#or at least very recently passed down the crown | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rune-writes · 3 months

Text

Ephemerality

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Word count: 1827

Rating: G

Pairing: Xavier/MC

Summary: In the outskirts of Linkon City, there is a park listed as one of the Top Ten Romantic Parks of Linkon City. Xavier invites MC out for a Valentine's Day date.

Notes: A belated Happy Valentine's Day~

I wanted to write a cute Xavier/MC fic for Valentine's, but alas, I could only finish it now, and... it ends up not being very Valentine-y either haha.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Mind your step.”

Xavier offered his hand as we came to a slope, pebbles rolling loosely over a steep incline. It wasn’t particularly treacherous. At least, not for me. I was a Hunter, and I was equipped with hiking boots and pants. A measly slope couldn’t outdo me. So I ignored his hand and said, “I can manage just f—” I couldn’t finish my sentence before I felt my foot slip.

The wind rushed out of me and the world upended—

Xavier caught my wrist and pulled me up, giving me leverage to fix my posture and land on his side. I gasped, heart racing within my ribcage.

“What did I tell you?” he said. His voice was carefully leveled, but when I chanced a glance, I caught the mirth behind his pressed lips. His eyes couldn’t lie.

“Thanks,” I said tartly.

He released a playful scoff under his breath, then shifted his hold to my hand, his long fingers enveloping mine in a secure grasp. His smile finally on full display, he said, “Don’t let go now.”

Any counter or retort I had ready evaporated instantly at sight of his disarming face.

This hike had been his idea. Well, mine if we’re talking about technicalities, but I had only made a passing comment on a passing article I was reading—Top Ten Romantic Parks in Linkon City. I knew most of the ones listed; some were popular spots in the city proper even for single people, which I had been one until recently. The tenth one on the list, however, was a place I had never heard of. A clearing out on the hills in the outskirts of the city; it was a hike at the end of an hour train ride. I’d asked Xavier if he knew the place.

“I do. I often pass by it on my way home,” he’d replied. I had learned not to pry exactly where he had gone. As far as I knew, there weren’t any no-hunt zones in the area. He’d leaned over the couch and I’d shown him my phone. He’d nodded, confirming the place. “It’s a bit far, and you need to climb a fair distance. I can see why it’s not a popular date spot.”

“It looks pretty,” I’d said, looking back at my phone. Rosalea Park: a fenced-in clearing with beautiful cherry-blossom trees overlooking the entire city. It’d make a perfect spot for flower viewing, if they were in the cherry blossom season. I’d looked at the panoramic photographs the writer had attached before I closed the tab and noticed Xavier’s gaze. I’d met his eyes.

“Do you want to go there?” he’d asked.

And so our plan had been born. Fast forward one week later, I now found myself holding Xavier’s hand as he led me down the trail with groups of cherry-blossom trees flanking us on both sides. It’d take another month or so to see the pink buds bloom and grace the crown of every tree on this hill. Apparently, some decades ago, someone had planted an entire grove of cherry blossoms on the hills outside Linkon, providing the citizens a magnificent view when spring came around. I liked to watch them from the window of my apartment. It was like being surrounded by an endless, undulating pink sea. Magical. But the flowers didn’t last long. The blooms would fall once the season passed and be replaced by an ocean of verdant green. But that would take another couple weeks. Now, however, the trees around us bore white flowers, small and delicate, creating a sort of mystical mirage with their ephemeral beauty.

I gazed at them, transfixed. I didn’t realize Xavier’s stare until I heard his breathy laugh.

“Do you like them?” he asked.

“They’re pretty.” I reached up and caught a falling petal on my palm. “They remind me of you.”

“How so?”

“They’re quite hardy, and they foretell the coming of spring,” I said. “But they’re also brittle. A single touch could make them fall from their branch. Blink once and you’d miss the beauty they offer.”

He paused, then said, “Do I seem brittle to you then?”

I looked up and met his backward glance. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I didn’t think my nonchalant observation would catch his attention. But then a breeze caught the petal in my palm and I watched it dance in the wind alongside other loose flowers. One landed on Xavier’s head, and I giggled, reaching up to brush it away.

“You’re not brittle,” I told him as I picked the stray petal from his hair. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger, it quivered as the wind fought to keep it aloft. And then it broke free, and I felt a part of me fly away with it. “You’re…elusive. I fear that if I close my eyes, you’ll be gone from my side.”

Xavier didn’t break his gaze away from me. I looked ahead and found that we’d reached the edge of the treeline. I tugged his hand, urging him to go faster. And then we were outside, and the view took my breath away.

We were at the top of a hill: Rosalea Hill, judging from the sign they’d propped just outside the line of trees. But the trail didn’t stop there. It went on past the sign and into the clearing, winding around a plethora of flowerbeds in circles, squares, or crescent shapes. A mingle of scents greeted my senses. It felt like I was back in the flower shop Xavier liked to visit, except the smell was richer here, the colors more abundant and vibrant.

We weren’t the only ones visiting the park either. Couples were already setting up picnic mats and several were taking pictures on the benches or by the wall overlooking the city. I let go of Xavier’s hand and rushed over to it, leaning over and peering down the stone structure. We were so high; the park ended in a steep slope that could easily break someone’s neck were they to fall over. Or, well, at the very least sprain their ankle. The slope wasn’t too sheer that your feet couldn’t find purchase, but I could imagine someone slipping over the terrain.

Like I had just moments before, to my mortification.

Xavier entered my line of sight and I grinned up at him. “Look,” I said, pointing at the entrance to the hiking trail at the bottom of the hill. “That’s where we came in, huh?”

“It appears so.”

”Doesn’t seem like this place is unpopular,” I added, noting the crowd that was still trickling into the entrance.

Xavier chuckled. “I never said it’s unpopular. I only said it might not be a popular date spot.”

Well, there were a lot of couples. Either Xavier was wrong, or they’d all fallen victim to the same article I’d read.

I followed the road, all its winding way back to the nearby train station, then finally to the city in the distance. Under the sun, Linkon City’s numerous skyscrapers glinted brilliantly, towers upon glass towers piercing the sky all the way to where Skyhaven hung with its gilded spires. I could spot the parks—clusters of little green dots sandwiched between rows of buildings. I could hazard a guess where our apartment was, though I couldn’t very well see the building from so far away. I saw the river, a sparkling blue line winding through the settlement, cutting right at the heart and finally draining into the sea beyond. Pristine ivory shores rimmed the city’s western edge.

The place where I grew up looked so different from above. So serene and timeless, as though we had crossed over a threshold and were now gazing at a frozen sculpture. “It’s so beautiful,” I said breathlessly. Too beautiful, in fact. I couldn’t help the slight pang in my heart knowing that one day, things would change.

I pushed myself from the wall and took a few steps back, breathing in the scent, absorbing the view. I might have stayed like that for all eternity if I hadn’t heard the shutter of a camera going off. I looked to my right and saw Xavier directing his phone camera at me. He smiled sheepishly at being caught.

“Let me borrow your phone,” he said, stashing his away.

I blinked. “What for?”

He didn’t say anything, only held out his hand in silent inquiry. I indulged him, fishing my phone from my bag and placing it on his palm.

“Now come here.” He drew me to his side, maneuvered us so that we had our backs to the city, then directed my phone at us to take a selfie picture. “Smile.”

The shutter went off again.

Even with the impromptu nature, it was still a pretty good picture. He managed to capture the city in the distance while also still capturing our smiles. He fiddled around with my phone for a while longer before giving it back to me. I looked at the screen—

—and realized he’d changed my home screen wallpaper to the photo he’d just taken.

“Now even if you close your eyes, I’ll always be by your side.”

I stared at my phone, then at his cheeky smile. “I want another one.”

“What?”

“It’s not good enough. Better yet, I’ll just take a picture of you ‘cause you already took mine.”

“Wait—”

I pushed him to the wall, had him pose for me several times. After a while, Xavier could only smile in resign.

“Happy now?” he asked after his photo session ended. “You know, I only took one photo of you.”

“And I took five.” I scrolled through my album. I couldn’t quite keep the grin out of my face. He looked so handsome in his jacket and turtleneck, and so cute when he pouted at the last picture because I couldn’t decide what pose I wanted him to do. I decided to use that for my homescreen wallpaper instead.

“Why are you grinning at a picture when the real one is in front of you?”

I glanced up, and true enough, the hint of a pout was already forming again in his otherwise poker face. I beamed from ear to ear. “Oh please, as if you wouldn’t look at my picture when I’m not looking.”

His response was a guilty, breathy laugh.

I grabbed his hand and led him away from the wall to a quieter area. “Come on, then. Let’s set up our picnic mat. I made a lot of delicious meals this morning. I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Later, Xavier told me that the park was even more romantic at night. They had lights stringed around the flower beds, and around the paths and walls as well. Like artificial fireflies, he said. He promised to take me here again to see it. Perhaps, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

~ END ~

#love and deepspace #xavier #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #l&ds #lads #lnds #l&ds xavier #lads xavier #l&ds fic #xavier fic #lads fic #fanfiction #lnds fanfic

27 notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 9 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Four

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I hope y'all like this chapter. It's an interesting one. Just remember to stay with me and that everything will be alright. Well, as okay as an ending within this fandom can be. xD Just a quick FYI, this chapter takes place over a few months. Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter Warnings: violence, blood, technically SA but it's very blurry, the reader is in her revenge era.

"You remember too much, my mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,

where can I put it down?

She said,

When you see these horrible images, why do you stay with them?

Why keep watching? Why not

go away? I was amazed.

Go away where? I said.

This seems to me a good question." - Anne Carson, The Glass Essay.

You fastened the last button of your gown, having already dismissed your maids for the day after your midday meal. It was an easy slip-on dress that didn't require assistance, and they bid you "good day" after nodding their heads once you assured them you would summon them for supper.

The council had adjourned for the day, the meeting ending with your ideas redirected and brushed aside. The Lords only cared for thoughts of war, taxes, and whether the scheduled shipments of Dornish wine had made it unharmed. It was not your first time bringing the impoverished inhabitants of Kings Landing to the table. More than once, you had suggested diverting the crown's frivolous spending habits toward a food program for those in need or gathering an entourage of the castle Maesters to provide medical care for the sick.

Ser Otto hadn't shot your ideas down per se; he did not see them worthy enough of a thought to decline. His priorities lay elsewhere, ensuring his lordlings and courtly allies were well satisfied. He did not need the support of the small folk, for when he supplanted Aegon on the throne, only those willing to die and sacrifice themselves for the inevitable war of succession.

You debated, bringing Viserys to the chambers again, but his health was finally on the mend, and you needn't put more stress on him than he was in.

With the passing of Grand Maester Mellos in the winter, Orwyle took his place. You had nothing against the deceased man other than his treatments. They were popular in the older generations of the Citadel, Orwyle told you, but the younger Maester explained different techniques, herbs, and potions brought over from Essos that he had seen work on Lepers. However, he refused to say the disease out loud. Lepers were only found in the slums of the poorest sections of Westeros, not within the land's nobility, let alone the King himself.

You observed your reflection in the vanity mirror, inhaling a calming breath that deliciously stretched the muscles of your abdomen. Your outfit was simple and purposely so. No pearls sewn into the fabric, no gemstones decorating the bodice. You need not be dripping in opulence as you typically were. For once, you wanted to avoid being seen, or at least not attract any more attention than you would already gather with your presence.

Slipping two golden hoop earrings into your ears, you stood, grabbing the embroidery loom you had asked your maids to get a few days prior. You knew how to sew before it was engrained into your head by your Septa. It was expensive to take the whores dresses to a sewist when you could barely even afford food, so you learned the essential art out of necessity rather than as a hobby like all the other noble women. However, you last picked up a needle and thread nearly three years ago. There were more important things than sewing.

You traveled along the carpeted halls of the Red Keep, your buckled shoes softly thudding over the imported rugs. Your noiseless footfalls soon turned into a light rapping on the red rock steps to the training yard, stopping your movements on the last landing to rest on a chiseled sandstone bench, the circlet and thread placed in your lap.

All that was left now was to wait and be patient, which came naturally. You were a lion flattened within the tall grass, lean muscles rippling as it crept closer and stalked lower, learning the patterns and movements of its prey to know the right moment to pounce.

***

The royal library was something unfrequented by the inhabitants of the Keep save for a few Maesters and Lords. You immensely enjoyed the silence of it. The only sounds heard were occasional deep inhaleings when you realized you hadn't taken a breath and the flipping of pages. Ser Arryk sat at a simple carved wooden table between the aisles of tomes, polishing his longsword as you rested against a cushioned window seat with a book.

It was just past high noon, and your stomach was full of soft cheeses, meats, and pastries after your luncheon with Helaena. It was an excellent start to your day and left an elated feeling in your stomach as you finished your chapter on Constitutional Laws of The Crown, your mind thoroughly bored with the plain prose of the text.

Your sworn shield turned to face you at the light sound of your book closing, doing one last swipe of cloth to metal as he put his sword in its sheath.

"You are dismissed for the day, Ser Arryk," you announced in silence. He stared, his hazelnut brows furrowed in confusion. "Ser Cargyll, I am giving you the afternoon to yourself. Take it."

The knight was unsure what to do, stunned by his unusual dismissal. He had nothing else planned. His days were filled endlessly with protecting the Princess, forever by her side and only away when it was time to rest. Arryk was her sworn protector and was required to be in her presence to do that. She couldn't dismiss him... Could she?

"If it will ease your conscious, Ser, I will be in the training yard with countless Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard. Should anything happen to me I am certain a dozen men could handle it," you offered with a crooked smile, hoping to appease his overprotective nature.

Arryk felt his heart skip in his chest, your perfect lips sending him a grin he had seen reserved for familial letters and Princess Helaena. He knew he should protest. Explain that men at arms can be just as dangerous as those with lower morals and values, but his will soften at your sweet expression. Ser Arryk would do anything for you if he saw that same look.

"As you wish, Princess," he acquiesced, standing from his seat with a bow and slight flush hidden under his facial hair.

You hid your smirk until he was no longer in eyesight, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

That was easier than you expected. Usually, the kingsguardmen would put up a resistance to your desire to be alone. It annoyed you to no end, but you understood it was Arryk's duty, which you felt was unnecessary when you already knew how to defend yourself, but he didn't know. No one did in King's Landing beside the Queen and Ser Criston, and they only heard it when you brought the Prince back. Aegon was the only one who knew the true extent of your capabilities, having regularly attended your late-night training sessions.

A sudden stabbing struck through your chest, your fingers white-knuckling the window seat as your palm began to rub the affected area. You shook your head as if that would rid you of the sting, letting a sharp breath through your nose as you stood. You needed to focus on the task, grunting and ignoring the ache within your ribcage as you trekked to the training grounds.

***

Today, you decided to move from your usual spot on the landing, ensuring your presence was known to all who spared on the packed dirt of the yard. There was another bench of sandstone resting against the wall of the high steps, far enough away that you wouldn't be intruding but close enough to be seen.

Your fingers busied themselves with your current project of a dragon black as coal and piercing green eyes. You were sure the Cannibal would be proud of how you portrayed his likeness once you were finished, holding the taught square of fabric to the blazing sun.

"The training yard is no place for a Lady such as yourself, your Grace," a voice sneered from above.

You finished your last stitch, pulling the dark thread with a harsh tug and placing the circle in your lap. Looking up at the tall Dornish man, you smiled, though it was strained and did not meet your eyes.

"I am not training, Ser Cole. Simply observing. It gets rather boring sitting in council meetings all day." He hummed, glancing at your work before returning to your snarky expression.

"I see. Enjoy your observations. I hope the men are to your liking," Ser Criston said stiffly, bowing his head in farewell.

Your smile dropped as soon as he turned, unable to hide your exasperation for the man. You knew Cole would be here, but you hadn't thought the man brazen to approach you in front of his fellow men. He should've learned you were a woman, not so easily scared. However, the knight's little display did show to be advantageous. Every man had turned to see where he went, each countenance staring at the only person wearing a dress in a sea of trousers.

Your eyes danced across as many as you could, halting as you spotted one you would never forget. Withholding a searing gaze, you smiled slightly at the man, your brown and violet orbs flitting away as you fluttered your lashes. The man whose name you had yet to find out looked back, a smirk on his face as the whites of his teeth showed, bowing before resuming his tasks.

