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kayxleeee · 3 years

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Tony Stark: Are We Fighting?(Tony x Reader)

Warning: Sexual implying if you squint. Tony being cute and you being mad at him for a second.

A/N: Y’all this is my favorite, I love Tony fluff.

Summary: Tony’s in deep water after you notice the “head of security” watching your every move for an entire week straight. The only problem is, it’s date night, and can you really stay mad at someone with that face?

Word Count: 2k+

*NOT MY GIF* Don’t copy my work !

The aroma of tomato sauce and Italian herbs wafted the air around you immediately as you swung the large front door open, walking in. Tonight was date night, you were starving, but you had a serious bone to pick with the conniving genius. You kick your heels off and make your way through the foyer greeted by dimmed lights, a candle lit living room, soft romantic music playing, and an excessive amount of rose peddles leading up the grand staircase.

Nice touch Stark.

You look at it all in awe, but try to snap out of it, because you meant business tonight.

“Tony?!” You call out wondering where he was.

“In here.” He says peaking his head through the kitchen entry way, wiping his hands dry on a dish towel. “You look ravishing.” He says as he makes his way over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist giving you a quick hug and kiss on your forehead. “This isn’t too much is it?”

This was probably the best one yet. You were delighted at his efforts to make date nights memorable, especially since you hardly saw him. He had either been busy being an avenger or down in his lab working his life away. You were also very busy yourself running Stark Industries. Between the meetings and work related calls, it was a very rare occasion when you and Tony could just enjoy each others company. So this was when weekly date nights were born; Just a time to catch up and be together and have unadulterated quality time. You sigh taking it all in. Tony always does them well, especially when he is trying to make up for something. The dimmed lights, roses, music, candles, even his cologne— god, did his cologne smell good, intoxicating even. You could swoon right then and there the atmosphere was the definition of romantic and relaxing and here you are ready to uproar it all.

Damn, right.

“Told you date night would be extraordinary tonight.” He smirks taking your silence as a sign that you were pleased, while wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “Be back in a sec, get comfy.” He says giving you a wink before turning away.

He makes his way back into the kitchen to finish up whatever he had been doing previous and you follow him. He turns around and gives you a weird look, scrunching his face as he sees you following behind him. Those dazzling brown eyes weren’t going to get you this time, you were still mad— Maybe not as mad as you were before coming through that front door, but still upset enough to confront the issue right now.

“So something interesting happened to me today.” You say setting your purse on the kitchen counter as Tony strategically plates the pasta he made.

“Oh yeah?” He says maneuvering through the kitchen. “And what might that be kitten?” After he’s done, he turns to you popping an olive into his mouth, as he leans against the counter behind, ready listen attentively.

“Well I was ya know working my little ass off, minding my business… Ya know as I do every single day. When I noticed a very attentive Happy Hogan, watching my every move.” You say eyeing him suspiciously as he smiled innocently. “I thought to myself, now I’ve been seeing Happy in all sorts of wacky places this week, why would he do something like that?”

“I donno, why babe?” He says dusting his hands together for no particular reason looking everywhere else, but your face.

“Mmmh- maybe he’s just being his old paranoid, overbearing self this week. Watching my every move for no apparent reason.” You say testily, you already know Stark put him up to it.

“Happy is very dedicated to his new position. Didn’t you hear? He’s head of security, babe. He’s gotta be eyes and ears.” He sighs, now moving from his leaning position to begin pouring two glasses of bubbly. “That’s our Happy for ya."

Of course you heard, and of course Tony was the one who appointed him, and of course Stark Industries did not need that.

“Oh jeez golly! Eyes and ears on little ol me?” You say in a fake sarcastic souther bell accent.

He raises his eyebrows, and gives you a well justified laugh, because that accent was horrendous.

“Did you send happy to spy on me or what Tony?” You say getting to the point.

“No.” He says shaking his head from side to side frantically like a child who’s just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Nope, I don’t recall.”

“You don’t recall?” You scoff. “It’s a very simple thing to remember doing Tony. Did you say oh Happy please spy on my faithful, loyal, beautiful, loving, girlfriend?”

“Um— are we fighting?” We're not fighting are we?” He sighs genuinely unsure.

You didn’t want to fight or argue either, but he was getting on your nerves beating around the bush. You already knew he did it, you just needed to know why.

“Sure, we aren’t fighting Tony.” You say annoyance booming through, hoping he would just come out with it. He was definitely pushing your buttons. “Now did you send him?”

“ I don’t recall.” He says again now putting on a fake ‘thinking’ face.

“You don’t recall asking him?! Okay, well I am sure if we give him a call that might jog your little memory.” You grab your phone out of your purse quickly dialing his number. “Mmmh I think you’ve been hit on the head entirely way too many times, ya know since you can’t recall events.”

Before you can press the dial button to call Happy, Tony swiftly reaches over the counter where you are standing and snatches the phone from your grip, ending the call before it’s made.

“Okay, listen baby, I think we’re fighting, and I don’t want to fight tonight.” He says with pleading eyes putting his hands up in defense.

“Tony!” You yell at him going to where he is standing in the spacious kitchen. “You're not answering my question and you should have thought about that before asking Happy to spy on me!” Which I’m not understanding what for! Just say you don’t trust me and leave it at that, why play all these games?!”

His face flattened.

“Okay, kitten, listen it wasn’t like that. I do too trust you.”

So he did put Happy up to it— of course he did.

“You better explain or I’m Leaving Tony.”

He sighs heavily, shame settling on his features.

“Happy brought up this guy? Aldrich Killian, said you dated him a while back?" “Oh my go- you don’t trust me!” You exhaust throwing your hands up and turning on the heels of your feet ready to retreat out of the kitchen.

“No!” Tony quickly follows behind you. Come on babe, let’s talk about this!” He says grabbing you by your shoulder gently spinning you around.

“Tony you’re doing a lot of the talking, and only digging yourself in a deeper hole.” You say crossing your arms.

“Okay, let’s back track, I trust you, with everything I own, my life even. I’ve just been overwhelmed and overthinking recently. I can’t say what I did was right, but in the moment I didn’t feel it was exactly wrong either.”

“In the moment Tony really? What moment did you realize I needed to be spied on like some convict? What moment did you realize you didn’t trust me alone at work with some guy, I hardly ever dated by the way!”

“Okay, okay! I did not send him to spy on you, I sent him to keep an eye on you.”

“Same shit Sherlock and I don’t appreciate it ! You say you trust me but tis is definitely not how it’s coming off.” You huff in annoyance, trying to grab your phone from him again, in which he manages to keep it away from you snacking his free arm around you. “Give it back now, I’m leaving Tony!”

“Would you stop getting mad?!” He huffs. “Just- it’s not a trust thing baby. It’s a safety thing.”

“I wouldn’t be getting mad if you’d just tell me the truth and stop beating around the damn bush. I’m over it anyways, I’m going to be leaving now, so give me my phone and let me go.” He rolls his eyes and pulls you into him closer. “No you’re not leaving , stop being dramatic.” He says holding onto you tight, still holding the phone away from your grasp with his other hand. You scrunch up your face about to say something, about his remark, but he quickly says. “And don’t be mad that I think you’re being dramatic about this.” He says to ensure he digs himself out of being in trouble over that stupid comment.

He continues, “You already know I trust you so don’t give me that. I did all of this because I love you.” He says holding you close and swaying the two of you slightly to the music that is still playing softly in the background.

“Not the because I love you speech.” You say rolling your eyes, hands resting on his chest trying to create distance between the two of you, but he just pulls you back into him. “You are so annoying.” You comment on the action, surrendering to his grasp.

“No it’s not like that, I just needed to make sure you were safe. No malicious thought behind it or intent, I swear. I just wanted to make name you are safe at all times.” He says softly with a sigh as he feels that you’ve calmed down.

“Why wouldn’t I be safe at work?” You say looking up at him. He now sets your phone down on the near by counter and places the hand to your face, caressing your cheek.

“Anyone can be in danger anywhere honey, I’ve learned that the hard way— and if I were to loose you? Well let’s just say for my sake and peace of mind, I might of let fear cloud my judgment and asked Happy to keep an eye on you. No spying, just an eye. You know how he gets.” He looks deeply into your eyes and you could tell he was telling the truth. “I’m sorry, okay?” He leans into you just enough to rub his nose against yours playfully. “Do you accept my apology?” He says in a child like voice, giving you puppy dogs eyes.

He was so cute.

“Okay fine, I’m hearing you.” You say caving in. “But you’ve gotta stop him from following my every move— if I’m going to the bathroom, I don’t need him right out the door.” You huff.

“Done, you got it, Happy is officially barred off of bathroom duties. Can we kiss and make up now?” He says this as his lips ghost over yours and you happily lean into the kiss, knowing full well it was long overdue after how hard he worked to impress you tonight. This kiss was sweet and sincere, while also deep and romantic.

“I love you.” He says after breaking the kiss.

“You're a pain, but I love you too.” You both laugh before you give him another kiss.

“Now are we still fighting?” He smirks after pulling away a second time. “Just wanna double check before I invest.”

“You're so annoying.” You laugh rolling your eyes playfully. “No we aren’t.”

“Good because our spaghetti is getting cold and our chardonnay is getting flat.” He says intertwining your fingers and spinning you around to walk into the living room. “And you look entirely too good to keep this on all night.” He says referring to your outfit. “I can’t believe you were going to call Happy.”

“Well how about next time, you don’t play with me.” You laugh ready to enjoy your dinner.

“Oh, but honey, playing with you is my favorite thing to do. I especially love it when you scream my name.” He smirks giving you a wink.

Comments, Questions, Opinions :)

See more of what I have written so far: Masterlist

#tony stark x reader #tony stark drabble #tony stark fluff #tony stark #tony stark x black!reader #tony stark x black reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark imagie #tony stark smut #reader x tony #avengers x reader #black reader x avenger #tony stark x you #i love you 3000 #tony stank #mcu fanfiction #marvel #mcu bwww #tony stark imagines

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 3,185 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Someone dies and Daryl finally learns about Y/N's past.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Where ya goin’?” Daryl’s voice behind you as you headed to the gate, your recurve bow slung over your shoulder.

“Hunting,” you said. You’d been reserved since Hilltop and Daryl was worried.

He shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. “Huntin’ what?”

You caught his meaning and sighed. “Food. I promise.”

He nodded and paced closer to you. “Good. Look, if ya want to go out and hunt them, I’ll go with ya. Ya shouldn’t do it alone.”

You nodded. “Been doing it alone a long time now,” you countered. “But I won’t today.”

Daryl nodded. That was about as good a response as he could hope for. “Alright.”

“Where are you off to?” you asked, noting the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Denise found a place she thinks might have meds. She asked Rosita and I to go with.”

Your stomach twisted suddenly and you felt unbalanced. You didn’t know why… it sounded like a routine supply trip. But eventually you shoved the feeling down and nodded. “Alright. Be careful…”

“Ya. We will. You too, alright?” Daryl wished he was brave enough in that moment to—to do or say something more. He could sense that whatever had happened to you, whatever you knew about the Saviors, it was eating you. It had been since Hilltop, and likely even before, probably since the run-in with those men when he was laid up with his ankle. That time when you hadn’t been able to sleep and he had stayed at your house… And he wished he knew how to lift that burden, how to make it stop or at least lighter, but until you were ready to talk about it there wasn’t much he could do.

You came back that evening with a deer. The gates rolled open to admit you and you headed toward home. That’s when you saw the crowd gathered on the porch of Rick’s house, but something was wrong. No one was talking and their expressions were grave.

You felt your stomach lurch. You slung the deer down onto your porch and started walking over. Daryl broke off and met you halfway. You gulped at the tightness in your throat. He looked pale. “What’s going on?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes and he was chewing his bottom lip anxiously, drumming his fingers against his leg. “Denise,” he croaked, the gravel in his voice even thicker than usual.

You looked up, and the fact that everyone was gathered at Rick’s house and not outside the infirmary made what had happened clear. You felt like you’d been punched in the stomach. Your chest heaved with terrified breaths. “No… H—How?” you whispered.

“That guy with the girls I helped in that burnt-out forest, the ones who ended up fuckin’ me over, takin’ my bike and my bow… He’s one of them now.”

Your eyes narrowed. “The Saviors?” you asked in an undertone, your heart starting to race.

He nodded, finally lifting his blue eyes to yours. “Shot her with my crossbow right in front of us. Right—right in front of me.”

Your eyes glistened with emotion you were trying to hold back. “Oh God. No. No, no, no…” You were reeling. Your wide eyes had an unseeing quality.

Daryl gulped, speaking what was consuming him, a rasp in his throat as he fought emotion. “It’s my fault. I should have killed him. I should’ve made Denise stay back. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you said forcefully, gently resting your hand on his arm. You stepped forward to look up into his face, which was now contorted with some emotion. “It’s not. Don’t do that.”

“It is. She wasn’t ready and I—I should have known they were there. We shoulda been more careful, not out in the open. I—It’s my fault,” he rasped.

You shook you head, holding his blue eyes. “No. It’s not. Even if you had killed him, we don’t know that anything would turn out differently. We don’t get to know. So, you have to stop.”

“I’m goin’ back tomorrow. I’m gonna track ‘em.” His grief and regret were turning into rage quickly.

“Daryl—”

“I’m goin’. He’s a dead man,” he growled.

Your eyes were wide and fearful. “Please, listen to me. Just wait. We can do this, but we have to be smart about it.”

“What’s smart is trackin’ ‘em before their trail disappears,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch—"

You shut your eyes, a flash of emotion on your face and Daryl softened a little at the sight. “Just—come over later. We need to talk,” you whispered. You shot him one last look, the worry line you always got by your left eyebrow quite pronounced. You turned and went back to your house to deal with the deer you had shot. Daryl watched you drag it around to the back of your house and he thought that for even the weight of the deer, your steps looked heavy.

