonite before he closes the gate. He turns to you. “Okay. Listen. Sit down.” Mando takes ahold of your shoulders and guides you to sit on the edge of his little bed compartment.

“Will bacta spray help? How am I- how do I-?” You start to panic again.

“I don’t think it will.” He shakes his head and you drag a hand down your face.

“What’s gonna happen? I’m gonna get all red and itchy? Scratch myself to death?” You raise a brow at him, trying to keep your breathing even.

“Those flowers… they’re…” he puts a hand on the back of his neck. “They have this pollen. That’s what you breathed in. Let’s call it… an extreme aphrodisiac.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms and smirk a little. He’s got to be joking.

“It makes you…” he starts.

“Horny?” You laugh. “I can handle that.” You shrug.

“More like feral.” Mando corrects you and your shoulders slump.

Fuck. Maybe you were gonna wish you were dead. Being around Mando while extremely chemically turned on? That was a recipe for disaster.

“I’ll just lock myself in here and sleep till it’s over.” You say, trying to fool yourself into thinking this wasn’t gonna be as bad as he’s making it sound.

“You’re welcome to try.” Mando steps closer and you feel a heat wave go through your body. You could smell his sweat and you wished he’d get even closer.

“If… there’s anything I can do to help… let me know.” He says shyly.

You’re not sure how to interpret his words at this point. “Can you just get me some water?” You gulp.

“Of course.” He nods and grabs a canteen, handing it to you.

Your fingertips barely brush his, both of you still wearing gloves. But it sends a jolt through you nonetheless. “Th- thank you.”

“I’m gonna get us heading for Nevarro.” He says.

“Okay.” You smile at him for a second before he disappears up the ladder.

You start whispering to yourself. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be just fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words, you remind yourself.

You shake your head and try to change what you’re thinking about. It starts with Grogu. You miss him. You and Mando had just visited a couple weeks ago, but… you weren’t allowed too close. Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments to other people.

You then thought about Mando. How sweet of a father figure he was. How bold yet kind he is. Sometimes intimidating, but is really just like a cuddly ewok.

Cuddling. With Mando. That would be nice.

His body pressed up against yours…

“Shit. No. Not going there.” You shake your head and make the thoughts go away. These weren’t the first intimate thoughts you’ve had about the Mandalorian. But they were certainly prevalent at the moment.

You tried not to think about Mando this way, because he was technically a business partner. But it was so hard when his voice was so… and his hands were really…

“Nope.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Fuck. How were you going to survive this if you couldn’t stop thinking about him?

You needed to distract yourself.

So you climbed up to the cockpit, deck of cards in your pocket.

You looked out the glass and saw that you were already pretty high up in the sky, leaving the planet’s atmosphere and entering the stars.

“Once we get on course we should play a game. I have cards.” You say happily, sitting down to Mando’s left.

“Alright.” He turns his head back towards you and nods.

Maker, his voice. Nope. No. You were going to be fine.

And you were. For awhile.

An hour had passed and you were only mildly tingly all over while still playing cards with the Mandalorian.

Another fifteen minutes go by and you can’t stop staring at Mando’s hands. He had taken his gloves off to play cards and wow.

Twenty more minutes. You’re pretty sure you’re soaked through your panties by now and you want to get up and check, maybe change them, but you’re afraid of getting up and there being moisture in your chair. So you keep waiting.

Mando is waiting too. You know it. He’s waiting for you to explode and start crying or something. But you were determined to muscle through.

Ten more minutes. You’re trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, squeezing your thighs together every time you moved to hand him a card or take a card from him.

Five more minutes. “Oh-“ you moan softly when his fingers brush yours as you’re exchanging cards.

You start to blush something fierce, one of your hands flying to cover your mouth. “Shit.” You mumble against your palm. “I’m sorry- I don’t- I’m gonna excuse myself.” You lower your hand from your face and set your cards down behind you as you rise from the seat.

You nearly orgasm the way your thighs rub together as you go down the ladder and into the bed compartment, closing it with the push of a button. You were going to be loud, and if you could muffle that and save yourself some embarrassment, that’s what you were gonna do.

You lay back on the bed, legs spread as you reach down under the hem of your pants and panties. “Fuck!” You gasp as your fingers move down your vulva.

This was the most sensitive you’d ever been in your life. Do you dare?