Unable to find the other one, you returned to your sewing. Initially, it was supposed to be your dragon, a love portrait for your sweet Cannibal, but an idea struck you. It would be much more fitting to display Cannibal's prowess. All were beneath him, even his fellow species, and showcasing his strength in the art felt right. Mentally, you mapped out the type of stitching you would use, the colors silver, cream, black, and gold, and the amount of space it would take up on your canvas.

The embroidery would be your finest work, and once finished, you would display it for all to admire.

***

You returned to the same spot you had yesterday, with all your supplies in tow, but today, you would only spend a little time on your craft. You observed silently as men in varying states of dress fought each other. Some sparring with thin silver breastplates and shin guards, others wrestling their brethren into the dirt.

It was chaos from the outside perspective, but you knew the complexities and talent it took to defeat an opponent. You had to keep your mind sharp, vision dancing across your rivals' forms, plan your moves, anticipate theirs, and ensure each limb was out of striking distance, all while trying to win. Despite what many arrogant Lords believed, swordplay and hand-to-hand combat took time to learn.

Ser Criston was nowhere to be seen today, a welcomed absence. Your plan worked around the knight's presence; it was a given he would be with his fellow men, so it was a relief that today he was not.

You stood from the chiseled bench, walking across the training yard to one of the weapons racks. Your fingers danced over each of them, admiring the dull practice blades, daggers, and flails. It had been some time since you saw the weapons in daylight, having been forced by the Queen to train at the hour of the bat. Unable to have a sparing partner, you had neglected swordplay, focusing more on the sharpened cutlass and archery.

It was so dull to be your only opponent, competing with yourself to see how many bullseyes you could get in a row. At one point, you had resorted to running endless laps around the training yard to at least feel some challenge.

"May I help you, your Grace?" A voice rang above the sounds of clashing swords and grunting men.

You traced the peaked line of a blade with the pad of your finger, slowly turning your head to them. Your expression of indifferent self-satisfaction quickly morphed into surprise, seeing the face of the man who held your Aunt's chains. You swiftly schooled your presentation into a practiced, polite one.

"If you would be so kind," you prompted coyly. The flush of anger on your cheeks was easily mistaken as one of abashment as the Gold Cloak took the sword you were admiring. "What is it?" you asked, feigning ignorance.

"It's called a spatha. 'Tis the most common doubled-edged sword among warriors. Swords have different uses, but this one is perfect for thrusting and slashing." The Watchmen punctuated each word with its respective motion, causing you to jump back and clutch your hands to your breasts.

He explained each weapon as if speaking to a tot, showing the intricate contrasts between a flamberge, a claymore, a seax, and a shamshir and then onto daggers. You hung onto every word like a young squire speaking to its higher-ranking knight, smiling, nodding, and giving small gasps and squeals when necessary. You felt like a fool from smiling so hard, your cheeks burning from the strain until you could no longer bear it.

"I never got your name, Ser." Your feminine voice was like the toll of the city bells in the mass of masculine sounds.

"My apologies, my lady," he said, placing the flail in his grasp onto the wooden rack. "Edder Dalt is what my mother named me, but you may call me Ed, your Grace. "

You plastered on your signature smile, looking up at the man as you repeated his name. "It's nice to meet you, ser. You've been such a pleasure speaking to me about weapons, though I fear your knowledge is far greater than my mind is capable of understanding." You dipped your head sheepishly, hiding the pink on your cheekbones.

"Oh, nonsense, Princess, the pleasure is all mine. Not many ladies desire to learn swordsmanship, and that alone is proof enough that you're brighter than you believe." Your lips turned into a grateful pout as you peered at him from under your thick lashes, taking a step closer to him as you saw his eyes flicker downwards.

"You are too kind, Ser Edder." You placed your fist delicately on his bicep, feeling the muscles ripple underneath your touch. "If it would not be trouble, could I hold one of them?" Your hand slid down to his elbow as you took another step closer, gaze wide and pleading.

Edder swallowed, his throat bobbing as he stared with fidgeting eyes, looking as if he was about to flee at any moment. You knew what you were doing. Touching a man who lacked the caress of a woman, a noble one at that, you let your fist slide just out of his reach, your warmth a whisper without your skin.

"Of course, Princess," he answered shakily, focusing on the armaments beside him.

He picked the lightest sword, the type Daemon made you use at the beginning of your training, and you had to bite back a laugh at the thought. Edder gently placed the feather-like hilt in your fist as if it were still in the process of being cast, supporting it underneath. Flashing him with an exultant grin whenever he relinquished his assistance, he stood back, observing with his fists on his waist as you held the instrument he believed would be too heavy.

As if on queue, your arms shook, and the blade nearly fell to the ground but was stopped by Edder's firm grasp.

"Easy there, my Lady. I fear your Father would have my head if you lost a toe," he jested, though his voice had some worry.

You giggled in what you hoped was a delightful sound, not the forced way you felt, the Gold Cloak shuffling behind you to help distribute the weapon's weight.

"Thank you, Ser Edder. Perhaps I overestimated my strength. I am grateful you are here to help me," you chortled bashfully, adjusting the hilt in your palm. "What is this one for again? There are so many," you questioned airily, turning your head to meet his regard.

His nose was mere centimeters away from yours, and the startled gasp you let out was not deceitful, promptly spinning your face away to look forward. You felt the rumble of his laugh against your back, your breath slightly hitching before you crushed your unease like an insect beneath your pretty boot. You would let him think you were just some hoydenish maiden, wide-eyed and in awe of his masculine knowledge, as you released a nervous giggle.

"This is a rapier, Princess. 'Tis the lightest blade one can carry, and even the common person can use it, especially for dueling." You tilted your crown upward in recognition as he continued. "It's used for fast reactions, slicing and thrusting your opponent down before they can reach their weapon."

Edder punctuated each word with a movement, causing diminutive gasps to leave your mouth as he moved forward with it. Though you were toward the back of the training yard, near the enormous stalwart oak doors, you felt like you were being watched like one of the many butterflies Helaena kept within a glass frame, their wings pinned with needles and on display for all to see. You hastily glanced around, trying to find the source of your tension but seeing the men still within their worlds, punching and swinging at one another.

It did not feel right to let someone watch you freely, their gaze penetrating your skull like a pick, and you decided, partially due to pride and the other apprehension, that you would find who they were and give them the same treatment. Hopefully, you scanned the shadows to spot the specific clubbed foot culprit known for this situation. Still, you did not see him, Ser Edder, continuing his monologue about the history of the rapier.

A glint caught your eyesight, the flash of an ornate metal in the afternoon sun as it moved. Aegon stood above you on the steps to the Keep, staring down his nose at the people before him as he nursed a goblet that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand. You felt your heart stop, your stomach falling to your feet, and momentarily forgetting the act you were putting on. Your bright, carefree expression slipped, a scowl taking place as you clenched the sword's hilt.

It had been nearly a fortnight since you last saw the Prince, and it was only in passing as you witnessed him lead a scullery maid into a secluded alcove. You still had to return to that part of the castle since then, even if it meant taking a longer route to your destinations. You would at least expect him to approach you and attempt to make some feeble apology that you wouldn't accept, but he didn't. He won't, you told yourself. Aegon went back to his old ways of drinking, gambling, and whoring without much thought, like it was his second nature, and perhaps it was.

Aegon was a pathetic excuse of a man, and you loathed yourself for feeling an ounce of anything but hatred for him. He didn't deserve your kindness or your love.

Edder noticed your abrupt shift in mood, following your line of sight to see where it was. You felt the man's grip stiffen over your fists, pulling you closer to his body as if it were a means to protect you. You nearly vomited onto the packed dirt below as if you needed his protection-- as if he needed to protect you. You could kill the Gold Cloak here and now if you choose to. You mentally grimaced.

"You needn't pay him mind, Princess," Ser Edder declared into your hair, causing your eye to twitch unconsciously. "He is a lecher, but his tastes tend to lead more toward the Silk Lanes and poor folk of Flea Bottom." This time, you did not hide how you bristled at his words.

"I am from Flea Bottom," you screamed, but your mouth did not move.

Aegon downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, wiping the remnants that escaped from his lips before throwing his brass goblet to the ground. Your mind lurched to go after him, to rub his brow that creased whenever he was upset, to smooth his sheared hair down his head as you held him close to your chest and whispered nothing but praises to him. You shook the thought, replacing your glare with a delicate gaze as you looked at Ser Edder.

***

Ser Edder introduced you to a few of his fellow men at arms in days past, one so happening to be the man that had given you a wolfish grin the day Ser Criston spoke to you. His name was Lorgan Sunderly, and judging by the fleeting moments you spent with him and the others, you could tell he had an appetite similar to Aegon's but knew better than to act on it. Despite being a bastard, you held a title above him, and if he wanted to keep his cock, he would have to think with his head.

You asked them to show some fighting stances since you 'admired their talents,' and each man was delighted to display them for you. Ser Lorgan was more skilled than Edder between the two City Watchmen, but his ego and brash movements blinded him. Lorgan was the Gold Cloak you would run from in the markets, the one your fellow inhabitants at Flea Bottom would fear, while Edder was fair, the one people would pray to be caught by if they were stealing.

Edder suddenly landed a harsh punch to Lorgan's gut that caused all the men around you to leer. They had removed their breastplates and were left only in their underclothes as they sparred in hand-to-hand combat. It seemed to be more of a pissing contest than training, and if your Father knew this was how his former soldiers acted, you were confident he would whip them literally and figuratively.

There was a break within the two grunting men where Lorgan began to taunt Edder, slightly hunched over as he spouted insults about his mother before shifting to you. You waved an ornate fan to the side of your face; your thin, lilac Myrish lace dress cut just above your ankles to release the trapped summer heat.

"Let's say whoever wins this bout gets a kiss from the Princess," Ser Lorgan announced.

You hid your offense at the unconsented offer behind the raising of your surprised brows, looking between the men. Edder glanced back at you, uncertainty written into the hard lines of his pale face.

"If the Princess agrees, then, yes."

You tilt your head to the side, unable to bite back the snarky remark before it forms. "You think yourself worthy of my kiss?"

Ser Lorgan barks a laugh as he circles his opponent, Edder's cheeks a flaming red.

"I do not need to be a champion to know I am worthy of your lips," Lorgan states, a marauding grin on his face. "Though, I do not believe Ed to be the same." You hum in response, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I will decide at the end whether one of you shall receive my affections. A lady's kiss is a thing to be treasured, sers, something not to be taken lightly." The arrogant knight guffaws, pretending to lunge forward to tackle Edder.

In the end, Ser Lorgan is victorious, and you press a chaste kiss to his damp cheek, much to Edder's chagrin. You tell the sulking man that he may have lost to Lorgan today, but there is always a possibility he may earn your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as your nails dug crescents into your palms. He brightened exponentially at the prospect before you bid them a good day, heading to your rooms within the heart of the Red Keep.

***

This morning is like any other, waking to the blinding sun through green curtains and the smell of food. You groan at the sudden brightness louder than necessary, catching the attention of Jeyne and Fiorra. They exchange glances but continue with their early-day tasks until one of the maids pulls a chair, its wooden legs screeching across the stone floor.

"Please, my Ladies," you strain out in what you hope is convincing, "my head aches, and noise only worsens it."

Before you know it, Jeyne is perched on the side of your bed, raising the back of her hand to her forehead. "You do not have a fever, Princess. Is it something you ate?"

"Jeyne, please," you beg like a sickly child, wiggling further into the covers.

The oldest maid sighs, brushing the stands of hair that came loose from your sleep style, her touch as gentle as a mother's. "She's having one of her bouts again. Rain must be coming soon," she said to her counterpart, voice much softer. Jeyne rose from the mattress, the quiet rappings of her footfalls becoming near silent as she reached Fiorra. "You know what we must do. Go to the Maester and gather peppermint oil, lemon oil, and her tea. I'll be sure she eats something."

You don't hear a response from Fiorra, assuming she answered wordlessly as the door to your chambers creaks open and takes longer to shut than usual.

"Come now, Princess, you must eat to regain your strength." Jeyns assists you in leaving the bed, putting more weight on her than required as she plops you down at the wooden table to break your fast.

Once your maids ensure you have everything you need to battle what they believe to be a headache, they leave you with a large pitcher of cool water and a matching basin sitting next to it, promising to return at midday to bring you a light repast. You lay underneath the warm blankets of your bed, enjoying their comfort until you're sure the maids won't suddenly be returning. Seeing you dressed in your black attire, dagger strapped to your shin, and hair plaited to the best of your ability would shock them as you peeked through your chamber doors.

It was too premature for Ser Arryk to be at his post, though you knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the silver and white figure would stand guard. You had to be swift. It was the first rotation in daylight, and you needed to take advantage of the momentary disarray of men walking to different parts of the Keep, some finally going to rest after the night's watch, which Ser Lorgan so happened to be coming off of.

The court had yet to rise, leaving the halls nearly barren except for the few servants adorned in red as they bustled about with their duties. You were still on edge, ducking around every corner, looking left, right, and behind in case you caught a pair of unwanted eyes as you made your way to the White Sword Tower.

You knew Lorgan would be exhausted when he returned to his quarters. On more than one occasion when he had the nightwatch, the man complained relentlessly of how tired he was, how he would be unable to sleep properly for the rest of the sennight because of it. At the time, you answered his gripes with comforting words and hands, soothing the brute's unease as you provided an ear to confide in. It was hard not to roll your eyes as the rant continued throughout your time in the training yard, but you kept your annoyance at bay, beaming and nodding like the good little maiden they believed you to be.

Briefly, you glanced down the halls once more before knocking twice on the crudely carved door of the Gold Cloak's barracks. You could hear scuffling, the unhappy timber of a baritone voice through the wooden door, and the click of a lock unturning as you greeted with a scowling Ser Lorgan Sunderly in only his underclothes. His expression soon changed when he realized it was you, brows shooting to his hairline.

"Princess," he said breathlessly, "what brings you to my door?"

You smiled sheepishly, showing him the tiny bundle of cheese, bread, fruit, and boiled eggs in a large cloth. "I thought I might accompany you in breaking your fast. I know you had the night watch and how you detest it."

He gazed down at you with pleasant surprise, his green eyes widening before he stepped away from the door, wordlessly bidding you to enter. You took in the modest surroundings. For some reason, you envisioned a much more chaotic state of living for Lorgan, but nothing was out of place.

There was a small bookshelf on one end of his room, but no tomes lined it, and instead filled with small trinkets, one would collect over time. A small cot on the other end with wrinkled, scratchy woolen sheets tucked underneath the straw mattress, his sword and shield resting at the end of it.

Lorgan pulled out your chair as you placed the food on his small square table, organizing it on the cloth.

"Princess," he started, tentatively pulling a piece of bread from the loaf. "I must confess, I'm surprised to see you here. I considered you a pious maiden who would not venture to these parts of the Keep unchaperoned. Take no offense, my Lady."

You giggled, following his actions by peeling an egg. "Ser Lorgan, you know I am a bastard, correct? My mere existence is a contradiction of piety."

The Gold Cloak hollered a laugh too loud for the small space, causing you to dig into the delicate shell harder than intended, taking a chunk of the white with it. Lorgan pulled a trunk from the side of his room, having only one seat as he grabbed more food from the cloth. A neutral silence blanketed the knight's quarters, the only sound being his loud chewing.

You swallowed the last bit of the yellow-green yolk, the dry, almost powdery contents getting stuck in your throat. Lorgan looked up at you, concerned, wrinkling his brow as you sputtered and coughed.

"Water," you managed to speak, bringing your fist to your chest.

The Gold Cloak jumped from his lower position, running to the pitcher on his bedside table and pouring you a cup. You down the contents quickly, rubbing your throat as the liquid fell from the sides of your lips, unable to swallow all of it.

"Princess? Princess!" Lorgan called, crouching next to you and placing a comforting hand on your upper back. "Breathe. Do not die on me, my Lady, I could not handle the loss of such a beauty within my chambers."

Gods. Now, you were choking, but this time on your vomit at his nauseating words. You sputtered a few more moments as you held down your bile, clearing your throat and wiping at your chin.