It was already late when you heard the front door open from your seat on the couch. “Y/N?” Daryl’s deep voice.

“In here,” you called back. His boots on the wood floor came closer and he appeared in the doorway.

“Ya alright?” he asked. You shook your head.

“No. You?”

He shook his head. “Nah.” Daryl sat down on the other end of the sofa, placing his own crossbow, recovered after the scramble with the Saviors that day, on the coffee table. He could tell you had been crying earlier. Your eyes were a little red. “What is it?”

Your heart was racing and you felt like you couldn’t draw full breaths. It felt like there was a weight sitting on your chest that was keeping your lungs from filling. You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna tell you what happened to me. How I know about the Saviors.” You stared down at your hands and he heard you pull in a raspy breath. “I’ve never told anyone this…”

A shadow darkened Daryl’s face. “Alright.”

You sighed and licked your lips nervously. “I had a brother. He was two years younger than me. We were with a small group of people, holed up in some house, scraping in town for supplies. Just a group of survivors who fell together, like yours did. The Saviors showed up. They said they were going to ‘save us.’ Said we had to come with them and if we did they’d keep us safe and fed in exchange for labor. Of course, none of us trusted them. Who can you trust these days? We all knew they just wanted what we had, and maybe even just us, like commodities. We tried to fight. Almost all of us were killed and they got control of those of us who were left.” You passed a somewhat shaky hand over your eyes briefly. “Negan showed up. He executed one of our people in front of us. Bashed his head in with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and made us watch. Terrorized the rest of us. Spouted off a bunch of bullshit about how he hadn’t wanted to do it, but we had forced his hand. My brother and I survived, along with a couple of the others. They took us back to their headquarters.” You finally glanced over at Daryl and your striking eyes, looking wide and anxious, met his blue ones. “They call it The Sanctuary.”

Daryl thought of Denise, dying right in front of him. “I’m sorry,” Daryl said.

You shook your head. “I’m not even close to done.”

Daryl’s stomach hardened into a tight pit and he waited for you to go on.

“I knew right away that something was different… with me, I mean. They separated me from the group, from my brother. Shoved me in a tiny, completely dark, barren cell.” Daryl watched your brow furrow. “Just me. Alone. Sometimes I was chained up, handcuffed, sometimes I wasn’t. Every second of every day I just sat in the dark and wondered what horrible thing was going to happen to me the next minute. I didn’t understand why I’d been singled out at first, except maybe that I’d fought the longest. I didn’t know if my brother was alive or dead…” Your eyes grew faraway, detached, and Daryl felt like someone had twisted a knife in his stomach. You went on. “The isolation and hunger was bad enough but they had more in their playbook. They purposely kept me awake for days at a time—lights, loud music. Some real Guantanamo Bay shit. I lost track of time. I thought I was going crazy after a while. It was obvious they were trying to break me. And then one day, he came.”

“Negan?” Daryl asked. You nodded.

“He told me I’d paid enough for trying to fight. That he understood why I had and that I had a few choices in front of me. I could eventually die in that cell, I could work, or…” you trailed off and shut your eyes for a moment. “He told me he thought I was…different. That I was tough, brave because of how I was during the fight and after. He said he’d—he’d taken a special liking to me and said I could marry him, be one of his wives, and live the way we did before the world fell apart. All I had to do was take care of him and his wants and needs and he’d take care of me.”

Daryl was staring at you with a scowl on his face, his stomach twisting at your words. His eyes were narrowed and he was so still he looked frozen. Anger was boiling in his chest. You gulped, hoping to clear your throat but weren’t successful.

“I asked him if my brother was alive and he said yes. I told him I’d work. I just wanted to be with my brother. So, I became one of the workers in The Sanctuary. You work there to earn points, which you use to ‘pay’ for food and whatever else you need, but it’s never enough. It’s slave labor where every once and a while they throw you a peanut. Conditions are terrible. And after a while, my brother and I were both almost wishing we were dead. But at least we were still together.” You settled back more deeply into the couch and sighed. “Negan rules with an iron fist. If someone tries to escape, someone steals, screws up at all…” Your face contorted as you thought about what you’d watched him do. “I’ve watched him do the most—inhuman, horrendous things... unfathomable. I watched him burn people with a hot iron, brand people, beat people to death for not following his orders perfectly… And his men? They’ll do the same things in his name, some of them worse. The whole place is guarded, patrolled, locked down like a fortress. But more than anything it’s the fear that keeps people there… And I was trapped in it because all I wanted to do was keep my brother alive and for us to stay together.”

You stopped for a moment and Daryl watched as you tried to steel yourself to go on.

“It was like that for a while. We were practically starving, always just waiting for the next thing, the next trauma. And then I got sick… Very sick.” Your eyes flitted up to meet his. “A blood infection. I was dying. And they’ve got a doctor, medicine, but if you use them you owe more than you could ever pay—and that means they own you even more than they already did. It’s just leverage to them. My brother—” your voice broke. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and Daryl could hear you pull in a few slow but ragged breaths. “He tried to steal some antibiotics. To save me. And he got caught.”

You were silent for a long moment, trying to stop yourself from crying. Daryl just waited, feeling sick to his stomach, feeling enraged, wanting to tell you it was going to be okay, but knowing he couldn’t... Nothing he could say was going to fix whatever you were about to tell him. He knew that.

“I ended up in the infirmary anyway. I don’t even know how. I had been so delirious with fever and I can’t remember a lot from around then… But when I was better, eventually, Negan came to see me again. He told me they were going to make an example of my brother. He broke the rules and Negan couldn’t have people thinking you could get away with that. I knew what that meant. Negan would kill him horrifically. In front of me and everyone else.” Despite what you were saying, your voice was somewhat detached. It was like you were on autopilot as you explained, like you had told the story in your head a million times and were just replaying through it. Daryl thought you probably were.

“But he gave me another—another choice,” you said. Your tone conveyed that it was presented as a choice, but there was no refusing. “His offer still stood. If I ‘married’ him and became one of his wives, he’d spare my brother’s life and erase all of our debts.” Just saying the words made you feel sick and Daryl watched as you reached a hand out to clutch onto the arm of the couch as if you were spinning and needed grounding. “What could I do?” you asked, turning to look at Daryl again, your eyes frantic, devastated, shining with tears that you were barely containing. “I just thought—‘I need to keep him alive.’ That’s—that’s all I could think and I would deal with the rest of it later.” You opened your mouth to continue speaking but the words wouldn’t come out and your gaze at Daryl was desperate until you couldn’t look at him any longer.

“Hey,” he said. “Ya had to. S’alright. Ya didn’t have a choice.” He moved closer to you and was brave enough to gently lift your chin so you would look at him again, and the glistening in your eyes hit him like a punch. “Ya had to,” he said gently.

You nodded, shrugging vaguely. “I agreed. And Negan didn’t kill my brother but he cut off his hand in front of me and everyone else.” Your jaw clenched and you shut your eyes against the flashbacks.

Daryl stared at you in horror as you took a breath, trying to hold yourself together enough to continue. His face was growing darker and darker as you told the story.

“But we went on. He worked for points and I—” You couldn’t even speak of it. “For a while, that’s how it was.” You were suddenly silent and Daryl felt yet another twist in his stomach, apprehension about what was coming. You continued, your voice disconnected again. “And then one day Negan came in and told me that my brother—” you gritted your teeth against another wave of emotion. “My brother killed himself.”

You hurried on, afraid you wouldn’t be able to get anything else out if you didn’t rush through it.

“And the thing is—” your voice broke, “even that he didn’t do for himself. He didn’t do it because he was miserable there or because he couldn’t go on.” Your bottom lip quivered. “He did it because he knew that while he was there, alive, I wouldn’t leave. If he was alive, I wouldn’t try to escape. He killed himself to save me, to give me the option to get out.”

Daryl felt a sinking emptiness in the middle of his chest. For a moment he just sat still and watched as you struggled not to go entirely to pieces, but he couldn’t allow you to reel the way you were any longer. “C’mere,” he said gently. He enfolded you in his arms and you sank in against him, resting your head in the crook of his neck. He could feel your shuddering breaths and he held you tighter to him, his heart racing, feeling sick waves of horror and anger. He rested his chin on the top of your head. “Ya got out. You’re out. S’alright.” He smoothed a hand over your hair and down your back until you stilled somewhat. You pulled back only slightly to look up at him, your faces mere inches apart.

“Do you understand?” you whispered. “You can’t just go barreling after them, Daryl. You can’t. I—I can’t lose you.”

Daryl gulped, his eyes flickering between yours… But inside he was thinking that everything you just told him was exactly why he had to go...

“I hear ya,” he said finally. He pressed you tightly against him again, shutting his eyes and relishing the feeling of you beneath his hands, even while his mind raced. He held you for a long time, until you seemed to have calmed again. Finally, he pulled back and looked into your face. “It’s—it’s gonna be alright.”

You soaked in the reassurance of him, calmed by his deep voice, his hands gentle on your arms.

“It’s—It’s late… Ya gonna be alright if I go? M’sorry. I don’t wanna leave ya but I wanna check on everybody…” he murmured.

You nodded. “You should. It’s okay. They—they probably need you. I’ll be fine,” you said, knowing it was probably a lie. You were sure you’d have nightmares that night if you managed to sleep at all. You slipped from him the rest of the way and as you separated, he felt like you took some part of him with you.

“G’night,” he murmured, climbing to his feet and collecting his crossbow from your coffee table. As he picked it up, he couldn’t help but think about how the bolt that had killed Denise had left his bow. He should have killed that asshole when he had the chance. “Y/N. Ya should tell Rick,” he said, nodding. “Ya should. If ya can. It’d help him understand, ya know?”

You considered him for a moment. “Okay. I will,” you replied. You watched him across the kitchen as he made his way to the front door, the wings on the back of his vest catching the light differently than the leather, almost looking like they were glowing. With his hand on the handle of the front door, he glanced back at you and gave you a thoughtful look. You managed a somewhat sad smile at him, anxiety still pulling one of your brows inward, and then he disappeared outside.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #sacrifice #daryl dixon series

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

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Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 4- Four Marks

Summary: Your travels have taken you to a tavern where you meet the most unlikely of individuals. Then as per usual, trouble ensues.

Warnings: getting manhandled by some elves

Masterlist

Laughing into your mug, you catch the annoyed gaze of your silver haired lover who sits quietly to the right of you on this wooden bench, your backs resting against the stone wall. Its been a couple long weeks since either of you have had moment like this to just sit around and drink with each others company. Geralt may not particularly enjoy the surrounding company of the other tavern goers who fill the hall with their loud speaking voices and obnoxious laughter. But he knows just how much you love the easy entertainment of the civilians living their lives as they have a merry go of it.

"Did I not tell you my seductive powers would work wonders with that idiot from Bruna?"

"You did." Mutters Geralt humorously as he side eyes you.

"Ha, exactly. He had not a chance, try and steal Roach again and you will sorely regret it." You boast happily before taking a swig of your drink, "Hmm, this tastes not half bad either. I've had better of course, but this, not a terribly shit drink in all honesty."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it then."

You smile brightly at your stoic Witcher, he appears rather unenthusiastic but you know what emotions lay behind those two golden eyes of his. He's greatly content having you sit next to him and ramble on about your cleverness in the face of mortal men. He'd have no one else in the entire Continent do such a thing but you, and that's why you love him.

"Right? Great mead, anyways I am a force to be reckoned with, and you know he might have even pissed himself once I gave him a fright. It's what I like to do, lure them in with coy beauty and.." You scrunch your nose while making a fist, "...I got them in my clutches. They never even saw it coming."

"Not once." Agrees Geralt as you lean an elbow against the table to lazily look up at his handsome face.

"You know what?" You ask slyly, scarlet irises trailing all around his face.

"Hmm?"

"You actually look very nice in this lighting, the way you just look around at everyone like you hate the world. It's very sexy." He raises a brow as you smile, "Aside from the stench of horse, sweat, and blood that seems to ever linger on your skin..there's just something about your particular scent that I cannot quite put my finger on."

"You tell me this monthly."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Maybe it has to do with my blood?"

"No. Witcher blood tastes like old mule piss." You add before caching yourself, "Which I wouldn't have the slightest idea personally why. However I know a vampire or two who have divulged in that luxury and have lived to tell me....Not that it's a luxury as in a positive sort of mind, more so, an experience of indulgent sumptuousness for my kin." You're really trying to make this sound less horrendous.

"Drinking Witcher blood?"

You shrug half defensively through a sheepish grin, "What? I never said they killed these Witchers. Okay, okay, that also sounds bad. I promise you though, if they would have killed one of your brethren they would have boasted about the bloodshed. It's what vampires do. So no worries, your friends at Kaer Morhen are most certainly still breathing." Geralt simply holds back a grin as he shakes his head at you and your rambling.

He doesn't care if you know what Witcher blood tastes like, he wouldn't even care if you personally have tasted Witcher blood against your own tongue. He just doesn't want you to stop speaking, it distracts him from the sounds of the tavern goers and that bard. Geralt hums, "Y/N that could have happened three hundred years ago for all I know."

You pause a moment to think, eyes glancing from the window to him as you give a casual shrug, "It might have."

Soon the not terribly horrendous sounds of a bards singing fills your ears with the sweet tunes of an old lute giving what it can to the world as other tavern goers throw bread at the singing man. Oh right there's a bard here. You keep your witty comments to yourself as Geralt keeps his tense stare down with the wooden table while he tries not to grab anyone's unwanted attention, when you glance over to the bard again he's notably walking your way, drink in hand. What now?