You do. You rub two fingers over your clit and let out a shaky breath, hips rolling upward.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Mando and how badly you wish his hand were in place of yours. How much you wanted him to take off that stupid helmet and kiss you from head to toe. You would kill a man just to have the Mandalorian’s fingers inside of you once.

You’re rubbing almost with full force of your middle and ring fingers, doing your usual little dance with your clit. A dance that would bring you to orgasm quickly every time.

You kept going and going and ten minutes later, you’ve switched hands back and forth and still can’t finish. It’s agonizing and you’re ready to cry out of frustration when you remember — “If there’s anything I can do to help… let me know.” — he said that. Mando said that to you.

You pressed the open button and called out to the ship. “Please, come here!” You pant. “Quickly!”

You hear a couple rushed steps down the ladder and assume he jumps down the second half, walking past the fresher to find you laying there, hand down your pants, cheeks ruddy, pussy soaking wet.

“Fuck.” He curses and you see his helmet tilt down just the slightest so he could see you. All of you.

“Please, h- help me. I can’t- I’m not- I don’t know-“ you’re nearly sobbing.

“Shhh…” he hushes you and crawls up into the bed between your legs. “Let me help you.”

You nod up at him and suddenly his bare hands are on your hips, just holding them for a moment. You pull your hand out of your panties and let him pull them off along with your pants.

The cool air of the ship hit your heat and you whined, feeling how tremendously wet you were. You felt two of his fingers come down the side of your hip, over the front and inside of your thigh before grazing over your labia.

You shook, almost violently, as you squeezed your eyes shut and balled your fists in the sheets. You couldn’t even look at him, you were so riled up. You were afraid if he looked you in the eyes he’d see how embarrassed you were or how much you truly wanted him.

As his fingers tease your folds, they become slick and slide into you easy when he pushes them forward.

“Ohh, yes.” You groan, whole body tensing up.

“Just relax.” He coos and you try to relax as many of your muscles as possible.

Instead of holding your legs up and away from each other, you let them drop apart against the walls of the compartment, you relax your hands and shoulders, trying to even your breathing.

He starts to pull his fingers back out slowly, being cautious and waiting for your instruction.

“Please, for Maker’s sake, go faster.” You whimper the last word and he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy at a quick pace.

“Fuck… that feels so good.” You sigh, gasp, and then sigh again with each movement of his hand.

He curls his fingers, searching for your g-spot and — “Mando…” you whine — there it is.

He makes it a point to brush over this spot with every thrust of his fingers, making your toes curl.

“I’m gon- gonna- oh fuck.” You cry out, thighs quivering as you cum hard, pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuck.” You hear his modulated voice over you.

You orgasm hard enough to see spots around the edges of your vision, and as you’re waiting for the come down… it never really comes.

“It- oh, fuck, baby-“ your eyebrows draw together and you reach down to grab his wrist when he starts to pull his fingers out of you. “It’s w- worse.” You can barely get the words out.

“You’re probably going to need to go a few more rounds before it goes away.” The Mandalorian explains.

“What?!” You ask, surprised and starting to sweat.

“It’s happened to me before.” He admits and you buck your hips, trying to get his fingers deeper inside of you.

“Please, k- keep… going.” You pant, looking up at him with seriousness in your eyes.

He nods and his fingers start to thrust in and out of you once more, and within ten seconds you’re cumming again. You throw your head back and feel yourself soaking his fingers.

“Ple- please,” you take a deep breath before you ask a question that can’t be unasked. “Will you fuck me?” You beg.

Mando nods and sits back on his knees for a second, undoing his belt and zipper before pulling himself out of his pants.

You moan at the sight of him, cunt tingling with anticipation.

“Protection?” He asks.

“No time. I’m on medicine for it.” You blurt out, biting your lip.

He nods and gets into position, guiding his cock to your entrance. He rubs the head up and down over your clit before pushing into you painfully slow.

“Baby, please,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

He almost growls as he pushes in quickly to the hilt, making you whimper. Your jaw drops open and you let out a long, shaky moan, reaching up to grab his shoulders.

He pulls out and slams back in once, pushing you up the bed slightly. You wrap your legs around his hips, angling up so he could go deeper.

He starts a quick pace, fucking you down into the thin mattress. Your eyes screw shut and you’re cumming again, groaning a string of curses.

He slows down to let you regain your senses, but just for a moment. And then he’s slamming into you again, hips slapping against your ass. The sound only eggs you on, gets you more sexually intoxicated.