"Thank you, Ser Lorgan. I'm unsure what I would've done if you hadn't been here," you blushed, rubbing at the front of your throat in mock pain.

"No need to thank me, my Lady. It is my duty as a member of the City Watch to protect its inhabitants." You graciously smiled, placing your hand on his shoulder as you faced him.

"But please, ser. Had you not acted as swiftly as you did, I would most certainly be meeting the Stranger." Your legs flushed with his, your palm slowly gliding up his neck and onto his cheek. Lorgan stayed crouched below you, a light dusting of pink blooming on his ears as they brushed against his stubble. "You are most worthy of my kisses," you offered timidly, your lashes fluttering as you leaned closer. "If you'll allow me."

The soldier below you grinned rapaciously, his teeth wet and shining in the candlelight. You took his expression as consent, closing the distance with your lips pressed against his. Unable to hold any longer, you ducked away, only for Lorgan to bring his fist to the back of your head, pulling against him again. Your free hand clenched your skirt, your nails nearly piercing through the fabric as you attempted to ground yourself. This is what you wanted. This is what you planned. It was all a means to an end, and it didn't matter how you went about it, but it did not make things more painless.

Ser Lorgan Sunderly was a horrible kisser, his mouth nearly engulfing your own as he moved his tongue against yours. It was nothing like before, and though you would never admit it to him or yourself, you were glad Aegon was your first kiss. You felt no desire churning in your belly with the Watchmen, no heat and insatiable yearning between your legs as you had with the Prince many times before. And so you proceeded into the recesses of your mind, becoming a spectator to your actions as you rose from your seat and to the small cot, Lorgan following your lead.

You placed the burley man onto the straw mattress and straddled his waist, having met no resistance. His hands went to your waist, and you had to refrain from the instinctual reflex to pry them off as he moved your clothed core along his hardening length. You could see yourself above him, your braids still neatly pinned back as Lorgan began to paw at your breasts. You couldn't stop the way you immediately went to move them but quickly disguised your disgust by placing them back on your hips, leaning down to kiss him again.

"I have never done this before," you whispered against his lips, your arm slowly slinking down your curves. "Will you be gentle with me?"

Lorgan's stomach tensed at your words, nodding feverishly as he chased your mouth with his. "Of course, my Lady." He could feel how your hand hiked up your skirt, his soon following along.

"Thank you."

You smiled against his lips, unsheathing your dagger as you plunged it into his chest. You didn't see the blade break through his skin before you stuck it in again, again, and again. The Gold Cloak watched in horror, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he released involuntary grunts, the air leaking from his punctured lungs. Unable to move and protect himself, you quickly removed the knife from his sternum, his blood flinging from the blade and onto his cheek before it found home in his

throat.

Red sprayed onto your face and dress, darkening the fabric further as you yanked it out. Lorgan's hand immediately pressed on the wound, his mouth opening and closing as words fought to break free. You didn't see his face before you, leaking the crimson liquid from his lips as you sliced through the side of his neck, his essence further showering your exposed skin like fresh spring rain.

The flesh easily split for your dagger as you sawed through muscle and tendons, the sound of your labored breathing covering that of slicing meat. You met resistance when you reached his bones, the tiny circular columns attaching his tissue to the rest of his body. Letting out a displeased grunt, you repeated your actions on the other side, snapping his neck from the nerves with your hands.

You stared at the Gold Cloak's lifeless face, his brown hair tangled between your white and crimson knuckled, his once lively green orbs glassy and looking upwards as blood still leaked from his mouth onto the flat pillow. The desire to place his head atop the same battlements Lyra's and Sara's were crossed your mind. A poetic justice, you thought. But that would be too risky, and it was already dangerous enough being within the apartments of the White Sword Tower. Kingsguard lurked around every corner and slept in every bed, and you wouldn't doubt their loyalty to their ruler outweighed any fear a bastard of Daemon Targaryen could inspire.

Surprisingly, guilt did not consume you as you worried it would at your immoral actions. A vindicated sense of triumph welled in its place as you stared at the decapitated corpse of Ser Lorgan Sunderly, smearing the excess blood from your hands onto his tunic.

You knew Lyra and Sara would not be proud of what you did if they were still here, but they weren't. They couldn't feel or think anything; Otto Hightower and the Queen's inaction ensured that. Lorgan's death was on their hands, and if they had not sentenced two innocents to a cruel fate, the Gold Cloaks would still have their brother.

Walking over to the small table, you sat at the same seat as before, pouring water and popping a slice of cheese into your mouth. You needed to use the cloth the food sat on to clean yourself, and there was no chance that you would place the snacks on a dirty, unvarnished table where a man had put god knows what on it. Besides, you needed to wait until the following guard change. Being caught was not an option, so you stayed, ate, made sure not a speck of blood dusted your skin, and cleaned your dagger while the lifeless pile of man soaked his sheets with red.

Masterlist of Series

I hope you guys liked this chapter. We're getting to the parts of the story where you will either love or hate it. I'm very worked up about this chapter and the next, and that's partially why I had a hard time writing for a little bit. You have no idea how worked up I am about whether y'all will like this, so if you do, pretty please let me know. I live for praise. xD

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry4, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @merovingianprincess, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe, @im-sidney, @aurorathi, @marihoneywk

79 notes · View notes

guess-my-next-obsession · 6 months

Text

Starlight — Prologue

pairing: fae!ezra x princess!oc (Marigold)

rating: M (first person POV, split second mention of death, strained paternal relationship, arranged marriage, fantasy elements, i literally created a world and lore for this so if none of it makes any sense that is why, this chapter is just meant to build the world—we meet Ezra in the next chapter)

wc: 1.2k

a/n: hi everybody!! i’m well aware this book will not be one of my more popular series, but i really just wanted to write something fantastical, and even if i’m the only soul who reads this, it’s fine! we love a bit of self indulgence every now and again! anyways, hope you guys like this little prologue. i’m hoping to have the next chapter out within the week 🤍

series masterlist

All I’ve ever known is summer.

In my world, Etos, there are five kingdoms: Heims, Oceanus, Florere, Ember, Nox, and Solis. Anywhere else is far too dangerous for a mortal to step foot into, even if they could manage crossing the sea that separates us from the Fae lands and beyond.

The furthest land from my own is Heims, a frosty wonderland full of people hardened by the perpetually cold weather. Most of our coal comes directly from Heims, as well as my father’s toughest soldiers. My eldest sister, Wilhelmina, or Mina, as far as our family is concerned, married the charming Prince of Heims, Kristofer, and currently resides in the castle made of crystal so clear it almost looked like ice, setting the standard for the rest of my sisters.

Oceanus, too, was an important ally to have—their land producing the entirety of our fish as well as guarding the coast from those who seek to take back Etos. My father knew this well, and soon arranged for my second eldest sister, Peregrine, or Peri, to be married off to the King’s highest ranking emissary, Lord Titus, assuring the alliance between our lands. Luckily for soft-natured Peri, Titus seemed to be a gentleman and truly in love with my sister. I would have never allowed my father to marry her off if he wasn’t. Her gentle and kind spirit was far too precious to me to allow some man to ruin it.

Ember, a land of constant autumn, was where the academics went to study the arts and the sciences. My sister, Wilhelmina, was the actually the very first woman to be admitted into the university. I always admired her tenacity in the face of adversity, but even in my admiration, I feared her intellect and drive, just as my father must have after breaking down and allowing her to leave Solis.

The softer lands—at least in the minds of the northerners—were Florere, a land of eternal spring, and Solis, my land, the eternal summer. Octavia, the sister closest in age to me and by far the only one I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy due to her mean-nature and competitiveness, had recently left Solis to be with her betrothed, the Prince of Florere, Ignacio. I didn’t bother to vet her partner, but from what I could see by his solid gold carriage and fine regalia, he seemed to be just as pretentious as she was. A perfect match as far as I was concerned.

Even in all the beauty of Etos, all the varying climates and scenes, I never wanted to live anywhere else but my home. Solis.

Here there was no reason to be cruel and cold. Here, we appreciated the arts, and believed that leisure itself was an artform. We worshipped the sun, we worshipped our gardens, and when it came to love, we worshipped one another.

My father, his mother, and her father before her all wore the golden crown of Solis. Warmth and sunlight was woven into my bones, tanned my skin, softened my heart. My mother once told me, long before she passed, that my sisters and I were all born beneath a blazing sun at her request. I suppose she believed a warm birth meant we’d all live warm lives and die warm deaths.

As I wandered through the garden contemplating my newly revealed fate, I couldn’t help but wonder if her efforts were in vain.

My father, a once-loving, soft man I cherished more than the sun itself, had changed since my mother’s shocking and violent death after she was mauled by an injured wolf while attempting to remove an arrow from its side in the very forest I now padded my feet into. He grew cruel and hateful towards me, his youngest of five girls. I suppose I understand why, if I truly think about it.

Unlike my four older sisters, I took after my mother so much that even I found myself shocked at the resemblance. And even if I didn’t have her shimmering, gold eyes, or her caramel-brown head of long curls, or the same dimple in my left cheek, I had her heart. Soft, curious, and empathetic. Everything my father once loved about my mother, he now hated about me.

Of course he found it hard to look at me, to talk to me. I was his grief personified.

But even in all his iciness and hatred, I never expected that he’d sign my life away to the coldest, darkest realm in the world. To Nox. To marry the infamously insufferable King Kaius and become the future queen of the starland.

Whether I wanted to or not.

It felt personal, his choice in my betrothed. A daughter of the sun being forced to never see it again. It almost felt like another death to endure. Everything I have ever known and loved gone overnight.

As I found my place underneath my favorite elm tree, the one me and my mother used to sneak off to with our stolen bundle of sweets from the kitchen, I couldn’t bring myself to loathe him the way I wanted to.

Perhaps the distance would chill the warmth I still held in my heart for him.

Perhaps then, I could hate him the way he deserves.

My sister, Cosabella—the most cautious and maternal out of the five of us, happily married to the head of our father’s King’s Guard—and my father stood in front of our palace, its white marble and green grass beckoning me to stay. To fight for my right to live here in the sun, just as my mother had. But one look at my father’s cold and emotionless face and I knew there was no point.

This was how he wanted it.

“Take care of yourself,” Cosabella warned, slipping me a golden dagger. “Do not trust anyone. Write when you can. I will see you…” She trailed off, but I knew why. She didn’t know when we’d see each other next, if at all. “Just…be careful. Remember that just because the sun is gone, does not mean mother isn’t right there with you. She lives in you, Mari—“

“Enough,” my father shouted, gesturing behind me at the carriage waiting with two footmen and two Kingsguards. “Off you go.”

“Yes, father,” I replied, my voice as small as a child as I gave Cosabella one final hug, memorizing the citrus of her perfume.

“Go on, now,” she smiled as she pulled away, wiping the tear from my cheek. “Go introduce Solis to Nox. Bring them a little light.”

“I love you,” I managed, nodding my head at her command. “I will see you.”

“I love you too.”

I knew she wouldn’t promise me anything she couldn’t assure, but it didn’t help my cracking heart as I climbed into the carriage, leaving everything I’d ever known behind.

I placed my hand upon the glass window and watched as she lifted her own, waving at me before resting it over her equally breaking heart.

“Make yourself comfortable, Princess,” the footman that I’d known since I was a child called back into the carriage. “It’s a long ride to Nox.”

To the eternal darkness.

I wasn’t sure how they managed any of it. How cold they must be, not only their bodies but their hearts and minds. I couldn’t imagine any beauty in a black sky.

I’d heard about stars in my astronomy courses, learned that the sun itself was a star, but it never seemed to make any sense to me to spend time contemplating a billion little specks of light when I could lay beneath the biggest. A light bright enough to shine over the entirety of the world—except for Nox.

My father had said it was cursed by the fae Kings and Queens who once ruled over these lands, a punishment for the mortal revolution. And based on the description he gave of his own visits, I was inclined to believe him then. But now…

Curse or no curse, this was my fate. I could either accept the cards dealt to me and make something of them, or I could fold.

My mother taught me to never fold.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #ezra prospect #ezra x oc #ezra x ofc #fantasy #starlight

30 notes · View notes

lya-dustin · 9 months

Text

The Food of Love

Part II

Gif by @destinyisall-tlk

Cw: mentions of past food poisoning, scandals, witchcraft and mention of past murders

A/n: the Kingdom of León is the modern day province of León in Spain, Reader's mother is Leónese, or technically Spanish. I also apologize for making too much lore for Y/N's mom but i needed a reason a clairvoyant witch is allowed to live and annoy Alfred as much as Aethelwold

“He is a monk!” Your mother exclaimed in disgust.

“He’s not a monk, he was never ordained. Lady Thyra gave him those robes as a gift.” You counter after having gotten to know your betrothed in the hour or so you spent in his room last night.

You had expected them to be angry for going out of your way to get a husband, but then again, your family was not at all like the others.

“He is second in line for King Alfred’s throne, my love.” Your father pinched the bridge of his nose as his wife fumed over the match. “A cold or a hunting accident could make your daughter Queen of Wessex.”

“Kings die and blood doesn’t make a king. Besides, it is not young Osferth’s destiny to be king just as it wasn’t for the crown to pass to Aethelred’s sons.” Your mother argued. Mother was the only woman to get kicked out of Wintanceaster and be welcomed back just as often as Uhtred of Bebbenburg.

The first for demanding her dowry be paid back to her after her husband, the late King Aethelred, died in battle, the second for eloping with your father ,an Ealdorman with some influence, and most recently, engaging in a battle of wit against Brother Godwin where both seers revealed deeply personal secrets to the horror of all those assembled.

Mother won by revealing Godwin uses his position and ability to get comely servant girls in his bed.

She had been so distraught when she learned Uhtred had killed him, she had been hoping to kill him herself by inviting him to dine with her.

“You had no qualms on having them as guests these past nights.” You interject having inherited your mother’s stubborn streak and your father takes that as his cue to leave on the excuse of needing to ask Father Beocca about whether your bride price would be paid by the Lord of Coccham or the King of the Saxons.

“That is because guests leave, besides you know well why I am opposed to this match.” Your mother countered. “What would happen if he came to discover Abraham’s God isn’t the source of our abilities?”

You are witches, your mother had come from a long line of them dating back to before the Romans conquered her homeland. The family had eventually decided they would say God was the source of their power thus when they fell from grace in the fledging Kingdom of León, the Pope would be forced to save them.

Well, at least her, the only one of her siblings to inherit her father’s abilities.

According to lore she grew up to be such a beauty she that the King of León and the Emir of Córdoba both offered for her when she came of age only to meet Aethelred and Alfred of Wessex in Rome resulting in her being packed on a ship to Wessex the moment Aethelred became a widower some years later.

She is very sure you have inherited her gifts, but you have grown and no ability like that has manifested in you. Except for her knack for healing, of course.

Perhaps your daughters will have both abilities, you hope Osferth does not mind a bit of magic if it does happen.

“Father Beocca’s wife is a witch, and he speaks well of her.” You say hoping to wear her down. You do not need the permission of the once Queen of Wessex to wed Osferth, but you’d like your mother to be on board with it.

“That is a vile rumor, Thyra is just a Dane. I better not hear you repeat Aethelwold’s drivel again, daughter.” Your mother corrected and you apologized immediately.

“I promise you that Osferth is not at all like the last priest you killed.” You swear and she softens.

That priest didn’t choke on a bone, mother stared at him until he did when he questioned the paternity of your eldest brother whom everyone thinks is the late king’s son.

“Fine, you may wed him, but the moment Alfred’s bastard proves to be unworthy of you, I get to kill him. It has been a while since I was last banished from Wintanceaster.” Your mother relented thinking he won’t return for you as he promised. She’s seen something, she is hiding it, you know it. “But I do like that you showed initiative, well done, my girl.”

“I envy you; you get to see so much of Britain and the furthest I have been to is Lunden.” You walk with Osfeth in the gardens, right where all can see you, so he doesn’t try anything.

He is not like that, mama, you had protested when she sent a maid with you.

“If anyone had told me a year ago, I would be traveling with warriors instead of taking holy orders, I would not have believed them. Perhaps after we are wed, we could travel to see anything you like, my lady.” He is nervous, hides it, but does that same thing King Alfred does by hiding his hands behind his back as if they had no idea what to do with them.