Bringing your drink to your lips, you eye up the brightly colored bard as he saunters over, a peculiar smile playing at his features while he leans against a wooden pillar, "I love the way you two just...sit in the corner and brood, minus you my dear lady, what an odd place for such an exquisite creature to..."

"We're here to drink alone." Interrupts Geralt gruffly, you set your drink on the table, a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

The bard nods, looking down for a second before his blue eyes scan over you and Geralt once again, "Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except.." The curious bard walks around the oaken pillar before sitting down across from you and Geralt, "for you two. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with...bread..in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less." Inquires the cheerful bard, a smile upon his bright visage as he waits patiently for an answer. You pull your legs up onto the bench, leaning your right side into Geralt's strong body as you relax a bit more, amused by this bards bold questioning.

"They don't exist." You finally answer, tucking your hands under your arms as you attempt to get a little bit more comfortable. The bards give you a quizzical look, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What...doesn't exist?" Ponders the bard as he raises a dark eyebrow at you.

"The creatures in your song." Retorts Geralt bluntly.

"And how would you two know?" Vouches the bard with a smile, excitement upon his face at this little guessing game he's just thrust upon himself, "Oh, fun. White hair...two very scary looking swords.." He quietly proclaims turning his attention now to you, "Hmm marvelous, irises the color of roses...dagger at your hip..." Geralt suddenly begins to get up, done with the bards never ending questions. You stand up yourself, the bard just continues to look at you two like you're the most interesting beings in the whole world, "I know who you two are." He confidently rules out while happily watching you both from his chair.

Geralt walks past him as you follow at his side, the two of you heading for the door as the bard jumps up to trail along, "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia....and you're the dhampir princess, Y/N of Alkatraz. Called it!" Concludes the bard enthusiastically, much too loudly for your liking. You ignore the turning faces of the other tavern goers before a curly haired young man rises to his feet before you can reach the door to freedom.

"A job I've got for ya's. I beg you." He pleads almost nervously, you halt your movement as Geralt does the same, the two of you abruptly turning to face the man, "A devil...he's been stealing all our grain. In advance, I'll pay you. A hundred ducat." His eyes nervously shifting from you to Geralt.

"One fifty." Chides Geralt, the man immediately pulls out a small sack of coin previously hidden within his coat, a hopeful smile upon his pimply face.

He flashes you a warm grin as his gaze shifts from you to Geralt once again, "I've no doubt either of you'll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear." He gives Geralt the sack of coins, the bard watching intently in the foreground, time to kill a devil then.

——

You were able to walk bard free all the way to the gates of the small mountainous tavern and twelve feet into the gravely dirt road before the bard had tracked you two down. Now here you are, a good distance onto the road as you head for the hills where this devil hides, Geralt leading Roach as you walk in front of them, the bard trying to converse with Geralt to his immediate left.

"Ah. You guys need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the, uh, devil's horns." Confirms the bard breathlessly, trying to keep up with yours and Geralt's quick pace up the hill.

"Go away." Grumbles your annoyed Witcher.

You snicker, just imagining what Geralt's face looks like right now as the bard continues to pester him, "I won't be but silent back-up." The bard cheerfully exclaims, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis, you turn to look at him with an amused grin upon your face.

"Yeah I bet you really know how to muzzle that continuous yapper of yours." He smiles back at you, turning his attention back to Geralt.

"I heard your note, and, yes, you're right, maybe real adventures would make better stories..."

"That's if you survive them." You interrupt with a smirk, glancing back around, catching the animated face of the bard.

He smiles to himself as he holds onto the strap of his old lute, "Yes well, you two, smell chock full of them...amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion?" You turn your head to give him a questioning look, he gives you a quick nervous smile before continuing, "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, not for you two of course it's just a meaning..."

"It's onion." Mutters Geralt.

"Blood." You add.

"Right, Yeah. Yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia and his dangerous lady Y/N of Alkatraz...the-the Butchers of Blaviken!" Bellows the dreaming bard, throwing his hands into the air, Geralt suddenly stops moving, turning to face the smiling idiot.

In one quick motion he punches the bard in his stomach, sending him staggering back onto the dusty road in a coughing and sputtering mess. Geralt turns back to you with a nod before he and Roach continue on past you, you give the bard a diverted look as he slowly picks himself up.

"You've been punched by a Witcher, how's that for your first taste of adventure?" You muse, raising an eyebrow at him.

Clearing his throat of dust he grins at you, "Better then I had hoped." He replies while letting out a small chuckle as he follows you up the road.

——

"Geralt of Rivia, the-the White Wolf or-or something. Mind if I hop up? I'm not really wearing the right footwear." Suggests the bard as he attempts to reach out for Roach's rider-less backside. You sit upon the mare in front of your man, Geralt kindly letting you lean into his leather armor clad torso as he holds her reigns.

"Don't touch Roach." Warns Geralt, the bard immediately pulling away.

"Yeah, right, yeah." He disappointingly replies as you lightly chuckle at the two of them. Soon you and Geralt reach a small tree, where Geralt jumps down to tie off Roach, you sliding off to take a sharp look at your rocky surroundings. The bard watches intently at what your plans are next, deciding to deliver some historical information about the landscape as he tells you how elves called this place Dol Blathanna before they gave it up to the humans. You let him ramble on, unaware you already are educated on the history of this part of the continent, you are almost five hundred years old after all.

You raise your head to find an opening in the large rock formation where the trail appears to lead. Geralt walks past you, sharing an annoyed look as you both listen to the bard rambling on about something you're not listening to. Geralt lets out a huff before turning around and walking down the dusty trail, you trailing after him as the bard lingers in the background.

Your crimson eyes trail over the nearby clusters of tall grasses as the bards loud voice fills your ears, "Geralt? Y/N? Wh-where are you two going? Guys, don't leave me. Helloooo? What are we lookin for again?" Inquires the bard noisily from behind the two of you while you walk past straggly protruding rocks and tall green grasses on either side.

"Blessed silence." Mutters Geralt.

"Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you two ever hunted a devil before?" He wonders as both you and Geralt stalk silently towards wherever this devil lays hiding in the brush.

"They don't exist." You add, pulling out your large silver dagger as you listen intently for any unusual sounds.

The bard continues to ramble on while you catch the sight of something tall hidden in the grass, you can hear the rapid heartbeat of this nervous creature. A second later a tiny stone shoots from out of nowhere, slicing Geralt on the forehead as the bard cheers excitedly about how "act two" of his adventure has begun. You watch as his eyes go wide once they spot the devil rising from out of the greenery, you turn to squint at the creature, unsure of what it truly is from here.

"Oh fuck." You whisper before it launches another stone right at you, with supernatural speed you shift to the side where the stone flies past your head, this time knocking out the chatty bard in the process. You and Geralt share a confused glance as you turn to search for this horned fucker before he ends up bloodying you next time. With the beast lost from your vision, you zero in on his thudding heartbeat, not even fifteen seconds later does the devil burst forth from the tall grass. Launching Geralt a good couple yards back as you watch in bewilderment, to taken aback to help him with his unexpected assault.

Within seconds your Witcher is on the hooved half-man, pinning him to the ground as they exchange clever insults with one another. You catching the creatures name to be Torque the Sylvan as it yells at Geralt before he punches the Sylvan in the face to daze him.

Suddenly you can hear the irritated thumping heartbeat of an unfamiliar being when something cracks you across the side of your head from seemingly out of nowhere, sending you staggering to your knees as a small trail of blood trickles down the side of your temple. Your hands catch yourself on the rough gravely dirt as your knees jab into some rocks while you land. When you look up again a large shadowed person is standing above you before they violently bash you in the face with their boot, then darkness.

——

When you wake up again your hands are chained to the wall and a steel collar has been tightly locked around your neck. Your eyes slowly look up to find an unconscious Geralt tied to an equally unconscious bard. The small stony cave prison smells of recent activity in the tell tale scent only an elf could have, shaking your head in agitation you listen to the quiet clinking of your chains. This is not how you intended for today to go.

When you try to pull at your restraints for the first time, you're welcomed with an intense burning sensation flaming the flesh of your left wrist. It appears whoever has taken you prisoner has coated this specific constraint with silver, so whenever you move it just right the metal makes contact with your exposed wrist, fantastic.

After waiting another ten minutes and listening to the bard complain once he finally awoken, Geralt at long last stirs, his eyes going wide as he desperately tries to look around the small stone room. Clearly in a panic and unsure how he got here in the first place.

Letting out an irked sigh you kick his foot to gather his distracted attention, "Oh good you're finally conscious, I thought I was gonna have to kick you awake." You quip at Geralt as the bard chuckles from behind him.

"Now, this is the part where we escape."

"This is the part where they kill us." Grumbles Geralt.

"Who's they?" Asks the bard before an elven woman races into the room, she smells almost sickly and looks even more furious as she kicks them in the head, quickly shutting them up as they grunt in pain.

"Beast." She fumes in Eldar, kicking Geralt once again as you hiss at her, gaining a satisfied smirk upon her elven features, you'd rather enjoy smacking that off her face. A dark curly haired one walks into the room, immediately his eyes catch the bards old lute laying on the floor next to your dagger and Geralt's sword.

You can't see as the bards eyes go wide in fear, "Oi, that's my lute, give it back!" Whines the bard as Geralt gives the she-elf a furious glare, "Quick Y/N, do your scary vampirey thing!" He quickly urges, you'd love nothing more then to shift into a half bat creature and scare the flesh right off this she-elf's bones, but a little problem called silver is preventing you from doing so.

"Shut up." Grumbles Geralt as the she-elf first kicks you in the legs and then Geralt, you're more pissed off then in actual pain from her brief assault.

"You shut up!" She barks in Eldar.

"My Eldar speech is rough. I only got part of that." Replies the bard as you roll your eyes.

"She said shut up." You implore before getting kicked again, the burn of the single silver handcuff sending fire into your wrist as you bite back the pain. The bard then replying to you in broken Eldar as you tell him to "fuck off" back in the same language, Geralt flashing you a confused grimace, unaware that you're fluent in Eldar.

"Do you wanna die right now?" She sasses, staring them down.

"As opposed to later?" Growls back Geralt as she kicks him harshly in the stomach, doing the same to the bard as he cries out for his now broken lute.

"Leave off!" Barks Geralt as she walks around to fiercely punch him in the face.

Your eyes shimmering blood red as anger flashes through them, "I'll slit your fucking throat you elven cunt!" You hiss as she whips around to thrust a boot into your side, the silver chain sizzling your broken flesh at the jarring impact sending you into a flurry of muffled curses, Geralt's eyes softening as he watches you grimace in pain, wishing he could do something about it.

Weakened with this one silver coated cuff, you're not even strong enough to break out of here. Damn silver.

The she-elf scoffs as she glares at the three of you tied up, "You don't deserve the air you breath!" Smack, directly into your Witcher's cheek, "Everything you touch, you destroy!" Another blow straight onto his face in the same moment that the curly haired elf breaks the bards lute in two. Well there goes that.

"You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!" Screams the bard angrily as you lift your head up higher so your steel collar can't completely suffocate your windpipe, the sting in your wrist keeping you alert and ready to fight.

She sneers at him, "Do you like my palace? Hmm?" She grins maliciously, crouching down to take Geralt's fuming bloody face in her hand, "Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?" She challenges quietly before you pull on your chains, striking her roughly in the nose with your boot, the burning of the silver worth her pained gasps as she stumbles backwards. Falling onto the sandy floor of the stone cave as she sputters and coughs, spiting out a glob of blood while the bard laughs.

"Yeah, take that, pointy!" He cheers as she coughs and wheezes some more from her pathetic spot on the ground, the bard suddenly looking concerned, "Wait, what's-what's wrong with her?" He wonders, trying to twist his head around to find you and Geralt. Suddenly a blonde haired elf and the Sylvan enter into your small stony prison.

"She's sick." He simply states, reaching down to kindly tend to his fallen companion from the ground.

Giving him a bewildered look you lean against the stony wall, "And who the fuck is this?" You snap, lightly pulling on your chains in frustration.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves." Quickly answers the Sylvan as he rushes to the fallen elleths other side.

"Not a king by choice." Affirms the elven king Filavandrel as he glances over the three of you.

Geralt's brows furrow in thought, "You were stealing for them." He concludes with a sneer, blood still present on his lips, the Sylvan turning to answer him.

"I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna."

"Forced out? No, they chose..." Starts Geralt.

The elven king snaps his attention over to Geralt, "Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?" Angrily interrupts Filavandrel before turning his attention back to the she-elf, "Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt."

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?" She sneers, a messy trail of blood dripping down from her nostrils.

"One human. And you can let him go." Protests Geralt with a nod in the bards direction.

"Then Posada will learn that we've been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides." Insists Filavandrel as he stands, walking over to look down at Geralt and you.

"The lesser evil." Replies Geralt as he raises his head to look at the elf king in the eyes, "No matter what you choose, you'll come out bloody and hating yourself. Trust me." The elven king crouches down, almost at eye level with your fuming Witcher, he's in a perfect position to crack across the back of his scull, but smartly you think otherwise.

"That's the problem. I can't. This is necessary." Implores the elven king.

"I understand. As long as you understand...that it won't be long before you follow me in death." Replies Geralt dramatically.

The elven king scoffs, "Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic."

"Chaos is the same as it's always been." You finally add, he turns to look down at you, "Humans just adapted better."

"You say adapt, I say destroy." Corrects Filavandrel, anger lacing his every word.

"You are choosing to starve. You're cutting off your ear to spite your face." You vouch back, his face morphing into one of great resentment and irritation.

"You think this is about pride?" He yells, "My elders worked with humans and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. "The Great Cleansing," humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertilizer for their grain. I don't wish to bury anyone else....I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavendrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing down to human sovereignty....They'll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children." Explains the elven king, sadness and hatred coating his very words, you truly do feel for him and all his kind have endured at the greedy hands of humans.

"Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more then what they fear you to be." Argues Geralt, trying to help these elves see the light.

"Like you, Witcher?" Whispers Filavandrel.

"I have learned to live with them." His golden eyes suddenly finding yours before he looks back up at the elven king, "We both have, so that we may live." The she-elf, Toruviel jumps to her feet.

"Please my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight! Let's take back what's ours. Starting now." She insists confidently, Filavandrel pulls his dagger from its sheath and your breath catches in your throat at what he may do next.

"Don't fucking touch him!" You growl, pulling at your tightly restrictive chains, the clink and slink of the metal sounding throughout the stony room, right as the Sylvan races to the kings side. "Wait!"

"Torque, stand aside!" Shouts Filavandrel sharply.

"The Witcher could've killed me. But he didn't. He's different. Like us." Swears Torque the Sylvan, Filavandrel simply pushes him aside as you pull on your steel chains, it almost feels like you can't breath with how tight the collar is around your throat, the fiery burning of your wrist oozing red hot blood from beneath the silver cuff and onto the dusty floor.

Your Witcher simply watches Filavendrel's every move, a defiant look his his golden eyes, "If you must kill me...I am ready." Pledges Geralt softly, staring down the elven king the whole time, no this cannot be the end, not now.

Pulling even harder on your iron chains, you growl at the king, "If you end his life I will coat the walls of your golden palace in the blood of every living creature that crosses my path!" You scream furiously, tears welling up in the corners of your scarlet eyes as you violently yank on your chains, more blood seeping out from your silver cuffed wrist.

Geralt sadly glances to you before looking back up at the elven king holding his dagger, "But the Sylvan's right. Don't call me human." Continues Geralt as Filavandrel moves to his side for a better angle to slit his throat. To your absolute horror Geralt locks eyes with you before tilting his head up, opening up his neck for a clean shot of his jugular.

Your face falls before turning into a wolf-like snarl, "I cannot promise you a clean death. But by god, I will let you watch your people suffer!" You cry desperately as the elven king raises his silver dagger, wet salty tears unknowingly begin streaming down the sides of your cheeks as your eyes go wide in hopeless dread. Filavandrel gives you one last look before thrusting his dagger upon your lover.

——

You sit silently upon the back of Roach as she's guided by Geralt who keeps one hand on the leather reins and the other hand across your waist. Your fingers hold onto his muscular arm tightly as a white bloodied cloth covers your left wrist where the silver cuff burned and tore at your flesh. It still stings and most definitely wont heal for awhile, but your pain doesn't matter, all that's of your concern is the fact that Geralt's alive and so are you.

"Credit where credit is due." Starts the bard as he walks beside Roach and the two of you, "That whole reverse-psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way." Says the bard before comically imitating Geralt's gruff voice, "Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt glares down at him before the bard continues, "Oh and you Y/N, with those incredibly convincing bloody threats, genius, they looked terrified.." He boasts for you, "That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavendrel's lute not a charming enough gift for you?" You wonder, the bard swaggers with each step, a bright smile upon his dirty face.

"Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn't she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again? Be reborn." Suddenly the bard begins to sing, "Will the elf king heed, What the Witcher entreaty? Is history a wheel. Doomed to repeat? No that's...that's shit." Surmises the bard, squinting his eyes as the sun beams down brightly upon the three of you on the dusty dirt path.

"This is where we part ways, bard, for good." Remarks Geralt as you lean into his body, turning your head towards the bard.

"I promised to change the public's tune about you two. At least allow me to try." He politely insists as he whips his lute around to gently strum her cords, "When a humble bard. Graced a ride along. With Geralt of Rivia..." Sings the bard, happily strumming away at his new lute as he makes it up on the go, "And so cried the Witcher. He can't be bleat..."

"That's now how it happened." Grumbles Geralt as he quickly halts Roach, "Where's your newfound respect?" Wonders Geralt as the bard turns to look at him, an unbothered smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head he looks up at Geralt, "Respect doesn't make history." He corrects before turning around once again, "Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plenty. O Valley of Plenty, oh-oh-oh. Toss a coin to your Witcher. O Valley of Plentyyyyy." He sings loudly, continuing to delightfully strum at his prized lute while taking the lead down the dirt path, out of earshot from your whispering.

Hugging Geralt's strong arm that's lazily casted over your abdomen, do you lightly laugh at the bards antics and Geralt's moodiness, "It's a bit catchy isn't it?" You muse while craning your neck to catch his annoyed golden irises, "Why not keep him around...until he gets sick of us or...maybe eaten by a werewolf, who knows."

Geralt raises a single eyebrow to you, "Our nights under the stars are about to get uncomfortable." He simply replies, hugging you pleasantly closer as he clicks his tongue for Roach to walk again. You chuckle at his adorably concerned remark, glad that today didn't end in sorrow and death for once.

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

#the witcher #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x you #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #Geralt of Rivia #geralt of rivia #Geralt #falcor the luck dragons stories #of Monsters and Men fic

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raisindeatre · 3 years

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Hi 💙 I was wondering if you might share your thoughts on Zoya as a character in general? I've read the Grisha trilogy and Six of Crows duology, and I'd like to read King of Scars/Rule of Wolves to complete the series, but while I found Zoya to be quite interesting she's never been a favourite of mine or a character I found myself connecting to, so I've been worried I might not enjoy the next two books as much because of that, so I wondered if some insight from someone who seems to like her and her relationship with Nikolai might help me understand her character a little more, or do you think reading those next two books is what really connects you to her character? Thank you! 💙

Thank you so much for this question, anon! I think it's completely understandable that you don't connect much to Zoya in the original trilogy because in those books Bardugo doesn't really give us much to connect with, imo. I've said before that her prose has improved by staggering leaps and bounds since TGT, but her characterization has too - she sketches the characters in the SoC duology, especially, in ways that are so much richer and compelling than in the first trilogy. Combined with the fact that TGT is told through Alina's perspective, and we get a Zoya who's not just thinly sketched but is also pretty unlikeable for a good part of the series (I suspect that Bardugo meant to do an inversion of the Bitchy Girl™ trope, but it didn't quite land for me). I truly believe that a lot of my fondness for Zoya stems from the fact that I read a lot of fantastic fic back when the original trilogy had just wrapped up, and I think reading so much of other people's thoughts and analysis on Zoya made her a deeper and more interesting character to me, because the Zoya in canon is not all that compelling imo. So, like, I get it.

All that said though!! I was always fond of Zoya, even in canon, and I think I was pretty predisposed to love her even before KoS/RoW primarily because the idea of Zoya has always been such a fascinating one to me. (I just needed that idea to be filled out a little more, and the duology definitely did that for me, so I really do think I love her more for that). The original trilogy tends to centre the notion that Alina and the Darkling are each other's counterparts, each other's parallels, and that's where a lot of fan analysis stops as well. Light and Dark! Sun and Shadow! It's not subtle.

But the thing is - Zoya is the real mirror to the Darkling. They share so many similarities - they're both powerful, ambitious, proud, with the potential to be absolutely ruthless. They share the same common goal - the protection of all Grisha. Alina wants to be powerful, but she doesn't really have the appetite to really rule, to sit on a throne and govern. Zoya and the Darkling do. Alina doesn't want anyone to get hurt, but I think it's fair to say she doesn't feel the same intense self-preservation and loyalty to the Grisha that Zoya and the Darkling do. Much of their experiences are the same: while Alina came into her power at a pretty advanced age, Zoya and the Darkling know what it's like to be powerful even as children, and to be feared and hated for it. And much of what I think are Zoya's best qualities (her fierce protectiveness of her people, her courage, her determination, her sense of self-preservation) are all qualities the Darkling shares. It's why when people fall over themselves for the Darkling, but profess to hating Zoya in the same breath, it does tend to make me raise an eyebrow.

And I just think theirs is such a fascinating dynamic, much more so than Alina and the Darkling. Because the moment the Darkling loses sight of his original goal and goes too far - when the man who professes to want to safeguard the Grisha murders dozens of them - that's when Zoya turns against him and goes to stand with Alina. Alina is understandably horrified by the massacre, but I've always thought that the depth of Zoya's rage and grief and betrayal must have been much more intense. Unlike Alina, these Grisha were her family. Unlike Alina, she has admired the Darkling her whole life. Alina has moments of fearing that she will turn out to be like the Darkling, but I never really understood that - I think that Zoya's fear of the same, given the history and similarities she shares with the Darkling, is much more realistically grounded.

And I think at the end of the trilogy, when the dust has settled and Alina has settled into obscurity, when Zoya and Nikolai are faced with the almost unthinkable notion of rebuilding Ravka, it's very present on Zoya's mind that the ruthlessness required to defend Ravka and protect the Grisha might be what led the Darkling down that road in the first place. She needs to reckon with what is required of her and how far she can go, without becoming him. Gaze long into the abyss, but take care it does not gaze back. So in that sense, the idea of Zoya has always been something I've loved.

I also really loved the idea of her as a general, as someone so intrinsically involved in the rebuilding of Ravka. I was an IR major in uni - I adore anything to do with political machinations, the intricacies and brutality of peace treaties and trade negotiations, the ever-shifting dynamics between countries. I was super excited to see so much of that in KoS/RoW, and I think it's immensely rewarding to see Zoya grappling with so many of the issues that the original trilogy (with its very YA-ish focus on A Great Battle for the Fate of the World) doesn't consider: will there ever be a future where Grisha aren't forced to be soldiers? What would that even look like? How would we get there? What will I have to do to secure it? How far will I go?

Finally, all ideas of Zoya aside and looking at her actual characterization: my wife is a bitch and I like her so much! Your mileage may vary, but I really do find the fact that Zoya is written to be so unlikeable extremely refreshing. Bardugo doesn't really have any off-putting characters, especially female - Alina is pretty likeable, Nina is bold and endearing, Genya is clever and a character to root for, Inej quietly stakes her place in people's affections - and I think it's so great to have a woman who's so prickly and unfriendly and easily annoyed. In KoS/RoW we do learn more about Zoya and her backstory, and I guess it does go some way to explaining why she is the way she is, but I am also a fan of just letting female characters being bitchy sometimes!!! Her abrasiveness doesn't mean that she doesn't have so much love and courage and selflessness in her - almost more than she can bear, and watching her journey to realizing that love is not something to run from but to embrace is so good - and I just. I just think she's neat!

I won't go too much into her relationship with Nikolai because this is already horrendously long, and I will probably talk about them in another post, because they drive me crazy, but I just think they spark off each other in ways they don't with other people. Nikolai needs someone who loves Ravka as much as he does, someone who is really willing to march into war or sit in meeting rooms for hours and just give everything, everything she has to this greedy, broken country which will give her nothing back. Alina is not that person. Very few people are that person. But Zoya is. It's probably also that by the time KoS/RoW rolls around, they have been working together for a few years, while the original trilogy is much shorter in time, but Zoya and Nikolai in this duology really give off a sense of familiarity and trust in each other that is just SO!!! She always calls him out on his shit. They butt heads. They push each other to be better.

I will close by saying: in RoW there's a part where Nikolai thinks of Zoya, "There she was. Bitter and bracing as strong drink", and I just love this observation an outsize amount. I love that Zoya is not for everyone, that she has a real kick to her. I love the implication that she braces Nikolai; that she keeps him awake and on his toes. It's all very Ingmar Bergman's "We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" I think they are just more alive around each other than around anyone else, that they are better together than apart. They keep each other going.

#god this is long!!! but i hope this helped anon #imo there are a lot of other reasons why KoS/RoW might disappoint you as they disappointed me #just extremely weird pacing! KoS was a saggy morass whereas RoW had way too much going on #i think i've outgrown fanservice so bringing back characters for the sake of bringing them back is something i hate!!!#there were some really weird plots that went nowhere!!!#but i'm still glad i read them. i hope you are too; should you decide to do so #zoya nazyalensky #the grisha trilogy #king of scars #rule of wolves #long post #asks #anonymous

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poepoe-thebunny · 4 years

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Random Rudony vaguely historical-ish stuff and HC’s for @rudolph-sackville-bagg

Warning: Done for the cute, loose term of “historical accuracy” applied as I am but a simple reader.

1) Flowers

Common but meaning varies depending on the time period. They were used to send messages because certain topics were considered taboo or impolite to talk about in public. Bouquets were put together to convey a meaning or answer questions, both positive and negative, and were often wrapped in things like lace, or satin ribbons. Many books on floriograpy; or the language of flowers, were written.

- for example a yellow carnation could be a symbol of rejection and disappointment, while a white carnation may mean pure love.

Other examples include:

red roses: love

forget-me-nots: true love

purple lilacs: “first emotions of love’ Mimosa’s: “secret love”

Phlox- Our souls are united

Yellow tulips- There’s sunshine in your smile.

- I personally like the thought of Tony waking up to flowers on his windowsill or by his bedside.

-They’re different flower combinations almost every time.

-Rudy is either giving him red roses, or very soft arrangements like lavender, lilacs and lilies. Again, no in-between.

-Tony gifts flowers too; often in bold colors such as petunias, red peony’s, and hyacinths.

2) Letters

Because of the taboo nature of certain topics, and because cell phones didn’t exist, Letters generally were considered very private. During time’s apart, and even during war, it wasn’t unusual for letter correspondence to last months or even years.

While most stationary was plain, more expensive paper was thicker, and had artful designs such as flower borders in bright or contrasting colors, gothic designs, or even patterns printed along the back page.

- This is all to say that I can totally see both of these dorks fretting over “making it look nice’.

-Rudy’s paper has gothic designs on the back and he writes in old-school cursive, Tony’s is from some random craft store and has polka-dots or something and his writing looks like chicken scratch don’t @ me.

- They read each others letters and giggle like the dorks they are. Again don’t @ me.