He reaches down between you to rub your clit, trying to help you get off again so you can be cured of this. You can’t believe it when only seconds pass and your fourth orgasm washes over you. Your body nearly convulses as you cum hard on his pulsing cock. “Mando- oh my, fucking yes-“ your hips buck up.

He’s grunting as he fucks into you, keeping the same speed. He was just gonna keep going until you told him to stop. He was committed.

“One more time.” You breathe out. You’re getting exhausted, soaking the mattress, and you know he can’t go forever either. “Let’s t- try one more time.” You stutter.

He nods and keeps thrusting, playing with your clit for a minute before that hand moved up under your shirt to grab your breast.

You moaned in unison with him, panting as he kneaded and squeezed your tit. He somehow speeds up and then you’re gone. You nearly scream, arching your back as you tip over the edge.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your pussy squeezes around him, and then you feel his cum filling you as he groans your name.

Finally, finally, you start to come down from your orgasms, body relaxing and you start feeling less lightheaded.

He pulls out of you with a soft groan, tucking himself back into his pants before collapsing down next to you, breathing hard.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long ti-“ you start to say something and then slap a hand over your mouth.

He just laughs softly, rubbing your thigh. “Me too.”

Maybe falling into those flowers wasn’t the worst thing after all.

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go-go-devil · 5 months

Text

Dark Souls Advice for Beginners: A Mindful Approach to a Challenging Classic

Dark Souls is, without question, one of the best games I’ve ever played… Which is why it pains me to still see so much gameplay discussion regarding it being overshadowed by overblown exaggerations of its difficulty or judgemental opinions hurled at others over whatever they think the "correct" and "incorrect" ways to play the game are.

As someone who recently beat the game for the very first time, I want to dispel these unhelpful ideologies and offer some tips I’ve picked up on just from playing the game by myself in hopes that they can help out beginners who want to experience this wonderful game first-hand.

This will NOT be made up of objective gameplay tips that one can find in hundreds of guides at this point (ex: how to parry, best order of bosses to fight, where to get the grass crest shield, etc.). Instead, this guide aims to narrow down the most important mindsets one should adopt while playing to best ease themself into this game’s challenging-but-rewarding mechanics BEFORE they would need to ask for help.

Dying is a Lesson, not a Punishment

Most people who've heard of Dark Souls even in passing are aware of the penalty given to players every time they die: losing your souls and humanity, or basically the in-game currency and natural resistance bonus + bonfire kindler + icreaser of finding item drops, among other things.

And you will die in this game.

A LOT!

Although this game has become infamous for having a high difficulty, it actually handles its death penalties very fairly in my opinion.

Like its predecessor, Demon’s Souls, this game expects the player to die many times throughout the adventure, and the gameplay accommodates for this. While the cost of death is losing ALL of your on-hand souls and humanity, the game gives you a second chance to reclaim those lost souls by returning to the spot where you died and recollecting them on the ground. It is only if you die again before reaching your souls that they disappear forever.

If you find yourself dying over and over again without making any meaningful progress, it’s best to view this as the game not telling you “Oh wow you must be terrible at playing this game!” but instead as suggesting “Perhaps you are not fully prepared to venture through this area or kill this boss just yet.”

Dark Souls 1 offers a lot of open-endedness to its world-design. If you’re stuck in one area, then try exploring another one. You’ll always find something useful wherever you go, and you’ll keep on getting better at the game the more you practice with the freedom you’re given!

Don’t Be Afraid to Experiment

Hopefully this one is obvious to you, but I know some people might be afraid they crafted their Chosen Undead “wrong” simply because of the very first choices they made. Like I said in the previous tip, exploration is the name of the game; not just in the world itself, but also for the gameplay and leveling system.

While indeed some weapons have better damage output than others, and starting characters’ stats often imply that you should go for a certain build (ex: Clerics = Faith Build), what’s wonderful about Dark Souls is that you don’t NEED to stick with one build throughout the entire journey. The early portion is meant to be a time to discover your personal best ways of getting through the game.

For a personal example, I started out as a Thief: a class with great dexterity, but with only decent points in faith and intelligence. While I was primarily building my character around dex and endurance, I did experiment with the various magic systems in the game and found I really loved using various sorcery spells, so I made sure to level up my intelligence & attunement whenever I felt it best just so I could use more. This strategy led to my character being a sort-of-mixed build of sorcery and dexterity, which ended up being a lot of fun for me!