Come to think of it Aethelric, your eldest brother, does it too. Perhaps the rumors were true, or maybe just father was too closely related to the Kings of Wessex.

Anyways.

“Y/N, Osferth.” You playfully remind him and he smiles. You like his smile, made your heart skip a beat even when it wasn’t directed at you.

Now that its directed at you, you aren’t even sure you are breathing still.

“I do not think your lady mother would let me keep my limbs if she heard me use your name, y/n.” he says your name almost in a whisper for fear of your chaperones hearing him say it and report it to the Leonese lady who employs them. “I don’t think she likes me much.”

“Only because she doesn’t know you. She did not even know you weren’t actually a monk.” You just dress like one which is a little strange if you must ask. “She looks forward to knowing you and getting kicked out of Wintanceaster again.”

“Again?” he asks unaware of your family’s history. But then again Uhtred and his men were banished after they were.

“Mother engaged in a battle of secrets with Brother Godwin and won. King Alfred was pressured by his lady wife and the church to punish her in some way despite her being her.” You answered and you suppose now you must tell him about his children with you may be seers on the first official meeting as betrotheds.

Something mother may have foreseen which now explains the setting and number of chaperones.

“My mother is a seer, a God’s given gift passed down in her family since before Christ even walked the earth.” Which means you or your children will have it. “It is why she was brought to England from León.”

“Are you one too?” he asks the question everyone immediately makes when they see you. Your brothers don’t get that one often, mainly because they believe it passes from mother to daughter.

“No.” you shake your head hoping he’s not disappointed by your answer. “Much to everyone’s disappointment, I am not.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He speaks it so earnestly that the two of you stop walking and you forget how to breathe.

“That I am not a seer like her or that other thing?” you ask forgetting what you had even said when he steps close enough for you to make out a smattering of freckles peeking form his collar. He hasn’t even done anything except listen to you and yet you are swooning.

Fainting dead away would still not have been as embarrassing as retching in his room like you did last night, come to think of it.

“I find it hard to believe anyone would think you are a disappointment, Y/N.” For a man afraid to use your given name he has no such fears when he takes your hand in his and, worse, brings it to his lips.

Instead of doing something romantic that would not make you look like an idiot, you giggle nervously.

Not that it ruins the moment, you think as the both of you lean in daring to scandalize the entire household. Your stomach is aflutter from the excitement, the strange heat you feel stemming from your hand ---which he is still holding as if it were precious to him despite the two of you being strangers--- and knowing your infatuation appears to be mutual.

“May I kiss you?” he asks as his other hand comes to gently cradle your face.

For a moment the world around the two of you disappears and in the middle of a crowded garden, you have your first kiss.

“You may thank me for the oysters by naming your firstborn daughter after me, dearest.” Your mother passes by arm in arm with a very amused Lady Thyra.

#osferth x you #osferth the last kingdom #osferth x reader #osferth x witch!reader #osferth x fem!reader #ewan mitchell #the last kingdom fanfic

43 notes · View notes

redheadspark · 2 years

Text

Beth

Summary: Five years after leaving Hawkins, you can help but reflect on the new life you've built with the old Dungeon Master of Hawkins High.

WC: 3,923

Warnings: Just some fluff and cuteness overload!

A/N: I can only picture Eddie being the best metal daddy in the world, and I wanted to write about it. Who knows if I'll write more about this little family, let me know if you do wanna see more! I hope you love it!

1991

Indianapolis, Indiana

As soon as you opened the front door into your small yet boy apartment, you sighed in relief and you could finally breathe.

You were a bit stressed lately at work, getting a receptionist job at the University of Indianapolis on the weekends and three nights a week was no easy task for you since it was mostly a passing job for you until you could get your hands on the ideal job you knew as out there. But being a receptionist was decent pay, especially at the college you attended and graduated from a year prior. But going through plenty of paperwork and endless phone call that you had to redirect over and over. You didn't mind it, but you also didn't think about that as soon as you walked into your apartment.

The small smell of your home made you happy and already feeling at ease: warm clothes from the laundry, a fresh pot of coffee that was recently brewed in the cheap coffee machine, and the distinct scent of weed, though it was very faint. It was still a familiar comfort for you, almost like a rolling fog along the top of your skin and near your neck as the door closed behind you and you tossed your keys on the bowl on the counter next to you. The image of your living room that was combined with the kitchen made you grin as the radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter. The front area was deserted, having you poke your head in and look around for a moment or two.

"Babe?" You called out.

"In the bathroom, be right out!" You heard back, you grinning as you moved to unload your work bag onto the couch. You cracked your knuckles, moving to look in the kitchen to see if any dinner was prepped. There wasn't even a pot on the stove, which made you raise a suspicious brow since you knew your husband far too well. He would at least prep dinner for you, making it ready for you to throw in the pot or on the stove as soon as you came home from work. He liked the busy work, claiming it would calm his crazy mind down. You could only snort as your eyes moved to the small frame on the wall, seeing one polaroid on the top part of the frame and a marriage certificate on the bottom half. A smile was on your face, you tilted your head and remembered that day so well in the back of your mind.

The day you married Eddie Munson.

You two have been friends since you were 12 years old, sitting next to each other in math class and Eddie showing you how to work out an equation when he saw you were about to cry in frustration. He was smart, smarter than others but he never really put it to good use. He was infatuated with you from the moment you smiled at him, almost smitten as you two were friends and then later one a couple when you got into high school. You were the calm to his storm, whereas he was the fearlessness to your hesitance. It was like you two brought out the opposites in one another and made it good, made it wholesome, and filled it with love. Summer afternoons with flower crowns in your hair as you heard him strum his guitar outside his trailer when the sun would set, or even autumn mornings snuggling under the blankets in his bed as the fog rolled by. It all felt like a dream to you, how Eddie loved you and cherished you with every ounce of his being. As soon as Eddie kissed you for the first time, out at Lover Lake in your hometown of Hawkins, you were in it for the long haul. There was no one else, only Eddie Munson.

And you knew he felt the same way about you.

"Sorry for not prepping dinner, my love!" He sang out as he finally made it out of the bathroom, a bundle in his arms and a big grin on his face. He had his long hair pushed back behind his shoulders, getting long again compared to the last time you trimmed it outside on the porch when the weather was too hot and his hair was sticking to his neck and shoulders. He was sporting one of his Metallica shirts that he got at a concert year back, a birthday present from you. Every cent you scrapped and saved was worth it as you gave him the tickets, feeling you swoop you in his arms and him carrying you to the bedroom not too long after.

You two were simply happy living together as a couple, getting this apartment for the first time after you moved out of Hawkins. After all that happened in Hawkins with the world nearly ending and the Upside Down screwing everything up, you both decided to leave town and start over fresh. Eddie especially needed to get away from that town, not only because some citizens still thought he did kill Chrissy Cunningham and after his name was cleared, but also because he nearly died in your arms in the Upside Down. Those last moments you thought you were going to have with Eddie felt like the worst minutes of your life, giving you the assumption that he was going to leave you forever when you two knew you were going to get married. You fought tooth and nail to keep him alive, there was nothing that was going to take him away from you.

The bundle in his arms squirmed a bit, the sound of babble and gurgling was evident as you moved over to Eddie. Kissing his cheek, Eddie chuckled as he moved the blanket out of the way, a mop or auburn curly hair was seen and a wide toothless smile greeted you. You smiled sweetly.

Your 6-month-old daughter: Beth Maxine Munson

"Hello, baby girl!" You said with sweetness, Beth babbling at you wildly as you scooped her in your arms. She squealed in delight as you kissed her cheeks and face, breathing in the fresh scent of baby skin and a very small hint of shampoo in her curls that she clearly got from her dad, along with the tint of red that he sported too, "I missed you today at work, baby girl. I needed your smile more today,"

"That bad, huh?" Eddie asked, you giving him a knowing look as he sighed. He leaned over to kiss your head and rub your shoulders with his knuckles, giving you some sense of comfort, "They work you too hard there, baby. Some of those deans were dicks in general anyhow,"

"I didn't mind the workload, Eds. I got paid extra from last week any who and it's already going into our savings," You explained, to which Eddie then clasped his hands and then gestured.

"Speaking of which, my darling wife!" he hummed, you eyeing you with a raised eyebrow as you placed Beth on your hip and she was watching her father with her bright eyes, "I got a bonus from the mechanic shop last night."

"That's great, sweetheart!" You complimented him as you pecked him on the cheek, seeing a hint of blush on his cheeks, "You've been working your ass off there at the shop for the past few months. I knew Mike liked you when he hired you, and now it's paying off,"

"Aww you flatter me," Eddie said in a sultry manner, though you giggled as he kissed your nose in retaliation, "And since this bonus is real good… I want to take you out to dinner tonight. Correction: I wanna take my two ladies out tonight,"

You couldn't help but beam at Eddie, seeing his face and how he was waiting for your reaction. No matter how long you two were together or have known each other, Eddie always surprised you and kept you on your toes. There was never a dull moment with Eddie, and he made you keep your relationship lively. He loved surprising you with the simplest gestures because he knew you were an old romantic at heart: giving you flowers on your first date, using one of his "metal" rings as a promise ring he gifted you on your one-year anniversary. He even taught you how to play Dungeons and Dragons, though you were barely good compared to him since he was the Dungeon Master with Hellfire Club. It didn't matter to Eddie: He loved bringing you into his world and you appreciating all of him and all of his sides. You weren't one to let him slide too, you'd pay for the snacks at the movies when you would go together, and also buying him new cassettes of his favorite bands to sneak into his van or in his room when he wasn't looking. You started dabbling into photography, teaching Eddie how to take and develop pictures. He was hooked, getting his own polaroid and taking his pictures left and right.

The pair of you loved each other equally, Eddie made sure of that as well as you. It was even more so when you sat next to Eddie in the hospital room right after things were settled in Hawkins, holding his hand as he was watching the worried look on your face. A thick bandage was wrapped around his torso, and a massive gash was along his ribs and scattered along his chest from the assault he endured in the Upside Down. You were watching his chest rise up and down, silent tears were going down your face as you were telling yourself over and over that he was okay and you both were safe. He wasn't the only one who was injured, you had some scrapes and wounds along your face and shoulder blades.

"As soon as I can walk, we're gettin' out of Hawkins," Eddie reassured you as you looked from his damaged chest over to him, seeing him watch you with pure love in his eyes and concern as well. You said nothing as he squeezed your hand, "You and me, we're taking my van and we're leaving this hell hole just like we planned as soon as we graduate. After the shit we went through, there's no reason to wait. Don't you think, baby?"

You grinned, wet cheeks and eyes were evident as Eddie smiled too. You sniffled, feeling Eddie pull your joined hands to his lips to kiss the back of your hand as you cried in front of him. After all you went through in the Upside Down, nearly dying a few times by some sick demonic being that killed Chrissy and two others. It all felt so much, and to have that peace in the hospital room felt more than enough to just cry and release it all from your chest.

"That sounds perfect," You replied to your husband.

"Good, now let me take the munchkin," He said to you, taking Beth carefully in his arms as Beth started to take some of the strands in his hair in her fingers to play with, "You go change and take your time. We're gonna hit that downtown restaurant that we like, that Italian place that I can never pronounce right,"

"You mean Bellissimo Galleria?" You asked smoothly, Eddie sighing at you and giving you some of his smug grins.

"I can't make it sound sexy like you," he confessed, though you just rolled your eyes and Eddie gestured to your shared room, "Go get dressed, I'll get the munchkin ready for you,"

You and Eddie were married in a courthouse in Indianapolis, a few years after you moved there together and you got your degree completed. Eddie wanted to marry you sooner, even right after you both graduated high school, but you had to convince him to wait, at least until the pair of you landed a job and you both got some sort of college education under your belt. Eddie opted for trade school, which made him happier than being in a massive college room for hours on end and his nose in a book. Eddie landed a great mechanic job not too long after trade school and was making great money for his age, giving you time to go to school and get your degree.

You promised him that you would marry him as soon as you graduated from college. Eddie held good to that promise, making a countdown on his calendar and being excited like a child on Christmas morning as you walked across the stage in your cap and gown. He wasn't alone, some of the others from Hawkins drove out to see the graduation and they were clapping for you when your name was called. Eddie was the loudest, whooping and pumping his fist in the air with pure joy as you grabbed your degree.

The next day you wore a white dress with black Chuck Taylor converse shoes, Eddie clutching your hand tightly in his own as the judge conducted the ceremony. The rest of the gang, along with Eddie's Uncle, was in attendance to see and celebrate, leaving Robin and Steve to sign the certificate as witnesses. Sure, it seemed like you two were far too young to be married, but neither of you cared.

Nor did it look good when you were five months pregnant with a swollen belly under your dress.

Eddie was over the moon when he found out he was going to be a dad. You were a bit worried, ever the thinker and planner between the pair of you, and it made you petrified to think about bringing a human into the world that already seemed too chaotic. But Eddie, he was more excited about having a kid of his own that he would dote and love on. The one father figure in his life was his Uncle, who was ecstatic to hear the news that he was going to be a Great Uncle, or Grandfather in a weird way. Eddie's parents weren't in the picture, it was something he wanted to leave behind. Perhaps he wanted to make sure his own child would be loved and cherished.

Something he never had as a kid.

"What about Holly?" He asked as he was sitting next to you on the bed, your 8-month belly was swollen and making it hard for you to do anything. You hummed, thinking about the name as Eddie was massaging lotion on your belly and waiting for your input on baby names. Your latest appointment was successful, you two found out that very afternoon that it was a girl. Eddie seemed so proud to be a daddy's girl already, concocting plans for how he was going to raise her to be a metal head like he was. Didn't matter if it was a boy or girl, his child was going to love metal.

"Sounds like a Christmas name, and we're having a baby in October," You explained, Eddie nodding as you perked up at him, "Christine?"

"No way! I think of that Stephen King movie of the possessed car. Maybe…..Polly?"

"Nope. Beatrice?"

"Sounds like she's part of the Golden Girls,"

You both sighed, not figuring out a name until the smaller alarm clock radio was playing a Kiss song. The pair of you paused, hearing the softer melody come into the room and flood the space as Eddie was tapping ship fingers on the top of your belly.

"Beth I hear you calling….but I can't come home right now…."

"Mmm, I love this song," You sighed, leaning back against the pillows and closing your eyes to listen to the words. Then it hit you as the words were going on by, how the song was gentle and loving even from a hard rock band like Kiss. It was one of those songs that no one thought would come from Kiss, but it was successful and popular. You loved it, though you loved Kiss already thanks to Eddie and his influence on you to love hard rock and metal. There was something about this song, it was tugging at your heartstrings and making you think of the purest form of love and adoration from one person to another. All from a simple name…

"Beth," You said in a gasp, opening your eyes and staring at the popcorn ceiling as Eddie was watching you with his palm on your belly. Your eyes moved to his, seeing almost the same look of wonder and awestruck in his eyes as you spoke again, "Her name's gonna be Beth."

As soon as you said the name, it clicked in Eddie's eyes too.

You got on a cotton dress with a sleeveless denim vest to wear over with your converse shoes, combing out your hair and getting it in a ponytail. You were never one to have a full-on dress to wear or even high heels, you were more of a creature of comfort than of style. Yet Eddie never really cared about that, he always looked at you like you were a literal goddess or one of the models in those hard rock music videos. Maybe in his eyes you were, and it was a mystery for you from time to time how Eddie always loved you and adored you, calling you gorgeous and beautiful even on your lowest days. You too bought of him as handsome, with the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, or the brightness of brown in his eyes when he would throw his head back and laugh. In the end, you both saw the beauty in one another that no one else understood or could never understand.

After you got everything ready for your night out, you could hear Eddie singing to Beth in her little nursery room, making you tiptoe over to poke your head in and watch your husband and daughter. He had her on his hip, Beth clearing a cute black yellow dress and a small bow in her curly hair. She was giggling and shrieking at Eddie as he was spinning her in circles, singing the song Beth to her in his low tenor singing voice. You just crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame to watch in silence and with a grin as Eddie was serenading Beth, the pair of them being in their own world.