3) Dancing

Just, give me the cute waltzing under the moonlight. Please. Most of the other dances from this time period for the upper class were either super complicated, large group dances, or couples dancing like the waltz.

- Also give me Tony teaching Rudy how to dab. It will diminish Gregory’s sanity, and poor Rudy will be so confused I need this please.

- Rudy would either thoroughly enjoy modern dances, or be horrified and become super shy. Like no inbetween.

- Oooh the Sackville-bagg clan, when they all get together, will sometimes do those big historical group dances and maybe Rudy ends up teaching him?? This will end in disaster I know it.

- But Rudy is a great ballroom dancer, on the ground or in the air. He likes dancing with Tony.

4) Music and Instruments

Being roughly 300 years old, and working form the assumption that the movie takes place in the modern day, that would put the Sackville-Bagg clan in between the Baroque and and Classical music periods.

Common instruments from this time include: Violin, cello, flute, harps, organ, oboe, and clarinets.

- I personally don’t HC Rudy as like, a master player of instruments. But I can see his parents at least making him learn one. Especially because of the time period they’re from.

- Rudy doesn’t really enjoy it the way he enjoys dancing.

Which isn’t to say he hates it, he’s just grumpy that his parents make him practice so much.

- Anna plays the harp. I think it fits her for some reason.

- Gregory can kiiiinndaaa play the cello but lowkey does it like those 2Cellos guys from youtube and it drives his dad up the wall. Probably the most interested in modern music not gonna lie.

- Think you know teenage rebellion? Think again.

Teenage rebellion has nothing on an annoyed perpetually young-adult vampire with no peers, an overbearing dad, and who just discovered rock music and eyeliner.

- I can see Rudy playing like, the violin maybe? Or Piano? He plays them for Tony when he wants to be Brazen(TM)

- Tony plays guitar, acoustic and electric. It’s actually Tony who plays songs for Rudy more often than not. Stuff like “Can’t help falling in love’ “Always” by Bon jovi or “all of me” by John legend.

5) Poetry/sStories (This is totally your fault and I hope you know that)

The 1700s were the romantic period of poetry, and call me cliche but I am here for it ok? List of headcanons in coming.

- Rudy lowkey is into it. His parents wanted him to be well read, and while Gregory hated it, and Anna used it to perfect her wit Rudy genuinely liked it.

- but he would rarely admit it. -

- Personal HC but, one of the few things his parents (read father) would allow Rudy to have from the mortal world as time flew by were things like books, ergo his love for Poetry.

- It was also one of the few gifts from Gregory after one of his “trips’ that their father wouldn’t put up too much of a fuss about. Their father had been horrendously grumpy the first time he saw Rudy’s new black spiky jacket, an effort to be like his ‘cool; brother. But the books were mostly safe.

- Rudy’s read the classics, the epics, anything and everything he can get his hands on.

-Shakespeare’s’s Sonnet 20, William Blake’s “The Garden of Love.” This boy is in love with love, and he is D R A M A T I C

- Seriously Rudy could have been a theatre kid in another life, ya feel me?

- When they have to separate cause sunlight, Rudy just starts reciting “To Night’ by Percy Shelley, or wring “Bright Star” by John Keats onto a letter and leaving it for tony.

-Given that education wouldn’t have been as widespread when he was human, this definitely would have been seen as both a privilege, and very forward courting.

5) Other Random bits of Info

- Accepting gifts from a suitor of some sort usually signaled, to both the suitor and the general public, an acceptance of feelings and intentions.

-Returning a gift, even after some time, often meant rejection of some sort.

-There was a very fine line between gifts for courting, and gifts for the sake of gifting to a friend, depending on the time period. Platonic gifts to the recipient included simpler things like fruit, sweets, and candy, versus something else that was more carefully chosen.

- Depending on the time period gifts could include everything from flowers, jewelry, to carefully stitched high quality gloves to knives.

Not even gonna lie this has miscommunication and shenanigans written all over it.

-Tony not realizing what Rudy’s gifts mean, and either unknowingly accepting, or unknowingly rejecting them.

- Rudy just about dying if Tony gives him a gift cause his mortal?? Is just so sweet? Like, Tpny could give him a bracelet he won out of one of those (rigged!) claw machines and he would be happy.

- I mean, Tony would probably put more thought into it than that but yeah.

This started out as me attempting to explain stuff and just, devolved into my HC's I am so sorry everyone forgive me.

#the little vampire #the little vampire 3d #rudolf sackville bagg #tony thomson #I was inspired #i was also cliche #headcanons?#headcanons #rudytony #rudony #babies #they're babies #gonna put on my masterlist don't mind me

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

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Michael in the Mainstream: Artemis Fowl

Since the early 2000s, Artemis Fowl has been languishing in development hell, and it really is a mystery as to why. The series has everything you could possibly want for a blockbuster young adult franchise: it’s a charming blend of science and fantasy with rich worldbuilding and mythology, it has enjoyable and even complex characters who go through great character arcs over the course of the series, it has an enjoyable major antagonist, an insufferable smug villain protagonist who goes through a stellar redemption arc over the course of the series, and tons of crazy heists that combine scheming and fairy magic. There was no reason this couldn’t have existed as a competitor to the Harry Potter series, but alas, it was not to be. The young adult fantasy franchise languished for decades in development hell, until finally Disney pulled it out and put Kenneth Branagh at the helm. Finally, we were going to get the Artemis Fowl adaptation we deserved!

Except we didn’t.

Artemis Fowl is legitimately one of the worst adaptations of any work of fiction ever. It has been held up alongside The Last Airbender and The Lightning Thief as part of the Unholy Trinity of terrible adaptations, and I’m not even going to try and pretend that this “Honor” isn’t well and truly earned. This film is an utterly abominable bastardization of the beloved franchise, to the point where this feels like an entirely different story that had familiar names slapped on it at the last second. If you want to know what horrific extents this film has butchered the story and characters, read onward, but there’s no way I’m going to pretend this film isn’t awful right off the bat.

There is literally nothing in this film that works. Nothing at all. Starting from the opening scene, the establishing shots, you can tell things are wrong – there are news people around Fowl Manor? Mulch is being interrogated? What is going on? The film from the word go is simply making one thing absolutely and abundantly clear: this is not the Artemis Fowl you know. The film goes out of its way to do the opposite of the franchise, merely using names and vague concepts in an attempt to sucker fans into watching it. Butler’s first name, an emotional reveal from the third book, is common knowledge; Opal Koboi, a cunning and threatening major villain who was the antagonist for almost every novel starting with the second, is here reduced to basically a personification of the voice on the phone from Scream; Root, once a short-tempered man who was hard on Holly as a method of tough love to push her to be the very best LEP had to offer to prove women belonged on the force, is here a woman who, while just as angry as ever, robs Holly of a major part of her arc and reduces her to plucky female sidekick. And even outside of that, as its own thing, the movie is just utterly incomprehensible. The story is rushed and confusing, with lots of exposition and action but with no context or cohesion. Things happen and things go from scene to scene, but none of it makes any sort of sense. A character will switch allegiances within a few minutes, characters will somehow find a way to survive deadly attacks offscreen… the worst offender is a character death they try to push off as emotional, despite there being no reason to care for this character, and when all hope seems lost, a deus ex machina saves the day! My wife, who is unfamiliar with the series, and I, a huge fan, both struggled to figure out what was going on at any given point; the movie is really that bad at communicating what is happening, which is even more baffling because the film is a pathetic hour and a half in length, a distressingly short amount of time to establish a new science-fantasy franchise of this scale.

The characters are almost all terrible. Artemis is the standout with how awful he is; no longer the cunning criminal masterminds of the book, Artemis here is more of a somewhat smug little brat who is overly emotional and, worst of all, NICE. He’s so nice in fact that by the end of the film he has managed to speedrun his character development and arcs with Mulch and Holly, who consider him their close friend and ally. Butler is pretty bad here as well, mostly because he is given almost nothing to do and is seemingly only there because he was in the book. In fact, his crowning moment – when he took on the troll – is instead given to Artemis and even Holly, with Butler ending up severely injured. It’s a bit nasty that they changed Butler to be black and then had his (white) master steal his greatest moment; it’s giving me flashbacks to Kazaam. Opal is hit pretty bad as well; being made the big bad of this loose adaptation of the first book’s plot – which is amusingly one of the few books she had absolutely no role in – wouldn’t be so rough if she was more of a presence and not just some vague, hooded figure who threatens Artemis over the phone and generally does nothing to warrant being an adaptation of the baddest bitch in the series. She’s rather ineffectual and they even try and give her a sort of sympathetic motivation, one where she resents humans for pushing her kind underground. It really is a disgusting waste of a character who could easily rival heavy hitters like Voldemort in the awesome and theatrically evil department.

Holly is almost okay, but her entire arc and a big chunk of her narrative purpose is robbed by making Commander Root a woman. Root, played by Judi Dench, is honestly one of the better characters since Dench has Root dropping lines like “Top o’ the morning to ya” with gravelly deadpan seriousness which makes the character unintentionally hilarious, but the cheap laughs don’t really make up for butchering the story of one of fiction’s finest ladies. As a side note, they have made Holly 100% white despite her skin being described as nut brown rather frequently in the book, and the now white Holly together with Artemis steal away Butler’s biggest moment. And that’s not even getting into how they neutered Juliet, who has also been race lifted but was turned into a child who barely appeared in the film. I’m not usually one to toss about racism accusations, but there’s a lot of red flags here that Branagh’s usual colorblind casting just doesn’t excuse.

The most consistently enjoyable performance is Josh Gad’s as Mulch. From the moment he was cast, I knew he’d do a good job and capture the spirit of the character, and he does! ...sort of. The decision to have Mulch be a giant dwarf and narrate the story in a crappy Batman impression while also violating literally the most important law of fairy culture (don’t tell the humans anything about us) by spilling the beans to M16 is unbearably stupid, and a lot of his jokes are just relentlessly unfunny. But I think that Gad does leak a bit of that Mulch charm at a few points, and it’s apparent he at least somewhat gets his character, which is not something that can be said for anyone else in this film. Sadly, much like his standout performance as Lefou in the live action Beauty and the Beast, he can’t possibly save the trainwreck of a film he’s in.

I guess I’m not entirely surprised by this film. I mean, a lot of quality young adult literature from the past two decades has been horrifically mangled in the wake of Harry Potter – Inkheart, The Golden Compass, The Lightning Thief, Ender’s Game, and Eragon – so this movie really isn’t an anomaly. But it is the culmination of a horrible trend. This is the zenith of horrible young adult adaptations, or perhaps I should say the nadir of adaptations as a whole? For all the flak I could give those other adaptations, on some fundamental level they still understood something about the source material. Ender’s Game still understood it could not erase the ending where children are revealed to be being conscripted to perform the ethnic cleansing of an alien race. Eragon couldn’t completely ruin Saphira, try as it might. The Lightning Thief… well, I mean, I guess the Medusa scene was mostly faithful. But Artemis Fowl? Artemis Fowl goes out of its way to be the opposite of its literary counterpart that there is no way to justify even saying it is based on the book by Eoin Colfer; it would be like having a movie about kids hanging out at the mall and doing mundane stuff, except they’re all named Jesus and Peter and Paul and then saying it’s based on the Bible. Just using names doesn’t mean anything, you actually have to use the themes and characterizations too, and this movie does none of that.

This movie is most comparable to The Emoji Movie. Neither of these works really deserve to be called a “Film” since they are basically whatever it is they’re trying so desperately to be stripped down to the bare essentials. The Emoji Movie is the most basic, by-the-numbers animated adventure film with a “be yourself” message you could ever hope to see, with a story so absolutely basic that just watching the trailer will allow you to predict the every motion of the plot. Artemis Fowl on the other hand is the most cliche-ridden fantasy epic franchise-starter you could imagine, and that’s if you’re able to penetrate the ridiculously dense and cluttered story and are able to make sense of what’s going on. I can think of absolutely no one this film could ever appeal to. There’s not a single redeeming thing about it. The movie is flashy, trashy junk that should never have been released, and Disney honestly did the right thing by releasing this on their streaming service because it would be outright disgusting to charge movie ticket prices for this tripe. The fact Disney has more faith in the eternally-delayed New Mutants theatrically speaks volumes about the quality of this film.

I can’t in good conscious say that this is the worst film of all time. F4ntastic is probably a much worse butchering of characters than this film; Disaster Movie is much more horrendously offensive and unfunny than this; hell, Chicken Little is probably a worse Disney movie because as awful as everyone in this film is, at least they aren’t Buck Cluck! But I don’t think there’s a single movie I hate more than this one. Lucy can finally move over and sleep easy knowing that the fact it’s not based on a pre-existing work has finally saved it from the #1 spot on my worst list; Artemis Fowl is now the reigning champ. Kenneth Branagh should be ashamed of himself for making and releasing this (and doubly ashamed for having the gall to unironically compare his slaughtering of Artemis Fowl’s character to Michael Corleone), Disney should be shamed for putting more money into this film than they did into BLM charities, and I hope that Eoin Colfer finds whatever he was paid worth it to see his greatest creation butchered and disrespected like this.

#Michael in the Mainstream #Review #movie review #Artemis Fowl #Kenneth Branagh #Eoin Colfer #fantasy film #fantasy #science-fantasy #Josh Gad #Judi Dench #Disney #Disney+#disney movie

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twilighcreed · 4 years

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Title: What Pride Has Brought

Paring: Arthur Morgan X Reader (Established Friendship turned Romance); Past Arthur Morgan X Mary Linton (Mentioned)

Author: TwilighCreed

Word Count: 6.4k+

Warning: Violence themed, gore, character death, angst, animal death, strong language... Defiantly not something children should read...