Experimentation is not just limited to weapons and builds either! Dark Souls does an excellent job with placing items to find in areas where you may need to use them, so be sure to try them out whenever you find them. You won’t know how useful an item will be to you unless you give it a go, so save the hoarding for only after you’ve grown to covet them.

Use (but Don’t Abuse) Your Shields

For a newcomer to the game, the shield is a tool that is just as invaluable as any weapon you'll find. In a game so full of unpredictable hazards, the shield is both your lifeline and an important tool to learn the attack patterns of your enemies.

I hid behind my shield constantly when traveling through the first few areas of Lordran, which certainly saved me a good few deaths I would’ve otherwise gotten from still getting a hang of the controls (and with my limited estus flasks). More importantly, however, having my shield up allowed me to study the speed and variety of my foes' strikes. Once I felt like I understood them well enough, I naturally began using my shield less and less when fighting them, eventually reaching the point where if I wasn't two-handing my weapon I was using my shield for parrying enemy attacks.

However, this is where the don’t abuse part comes in.

While it’s certainly a good idea to always have one at the ready at the start of a new area, it is also unwise to fully rely on the shield for protection against every foe you meet. Eventually you WILL find some enemies that won’t stumble back after you block their attacks, or even ones that won’t be bothered by your shield at all.

Really it all comes down to using common sense when up against your foes. Think of the shield just as you would a weapon; if it isn’t going to work, then don’t wear it down for nothing!

The World is Your Oyster, and Won't Bend To Your Every Whim

Possibly the most important tip I can provide to those just getting into the souls series, so take this one to heart!

One major feature of Dark Souls is the fact that it constantly autosaves EVERY action you make as you play through the game, which in turn means that it makes nearly every action you do permanent.

If you used a rare titanite material to upgrade a weapon you’re still not entirely sure about using or if you killed an npc for their armor/item drops but then felt bad about it, you CANNOT simply reload your save and reset everything. Your actions have consequences, and you need to learn to live with them.

Thinking out your every approach is vital to getting the most out of this game. When you're upgrading your stats, carefully consider what you feel would benefit you the most for the next area/boss you plant on going to. If you have limited resources, then spend some time planning out when and where it’s best to use them. If you have a weapon that requires a TON of souls and/or rare materials to upgrade, then perhaps contemplate on if it's even worth the effort or not.

Dark Souls has very strong opinions on players who are driven by greed, so smart thinking can help you avoid how the game expresses those opinions so to speak ;)

Hopefully these tips will help you out on your own first journey through this truly amazing video game. So have fun, and Prepare to Die!

#dark souls #fromsoftware #video game advice #my two cents

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evolutionsvoid · 8 months

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Obviously, there are species out there that aren't that well known. Some because of their remote location, or rather mundane looks. Some, however, get cast aside from the public mind purely because their brethren shine so much brighter. Relatives that have flashier looks, cooler abilities or are just straight up bigger, causing the others to be lost in their shadow. For example, if I were to say the word "basilisk" what would be the first thing to come to mind? Would it be a big serpent with a deadly gaze? The Grand Basilisk? In most cases, yeah, people are going to think of that one, not the lowly swamp basilisk or cave basilisk. That isn't to say that those are any "worse," it is just that people focus on the bigger and badder members of their family. For this entry, I point to the griffins. I say "griffin" and you think of those proud and noble birds, of the greatest traits of lion and eagle fused into one magnificent beast. Those wings! Those claws! No wonder they are on so many banners, shields and crests! And then I say to you "keythong" and you say "what?"

To be fair, keythong don't get brought up a whole bunch because of their odd name. It is not a common one heard around the taverns or schools, so when someone actually says it, folks think their tongue just slipped. And if it doesn't have "griffin" in the name, then how can it be a griffin?! Well, in truth, it isn't exactly a true griffin, but a close relative to them. Their lack of big ol' wings kind of makes that a bit obvious, and another reason people don't think about them a whole bunch. Birds as a whole get a lot of love for their wonderful wings, and losing those means losing points for some people. I don't agree with those people in the slightest, but I can't ignore the fact that that is kind of a thing. Flying? Now that is wonderful and special! Walking? Everyone can do that! And indeed, the keythong is a walker and not a flyer. Their third set of limbs that were once wings have long since been lost. Like griffins, they do still look like the fusion of a cat and bird, but one without wings. A beaked head, fore legs with talons, feathers and down so fine it looks like hair. And a whole lot of spikes. If keythongs lost their wings, then they made up for it in spikes. Bony spurs running down their backs, erupting from their shoulders, lining their legs and even barbed feather shafts giving their tails a spiny look. They bristle with this weaponry, making a pretty iconic look! At least to me!