The morning Beth was born, Eddie was a nervous wreck. He was supportive of you, but he also had no idea what to do or how to help more than he was. You only asked him to hold your hand when the labor started, walking with you back and forth in the room with every contraction and every moment of pain. Eddie's face look so freighted when it was time for you to push, and after a solid hour of pushing and screaming, his daughter came into the world all small and squishy but none the less healthy.

Eddie's face was so perplexed and filled with shock, then the nurses cleaned her up and placed her in his arms as they were tending to you and your recovery. His eyes never left hers, like he was engraining her face in his brain for the rest of his young adult life. You watched, tired and sore from the labor, as Eddie was silently crying and keeping Beth as close to him as possible, kissing her head and looking so blissfully happy.

He was a great father to Beth, and even more when you came home from the hospital. He helped you in everything and wanted to be more involved than ever. There were nights when you were stressed out and overly tired from breastfeeding or changing diapers, Eddie knew when to step in and take over when you needed a breath. It wasn't that he wasn't stepping up, he was beyond supportive and helpful for you since he was her father. But you still had your low moments, which apparently was normal for new mothers. Eddie was always close by, holding you close late in the night when you wanted to cry and giving you more love than you could ever imagine. When you needed sleep, Eddie would take over and watch Beth. He loved making her laugh and giggle, it was his mission to make her laugh all the time and he would do just about anything to make it happen. His favorite thing to do was to sing to Beth, always serenading her with the song "Beth" from Kiss when she was fussy or sleepy. He proclaimed it "Her Song," which made sense because she was named after that very ballad.

When the others drove out to see and meet Beth, Eddie was beyond excited to show off his daughter to the group. Everyone took a turn holding Beth, most of them amazed at how she looked more like Eddie than you. You didn't mind it, her curly hair, delicate nose, and her massive grin clearly came from Eddie. Although some of the younger ones were a bit nervous to have a baby in their arms, especially Mike and Dustin who both looked so scared to hold her. Eleven was a bit hesitant, though she was enraptured with Beth who grinned at her and reached up to touch her nose with her baby fingers. You had to giggle as Eleven took Beth's hand with her finger, a genuine smile grew on her young face.

You broke the news to Steve and Robin that they were the Godparents, Robin looked so shocked and Steve was almost proud while he held her so gracefully. It made sense since they both helped you two get out of Hawkins, not to mention keeping you two alive in the Upside Down. You and Eddie already talked about it, knowing Steve and Robin had to be Beth's Godparents.

"Just a few more hours…..and I'll be right home to you….I think I hear them calling…Oh, Beth what can I do?" Eddie sang to Beth, your own cheeks aching from how much you were grinning. You never felt better in your life and in how things were going for your growing family. There were times you did think about all that happened five years ago, the nightmares never really went away for either you or Eddie. He had moments when he looked at the scars along his ribcage and back, zoning out for a brief moment and maybe flashing back to the moment when he got those scars. All you could do was hold his hand, reminding him where he was and what you left behind. You both reminded each other, knowing those haunts would never truly leave either one of you. But your future was waiting for you, it was bright and it was far away from Hawkins.

And in the form of your baby girl that was the picture mixture of you two.

"Come on you two," You said finally, Eddie and Beth turning to stare at you. It was the perfect thing to see: Eddie holding your daughter in his arms and looking beyond happy with this life you two made together, "Shall we hit the town?"

"Sounds like a plan, my love!" Eddie hummed, Beth babbling in agreement to make you giggle. Yeah, you're future was beyond bright with those two gems.

The End.

Tagged: @ftrmrs-ally-keofield @steve-harringtons-slut @basicrese @botanicalbarnes @a-lumos-in-the-nox

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #dad!eddie #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie is my weakness #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things fanfiction

803 notes · View notes

eagle-warri · 4 months

Text

anyway pixandria headcanons, some of which i came up with and some which came about after like a half-hour discussion with @darubyprincx aka The Beloved Pix Moot

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

Death is an honored part of life in Pixandria. For Pixandrians, life is finite, incomplete without its physical end.

They also believe, however, that a person dies two deaths. They do not believe in “immortals,” at least in the traditional way. For every body must give out. But they do believe in immortality through story, that someone does not die fully until their name is no longer remembered in tales.

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

The Capital holds the main Vigil, of course. The one kept by the Crowned Keeper, the ruler of Pixandria. But most cities will have smaller versions at the center of their towns. Even villages will have some sort of shrine, some place to hold the candles of their dead.

And the candles are important, at least for families. They are often made by families, or at least chosen before death. They are lit the first dusk after someone’s death, and burn down to the end before the wax is taken by families, often reformed into a memento of the person who passed.

If someone has no family, the candle is lit and cared for by the city’s Vigilkeeper. The Vigilkeeper sustains the entire Vigil as well, protecting candles from going out prematurely. Most cities will have a main Keeper as well as apprentices, though small villages have only the main Keeper, and the Capital has as many as a dozen apprentices to the Crowned Keeper.

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

Pixandrians don’t believe in an…afterlife, per se. At least one ruled by gods like so many other religions. Instead, it’s as if the dead pass through a veil of sands. They’re still there, in a version of the world quite like their own, only for the dead instead of the living. The Vigil is where this veil is thinnest, the candle flames lighting a way for the dead.

Pixandria is also the place you’re most likely to find ghosts. The mirages of the dead, passed through the veil for a short time. This is especially common for the newly dead, who find their way back sometimes by accident. As a result, for the first year or so after a death, there’s a seat left open at the table, in case the ghost of the recently passed comes to visit. There’s a bell by each door, high enough that most people cannot reach it. It’s said that if the bell rings, there’s a ghost in your home. Open the door, so they may leave when they please, but do not force them. They will leave in their own time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There’s a large focus on storytelling in Pixandrian tradition. Tales are shared around campfires and passed down through generations. Pixandrians are also very connected to their roots, and many can trace back their family trees for generations.

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

Pixandria very much has a culture based on respect, and this extends to animals as well. Vultures are something Pixandrians Do Not Mess With. They service the dead with heads bowed, respect through cleaning the body.

Bees fall into a similar category of Do Not Mess With, servicing and pollinating the rare desert blooms. Parents often use them as a way to teach respect to their children: we provide for the bees and do not harm them, they provide for us and do not harm us. Everything should be treated with respect, even the smallest.

#eagle's ramblings #empires s1 #pixandria #pixlriffs #worldbuilding #headcanons

25 notes · View notes

nuwisha-laughs-last · 5 months

Text

FIC TIME

Gale x Female Tav

Set in Waterdeep after the events of Act 3. Gale and Tiefling rogue Tav (Hecate) are moving back to his tower just before the wedding and Hecate is Not Comfortable™

Fluff, comfort, and kisses. Oh and Tara’s here too.

Content warning for mild racism toward Tieflings

*****

Moving In

Hecate stood frozen at the front entrance of Gale’s townhome. Her nose scrunched as she considered it. No — townhome was much too modest a word. This was a townhome in the same way the High Hall Palace was a three-bedroom house. The blasted thing had to be at least five stories, perhaps even six. Gale had described it as a tower once and he wasn’t wrong. Elegant, rounded detailing cradled each of the windows, the edges of which were tastefully filigreed in a rosy gold. The double doors loomed, swirls of some pearlescent stone inlaid into the fine, dark wood.

“Of course,” she muttered to herself, “A regular wooden door just wouldn’t do. No sir. Have you even seen the gilding? Perish the thought.”

Hecate didn’t even want to touch the door handle, which gleamed as though recently polished. It had to be a spell, she was sure of it. She shifted her rucksack and it dug into her side as though prodding her forward. The carriage was still parked behind her but most of its contents were Gale’s, who had already rushed inside. She couldn’t blame him. After everything they’d been through, the first sight of home must have been sorely welcome, or so she assumed.

Distractedly she thumbed the ring on her left hand — a simple thing, just a thin band of silver. She’d expected something more gaudy from Gale but it seems he knew her better than she thought. Occasionally she’d notice a dim blue glow out of the corner of her eye. He’d enchanted it of course but, infuriatingly, refused to tell her how. ‘Not until the wedding’ he’d said with that sly glitter in his eyes that she adored.

The porter banging down the steps jolted her from her thoughts. ‘Dey’, he’d said his name was, a young half orc with an easy smile. He eyed her quizzically as he passed by and she jerked a thumb at the lurid edifice with a wry twist of her lips,

“Might need a hose-down before I walk in there, or bare minimum a palanquin.” Dey laughed and nodded, diving back into the carriage for the rest of Gale’s luggage.

Hecate chewed on her bottom lip, tail twitching in agitation. Her pride couldn’t let Dey lap her again so with a decisive shake of her head she strode for the steps, taking them two at a time as though speed would keep her courage from failing her. The door was still partially open from the porter’s egress and she slid inside without so much as a single hair touching the beautiful oiled wood.

Standing in the foyer, she was even more keenly aware of her drab clothing, the plain, soft cotton seeming more and more dull by the moment when compared against the gilded crown moulding and the plush purple runner that led from the door, down the hall and cascaded up the splendid spiraling staircase.

Hecate licked her lips, feeling rooted once again. What was this? Nervousness? She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever felt this way. What a hideous sensation. It sauntered about, regaling her with a rather haunting chorus:

You don’t belong here.

Her tail lashed the floor behind her and she very nearly fled back to the safety of the veranda when —

“Hecate? Darling, where in Faerǔn have you gone off to? Come upstairs, quickly now!”

With some difficulty she swallowed those words while curiosity unfroze her legs. With only a moment more of hesitation, she bounded up the steps, the top of the stairs revealing one, large open chamber. Dimly lit, she could just make out the walls lined from floor to ceiling with books upon books of varying color and size.

Her heart fluttered as she spotted him, Gale, standing at the center of this room as though he were a fixture in it. His back was to her, facing two heavy curtains on the far wall. His brown hair was pulled back into a half knot, the rest brushing the shoulders of a fine jewel-blue vest, emblazoned with spiraling golden runes. Hearing her footfalls he looked over his shoulder with a delighted grin and beckoned her to him, leading her by the hand to the thick hanging curtains.

“The time is nearly upon us,” he said cryptically, almost in a whisper.

“What are we doing?” Hecate breathed conspiratorially.

Holding the curtains so Hecate couldn’t glance past him, he peeked quickly between then closed them again, anticipation and delight dancing about him.

“You’ll see. Are you ready? It should be just about….there!”

With a flourish he threw open the curtains, revealing the setting sun framed squarely by the rail and roof of the balcony. With a soft touch on her arm, he turned Hecate back to face the room and she gasped, stunned by the sight of the evening glow limning the spines of thousands of books in brilliant gold. A gorgeous grand piano, now revealed by the sun, began to play softly, and Hecate felt as though she had stumbled into some holy chapel, reverence and awe settling into her as she surveyed the scene.

Hecate gaped openly for a moment until Gale snorted softly and Hecate realized with a blush he wasn’t even looking at the room, his brown eyes meeting hers when she glanced his way. He stepped closer, touching his forehead to her temple and wrapping a hand around her waist. She leaned into him, still awestruck by the size and beauty of the library; of this room that was nothing if not the embodiment of Gale’s soul. Shyly her tail hugged around his calf and she turned her face towards his, her fingers tracing the faint lines of gray in the hair above his ears. He breathed a smile and then…

“Mister Dekarios!”

Hecate’s bones nearly ejected from her skin as Tara flapped through the open balcony doors. Hecate’s tail spiraled off of Gale’s leg so quickly that it almost pulled his foot out from under him. With a yelp he staggered to attention facing the tressym who had perched on the balcony railing.

“Tara!” Gale exclaimed, much like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie tin.

Tara sniffed, eyeing them both haughtily.

“Good heavens Mister Dekarios, I very much would have appreciated forewarning of your arrival. As great a wizard as you are, I do not believe this feat to be beyond you.” Gale opened his mouth to respond but Tara wasn’t finished,

“And would you look at the state you are in! Traveling for weeks in a cramped carriage, why you must be exhausted. Pleased to make your acquaintance again Hecate, my dear, a pleasure indeed. Now, would you not agree to a certain level of lassitude as would befit a journey such as yours?”

Hecate blinked, startled at being so suddenly addressed. Her gaze flicked toward Gale in a mild panic who mimed bags under his eyes and sleeping, jerking back to inspecting his own fingernails when Tara glared his way.

“I…ah…yeah?” Hecate stammered, still not entirely positive what ‘latitude’ meant. She’d look it up later.

Tara simply sniffed and regarded Gale again with a flick of her wings,

“I thought as much. Well, be that as it may, your repose must wait. You have a visitor Mister Dekarios, I’ve seen him to the first floor lounge. He has been plied with tea but I would not keep him waiting long. I bid you both a good evening.” With a twitch of her tail, Tara leapt from the railing and beat her wings, carrying her aloft to the windows of the upper levels.

Gale and Hecate looked at each other for exactly one second before dissolving into laughter.

“I swear she’d still cut the crust off of your sandwiches if she thought she could bully you into it,” Hecate gasped between giggles.

“More the fool, you,” Gale wheezed, “Didn’t bet on having two mother-in-laws, did you?”

Hecate groaned, “Oh Hells. Will you dance with her at the reception?”

Gale let out a loud “Ha”, wiping a tear from his eye, “As though she would give me a choice?” Still chuckling he leaned forward and pecked a kiss onto Hecate’s forehead, right between her spiraled horns, before drawing the curtains and plunging the library into darkness. It only lasted for a moment, however, as several magelight lanterns flicked on as soon as the sunlight vanished, much to Hecate’s delight.

“Well. Shall we see who has come to call? You can leave your belongings here, the porter will bring everything up to our apartment in due course.”

He held his hand out as though seeking to escort her. Hecate chewed her lip again, hesitant to leave the entirety of her worldly possessions unattended; but with a sigh she acquiesced, setting it to the side before taking Gale’s arm, the gesture causing her to grin despite her misgivings.

“Alright. Lead the way Mister Dekarios.”

Nose stuck high in the air, Gale ponced over to the staircase, stopping only when Hecate jabbed a finger into his belly, right where she knew it tickled the most, and he deflated into laughter like a parade balloon.

He lead the way down the stairs, cutting to the right at the bottom and making his way through one of the many doors into a powder blue room, bedecked with ostentatious and, Hecate thought, rather uncomfortable-looking furniture. The upholstery was pristine, complimenting the room with a rich blue brocade. Exquisite baroque detailing adorned the inner walls and ceiling and if Hecate felt out of place in the foyer, this room easily doubled that sensation.

Tripling the sensation was the visitor, a high elf, sat primly on the edge of a chair, sipping at his china cup as though he might choke on anything but exactly three drops of tea. His long, red-blond hair cascaded over his shoulders in a perfect, shimmering sheet. It blended beautifully with his red silk tang suit, the high collar emphasizing his delicate neck. Golden toggles flashed in the magelight as he turned to regard them.

“Gale Dekarios, as I live and breathe,” he said, his voice unfairly melodic.

Gale smiled deferentially, leaning forward to greet the newcomer, pressing his cheek to his, first on the right and then on the left in a friendly gesture before stepping to the side, holding his arm out toward Hecate,

“Ashmead! How lovely to see you again. It has been too long. Please, allow me to introduce my lovely fiancé. This is Hecate. Hecate, this is Ashmead, one of my oldest school friends.”

“Oh, shit! A trouble maker-in-arms, then?” Hecate grinned.

“Ah—well…no actually. I managed to do that all on my own,” Gale ducked his head with chagrin. “No, Ashmead here was the picture of perfection at Blackstaff.”

“Mm,” Hecate hummed, leaning in and lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Don’t worry, I won’t hold that against you. Pleased to meet you.”

Hecate stepped forward with a smile, hand outstretched. Ashmead raised his in response and Hecate grasped it firmly. The elf’s hand remained limp however, as though he had been expecting a mere brush of the fingers or, perhaps even a kiss on the knuckles? Whatever the case, Hecate immediately loosened her grip with a blush, holding his hand awkwardly for a moment before letting go and stepping back slightly behind Gale as though he might shield her from making any more blunders.

Ashmead regarded her with a stiff smile,

“A pleasure, of course.” He returned to his teacup, his arm moving slow and graceful as though through water; it made Hecate feel bulky by comparison.