Summary: In the wake of the Valentine massacre, the Gang faces a short supply of much needed food after their hasty retreat to their new hideout at Clements Point. With their leaders gone in search for a way out, Y/N takes in upon herself to ensure the well being of her family in the Ambarino mountains.

Authors Note: Hello everyone! It’s been a long while since I’ve last posted anything on my account, and I deeply apologies for that. With me starting my career in the military, enlisting has taken me across the country and the world. This story has been collecting dust in my archives since December of 2018 and I thought it’s about time I get back into my passion for writing. Not sure if I’ll make a part two, but it’s defiantly a thought. Thank you all so much for your patience!

Enjoy!

The tension of the rawhide bowstring was taut between your fingertips, the skin raw from continuous use for the past several days and you could feel the ache in your muscles. You were used to the soreness—it was always yours and Charles responsibility to go hunting for provision within the camp. The others were always too clumsy when it came to the primitive art of hunting, bringing back small game and buckshot meat and ravaged pelts, neither of which were any help when it came to carving what little meat you could salvage from the appalling carcass of a whitetail buck. It became too common that you took it upon yourself to become the food provider; easing the weight off Charles and making Pearson a little happier when you started to bring quality kills in from a hunt.

Furthermore, when you weren’t at camping helping the woman with their chores, making meals other than stew for the men, and helping Kieran with the horses or aiding Dutch with new plans of another heist, you often find yourself surrounded by thick forest with nothing but your wits and skills to keep you alive while you hunt for the next big thing: elk.

The bland taste of local game started to become recurring and the meals weren’t as happily anticipated anymore; causing the gang to start complaining about the food quality and making a bitter Person. You looked over at him with empathy while slowly chewing on your stew, and by the following morning you packed your warmest attire and drove your horse up north to the Ambarino mountains, heading to Grizzlies East where you heard fellow hunters and trappers had caught prized kills. It was worth a shot and a good excuse to leave camp for a few days. Arthur always had you stuck in camp.

It was what lead up to your current situation, with an improved arrow notched in your bowstring and your dominant arm brawn back with the large form of an elk in between your crosshairs. He was several meters away—amidst dead vegetation and low hanging branches— from your hidden position behind a pine tree, your body leaning up against the bark to help keep you steady and benefit you in getting a perfect shot. All you needed to do was aim a little lower to the left…

“Your posture is off.”

TWANG!

THUNK!

In your focused concentration, you were unaware of a presence coming up behind you that your fingers slipped and the arrow was released too early, sending it flying between the Elks' legs and into the tree behind them. Now aware that the elk’s life was threatened, it wasted no time to burst into a sprint and make a sharp turn into the dense vegetation. In a matter of seconds, you lost sight of the mammal and you could only watch it flee in utter defeat.

You could hear the quiet chuckle behind you and your devastated shock quickly turned into fierce annoyance. Whipping around, you glared at the man leaned up against a tree behind you, a smug smile on his lips and a mischievous spark in his eye. For a moment you stood there in admiration at how unmistakable handsome Arthur Morgan looked with his blue winter coat and hat tipped low, but the sting and numb feeling you felt in your arms and hands reminded you that he had just ruined a perfect opportunity to kill a prized elk you had spent the past three days tracking. It was a horrendous act of betrayal—he knew you pride yourself on your hunting abilities.

Your breath was hot in its confined space behind your bandana despite the plummeting cold that surrounds you, and for a moment it became almost unbearably uncomfortable. Allowing your bow arm to rest, you reached up and pulled down the cloth covering your lower face, a scowl etched into your features.

“What the hell, Arthur!?” you half whispered half yelled, your irritation clear enough for him to know that you were furious with him, however, your displeasure didn't seem to phase him, only adding to his pride of getting you worked up so quickly.

It usually took a lot to get you angry, you were always calm and collected, but when it came to Arthur Morgan, he knew exactly what buttons to push to throw you into a fit, and that irks you, but at the same time gave you a strange comfort because it only showed how well he did know you.

“My bad, sweetheart, did I scare ‘em off?” he spoke, his western drawl husky and laced with hints of laughter; and for a second, your previous anger subsided and you welcomed the sound of his voice.

“What’da think?” you huffed, glancing back over your shoulder at where you last saw the elk run off to. “Damnit. It took me three days the track him.” you groaned.

The sound of breathy laughter caught your ears and you narrowed your eyes, looking over at the cowboy with a more intense glare, a frown tugging at your lips. He was laughing at you. “What are you laughing at? This is serious, Arthur!”

“I know it is. Calm yourself, Darlin’. Come on, let's go get yer elk. He couldn't have gone far.”

You watched him with a continuous scowl as he pushed himself off the tree and started to trek over in the general direction of where the elk had scurried off, ignoring your pointed look with a smirk.

While he crouched down and examined the tracks, you walked over and plucked your arrow from the tree, examining the arrowhead for any damage that might have been caused on impact. To your surprise, it didn’t take too much damage, but it would still need to be sharpened at the tip before it could be used again.

“Where’d you leave your horses?”

“Just past that treeline,” you nodded in the direction, walking back over to where Arthur now stood. “I brought Dutchess and Arizona with me.”

“I noticed. Why’d yer need two?” he asked, joining your side while you sauntered to where your horses were hitched.

You chuckled softly, “An elk is a lot heavier than a deer. I’m planning on taking a lot of the meat back to camp and stock up. God knows I can only take enough of everyone's complaining about the food.”

Arthur hummed in understanding. It was blatantly obvious that morale was low in camp since the move from Horseshoe Overlook to Clements Point, and with the new humidity they had to endure and the rise in temperature, most of the food had gone bad, leaving a limitation on what was available. You knew a few tricks that would keep the elk’s meat lasting for several weeks, even months if the process was taken with precaution.

Reaching to where you had your horses hitched, you placed a gentle hand on your mustang mare—Dutchess—neck and gave her a few gentle strokes before moving over to your draft horse, Arizona; checking over them to make sure they were well enough to drive through the snow. When you were satisfied, you placed your bow on your saddle and mounted your horse, glancing over at Arthur.

Just as you were about to ask where his horse was, he lets out a high whistle and you could hear a horse wine not too far from where you were. Not long after, you spotted the black frame of a large animal and out came the confident struts of his Arabian stallion. Arthur smirked when he noticed your envious eyes.

“You need to teach me how to call my horse like that.”

“Maybe some other time, now come on, we’re losin’ daylight.”

You nodded your head and held the reins of your mount as well as the lead to your other. You allowed Arthur to take the front, directing his horse to where the elk's prints were still fresh. You might as well let him do the tracking, he was the one who spooked the elk.

☾

Your eyes studied the distance between the setting sun and the horizon, calculating how much time you have left before it grew dark and you would either need to set up camp or find shelter, depending on how the weather held up. You had maybe a minimum of two hours before then, and with the temperature growing, even more, colder than the previous nights, you knew it was going to be a freezing night.

“Arthur,” you called his name from atop your horse. When he heard your worried tone, he looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes becoming serious and you knew you had his full attention. With a regretful sigh, you kicked your horse to stop beside his mount. “It’s getting late. We should find some shelter. I have a feeling that tonight's gonna get pretty bad.”

“Are ya sure? What about your buck?”

You both had been tracking him for several miles at this point, from Lake Isabella all the way up Spider Gorge and east to Cairn Lake and soon after reaching the lake the wind had started to pick up covering his trail with the surrounding snow making it even harder to track him. There was no point in continuing with a dead end.

“We can try again in the morning.” you said, “Colter isn't far from here. We can set up camp there. No point in tracking him if we freeze tonight.”

Arthur nodded his head in silent agreement before turning his reins and heading west, backtracking and going northwest off the trial. You noticed he had become quiet, a stern front replacing the gentle persona he had shown you earlier. It was unsettling but you knew it was better to leave it alone.

Colter was the first settlement the gang had found after the whole ordeal in Blackwater and they were forced to run north away from the Pinkertons. It was an old abandoned mining town that still seemed intact, but with the harsh and unpredictable weather, it was slowly starting to degrade with passing time.

“So, how’d you find me?” you asked, trying to start a gentle conversation while watching as Arthur tugged at the reins for his mount to bank left and up the hill. “You were still gone when I left.”

“Charles told me. You should have waited until I came back,” he said, his voice gruff and flat.

This slightly threw you off. Why was he acting so cold towards you?

“The camp needed food, Arthur. A whitetail or a bore can only do so much and the camps funds are low and no one is willing to spend their own money on food for everyone else.” you reasoned, feeling slightly offended that he thought you couldn't handle yourself. He knew you could hold your own. “Besides, you were off with Dutch and Hosea doing Gods-knows-what while I’m doing some actual work for the group.” you shot back, a bitter taste in your mouth.

His head twisted and he gave you a hard glare making you slightly flinch in your saddle. You cursed at yourself for opening your mouth like that, but it had been nagging at you for a while and part of you felt relieved you said it out loud. But with the hard look, he was giving you now made you question if it was right of you to say it.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he clamored, pulling back on his reins and stopping his mount before turning in the saddle to look at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. Since that shitshow, in Valentine, we had to move camp again, and at the worst time—”

“It ain’t like we haven’t had to move before. You're the one outhere hunting for some damn elk while I’m the one risking my neck to make us some money.” he protested, belittling your effort with comparing his work with yours.

Both you and Arthur worked harder than most when it came to contributing to the camps well being. You both had strong bonds to the gang meaning you both took everything personally and to heart. Arthur had been with the gang longer than you and is one of the original members and right hand of Dutch. You coming many years later when you were seventeen and at the time Arthur was twenty-five.

There was an obvious strong connection between you and Arthur. There was no doubt about it. He took the role of looking after you when they found you on death's door after aiding them when a job has gone wrong. Feeling responsible, he had persuaded Dutch to take you in (not that he needed much persuading, you did help them after all). Some of the members at camp would argue and say your relationship was almost at the peak of romantic, but with Arthur’s troubled past relationships with Mary Linton, and you not wanting to spoil what you had with him, you decided to keep it as just companions.

Though it never stopped either of you from looking longing after one another when either would go to bed in their respective tents, or seek each other out after no seeing the other for a while, nor the long talks you shared by the campfire, speaking in hushed whispers about your past and what the future holds. And because of this bond and Arthur taking on the role of bodyguard, he practically forbids you from leaving camp, ensuring several arguments like this one.

“Excuse me, you're the one who wouldn't let me pick up a job! Not even an honest one!” you growled, holding your ground. You weren’t afraid to stand up to Arthur like the others. It was both admirable and annoying trail. It gave him pride knowing you could stand your ground but also incredibly irritating when it comes to situations like this.

“Yeah? What the hell yer gonna do? Work at the whore house?”

Your eyes widen in shock, hurt, completely taken off guard. For a long minute, you didn't know what to say, your heart clenching inside your chest that it became unbearable. You could see that the moment those words left his lips he regretted it, but there was no turning back now. Arthur was just as stubborn as you were, maybe even more.

Your lips tightened and your eyes turned cold, you first clenching tight around the leather straps and you swore you saw Arthur tremble.

“You know what? Fuck you!” you shouted, “I didn’t ask for you to come out here! You know damn well I could pick up an honest job.” you deflect, determined to defend your wounded pride.

“Mhm, sure.” he tusked, shaking his head in disbelief.

You didn't know what the hell got into him, but you weren’t going to push around. That wasn’t you.

“Damn you, Arthur Morgan. Why the hell are you even out here? I don’t need you! Why don’t you go back to the fucking bitch Mary!” you shouted, almost standing up in your saddle and pointing an accusing finger at him.

When the name of his past lover left your lips you saw the green of Arthur's eyes widen and his face pale. Not a second later his stone cold facade resurfaced and his tone became bitter and threatening.

“How the he—”

“You think I didn't know?” it was your time to laugh, “I saw the damn letter, Arthur. You wanna try and explain yourself on that one?”

“She needed my help. Her brother was off trying to join some damn cult—”

“So you go crawling back to her after what she did to you? After everything, I’ve done for you?! Do I mean so little to you, Arthur?”

The secret was revealed and you weren’t sure if you were happy or upset even more than when you found the letter. But the cards were dealt and now you both had to face them.

“It ain’t like that, Y/N. You know that!” he choked and his eyes narrowed, “It ain't even your damn business!”

You just shake your head.

It hurt you more than you’d like to admit when you saw the letter. It hurts even worse when he came back to camp late knowing that he went off to see her. You didn't know what transpired between them, but you assumed the worst. You thought that if you prepared yourself it would hurt less. That's what you thought and you were wrong. It still hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Yeah, of course, you’d say that.” you huffed, feeling defeated. You suddenly got a strong feeling of wanting to be alone, and if you stayed even longer you know things would get worse.

Turning your reins sharply you kicked your horse's side and clicked your tongue, sending both your mounts into a fast trot. “Do me a favor and leave me the hell alone!” you yelled over your shoulder, not daring to look back.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” You heard him shout after you but heard no sign of him coming after you.

Good.

“Away from you! Hiya!”

☾

When the sun’s rays had finally been closed off by the mountain ridge and the moon started it’s rise to the middle of the midnight sky, you had bitterly wished you stayed with Arthur. The temperature had notably dropped tremendously and not even your many layers of clothing could keep the bone-chilling cold out. Your horses undeniably increased in their whines and you couldn’t blame them. It was damn near freezing and the wind had picked up making you all the more miserable and making it even harder to ignore the cold.

From the last few minutes of daylight, you were headed further north following along Spider Gorge. You haven't been this far north so you were treading new territory and with night befalling far more quickly that you’d like, you were desperately attempting to find some landmarks or shelter. Anything to get you and your horses out of the cold, but to your demise, there was nothing but snowy mountains closing you in and thick trees.

“Fuck.” you cursed, your body shaking violently and your teeth clattering getting even louder.