This species lives in grasslands and savannas, stalking through the fields in search of prey and making nests from gathered grasses. They live in groups, with typically six to ten individuals in them. Keythong are highly social with each other, working together to hunt, raise their young and even partake in social grooming. When resting, they have been seen cleaning each other's spines, taking care of areas the individual cannot reach. When on the prowl, they act much like wolves, coordinating their attacks and ambushes. Low clicks and quiet whistles are how they communicate with one another, arranging the perfect trap to corner prey. When the time is right, an individual will rush out to scare their target and flush them into the waiting talons of the others. Sharp beak and claws tear at prey, and they will even use their large bladed shoulder spines against larger animals. A frequent strategy is for them to slow their target and then dash under the prey's stomach to gut them. When prey is brought down, the group will finish them off by clawing open the throat.

The hunters shall dine upon their kill, eating as much as they can. When they are satisfied, they will usually have meat left on the carcass. Rather than protecting their kill or abandoning it for scavengers, they will tear off the big chunks and spear them on their spines. This is typically done with teamwork, with one standing still while the others load them up with pieces of meat. This is all carried back to the nests, for either later consumption or to feed their young (typically called "cubs). The newborns will be fed regurgitated meat, since they are not strong enough to tear through flesh. The slightly older ones will feed on the brought back meat, picking it off the adult's spines so that it is easier for them to tear off pieces. Once all is consumed, then the social grooming and preening begins. Best to clean off all that blood and viscera!

While their sharp spines can be used to help hunt, many folk are surprised to learn that they are mainly for defense. Surely such a wicked looking creature doesn't have many enemies? Well, actually, they do. There are plenty of large predators out there, especially those that would happily take a vulnerable cub. A coat of spikes makes it hard to get a bite, and a spiny tail to the face can discourage a lot of venturous eaters. Interesting thing to note, though, is that the orientation of their spikes and the way they move to defend themselves suggests that their main fear comes from above. Those shoulder spines are perfectly oriented to impale anything dropping from the sky. Since they live in wide open grassy areas, they can be spotted from above, and there are large meat eaters that soar the skies. Pterorcus, dragons and even their own cousins! Indeed, griffins have been know to attack keythongs! What a betrayal! And to think people once thought keythongs were male griffins, and this was just violent courtship! But their spines and numbers work to ward off these attackers and keep their cubs safe. Even then, it isn't uncommon to find one on another beast's menu, especially if they are an individual with no group to call their own.

Though the popularity or knowledge of the keythong is not nearly as widespread as griffins, on a local level they do have some fans. Coat of arms and crests carry their visage, and their spiny appearance gives off an intimidating impression. Their feathers are loved for clothing and decoration, while their spines are valued for sharp hardy tools, like sewing needles, fish hooks and awls. Keythong eggs are considered a delicacy, though good luck getting your hands on one of those! Trying to raid what you think is an unsupervised nest will result in you getting a beak to the spine when the hidden watcher takes you down. Though folks can certainly gain a lot from a dead keythong, some folk have found a partnership with live ones!

The thing is, keythongs are incredibly smart and have a good memory, meaning they are excellent learners and can remember faces. Some folk have bonded with exiled individuals or have raised cubs from infancy. What forms is an incredible partnership, making them excellent hunting companions, trackers or just plain old pets. Writers especially love giving keythong companions to their lonely characters, as the symbolism of their spines and nature is perfect (though a bit on the nose sometimes). With their memory and smarts, they can learn a ton of commands and can even solve puzzles or figure out scenarios on their own. If you show them how to tackle a situation enough times, they can do it by themselves without prompting. They are very loyally and friendly, though you really need to watch those spines when they get close. Some folks trim these spines, but many argue that the spikes are the whole point (har har)! While I did make the keythong out to be incredible pets and companions, I should put out a warning. First off, keythong live for a looong time, way longer than your average cat and dog, especially when taken out of the dangers of the wild. So if you want a keythong, do know that they can live around forty to fifty years! And then add to that the fact that they are very social and very protective of who they bond with.