Gale pulled out a chair and nodded toward it with a welcoming smile. Hecate obliged him, sitting as daintily as she could muster, forming the mental image of sitting on an egg. Once she was settled he drew up a chair for himself and set to pouring himself a cup of tea, only after Hecate declined. Ashmead observed them both for a spell before setting his cup down with a sigh.

“You’ve been quite a hard man to see, Gale. First holing up here, taking no visitors, then vanishing at the drop of a hat. I must admit, I wondered if you would ever return from your…camping trip.” His nose wrinkled slightly on ‘camping trip’ as though he could smell the distasteful idea of it. Hecate scowled slightly but Gale merely chuckled,

“Believe it or not I find myself missing it sometimes, if I don’t think about it very hard,” he said with a laugh. “Now don’t miss my meaning, I don’t know that I would ever rough it just for the fun, but there’s a certain…camaraderie to it that you just can’t find anywhere else…” He trailed off, eyes catching on Hecate’s and his smile warmed her despite her unease.

Ashmead sniffed, dispelling the moment.

“Quite. Well I do hope you’ve been keeping up with your reading at least. There have been several utterly fascinating new editions this year. I just finished ‘A Study of Spores and their Supraterranean Effects’. I have it here. Sven is a brilliant mind even if his methods are…questionable.”

He passed the book to Gale who skimmed through key sections, eyes flickering side to side rapidly, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Questionable? He’s conducting experiments without consent! That’s downright reprehensible—“

“Yes but look at what his efforts uncovered,” Ashmead interrupted. “Distillation methods, potential therapeutic applications—“ Gale snapped the book shut and handed it back to Ashmead, shaking his head,

“I don’t think it’s wise to support this kind of experimentation. I dearly hope it is not being added to the curriculum at Blackstaff, I must have a word with the Dean…”

“Don’t act so rashly, Gale. None of his test subjects came to any real harm. Besides, he has an entire line of studies that you would be a fool to ignore. In fact, there’s one you might like,” he said, nodding toward Hecate who snapped back to attention from the glazed-over daydream she had been lost in. “It’s called ‘Of Cambions and Cornugons: a Study of the Hells’. Have you read it? Truly riveting.”

Hecate stared, frozen between baffled and livid. She was used to thinly veiled comments on her Tiefling heritage but she had not been prepared for it here.

“Why would she…”Gale started, bemused, but cut off when he saw the look on Hecate’s face and she could almost hear the gears whirring in his head as he tried to piece together what had just happened.

Slowly Hecate stood, gaze leaden on Ashmead,

“Actually I would like to hear the answer to that question. Why would I like this book?”

She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but only the once.

Ashmead blinked, staring at her as though she had asked him the most foolish question in the world.

“Why, because of your devil blood of course—“

Gale stood up so quickly his chair nearly tipped over, the legs making a horrible screech that Hecate pettily hoped had scratched the floor…just a little. She held up a hand, stalling whatever Gale was going to say, her eyes never leaving Ashmead’s. She smiled but it was chilly and too perfect to be genuine.

“I apologize. Gale and I have just arrived from quite a long trip. We appreciate your visit but I must insist we take some time to unpack and rest. May I see you to the door?”

Ashmead’s eyes widened, and he looked at Gale as though to see if he was going to allow this to happen. Gale merely nodded his head toward Hecate, deferring to her with one, small gesture that braced her as surely as his arms around her.

With a wounded sniff, Ashmead rose and plied them each with the smallest of bows before bidding them farewell and sweeping out, brushing past Hecate as he went. Hecate didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she heard the front door slam shut. Gale was at her side in an instant, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheeks in his palms.

“I am so, deeply sorry my love. I didn’t think…had I known…” Hecate quieted his stuttering, placing her hand over his and resting her head more fully in his palms.

“It’s alright. Well…no it’s not, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. I’m just…tired…” Hecate stopped, acutely aware of the prickling at the corners of her eyes. Mortified she ducked her head. Crying over one idiot? Gods she must be more exhausted than she thought…

A finger at her chin, a gentle pressure that lifted her glassy eyes up from the floor. He gazed at her, into her, eyes so soft it was almost painful. Hecate could feel those words again, burning like bile in her throat,

“I don’t belong here…do I?” she choked out.

Gale didn’t answer immediately. Instead he drew her to him, one hand around the small of her back, the other pressing her head to his shoulder and stroking her hair.

Hecate grit her teeth,

“Finery and riches…shit, Gale, that’s not where I live, that’s what I take. I’m not supposed to be here. I belong in some dungeon somewhere, cussing at a door and breaking my lockpicks…”

Gale snorted.

“I know,” he finally said. “That’s the Hecate I fell in love with, after all. You wear dirt and grime so beautifully…but you also wear fine things well too.” He pulled back so his gaze could find hers again.

“You belong here because you belong with me, and I with you. If this place doesn’t suit right now, it’s because it was a home and a life built around a lonely, privileged bachelor who couldn’t have ever dreamed of finding someone like you.” He placed his forehead to hers familiarly.

“I don’t want to return to my old life, I want it to be better. And it will be because you’re here.” He smiled and placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

“In addition, consider this: I am not married to this place. I’m marrying you. If we need to make our home somewhere else, it can be done. Though I do not envy whoever has to move that library because I’m going to be insufferable about it…” Hecate laughed, and it felt good. Gale chuckled as well. Then he leaned forward but stopped short so his mouth hovered just barely over hers, breathing a small laugh when Hecate shifted forward for the kiss that wasn’t there and scowled at him.

“You’re everything. Don’t ever forget that,” he whispered. Then his lips brushed against hers, so soft they could have merely been a breath. A low, growled noise rose in his chest and suddenly his kiss pressed into her, deeper and more insistent as though he could restrain himself no longer. One hand snaked around her lower back, pulling her to him with more force than he seemed capable of, pressing her to him. Her stomach clenched with a needful burn as his tongue licked boldly past her teeth and her fingers curled into his hair, completely ruining the half-knot. Neither of them cared.

He kissed her again and again between wide grins, eliciting a giggle when he spun her around. Finally they broke apart, falling into a comfortable embrace, Gale rocking them back and forth soothingly. After a silent moment he huffed,

“What an absolute bastard.”

“Mm,” Hecate mumbled into his chest. “To quote Lae’zel—Chk, Istik.”

“Oh I see you have been diligently studying your Githyanki.”

“I’m so glad you noticed. I know a noise of irritation and one whole insulting word.”

Gale chuckled, “I am fairly certain that means you’re fluent. Regardless, I still have half a mind to call Ashmead back here. Make him apologize…”

Hecate laughed, then reached into her pocket, dancing something small and shining between her fingers.

“That’s okay. I took his house key. Assmeat will have to come back for it. He can apologize then.”

Gale stared for the briefest of moments before dissolving into laughter, nearly collapsing into Hecate’s arms.

“I can not believe you called him Assmeat. How did no one think of that at school?”

“Because while you were pretending at being a twelve-year-old boy I actually am one.” Hecate grinned.

“I can’t argue with that,” Gale chuckled, his thumb stroking softly against her cheek. He bent down, his nose brushing against the side of her neck and slowly he trailed a column of kisses along its length.

“Alright ‘Future Missus Dekarios’,” she could hear the grin in his voice, “Shall we adjourn? There are things I want to do to you right now that are hardly appropriate for this room.”

“What the hell is appropriate for this room?” Hecate waggled her eyebrows.

“An excellent point. I can think of only one thing—“

And with a quick twist he hooked his arms under her legs, hoisting her up into the air and against his chest. Hecate giggled with delight and tucked her tail safely over his shoulder before pointing toward the staircase,

“Onward porter! Or be thee limp in leg as well as in spirit?”

Gale head-butted her playfully which turned into an affectionate nuzzling match between them which further devolved into Gale covering her face in as many kisses as he possibly could without dropping her. Then, with a tip of his head, a glowing dimension door opened beside them and one step took them through, the faint echo of ‘That’s cheating!’ ringing across the opulent foyer as the door closed behind them and vanished.

****

Bonus scene:

*Gale is letting Tara edit his wedding vows*

Tara: Mister Dekarios perhaps consider a comma in this section, you do like to go on.

Tara: Hecate, dear, would you not agree that Mister Dekarios is rather severely afflicted with verbosity?

Hecate: ….does that mean a lot of words?

Tara: Yes my dear.

Hecate: Ah…yeah, he’s pretty verb-city.

*Tara dies a little inside. Gale sincerely tries to explain the meaning of verbosity complete with word root and origin. Hecate is done with her speech already, it’s three sentences, Gale loves it.*

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #oc #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #tara the tressym

21 notes · View notes

basu-shokikita · 7 months

Text

Kloktober 2023 Day 24

Novel or Video Game Crossover

My friends and I talked about Dethklok in the Pokémon universe weeks ago and I got a little obsessed with it so today was the perfect chance to develop it for a bit!

With that said, please enjoy ^^

“C-Comes along, Deaddies…” Toki called his Teddiursa to follow him. It was dark and he somehow had gotten lost before the ceremony started. He was getting more nervous with each passing second.

Why was this happening to him? He just wanted to be a great Pokémon trainer yet he couldn’t find his way out of these same-looking streets. Seriously, they all looked the same. It was as if someone had copied and pasted the blocks all across the town, making them nearly indistinguishable.

“Oh, Deaddies, I thinks we really fuckeds it up this time…” Toki said and, immediately, his companion jumped to his arms to comfort him. Forcing a smile, Toki hugged him, trying not to let stress get the better of him.

He pictured his friends becoming gym leaders, champions even, becoming celebrities across the country, articles and movies being made about them. While he was sitting alone in the corner, like a loser with no friends and no trophies. All because he didn’t make it in time to the opening ceremony. It wasn’t fair! He had loved Pokémon all his life! This was his dream! He had even ran off from home for this! He just wanted to be the very best!

Eyes welling up with tears, Toki began picking up his pace, turning on the corners, hoping he would get a sight of the Gym on the next one. He could barely hear anything outside his own desperate sobs. Stupid Toki. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Suddenly, Toki crashed into something and fell backwards against the cold concrete. Sniffing, he wiped his face and raised his eyes in confusion.

4 strangers were looking down at him, both physically and metaphorically. One of them, a tall, wide young man with long black hair, was wearing some kind of armor, the helmet on his hand. It was a bit corny, to be honest. The other, with red dreads, wore a big jacket with psychedelic colors, pants with an acid-like pattern and sneakers that were glowing in the dark. It was making Toki a bit sick just from looking at him. The third one had pretty ordinary clothes, really, just shorts and a shirt with a vest over it, except they were all different shades of pink. However, the most impressive part was how oddly shaped his hair was, like a brown square.

The last one, though, was the one that captivated Toki’s attention. So tall that he was covering the moon from where Toki sat, he wore white platform boots and high-waisted white pants crowned by a skull belt. His chest was adorned by a tight sleeveless white shirt with collar and a white guitar hung from his shoulder. Golden wavy hair framed his thin and long face, blue eyes staring at Toki’s soul.

As if that hadn’t been impactful enough, a dragon flew over the sky, huge wings fluttering majestically above them and it dawned on Toki who these guys were.

The talented prodigies that had been taking the world by a storm recently, the 4 Elites that every Pokémon aficionado had heard of at least once over the last year…Dethklok.

“Whosch thisch fucking clown?” The one in pink asked, or rather, yelled. He was crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. It was William Murderface, the acclaimed Fairy-type trainer that claimed to hate fairy Pokémon yet somehow was uncontested at attracting them.

“I think he got lost, dood.” The man with the dreads replied and inhaled from his bong. He was Pickles the Drummer, the master at Poison-type Pokémon and recreational substances. Rumor had it that if he went without drugs for too long, he started tapping his legs like a drum.

“Uhh….” The big man leaned down to Toki like he was a toddler. “Is that true? Are you lost, you regular jack-off?” He was Nathan Explosion, who, in his search for the most brutal Pokémon in the world, had become obsessed with Steel Pokémon. Before dueling, he told every single opponent of his that he would make them explode. It wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Eugh…” The blonde man winced, as the sight was too repulsive. “He ams just a littol dildos.” He was Skwisgaar Skwigelf, the handsome Dragon-Type trainer popular with ladies of all ages. He had the strongest bond with his Pokémon that the trainer community had seen in decades, a sharp contrast to his arrogant attitude towards people.

In addition to being some of the most talented Pokémon trainers in the world, they also had a death metal band called Dethklok. Hence the nickname. They had amassed quite the following as musicians, often giving concerts in which fans ended up severely hurt out of sheer devotion for the band. In other words, they were total legends.

Toki swallowed and got up, Deaddy climbing to his shoulder in support. “M-My names ams Toki Wartooth!” He put his hand to his chest. “And ams goings to be the Pokémon Champions!”

Dethklok stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before simultaneously breaking into laughter.

“Wha…” Toki was dismayed.

“Oh, that’s a good one!” Nathan said, his armor clanking with his laughter. “That’s a really good one!”

“Yer gonna…Yer gonna bet us up?” Pickles asked, visibly wheezing. “Ye little beby?”

“Ams 15 years old!” Toki exclaimed, offended.

“Huhuhuhu…” Skwisgaar chuckled throatily. “He ams fifteens, everyones. Watch outs fors da ass kicks!”

“How are you even going to reach usch?” Murderface cackled. “You’re gonna- what? You’re gonna kick your ballsch?”

They laughed even harder, pointing at him like he was some circus monkey. Annoyed, Toki walked up to Murderface and kicked him in the balls.

“Ow!” The man doubled in pain under his friends’ surprised eyes. “What the fuck!”

“Oh. Oh, shet.” Pickles wiped his mouth. “He’s serious.”

Murderface was furious. “I’m gonna kick your asch!” He shouted and tried to pounce on Toki before Nathan and Pickles grabbed him. “Let me go! I’m gonna get him!”

“Calm down, Murderface.” Nathan said, annoyed. “He’s just a kid.”

“A fucking tiny little kid!” Murderface screamed, still struggling to free himself.

“Dood, height is just a concept!” Pickles immediately blurted. “Don’t judge him based on t’at!”

“Yeah!” Toki intervened. “Alsos, I’m tallers than you!” He pointed at Pickles.

“W’at did you say?” Pickles asked, eyes narrowing.

Toki wasn’t intimidated. He took a step forward, challenging. “I said ams taller than you.”

“Oh, yer gunna get it!” Pickles rolled up his sleeves but this time it was Nathan and Murderface that stopped him. “Get off!” He screeched. “I’m gunna teach this punk a lesson!”

“Don’t let him get to you, Picklesch.” Murderface said, face way too close for comfort.

“Ugh!” Pickles shuddered yet seemed to calm down. The other two released him and he glared at Toki. “W’ats yer problem, kid?”

“Yeah!” Murderface echoed.

“You ams not Poke pals!” Toki said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You ams just means! And Is goings to defeats yous!”

“Oh, here we go again…”

“Skwisgaar.” Nathan said, seemingly thoughtful. “He talks just like you.”

Skwisgaar, who was still laughing, suddenly dropped the smile. “No, he doesn’ts.”

“Ooohh…” Pickles stared at Nathan, nodding. “He does!”

“Right?” Nathan stared back at Pickles. “It’s like the same fucking thing!”

“No, he doesn’ts!” Skwisgaar insisted, tapping his heel on the ground in annoyance. When his friends didn’t stop laughing, he rolled his eyes. “Ams outta heres.” He said, and played a singular chord on his guitar.

At once, the dragon descended, the wind sending dust into Toki’s eyes. It was a Reshiram, majestic and imposing in size.

“Waits!” Toki said when he saw Skwisgaar was about to climb the dragon. “When wills I sees you again?” He asked, suddenly feeling anguished about the thought of these guys leaving. It was stupid, but he felt like he belonged with them, somehow.

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar grimaced. “When you don’ts sucks, maybes?”

“You know you have to defeat the robot if you want to become a Pokémon champion, right?” Nathan asked.

“The robots…?”

“Ye gotta defeat Charles.” Pickles clarified. “You know? The final boss?”

“Oh!” Toki gasped in recognition.

Charles Foster Offdensen, the current Pokémon champion, who was known for being able to tame any type of Pokémon yet preferred to battle with normal ones. He was a pretty mysterious guy, little things being known about him besides the fact that he was the patron of Dethklok.