This wasn’t at all what you planned or hoped for. Everything was going the exact opposite in the worst way possible. The gang was still left without food (to your knowledge), the Pinkertons were hot on your gang's trail; losing Jenny, Davy, and Mac; stupid Mary coming back into Arthur's life and now your argument and the weather turning foil.

Nothing was going right and dread started to creep into the pit of your stomach. If you stayed out here any longer you would freeze to death, and the last thing the gang needed was to find out you died because of your pride and jealousy. But the one thing that keeps eating at you was that you would die alone, without telling Arthur your true feelings, and that you wouldn't have the chance to fix the rift that had started to grow for the past few weeks since you discovered the letter.

It was selfish of you to think that he was yours and yours alone and that what you had was really special. You were a fool and you could see that now. It still didn't ease the pain in your heart. And yours hopes to have a few days away from him only made matters worse.

More than anything you just wanted to be back at camp, in the company of your family and in the quiet embrace that you would share with Arthur after a long night by the fire and a bottle in hand before you found the letter.

“C-come on girl… j..just a little… further…” you managed to say between shivering breaths.

The wind started to howl and with it: snow. It was turning into a blizzard and your hope for surviving was starting to diminish. You weren’t one to give up so easily, not without a fight at least. You came into this world in someone else's blood kicking and screaming, you’d be damned if you didn't go out the same way.

A sudden howl caught your attention and you felt your blood run cold. With the rush of wind, the howl was amplified and it was near impossible to know where it was coming from. But you knew that sound from anywhere…

Wolves.

Your mare abruptly let out a loud cry and started to frantically move in her place, throwing her head back and letting out a string of whales. It was frightening and you tried to calm her down with your words but to no avail, the wind was too loud for her to hear you.

Before you could do anything, Arizona let out a whine himself and throw his body in the air, his forelegs kicking and the lead slipping from your hand. You hopelessly reached out to grab the rope but it was too late and he broke into a run and you lost sight of him in the storm.

“Shit! Arizona!” you called out, “Damn it!”

You had heard of a wolf pack prowling these parts from the time John was attacked, but in your time spent here, you hadn't heard nor seen any. Not even any dead carcasses of animals they hunted or signs of a possible den. You thought it was too cold for them. You were wrong. If your knowledge was correct, the wolves corralled their prey, forcing them to run. You had your revolver and knife if it came down to a fight, but with the severe unseasonable weather, a wolf attack would seal your death.

If a wolf manages to pine you down, they would undoubtedly go for your throat. If you managed to get out of the struggle, you would most certainly have critical wounds, and if the infection did not kill you, the blood loss would. And if by some miracle neither of these happened, the elements would finish you off—hypothermia being the primary cause.

Through the blizzard you heard another howl, this one much closer and you could hear more than one as they raised in voice. Instantaneously Dutchess let out a panicked cry and broke out into a gallop, oblivious to your commands when you tried to stop her. It all moved to fast and everything just seemed to blur around you and before you could do anything, Dutchess came to a streaking halt and you flew forward.

The snow was deep enough that your landing wasn’t too harsh, but the moment you fell into the white blanket you let out a yelp for how freezing the snow felt against your exposed flesh. You stumbled to your feet and the howling wind was broken by the unmistakable sound of a curdling growl.

You couldn't move. Your muscles had seized and your body trembled in fear. All function in your body just went out and you were no longer in control and no matter how hard you screamed at yourself to move, you couldn't. You were frozen in fear.

It took the cry of your horse and the bloodlust bark of a beast to make you move. You picked yourself up and turned sharply away from where you heard the terrifying noises, your body going to flight mode and you just ran. Your mare was already too far ahead of you by the time you started to flee, and your fear spiked to its peak. There was no way you could catch up to her.

The wind whipped at your face and bite at your skin. Your body was numb and everything stung and burned. You were losing energy fast. Trying to hike through two feet of snow was draining you and trying to run was only making it all the more difficult.

You could hear the barks and growls coming from behind you, and the rush of their paws against the snow. You didn't know if it was just one or many, you couldn't see them, and you didn't want to find out.

You leaped forward, digging your heels into the white powder and clawing your way through the thick snowfields. Your breath was ragged and hot, your throat sore from your sharp intakes of the icy bitter cold and every muscle fiber in your body burned like a raging fire. You could still hear them behind you and for a moment you looked over your shoulder; never stopping your assault forward. What you saw made your heat drop.

You could see a blurry outline of the beast. It was larger and bigger than any of the wolves you’ve seen throughout the states. Its eyes looked as if they glowed white and it struck terror down to your core. Wolves often hunted in packs, and they were chasers, opportunist, seeking weak prey. You were that chase, that open opportunity—you were the hunt.

This sudden new found fear pushed you to go even harder, faster, leaping up out of the snow and pushing through with purpose. You refused to be their food. You disregarded your worries for the horse and focused on the looming threat at hand. You needed to find shelter and you needed to find it fast.

Through what little light filtered through the storm, you saw the distinguishable outline of pine trees. Being in an open field would give them a larger area to strike, so if you stuck to the trees you would put something between you and wolves. It was the only choice you had.

Making a beeline for the thick forest you felt the sting of the lower branches lash out while you plunged into the thick of it. It slows you down but gave you an advantage by putting distance between you and the threat. The recognizable sound of their strides grew a little quieter, but their voice of annoyance grew louder.

You had managed to find the outcropping of a mountain's side and with it the chance to find shelter. It was difficult trying to navigate through the blizzard but you had coped with this difficulty, finding that the mountainside abruptly curved inward into itself. A cave.

You stumbled forward and out of the storm, your hand reaching for the wall to help guide you. You had heard that some caves would continue on for miles but the floors underneath them would disappear. Many miners and curious adventures had died that way; falling to their death. It was distinctly colder in the cave, but you were blocked from the wind and out of the open storm. You were safe for now, but you weren’t out of danger just yet.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and you could make out blurry lines of the structure of the cave. The ceiling was low, but enough for you to stand at your full height without having to bend your knees. You could barely make out the other side of the cavern and you estimated that it was at least four meters wide. The atmosphere was slightly damp but it was dry enough that you wouldn’t be at the risk of frostbite, but the snow had penetrated your coat and when the temperature would rise, the snow would melt and your clothes would become soaked.

You shuffle your feet forward and kept your palm flat against the wall. You glanced back to the opening of the cave and saw that the entrance was smaller than when you stumbled in. You were several yards in when suddenly your foot hit something hard and you fell forward. You thrust your hands forward and were able to soften your fall but you could feel your forearms and palms sting and your knees ache when it came into contact with the ground.

You waited a moment on all fours to regain your breath and to calm your nerves. Your heart was banging against your chest, threatening to break free and it was so loud in your ears you that you thought it would burst. Thankfully, your muscles were still shaking indicating that you didn't pass the threshold of severe hypothermia. You weren’t sure but you know your core temperature had most likely dropped and you would need to build a fire to regain that lost heat.

So lost in thought, your body ignored the dampness beneath your palm and it wasn’t until you made a move to get up that you noticed it. It didn't feel like water because it wasn’t cold. It was warm and almost sticky. Pushing yourself up, you reached into the coat of your pocket for your matches and pulled them out. It was the only source of light you had. You left your lantern secured on your saddle.

With trembling hands, you managed to pluck a single wood match from its container before dragging the tip across the ignitor, igniting the flame. The match did not give off a lot of light, but enough for you to see a little more clearly now.

Curious as to what made you fall, you turned your head down and to your horror, you almost screamed. The object that had made you fall wasn’t a rock like you though, but the carcass of an elk, the elk you were hunting. You know it was the elk you were hunting because of the antlers. One of the tips had broke clean off. It was how you were able to track him.

You tumbled backward in shock, your backside hitting the stone and it ran up your spine like a lightning bolt. The front part of your clothes—more notable your hands and knees—were drenched in blood. You groaned, suddenly feeling sick. Holding down the urge to vomit, you pushed yourself up onto your knees to get a closer look at the corpse of the elk.

Striking another match, you brought it close, your eyes looming over the ravaged carcass. You could still feel the heat radiating off the animal's fur and the smell wasn’t rank, meaning the kill was still fresh. The throat of the mammal had cleanly been bitten through and the belly was torn open and pulled apart. Upon closer inspection, you could see puncture wounds scattered all over the body, notable around the limbs of the elk. They were bite marks.

Realization washed over you and for a second time that night you felt your heart seize in your chest and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Quickly, you stood up and surveyed the area, dread holding you tightly while you prayed to God that you weren’t where you thought you were. Then you saw it. Bones littered the back of the cave and chewed on skulls decorated the floor. Patches of dead leaves and branches were scattered in remote parts of the cave as fixed for bedding.

You were on their home…

A low, deep throaty growl echoed through the cave and you wished the world would swallow you whole. You spun around, your eyes straining in search of where you heard the growl came from.

You swallowed hard when you saw the form of a wolf standing in front of you, it’s massive body trapping you while it bared its fangs, freshly stained crimson from the elk's blood; its eyes clouded in lust for blood—your blood. You could see that the wolf was foaming at the mouth, saliva dripping down in strings onto the cold floor.

You kept your eyes locked with the wolf, your hand slowly reaching down to where your holster was. You had six bullets in the chamber and one already in the barrel, if you aimed right and shoot quick enough, you should—

Your thoughts were cut short when you saw two smaller forms come out from behind, what you presumed, the alpha. They weren’t as threatening as the one who stood before you, but they only added to your stakes of you making it out alive.

They seemed to chitter almost themselves, their heads dropped low and their eyes never leaving yours. You could hear the scrape of their claws on the ground and you shuddered in fear; you wouldn't be surprised if the wolf could smell it on you. It would be strong.

Your eyes flickered from one beast to the other, your mind racing to come up with a plan, anything to get you out of this mess. But each only seemed to end in your demise.

Where the hell was Arthur when you needed him?

Just as your fingers grazed the cold steel of your revolver, almost instantaneously the wolf lunged.

It happened so quickly you didn't have time to think: just act.

The loud vibrant explosion of your finger pulling back on the trigger echoed several times before you felt the massive weight of the animal push you down. You felt your breath leave your lungs and you were left winded, gasping for breath but you didn’t have time. You threw your arms out in front of you as a shield and a sudden burning, searing piercing pain shot up your arm and you cried out.

Grunts and barks filled your ears as the wolf thrashed it’s head side-to-side, it’s jaws clamped around your arm, ripping your clothes and its teeth sinking deeper into your left arm. Out of reflex your right hand turned into a fist and started to strike down hard onto the wolves head, yelps and gasp leaving your lips as the wolf only seemed to bite down harder.

You felt the massive paws push down even harder on your chest and the pressure became too great that you thought you heard a crack. You yelled and reached blindly for your pistol, your hands only coming in contact with the cold floor. Abandoning the gun, you reached down to your side and gripped the hilt of your knife and yanking it out of the sheath.

The wolf let go of your arm for a second only to lunge for your throat. You moved your head to the side and felt the wolves teeth sink into your shoulder and your mind went blank in agony and you screamed. You brought the knife up and muster all your strength, you plunged the blade into the wolf, blind aiming.

You heard the wolf cry out in its own pain, its teeth leaving your skin and you bitterly hopped it was worse than what you felt.

You pulled the knife out and plunged it back in, this time closer to the chest. It yelped above you, warm blood oozing onto your hand as you repeatedly stabbed the wolf while using your left arm to push the wolf up, exposing it’s soft belly to you. With a cry, you dug the knife as hard as you can into the soft flesh of the wolves underside and the beast gave out a weak whine.

The weight above you gave way and the wolf tumbled off you, your knife still impaled in its side. You took the opportunity and rolled to your side with a pained grunt, your good arm reaching for your pistol. When you felt the metal against your palm you shot forward, your iron sights aimed at the other two wolves and letting off several rounds. By the painful yelps, they let out you know you hit at least one of them.

Click! Click! Click!

The soft clink of your gun told you-you were out of bullets. Looking down at the gun you threw it to your side, the clattering of steel hitting the rocks bounced off the walls and you were left in silence.

Your eyes traveled back up and you were once more greeted with the slow and disheartening realization that you were alone. The other wolves had fled when you killed the authoritative figure in their small pack. Without their leader they were useless.

The agonizing pain forced you to look down at your wounded limb and bleeding shoulder. The wolf had torn clean through your coat and undershirt underneath, creating a clean path down to your flesh. With the dime light of the cave, you could see the bright crimson of your blood leaking from several large puncture wounds on the back of your forearm. You wouldn't be surprised if it went down to the bone.

Using your right hand, you gently yanked down on the bandana wrapped around your neck, freeing it before you used the cloth as a makeshift wrap. Your hands had stopped trembly so it was a little easier to tie a loose not after you wrapped your arm. In the distance you could feel the warm trickle of your blood as it seeped into your shirt and stained your chest, small streams of blood leaking from your shoulder and you could feel an intensified ache with each heartbeat.

Your breaths came out short and shallow, and each puff was accompanied by a thick cloud of smoke. You could no longer feel the tingle in your toes or the burning of your muscles. You couldn't feel anything but the pain of your wounds. Everything just seemed to grow quiet… And you felt the heaviness in your eyes and it was becoming more difficult to hold yourself up.

You blinked, and you blinked again, a sudden dark cloud creeps into the corners of your vision, slowly reaching forward and the world started to become dark and cold.

“Nu.. nno… no…” you tried to say, trying to force yourself to stay awake but with each passing second, it was becoming clear this wasn’t a battle you would win. Your muscles gave out and you fell on your back, numb to the pain when your head hits the floor.

“A..Ar… aarrthh… Arthuuurr…” you whispered into the abyss. His name sends warmth to your heart and you almost cracked a smile.