Once you get close to one and develop a deep bond, they will never forget it and also never forgive you if it is broken. Getting one is a major commitment, because once you get familiar with one another, they will not take kindly to new pets or partners, and will go crazy if you try to hand them off to another owner. Those who are separated from their beloved owners tend to become incredibly agitated and violent, often killing the new master and tracking down the old one. And if they finally return home and find you with a new pet or spouse, then you are next on the hit list. Do recall that these very same smarts and memory can be used against you. Packs of keythong near towns can become menaces once they figure out where the food is kept and the patterns of day to day life. They are good at picking off livestock, and also the occasional person who takes a specific route each day alone. And when retaliation or hunting of their kind occurs, they get a grudge and don't let go. Those who have successfully taken eggs or killed a keythong best watch themselves when they are in the wilds alone...

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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"Keythong"

Wow, feels like it has been a while since a Chlora entry. Lets fix that! Also, I am sure making the keythong and griffins mammals would have made more sense than birds, but.....oh well.

#keythong #griffin #monster #creature #mythical beasts #art #drawing

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drarrywords · 10 months

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cold/mess

(would recommend listening to this song while you’re reading this prompt)

Draco watched him from the couch, crinkled eyes that were lit with the lanterns in the common room and a dent in his left cheek. He was boyishly handsome. He often saw him in stairwells and corridors because there was a madness in it to watch what he couldn’t grasp in his hands.

After the war, his mother had left him behind and went off to France where the ministry couldn’t search for her but he had been too tired to run off with her. He had sat in his trial, chained down by them. But before he could’ve been sentenced, the doors had been blasted down and Harry Potter had stood there, breaking him out of his chains and testifying for him.

Draco had saved his life, Harry had said, loud and with a raw command over the room that terrified them enough to cower back, none of them would have been here if he hadn’t.

Draco hadn’t seen him after the trial till the train back to school for their last year, swarmed by his friends that mocked the reporters of the prophet and shielded him from the crowd. But in the common room, he would wind down into his easy, comfortable self and it was in these moments that he would watch Harry more often than not.

Both of them were friends, of course but that was even worse.

“I’m sorry but play along.” Harry whispered into his ear when he sat down beside him on the couch, a hand kept behind Draco and then, onto his shoulder, softly tracing his thumb over the bone that did not fail to send a shiver down his spine.

Draco leaned into him, “What are you doing, Potter?”

Harry ran his hand back up to the base of Draco’s neck to brush his hair, “We have to do ‘love potion weekend’ for mandatory inter house unity tonight, what else do you believe I’m doing, Malfoy?”

“The what?”

“Luna brewed this love potion and we have to drink it,” He said hastily, his eyes caught into Draco’s, “Tomorrow, we have to do a date with someone in the room and well, if it’s you and I, what’s the worst outcome?”

Draco smirked, “Oh, you could be inconsolably in love with me after this.”

“You wish, Malfoy.”

“I’m still refuse to do a date with you.”

“Well, now I’m wounded.”

Draco chuckled, “If we do a date, you can’t kiss me.”

“Why is it the second time I’ve heard this today?”

Draco kept a hand over his heart in mock surprise, “Shit, who didn’t want to kiss the saviour?”

“Hermione didn’t want Ron to kiss me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Ron and I wanted to kiss but she refused.”

“I — never mind, you do need a date.”

Harry held out the vials to him that held a dark pink potion in them, both crested with their initials. It left him cold and terrified from within but no one in the room would want to drink the love potion with him and the one who wanted to was horrifyingly someone he was inconsolably in love with. He wanted to run, of course he did. Yet, somehow, when he held the vial in his hand with ‘H’ written on it, he downed it with the others in the room as he watched Harry smile widely at him.

The rest of the night went by in a blur.

“Well, I believe you owe me a date tomorrow.” Draco whispered back into his ear when the love potion kicked in, his head woozy from the contents. He stood up from the couch to return to his dormitory, brushing a kiss to his cheek, “Good night, Potter.”

___________________

The sun spilled onto the brown cobblestone walls of the castle dimly and on the dewy grass beneath his feet as he stood by the sunlit lake, the love-potion worn off his body well before his date.

Laid out before him on the grass was a cloth with a with a selection of cheeses, crackers, breads, chocolates and fruits, sandwiches, crisps and lastly, bottle of firewhisky, “Oh, you went all out, huh?”

“Well, the others went to Hogsmeade for their dates,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck with a shy smile, “But I wanted to do this for you and well, it’s a picnic date but if you—”

“Who’s inconsolably in love, Potter?”