“We can does that!” Toki turned to his Teddiursa. “Right, Deaddies?” His companion nodded vigorously. When he turned back to Dethklok, he could’ve sworn he saw Skwisgaar smirk, but when he looked again, it was gone.

“Right.” Nathan was unimpressed. “I could go for a few beers, how about you guys?”

There were unanimous noises of agreement and they all climbed on the Reshiram behind Skwisgaar. Lovingly, Skwisgaar stroke the side of Reshiram’s voluptuous neck, and the huge beast began flapping its wings, ready to take flight.

The white dragon rose in the air and Toki followed them, still on ground. “I means it! Alls become the Pokémon Champions!” He ran with them. “Soes don’ts forgets me!” He pumped his fist into the air.

In the distance, he saw Nathan, Murderface and Pickles talk to each other but he couldn’t hear them. Skwisgaar spared him one last glance before turning to lead his Reshiram. They disappeared into a cloud and Toki was left seeing the full moon in the sky.

Overjoyed, he looked at his Teddiursa and squeezed him with excitement. The journey for his dream had officially begun.

#kloktober2023 #kloktober #metalocalypse #dethklok #toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #william murderface #pokemon #my writing #no beta we die like men etc

48 notes · View notes

sinners-in-paradise · 6 months

Text

Chapter One: A Hero in Paradise

Masterpost

Chapter written by @monsterhatdoodles

–––

The willow tree swung in the wind.

Dero swung with it.

The hero’s stab wounds were deep. Multiple. Fatal. His blood dropped down, watering the tree as it stood alone in the fields of hades. Dero slowly drifted with the wind, tied upside-down up from the tree.

The deformed dark matter’s long, black body was caked in blood. His cape was tattered and torn. His four spider like legs were limp, wrapped in red string.

A pale blue reaper yawned, and snapped his fingers. Dero woke with a snap.

“Ah! You’re up!”

The reaper seemed bored, but chipper.

“I’m Papi, and long story short, you’re dead.”

The only response was sobs. Papi began to feel a little awkward. He fluttered his wings to shake off the feeling.

“So, uh…. Welcome to the underworld, buddy! Your final resting place. Hades, if you will. You’re going to be here for a while. Forever, actually. There’s no escape.”

Dero continued to sob. He began to struggle violently against the red string holding him. Papi looked around before continuing.

“Yeah…so…that’s a bummer. But on the plus side, you never have to eat, drink or sleep again! Or pay rent! Isn’t that great? You won't age either. Time's real funky here.”

Dero began to choke on his own tears and blood. Papi tried to avoid eye contact.

"I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends here. Probably. I can’t really tell much about you other than that you can cry an awful lot.”

Dero finally was able to choke out some words between his sobs.

“Please…. Help me…”

The light blue reaper fiddled with his hands.

"Yikes... er.. sorry. Can't help you with that, buddy. Boss strung you up like this for a reason. I can't go against its orders. You know how it is."

Dero's sobs became louder, riddled now with helplessness and despair.

"Listen, I gotta go. Lotta more dead people to deal with. But before I go, I feel like I should mention that hades, it, uh... does things to your body. Bad things. You'll see."

Dero shook violently.

".....Bye."

With that, the light blue reaper vanished in a flash, leaving Dero alone, cold, and suffering.

Weeks (or at least, they felt like weeks) passed. Dero spent the time wailing and sobbing. He spent the time thinking of his friends.

He thought of Ades, who's advice he'd always ignored. He thought of Wisp, who just like him, was fooled by her guise. He thought about Dolly, who was now left alone in her grasp. And he thought about her. Even now, that memory was so beautiful to him.

–––

"This place just goes on forever, doesn't it?" Gwen growled indignantly. The purple, round felian fiddled with her ponytail, irritated. The scar across her chest had been itching recently, and she wasn't in the best of moods.

"Well, I think these fields are very pretty." The gentle voice that replied came from a frail but beautiful woman. Dressed in a hospital gown, she looked over the fields and sighed. Her white hair rested above lavender eyes that were firm, but full of kindness. A long tube stretched out from her hand and unraveled into nothingness. Small orbs of spirit flame flickered playfully around her.

"Right, Celeernyx?"

The halcandrian behind Dulciana was slightly startled. Her green hood and dress, stained by the black ooze that covered her face, drifted slightly in the wind as she turned to the woman. Her cat like ears, wrapped in the vines extending from her wretched crown, twitched slightly as she looked at Dulci with perpetually tearful eyes.

"Oh? S-sorry, I was distracted. Yes, t-these fields are beautiful.."

Her voice was sad; scratchy and distorted.

"You're both delusional. The sooner we get out of here the better." Gwen replied before moving onward hastily. Dulciana let out a small sigh and followed.

Gwen liked these two, even if they were a bit too slow paced for her liking. The grey haired woman was far too peppy for the situation she was in, and the Halcandran kind of freaked her out with the whole melting face thing. But the three had been together for a while now, and Gwen would rather suffer a million deaths before she let another family of hers down.

Suddenly, Gwen stopped. She turned to the others with a face of slight discomfort.

"Do you... Do you two hear that?"

Dulciana stopped and listened while Cele tilted her head in confusion. Gwen listened to the sound, and as she was able to slowly distinguish what it was, a chill ran down her spine.

"It... It sounds like sobs."

Dulciana looked around for a moment, before pointing to the distance. "There," she said, her face somber. She was pointing to large willow tree in the distance. Its leaves were blood red and its trunk was stained a starch white.

The trio carefully approached the tree. The sobs got louder. Cele looked around the trunk of the tree for the source, only to find nothing. Suddenly, she felt a drop of liquid hit her newly grown wings. She looked up and let out a small gasp. A slender figure was hanging from the branches, his blood and tears dripping to the floor.

"Dear Nova..." Cele moved swiftly out of the flow of blood. "Who.. who is that?"

Dulciana thought she recognized the shape, but she wasn't to sure at this distance. She prayed her theory was false. "Whoever this is, we need to help him." She looked at Gwen. "Do you think you can climb up there?"

Gwen shuddered. Something about the figure seemed familiar to her too, but in a much different way. She didn't want to get closer to... whoever this was.

"M...Maybe they deserve to be up there..." Gwen tried to think up further excuses, but was cut off by a voice from the figure.

"Please.....H.....Help....M....Me........"

As much as she hated to admit it, Dulciana recognized that voice from her time watching over Pleiades. She shut her eyes, her teeth clamping together.

"Gwen. Get him down. Now."

Gwen groaned. She slowly climbed up the tree. Her claws sunk easily into the bark, allowing her to climb to the figure. They seemed to be sharper as of late.

The closer she got, the more uncomfortable she became. The figure struggled as she approached. The stab wounds he bore seemed all too similar to hers. She felt a sickening feeling in her stomach.

“He….lp…..m……m…..e…….”

The poor creature was crying, slurring over its own words. He must have died horribly. As Gwen got close, she saw that the figure seemed to have several large sewing needles stuck in his back. Gwen’s stomach churned as she cut each red string one by one. She tried her hardest to avoid looking at Dero’s bleeding body.

Eventually, the last string was cut, and Dero fell to the soft blood-soaked grass below. He let out a miserable, pathetic cry as Dulciana went to help him up. Her worse fears were confirmed. It was Dero, after all. He began to whisper a name Dulci was all too familiar with.

“Pleiades….Pleiades you were right… I’m sorry.”

Dero passed out, his blood still flowing onto the grass below.

#ooooh! spooky! ;) enjoy the horror show to come and speculate to your heart's contempt!#kirby #sinners in paradise #kirby oc #dero #sir gwynn #celeernyx #miss dulciana

24 notes · View notes

melancholicbutterflies · 9 months

Text

Hellmouth | Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly a millennium of being away, Angel lands on Earth, finding herself in 1960s Memphis, Tennessee.

Tags/Warnings: vampire!Elvis, angel!reader, dark!Elvis, controlling!Elvis, religious overtones, mystery/horror elements.

Author's Note: At long last! First chapter of approx. 4 chapters planned.

Word Count: 4,043

The angels were talking loudly today. Normally you’d let this pass, focusing on your tasks. You had quite a few humans under your wing, so-to-speak, and because of your stellar performance you’d only acquired more in recent decades. One such human was Daphne Willows, and she wasn’t audible in the same way she had been previously to you. Something must have happened, and so you did something out of the ordinary. Once securing approval through the proper channels, you traveled down to earth, taking on a human appearance.

It had been so long since you were in the human world that your sense of fashion and behaviors had required a good deal of tweaking. Spying on a few humans out and about, you watched them for some time to understand their mannerisms and clothing choices. Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; certainly, the dress code had changed quite a bit. In place of the more lengthy skirts females wore, you now found knee-high, tight fits and blouses and dresses that dipped low. Even stockings, which as you understood it were for coverage, had become sheer and more for a statement than practicality. Makeup, used to make one’s face prettier (for the male gender, of all things), too, had advanced, becoming a spectacle on a woman’s face with highly pronounced eyes and eyebrow arches. The hairstyle of today was the oddest; many women had taken to wearing their hair straight, but with a beehive sort of look, piling hair at the crown of their head and descending in a curl toward the end. All this had taken milliseconds for you to fashion upon your being, yet you pitied the humans who were forced to contend with it daily.

Daphne lived in a town called Memphis, in the US state of Tennessee. Your knowledge of human affairs was limited, and over time had whittled down to near nothingness; there was nothing required in your job title to understand their customs beyond the need to do your job, and so it was easily forgotten in the millenia or so you’d left the earth yourself. This suited the higher powers, as they emphasized a need to maintain distance between humans and angels. You didn’t understand why, at first, but at one point in time you had a fellow angel you might have called something akin to a friend in the human world lose their angelic powers (including a stripping of their wings, which was not unlike losing one’s identity, and nevertheless extremely painful) due to an inappropriate dalliance with a non-angel being. They were, incidentally, human; you couldn’t imagine how much worse the consequences would have been if it had been an unholy being. At the very least, one would be cut off from heaven entirely.

Memphis was hot. It appeared to have bustling tourism, with people milling about on nearly every corner. You suspected this had something to do with the number of buildings with music notes on them; on one you read ‘Sun Studios’, with many tourists crowding around the perimeter taking pictures and loitering with their eyes peeled inside the dark interior, as if they might spot something of interest.

Humans were funny.

Suddenly your stomach gurgled, and you stopped in the street, much to a driver’s discontent. You watched him drive around you, yelling blasphemous words, before hitting the gas. Humans really could be so short-tempered. Then you remembered that, as a human, you were now susceptible to all the many states and ailments of their kind. One such one, you distantly recalled, was hunger. Grimacing, you continued to pace the downtown until you found an establishment that would serve the energy resource. Unfortunately, upon entering a diner, your simple-minded drive made it difficult to locate something with which to fill your stomach. The waitress, a haggard woman with stains on her pinstripe apron, arrived with a pot of black-looking sludge which she used to fill your cup, and pulled out a pad of paper and writing utensil.

“What can I get you?” She asked.

“What do you recommend on the menu?”

Her eyes never left her pad of paper. “Steak and fries. What will you have?”

You glanced back down, looking at the poorly made depiction. “Yes, I’ll have that.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes,” you said again. You looked out the window, thinking again how peculiar it was that you couldn’t sense your charge’s exact location. Fortunately, you recalled where she lived, and would go at once. As soon as you received your order, you ate quickly, only narrowly avoiding spilling on your dress. As you rose you noticed an older man’s gaze on you, mid-bite on his hamburger, looking shocked. Perhaps you’d eaten too quickly, or inappropriately in some way. Nevermind, you had no time for the minutia of their manners. However, the woman came to you now looking angry.

“I didn’t just catch you tryin’ to just dine and dash, now did I?”

Your head tilted in confusion. “Dine and… dash?”

“Yes, leave without paying the bill. Are you simple? Not from here?” Her outburst drew the attention of restaurant-goers. If you were human, or here on Earth for a longer duration of time to adapt, you might have felt something like shame or embarrassment. Instead, you very matter-of-factly replied: “how much does it cost?”

“It’s 4 bucks fifty, with tip. You got that on you?” She eyed you skeptically, seeing no pockets on your dress.

The amount materialized on the table, beside your cleaned plate.

“There you are.” You turned back toward the door.

The waitress’ eyes bulged. “But-but, that wasn’t there when-”

Hearing the bell on top of the door chime behind you, you took some steps away from the diner to an alleyway to transport yourself to the house from memory. In doing so, you’d missed the man on the floor sitting in his own filth, an unmarked jug pressed to his lip as he cried, “What the - damn, I gotta get me off the bottle-!”

430 Bismark Road was in a cul-de-sac set off from the main road with nice manicured lawns and friendly folks sitting on their porches. It was the sort of neighborhood you’d come to learn was ‘darling’ in human terms. A far cry from the downtrodden home Daphne had grown up in, she bought the house together with her husband, Daniel, who worked as an investment banker. You weren’t quite sure what that meant, but it allowed them to live the lifestyle they enjoyed, and to which Daphne seemed all too willing to adopt. And you could sense for the first time in her life she was happy, well on her way to having the two point five kids she always dreamed of, having already attained the rich husband, house in the suburbs, and white picket fence. It was a regular old apple pie life, so you’d heard, and you couldn’t imagine what could have taken her away from it.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited until Daniel answered the door. Although it was only early afternoon, his car was parked in the driveway. He wasn’t keeping normal working hours. Strange. You rang again, this time a few more times, finally hearing steps thudding down the stairs, dull and heavy. When he opened the front door, you understood why. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes bloodshot, squinting at the sunlight that filtered through the doorway.

“Who are you? Are you here about Daphne?” He barked.

“I am, as a matter of fact. May I come in?”

Blinking several times, he seemed to come into himself. “Sure, yes, of course! I’ve been waiting so long to hear any news – but you…” he took a second look at you, from head to toe. “You dont look like the police...”

“Police?”

“Yes,” he frowned at you now. “My wife’s been missing for a few days now. Isn’t that what you’re here about?”

“Well yes, but I want to hear from you.” You immediately were regretting your outfit; perhaps he would have taken you more seriously had you presented in uniform. Regardless, you will retrieve the information you need from him. Using your angelic powers on a human was illegal, but under such circumstances, the case could be made.

He looked unsettled, and you put him into a trance-like state that would force him to be more welcoming to your line of questioning.

“When was the last time you saw Daphne?” You inquired.

“Last Sunday. We had a roast and went to bed shortly after. I went to work Monday morning and came back to find the house empty.”

“Is there any possibility she could be staying with someone? A sister? A friend?”

“No. I called her sister Monday evening and she hadn’t heard from her. Her friends hadn’t heard anything, either.”

The possibility that one of them knew but hadn’t told him didn’t escape your notice, although you couldn’t think of a reason why. Either way, you’d be sure to check with them.

“Anything odd about the way she has behaved lately? Something that seemed amiss? Could be anything.” You implored him to consider the words.

Pausing, he answered, “yes, she had been acting differently the past few weeks. I never could pinpoint why, but I suppose I was too caught up in work to take time to figure it out.”

“Differently in what ways?”

“She wasn’t going to service anymore. She always used to be a devout christian, at least since I met her. We would attend church every Sunday, and if not, then Saturday evenings. It was how we met, at church. A friend of a friend introduced us.”

You recalled this, and the news left a feeling you could only describe as unsettling. “That is indeed concerning.” You murmured. “Was there something she was doing instead? Surely this you would have noticed?”

“So she said, she was volunteering at a soup kitchen. I don’t even know how she found it, but it was something she seemed terribly passionate about, and seeing as it was serving the greater good, as Christ would, I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“Hmm.” You highlighted the mental note you made to talk to others in her life, her friends in particular. “What do the police think happened to Daphne?”

“They visited the house and took some fingerprints and photos. Nothing out of the ordinary, they claimed. They also said since nothing was taken, it wasn't likely anything to do with a burglary. Their working theory is that she ran off and just didn’t have the heart to tell me.”

“Do you believe that’s true?”

“No!” His forced calm demeanor morphed into anger. “Of course not. I’m her husband. I did right by her. I don’t know why she’d ever get an idea like that–”

“Was there any reason she could have been unhappy?” You interrupted his tirade.