You knew you were going to die. But it was going to be a good death. You were proud because you had died the way you wanted, kicking a screaming; your body soaked in the mixture of your blood and the wolves. It wasn’t a bad ending to a short and painful story. It was better than at the gallows with a noose wrapped tight around your neck and the people chanting your name for a crime that wasn’t yours.

But all that didn't seem to matter, because as the darkness took over your vision and your eyes became too heavy to keep them open, all you could see was the deep forest green of his eyes, and feel the soft tendrils of his hair, and hear the sweet deep voice of his drawl as he said your name…

#Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead #red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #Dutch Van Der Linde #Van Der Linde Gang #video games #twilighcreed

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beetlebitchywitch · 4 years

Note

BABE. BAAAAABE. okay but imagine surprising Zhuk for your anniversary at the hotel where he's been staying on a business trip, like he's been missing you so terribly and you just show up, and he's so overjoyed that you're there that he just goes so soft and loving and that's the first time he asks you to marry him. It won't be the last, and it isn't the first time he's wanted to ask but it's the first time he's said it out loud

SO this is based loosely on an ASMR that the lovely @monsterlovinghours and I were listening to together, but now with the lovely Russian hubban! In case anyone doesn’t know, Zhuk is the Russian Mafia Beetlejuice AU that none of us have been able to shut up about because he’s soft. So enjoy!

Warning: NSFW.

The luxurious softness of the comforter beneath Zhuk’s body did nothing to soothe the dull ache in his chest that was swiftly getting on his last nerve. Everything about his hotel room aggravated him- tasteless paintings adorned each wall in garish contrast with the dull beige wallpaper, the comforter, though soft, was horrendously patterned and clashed with the carpet, and Lord help him, the minibar didn’t even supply him with quality vodka to drown his sorrows. God, listen to him, he sounded as bad as Scarafaggio, but the truth was, he simply couldn’t help it. It was your anniversary, and his bed was empty- he’d been away on business for a week already and still wasn’t due home for three days, leaving both of you to suffer through your anniversary alone. Could he be blamed if the drab wallpaper invoked his ire when his malen'kiy tsvetok was not there to brighten the room with her smile? The very thought of you, blushing and beautiful in his arms where you belonged, made him wish to tear the comforter balled in his fists to shreds, as if the gaudy pattern alone was to blame for the pain in his chest. He was fully prepared to drink the cheap booze the hotel so graciously provided for him and plan his own pity party when he was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. Your face on his screen both delighted and pained him, and with a haggard smile, he answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moya lyubov.” And oh, his native tongue dripped from your lips like honey; Zhuk couldn’t help but clutch at his chest at the sweet sound of it.

“Oh, darling, you must go easy on me,” he pleaded, laying back despondently on the mattress. “Just the sound of your voice is enough to torture me.”

“Wow, dramatic much?” you chuckled, your voice slightly warbled. “You only have to wait three days before we’re together again.”

“Yes, and if any of those bastards think they can so much as look at you when I get home, they’ve got another thing coming. We’re missing our anniversary, dorogoy. Scarabee got to spend his anniversary with you!” he complained, pinching the bridge of his nose at the very thought.

“That’s because Bee didn’t have very important business out of town on our anniversary. How is that going by the way?” you asked.

“As well as it can be,” he sighed. “My…ugh, associates are being difficult, but they’ll come to see things my way in due time. You needn’t worry, kukla- besides, I only want to think about you, however much it may hurt.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” you sighed. “I’d be there with you if I could, you know that.”

“I know, I know, just…imagining you, how beautiful you must look right now, it makes my heart ache to be with you. God, I can’t believe I have to miss our anniversary. I could’ve been home days ago had it not been for these useless, good-for-nothing, lowlife-”

“Zhuk!” you laughed, interrupting his tirade. “You have to relax, you know what happens when you get too worked up.” At that, Zhuk smirked, quirking one eyebrow.

“I know what usually happens, little one,” he crooned, his voice rich and sweet like honey. “I usually have a pretty little bird ready to sing for me, don’t I? But fate would have it that we have to be apart tonight, otherwise I would be there to make you sing for me well into the night.” Your face began to warm at the thought of Zhuk on top of you, between your legs, inside of you, playing your body like an instrument and composing a symphony out of your moans…

…You would have to end your little game sooner than you thought.

“Oh yeah?” you asked softly, putting a little extra sweetness into every word. “And how would you manage that?” You could practically hear Zhuk smirk on the other end of the line along with the soft rustling of sheets that meant he was sitting up in anticipation.

“You know exactly how, tsarina,” he murmured, letting his mind be taken away into his fantasy. “How many times have I had my hands on your beautiful body, hmm? I’ve worshipped you with all that I have so many times I think I could map out the spots that make you moan the prettiest for me. I know exactly how to take you apart, piece by piece, until you have no choice but to cum, trembling in my arms and singing so sweetly…would you like that, dorogoy?”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You nodded as if Zhuk could see you, biting down on a finger to keep from moaning aloud at thought of him worshipping you the way he wanted to. You could feel your thighs trembling in anticipation, but you needed to wait. Just a little longer.

“And oh, moya zhena, after I’m done with you…I will finally get to hold you in my arms. A single day without getting to see you is painful enough, but to go an entire week and not be able to hold you close, to feel your warmth…a man could go mad,” he said softly, his voice laden with longing. Your breath caught in your chest at the sudden switch in tone, your heart softening at the sweetness of his words. “When you’re pliant and sated for me, my love, I’ll lay you against my chest and feel your heartbeat race, press my lips to your hair and simply be with you…oh, dorogoy, I miss you so much…” His voice trembled as if he was going to cry, and your resolve finally broke.

“Zhuk, my love…you don’t have to miss me anymore,” you said, quickly rushing to where you needed to be.

“What do you mea-…there’s someone at the door,” he said, his question interrupted by a quick series of knocks. “Give me a moment, my dear.”

Zhuk took a moment to straighten his shirt before striding swiftly to the door, throwing it open to find…oh.

In an instant you were swept into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you inside the room. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of cigar smoke that you’d grown to love and miss so much as he murmured into your hair, “Moya lyubov’, moya dorogaya, o moya zhena, ya tak po tebe skuchala…” You let out a sigh from deep in your chest, relaxing into his arms as he continued to whisper sweet words you couldn’t understand.

“Surprised?” you asked. You looked up to send him a sweet smile and gasped at the sight of unshed tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Of course I’m surprised, how are you even here? Where have you been?” he asked, quickly wiping the tears away from his wild eyes.

“I was hiding down the hall. You know, human beings have invented these wonderful things called planes,” you said slyly, moving your hands up to rest them against his broad chest. “You should try them someti-”

He silenced your teasing with a firm kiss, pulling you as tightly into his arms as he could as the feeling of his kiss made your fingers curl into his sweater. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your head swimming as if you were getting drunk off the taste of him and the feeling of his large hands spread across your back. He pulled away, but only an inch, leaving the tiniest of gaps between your lips.

“I believe I promised that I’d make you sing, kukla,” he crooned, his warm breath puffing out over your lips. You hummed, smiling softly as you lean in to softly peck his lips.

“Then you better keep your promise,” you whispered. You met his eyes for the briefest of moments before he was taking your lips again with a growl, his fingers clawing at your jacket to swiftly unbutton it and throw it to the floor. You became a tornado of hands tearing at clothing, both of you working quickly to rid the other of your shirts before getting caught up in another kiss as you tumbled to the bed, Zhuk hovering overtop of you as he worked to rid you of the rest of your clothing. He groaned in satisfaction at the sight of you, bare and waiting, and he couldn’t stop himself from dragging his lips across your skin like a paintbrush across canvas, painting splotchy bruises across your neck and chest and only being spurred on by your moans.

“Mm, dorogoy, I’ve missed the way you taste,” he groaned, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and grinding his hips into the bed at the sound of your pinched off cry. He released it, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before continuing lower, nibbling at the softness of your tummy while his fingers traveled up your inner thigh, the teasing touch sending heat to pool in your stomach. You bucked your hips with a soft gasp as his fingertips slowly but surely came to tease your clit, feeling Zhuk smirk against your skin as he came to be eye-level with your pussy. “Sing for me, won’t you, little one?” With a little wink, he slowly dragged his tongue over your clit, holding eye contact with you for a split second before you threw your head back with a high-pitched cry. His tongue continued to tease you while his fingers prodded at your entrance, two sliding in after a moment and stretching you so beautifully.

“Z-Zhuk…mm, fuck,” you whined, his fingers curling inside of you perfectly and sending waves of pleasure to the tips of your toes. “God, you feel so good, I fucking missed you.”

“I missed you too, moya zhena,” he groaned, pressing a reverent kiss to your clit as he continued to stretch you, preparing you to take him fully. “Mm, I missed hearing you moan for me. I knew you’d sound so sweet when I finally had you, but…oh, my dear, you exceed all expectations.”

You keened at his sweet words and even sweeter kisses, his free hand grabbing at your thigh and spreading them wider to better accompany him as his tongue and fingers continued to drag you closer and closer to your climax. Your moans grew louder as his fingers drove into your most sensitive spot over and over again, his lips sucking mercilessly at your clit and vibrating with a moan as you dug your fingers into his hair. Just as you felt like you were going to fall over the edge into a pleasurable oblivion, he moved away, chuckling at your objecting whine.

“No need to worry, kukla,” he said with amusement. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

He came to hover fully over you again and you gasped at the feeling of the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. His hand cupped your cheek, forcing your eyes to meet his as he slipped inside, groaning at the feeling of your wet heat enveloping every inch of him. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nuzzling into his touch and pressing a light kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes bore into you intensely, and you could feel his hips shift a little as he tried desperately to remain still and give you time to adjust to the size of him.

“I’m alright, moy lyubov,” you reassured him, pressing another kiss to his hand before gazing up at him pleadingly. “Move…please…”

Zhuk let out a deep sigh and pulled out a bit before thrusting back in, shuddering at the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock as he moved. He picked up the pace at the sight of you, head thrown back and tits bouncing as he fucked you, and mouth hanging open as you let out beautiful moans. God, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he could never get enough of you. Not even for a second…not even for eternity.

“Marry me, dorogoy,” he moaned, thrusting perfectly into your G-spot and growling at the sound of your cut off whine. “Oh, my love, moye sokrovishche, moy yedinstvennyy, vykhodi za menya…”

“What?” you asked bewilderedly. “Zhuk, I-oh, fuck-I can’t understand you.”

“Marry me, sweet one,” he said again, leaning down to take your lips in a long, languid kiss as he drove into you over and over again, his thrusts growing erratic and off-rhythm. “Be my wife, be mine forever, oh god, so close, cum for me!”

God, there were so many things happening at once. Zhuk’s cock was driving into you so perfectly, your pleasure clouding your mind with fog, but not enough to not recognize that he just asked you to marry him and cum for him in the same breath. The latter seemed the most likely, your body trembling in his arms as it chased its pleasure, climbing to heights you’ve rarely ever known before finally hitting that peak. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase at Zhuk’s back as you came, and came, and kept cumming until it felt like your body would simply fall apart. You felt his teeth sink into your shoulder as he followed soon after, groaning harshly as he spilled inside you. You took what seemed like days to come down from that high, so long that you hadn’t even noticed he’d moved you to lay on his chest. You finally looked up to see him smiling softly at you, his fingers carding gently through your hair.

“There she is,” he murmured, his chest still heaving with heavy breaths. “Have you returned to me, dorogoy?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his pec. “That was…fuck, that was so good.”

“Mm, I agree,” he said, taking one of your hands in his. “But you still have not answered me.” It took you a moment to clear the fog from your mind, but then you remembered and gasped softly, your heartbeat beginning to pick back up.

“I…did you mean that?” you asked. When you looked into his eyes, you could tell he was nothing but serious, but you wanted to hear him say it. You needed to hear him say it. He lifted your hand to his lips with a soft chuckle, pressing a reverent kiss to your knuckles.

“I meant it more than I’ve ever meant anything,” he murmured, gazing into your eyes intensely as if to convey his seriousness with one look. “I never wish to be apart from you, tsvetok. You came into our lives like a firecracker, but you’ve never fizzled out. You took our gray, boring lives and filled them with color, and I never want to lose that. I never want to go back to who I was before I met you, so I’ll ask again…will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

You paused. A million questions ran through your head. Would you marry the others as well? Would you be able to invite your friends and family to your wedding? And most importantly, were you ready? Were you ready to commit yourself fully and completely to them? But looking into Zhuk’s hopeful eyes, swimming unshed tears and taking you in like a work of art…you could only come to one answer.

“…Yes. Yes.”

He was on you before you could blink, his lips enveloping yours in a desperate, overjoyed kiss, his hands grabbing at you and refusing to settle on one place for too long. You kissed him back just as fiercely, laughing against his lips as his hands finally rested on your waist, his thumbs stroking your skin as he peppered little kisses to the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, my love, I’m…I’m so happy,” he said emphatically, pulling back to look you in the eye, his own brimming with tears. “Are you happy?” You hummed with a soft nod, unable to keep a warm smile from spreading across your face.

“I’ll be happier once you get me a ring,” you said with a wink, getting a teary laugh from your now fiance.

“Not to worry, dorogoy…” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead before letting your rest on his chest once more. “Once I get you the ring, I’ll just ask you again.”

Little did you know that even after you were married, Zhuk would continue to ask you to be his bride. If you brought him tea to the smoking room on a cold winter night, he’d spin his wedding ring on his finger and ask you to marry him. If you woke him gently in the morning after a night of making love, he’d drag you into a kiss and beg you to stay with him forever. Even after a fight, when you’re both stewing in your own anger and feeling alone, he’d come up behind you, press a kiss to the nape of your neck, and ask you to be his wife. No matter the occasion, no matter the mood, there was never a bad time for Zhuk to ask you to marry him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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