For Harry, the potion hadn’t worn off. He had a pink tint over his cheeks, his smile sloppy and ever so love-drunk. He was so terribly woozy because of the potion that he gazed softly at Draco and it left him hollow from within. He grasped Draco’s hand in his own and led him to their picnic, “Oh, you wish.”

“Yeah, you would be surprised.”

“Why did you kiss me on the cheek last night?” Harry slurred.

It rushed back to him hazily but he had been wasted on the drinks and the potion that he could barely remember it, “I’m sorry, what?”

“S’nice when you do that,” He whispered softly, biting into a cheese cracker and popping a blueberry in his mouth with it, “Because at least I can think you don’t hate me for a while and I — Oh, this tastes horrible.”

“Congratulations.” Draco said dryly.

Harry shoved him back softly, “Be less sarcastic, Draco.”

“What, did you think it would taste like blueberry cheesecake?”

“I might’ve.”

“Well, regardless of that,” Draco caught his hand into his own and kept his over his chest and for a minute, it was quiet. A strand of hair slipped down over his emerald green eyes. Draco became too caught up with the crinkles by his eyes once more when Harry smiled, “I don’t hate you, Harry.”

Harry sobered up, the pink tint draining from his cheeks and his eyes wider than before. He kept his gaze on Draco, his hand brushing over the hem of Draco’s shirt as he brought him closer to himself, “I think I like you.”

A knot formed in the back of his throat.

Draco shoved him back and stood back up and his heart broke violently in his chest. God, he was a mess. He was so inconsolably in love that he couldn’t even leave if he tried to, “It’s the love potion, not you.”

Harry scattered to his feet and reached out for Draco’s hand, weaving their fingers together, “What if it’s not?”

“I won’t risk that because—” A tear slipped down his cheek when he turned back towards Harry, “Because of course, I love you. Of course, I do. Of course, I try not to but I can’t do that, Harry.”

“If it’s the love potion for you, too?”

Draco smiled sadly, stepping back from his grasp, “Harry, tell me that you like me when you’re not on the love potion and when you don’t see me like you do now. Like I’m your — everything.”

“If I don’t?”

“If you don’t, I’ll wish that I could leave you, Harry.” Draco ran his knuckles over his cheek and he felt so terribly lonely in that moment that it ruined him. “But I won’t because my heart is a mess when it’s you.”

___________________

The love potion wore off for the others by the end of the weekend and he often caught Harry in the corridors, stairwells or classrooms. But of course, Harry did not see him. The week began messily and yet, somehow, he didn’t have it in him to leave this behind and it went on till the weekend.

Till the inter house unity weekend.

Draco sat in his dormitory that weekend with a book in his lap when there was a knock on his door and none other than Harry Potter stood before him, drenched from head to toe, “Drowned in the lake, did you?”

“I like you,” Harry blurted out in a rush, “Of course, I like you. God, I like you so much that I’m terrified of it and I do see you like that. Like you’re my —- everything.”

Draco scrunched his nose, “Yeah, congratulations. But do you want to tell me why it took you an entire week to tell me that?”

“You said you’re a mess because of me.”

“I beg your pardon, Potter?”

Harry stepped into the room and held a hand out for Draco, “I wish you weren’t a mess because of me because I like you, Draco. I do. But you deserve so much more than someone who messes your heart and I want to be that for you but if I can’t do that—”

Draco broke and slipped into him, burying his face into his shoulder while Harry held him with a hand wrapped around Draco’s waist, “I don’t think I’m worthy to be liked by you.”

“Of course, you’re worthy, Draco.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Harry kissed the top of his head, running his hands through his hair, “Besides, who will tell me that blueberry and cheese crackers do not blend into a blueberry cheesecake, hm?”

Draco barked out a raspy laugh.

“Can I kiss you or do I have to hear no for the fourth time?”

“If you don’t try to kiss Ron, yes.”

Harry smiled, a dent on his left cheek and his eyes crinkled by the corners before he caught Draco’s chin, his pupils dilating for moment before he leaned in to kiss him softly, smiling against his lips.

For once, he didn’t mind his heart being a mess.

tags (you can ignore if you like, it's for a boost)<3 @inflation-of-mind @missdrarrydawn @sorry-i-ship-drarry @harryandginnydeservesbetter @dearly-devoted-dawdler @textrovert-01 @phoebe-delia @nv-md @slytherinnbitch @rockingrobin69

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fanfic #draco x harry

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