He faltered. “I… I don’t know.”

“Think carefully, Daniel.”

His head fell. “I gave her everything she ever wanted, with the exception of children, which we were well on our way to having. There was no reason Daphne would have left of her own free will, I can tell you that.”

He was convinced of his own words, and his mind felt rigid now to you. He wouldn’t be of any further help.

“Thank you, Daniel. Be well.” You waited until you were several steps from the house to relinquish your hold on him.

You were certain now more than ever that there was something very wrong with Daphne.

Night had come to Memphis, and you were feeling sluggish from your travels and interrogation. Using your powers was more draining in the human plane, and this had exponentially zapped you of your energy. Recalling humans laid their heads to sleep in hotels, you found one such one of low-profile. This took you back to the downtown area, which had emptied of the larger crowds of earlier. More of a motel, which as you understood was of less quality, you walked to the front desk, where a man stood behind looking skittish.

“Booking a room?” He said, taking his eyes off the small television in the corner.

His eyes had barely landed on you before you understood what he was.

“Angel?!” He hissed at you, eyes glowing dark as midnight as he immediately assumed an aggressive stance.

“Incubus,” you mirrored, narrowing your eyes in disgust. He was one of the unholy, and one of the most abominable creatures that there was. They existed off of the misery and taint leftovers that other unholies like vampire and werewolf kind alike had discarded. They were the bottom-feeders of their class.

“Well I’ll be. A goddamn angel in Memphis of all places. Guess you got bored and decided to slum it down here with us heathens,” he grinned meanly, showing his rotten incisors. To humans he would appear irresistibly handsome, but to your keen eye, and that of other supernaturals, this was a mere illusion for the dirt and rot that his true form possessed. His looks weren’t the worst part – to you he stunk of sin, and that was only displayed in the form he took. “I’ve got business, which incidentally, is none of yours. Now give me a key,” you reached over the counter.

He nearly seized your arm before remembering himself with a humorless laugh. The unholy burnt at the touch of an angelic, some even said to burst into flames; the reverse was not said to be true, although it would surely be unpleasant as well as lower your status in heaven.

“Ah, I suppose you can seize it as you wish.”

His eyes followed you up the stairs, licking his lips quick as a gecko as they narrowed into tiny flints. “I’d wish you sweet dreams, but I don’t think they will be.” He smirked.

He wasn’t wrong. Your night brought you a fitful sleep. Nearly drained of your powers for the day, you weren’t able to utilize as many protective measures as you might have otherwise, using what little you had left on the forcefields of your room that protected you from physical harm. The incubus’ face appeared in horrible visions, only disappearing at your wake. These were interspersed with dreams of your charge, Daphne, who flit from scene to scene like an actress appearing in film, never appearing clearly. In fact, even her surroundings were blurred, which was highly unusual. Your mind's eye had sought her presence in a dream-like state once before, and it was never like this. The only thing that became clear was the presence that surrounded her. It was dark, like ink flames that followed her wherever she went. Towards the end you might have caught something red pooling… blood? You couldn’t be sure. A terrifying smile that shook you to your core revealed itself to you, forcing you from your last attempt at rest. It was unfamiliar, yet so horrifying it could only belong to that of an unholy creature. Something told you that it was not that of the incubus’. Could it have been Daphne’s captor? This would mean you were most assuredly up against an unholy. Alas, you needed more information.

Being in the human realm in long periods made your angelic powers less accessible to you. It was dangerous, but you felt you had no choice but to move onward. The sooner you found Daphne, assured her health and safety, the sooner you could return home to heaven. This was what you told yourself as you sought a different source of sustenance in the early morning hours. Now remembering to pay, your breakfast went seamlessly, and you felt recharged enough to tackle the day. Daphne had three close friends varying in intimacy, and one sibling, her sister Sarah, who she’d reacquainted with later in her married life. Her friends were located only twenty minutes or so from her neighborhood, while Sarah was located approximately three-hours northeast in Nashville. You vowed to preserve your powers today, and would forego teleportation in favor of driving. If you made good time, you could return to Memphis by sundown and resume your search.

You quickly learned that Daphne’s friends were in the dark about her extracurriculars, all except for one that was.

Mary Jane. She was a forthright woman, which you could respect. She brewed you some coffee and revealed Daphne had talked about meeting someone at the soup kitchen.

“What kind of someone?” You’d asked.

“A man. I don’t know his name,” she shrugged, “she’d never said, but he was a real charmer apparently.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Daphne had an affair, do you?”

Mary Jane looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. If she did, I don’t think she could have fibbed so easily. She’s a terrible liar,” she gave a sardonic laugh, “but she was definitely taken with the man. I think it made her feel awful about it. She didn't talk about him after that, so I assumed it fizzled out. But then she got really distant, not wanting to get together as much. She said it was something at home, not related. Now that she’s missing. . .”

“What?”

“Well, I wonder if it’s about this mystery fella after all,” she looked perturbed. “Sorry, I can’t help more than that.” Probing her mind, you could tell Mary Jane was telling the truth.

Sarah wasn’t much more helpful. Her sister had only recently reconnected, and much of her time was spent wrangling four young children; there wasn’t a lot of common ground. Still, Sarah was appropriately concerned about her sister’s wearabouts. When asked about any new person in Daphne’s life, Sarah seemed completely in the dark. “I can’t say. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Night had descended by the time you returned to Memphis. The ‘Night Crawler’ was a night club just on the outskirts of the city limits, with the backdrop of corn fields all around; in darkness it was nearly pitch-black, save for the odd flickering lamp light that was only ever enough to illuminate a single parking place. An imposing figure stood guard outside the door of the nondescript building, arms crossed. He appeared to be checking for identification, which you would be lacking. Fortunately you had a trick up your sleeve.

“ID?” He asked boredly, eying you up and down. When you attempted to use a simple spell you felt a brick wall not unlike the building’s surface.

Cursing at you, he warned, “Whatever you’re trying to do, Angel, it won’t work.”

It became immediately clear you had run into another supernatural. But of what kind, was the question. You felt aggravation prick at you: what were the chances you’d run into so many non-humans in one place? Either there was more going on than met the eye in this city, or you were naive to the number of supernaturals that had immigrated to the human realm. The incubus hadn’t been entirely wrong in that angels were unaware of the goings on outside of heavenly affairs. Perhaps to your detriment, you were soon learning.

“What are you?” You demanded, feeling a sense of foreboding. “I can’t read you.”

The guard laughed, large chest bouncing with the effort. “It is amusing to see you out of your depth, Angel. I’m one of you. Well,” he considered, “technically, half of you.”

“A nephilim?” You gasped. “But I had heard you were extinct? Run out after the third war, the rest captured and killed.”

“Indeed,” he growled, “I don't need a history lesson on your kin’s ways. Abomination, right? Anything that’s not pure angel is.” He laughed humorlessly.

You remained silent.

It was a belief held by the most conservative of your kind that angel hybrids were to be rooted out with the same level of vengeance as an unholy, because they committed the most heinous of betrayals by diluting the heavenly essence. Both the parties that were found guilty of committing the act, and their offspring as a consequence. You yourself were neutral, but that didn’t seem like the right approach in this circumstance. “It’s unnecessary, and I don’t condone it.”

“But you wouldn’t stop it if you saw it happening either, would you?” He sneered.

Two men, or what appeared to be at first glance, broke into fight in the parking lot, their faces transforming into something monstrous. “Hey, break it up you dogs!” The guard bellowed, eventually pushing himself off the wall to intervene physically. Even half-angel, his strength was a force to be reckoned with, and was more than enough to subdue two fully-grown werewolves without further bloodshed. He looked back at you, gesturing toward the door. “Go on ahead, I won’t stop you. But if you cause any problems, you’ll regret it.”

With a solemn nod of understanding, you went inside, swallowed by the darkness within.

Third Person Point of View

Elvis sensed you the moment you entered the building. Powerful that he was, it was not out of the ordinary that he was acutely aware of others, particularly females, who were his preference of the human sexes. What was highly unusual was the preternatural need he had for you without ever having laid eyes on you. When he found your figure, standing out-of-place in the crowded dance floor while humans and supernaturals alike writhed up against one another and occasionally against your body, clueless thing that you were, he was mesmerized. He’d have thought it an act of God if he weren’t so far removed from heaven. Indeed, his dead heart raced in his chest, long deceased veins thrumming with pleasure as he drank in your view from afar. If you’d only look up, you might have seen him staring greedily, but alas, a woman on a mission, your focus appeared to be elsewhere.

No trouble at all, Elvis thought to himself, reclining back on the long couch surrounded by his scantily clad thralls. He was patient when he had to be. And for you, he had nothing but time.

To be continued . . .

Taglist:@everythingelvispresley@dkayfixates@animalloverthingsss@suspiciousmindsxo@iloveelvis@18lkpeters@doll-elvis@ccab@elvisalltheway1@satninroses@darkmoviesquotespizza@jaqueline19997@louisejoy86@myradiaz@velvetelvis@sillybookmarks@alllriseabove@livelaughelvis @blog777e @kissforvoid @lillyrob @whatstruthgottodowithit @ashtag6887@ladelinee@wanderingelvis@gossipballerinaposts

36 notes · View notes

princeblack · 8 months

Text

As a prince, Regulus’s schedule was crammed from dawn to dusk. There was his royal etiquette training, his academic tutoring, attending meetings of the council, his arcane studies and even military training.

The military training was last on the schedule, a couple hours before dinner so he had time to train and still wash up afterward. He was to be meeting with a newly assigned handmaid when he was finished being tutored in swordsmanship by Lucius, the King’s Hand. The swords were wooden but his uncle still managed to bruise him, hitting him with the weapon when his guard was down during a lunge. He can feel it blooming on his abs beneath his tunic as he leaves the training room, cursing under his breath because he can’t stand his uncle. Holding a hand over his midsection, he mutters a healing incantation– one he had learned from the family grimoire’s for smaller injuries. His skin feels warm, the air shimmering around his palm.

He’s so focused that he almost runs into Sirius in the corridor of the palace, who’s holding a silver goblet as he exits the great hall. “Apologies— I know you’re very busy, being as important as you are.” He’s being sarcastic, his dark eyes sparkling with humor. The two of them had been arguing recently, ever since King Orion appointed Regulus as the crown prince, citing that he was ‘more suited’ than his eldest son. “My prince,” he adds, giving a curtsy.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Certainly more important than the town drunk, yes. Are you truly already wasted in the afternoon? You don’t have to try so hard to make me look better than you— I already do.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t think it’s true, deep down— he admires his brother, especially for how little he cares for what their parents think. And because he has so many close companions who care for him; so much to live for outside of House Black. The truth is that Regulus is desperately lonely, when he’s not on the back of his dragon.

“It’s called having fun; I expect you’ll learn about it as soon as you unwedge yourself from our father’s backside,” Sirius retorts, but his eyes are darker now because of his sibling’s words.

The younger prince’s brow furrows, frowning. Sirius knew it was a sensitive spot for Regulus; not getting to have his own life because of his dedication to their house. Or maybe he genuinely thought his brother didn’t want those things– he’s never been able to tell, throughout all of their arguments. “At least there are benefits to being wedged to the King’s backside. What are the benefits of being wedged into James’s Potter’s? Having a court jester at your beck and call? He’s a clown and you’ve always been better than him.”

Sirius frowns, almost a cold and distant look passing across his features as his grip on the goblet tightens. “Don’t speak of him again. You should worry about yourself, brother, because the things our father will make you do for that crown will make you wish you were day-drinking with James instead.”

Regulus is fairly certain he would prefer death to hanging out with the youngest Potter, hating both him and his family. Once, Serafim had almost burned James alive for carrying some House Black jewelry in his pocket as he was leaving. It was then that Regulus knew James had no respect for Sirius’s family, even if he did have some for Sirius himself. It irked him, the way the male carried himself, thinking he was above law and had some kind of infallible luck always on his side. He seemed narcissistic, and Regulus was sure that his brother deserved more than that.

“Anyways, Father was searching for you. He wants to meet in the Tower of the Hand– something about a new maid.” Then he turns, leaving with a flourish before Regulus can say much else. He knows Sirius is probably on his way to a night out, skipping dinner again to rebel against their family, shirking his ‘duties’.

Regulus thinks about his brother on the way to the tower, ruminating on the way Sirius had never seemed to fit in or understand anything about their way of life. He doesn’t even have a dragon; never imprinting upon one when they were young. Regulus can’t imagine not having Serafim, certain that he would’ve given up years ago if not for the love of his draconic partner. But somehow he excels less when it comes to people, nothing like his brother in that regard. He’s skilled enough at talking to them and making them like him, but he never formed a close group of friends like Sirius and he certainly doesn’t visit the brothel every other night to flirt with the women there. It seems to be expected of him almost– some of the Kingsguard had joked with him the other night about how they’re sure he and Sirius have been through most of the eligible bachelorettes in King’s Landing. He allows them to think that, choosing not to correct them, but privately Regulus doesn’t have any interest in fucking half of the city.

He doesn’t even have any interest in his arranged fiance, Daphne from House Greengrass. She’s the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the North, and as such would foster a stronger alliance between the two houses, were he to marry her. That’s what his mother wants, after all, and so Regulus agreed to it. He didn’t have any interest in anyone else and it was his duty as crown prince, so he accepted it. But something is missing in their relationship, because despite how pretty she is, he doesn’t feel much for her. She’s formal and pompous, and maybe it’s because that was how she was taught to be and she cares more about duty and securing her spot beside him on the throne than opening up to Regulus on a deeper level. She seems to be genuinely passionate about status, especially the idea of becoming queen.

But despite what Sirius seemed to think, Regulus’s heart wasn’t completely in it, instead wishing he had someone who seemed to care past his title or looks. Or at least someone who made him laugh, that he enjoyed being around. But many people would call him a fool for it, because love didn’t exist in real life; only fairytales read to children at bedtime. His job is to marry for politics, so he knows he must fulfill that role. But secretly he’s almost more of a child, wanting to play with his dragon and find a girl he really loves.

Which is why he’s taken aback by the way his mind goes completely blank when he first walks into the tower and sees the girl on the other side of the room. All of his ponderings about duty leave his mind, instead filled with thoughts about how she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even prettier than the sights he’s seen from dragonback. Her auburnette hair is woven into a beautiful hairstyle with braids, loose curls framing her perfect face. She has big blue eyes and soft, pink lips, and such delicate bone structure that she looks like she was sculpted carefully by the gods, even down to her dainty nose and little chin. Looking at her for a moment isn’t long enough, so he gazes at her, trying to remember how to speak English.

Then he realizes his father is in the room because he clears his throat, so Regulus’s green gaze leaves her, centering on the King himself. “Sirius said you called,” is all he can manage.

“I know we spoke of it this morning, but I’ve made arrangements to replace the previous handmaiden,” he says matter-of-factly, standing from the seat he was in. “This is Bexley Diggory and she’s to attend to you as you wish. Her chambers are in the servant quarters, her things already put away. She’s free to start now.” He glances out the window, at the setting sun. “I have some matters to attend before dinner, so I’ll see you when one of the servants fetches you. Take a bath; you reek of dragon and sweat.”

“Immediately, your grace. Thank you.” He’s short with his father, as he always is, waiting until the man sweeps out of the chamber before he finally exhales, glancing over at the beautiful girl again. “You must’ve traveled a long way to get here… are you well rested?” Green eyes glance over her figure, taking in the beautiful, sweeping fabric of her taupe colored dress. The material is thin and looks soft, hugging big breasts that he can’t help but glance at. He swallows a little, feeling a heat in the bottom of his stomach that he’s never felt before, traveling downwards. Is this what all of those men talked about, when they went on for ages about women? The sensation is alien to him, but he likes it, shifting a little closer to her without thinking.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here; I sorely needed the help, after the last handmaid tragically passed… She wasn’t young and pretty like you, though.” He says it like it’s a fact, because it is. “She belonged to someone else in my family and was already working in the castle, so she tended to me when I needed it… I’ve never had someone hired specifically to be mine.” His gaze wanders her perfect body before reaching her face again, already happy with his father’s choice. He could spend all night looking at her, if he truly wanted.

/ @devcted

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

30 notes · View notes