#river crossing puzzle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vampsywrites · 10 months

Text

IV — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Making out, Mentions of blood, Arguments, Physical Fights, Protective Neteyam, Slight Jealous Neteyam

Word Count: 5k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"Control your breath, like a soothing river finding its rhythm."

Today's lesson was a departure from the usual climbing sessions you've had the last months. Neteyam had proven himself more than capable of scaling the heights with ease, showcasing his prowess as a skilled and agile climber. It was time to advance his training further and introduce him to a new and essential skill: the art of breath control.

As Omatikaya, he lacked the enhanced lung capacity that your own physiology provided. Over generations, your people had adapted to the challenging conditions of Pandora's higher elevations, making your lungs incredibly efficient at utilizing the limited oxygen resources available. This biological disadvantage of his made it all the more crucial for Neteyam to learn proper techniques.

Sitting cross-legged opposite each other, knees touching, your hands gently pressed against his diaphragm and chest as you began the lesson.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose," you instructed softly. "Fill your lungs to their fullest capacity, and feel the air spreading to every corner, energizing your body."

Neteyam followed your guidance, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply through his nose. His chest rose, and you could feel his abdomen expanding under your touch as he took in the breath. His inhale was steady but not as deep as you wanted it to be.

"Remember to ease your body," you pointed out gently. "Try again. I want you to hold that breath for a moment, just a beat longer than you're used to. Then release the air slowly through your mouth. Let it flow out like a gentle stream, not a gusty wind."

Neteyam complied. He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath through his nose, following your guidance carefully. His chest expanded further this time, and you could feel the tension in his body as he held his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his mouth.

"You are doing well," you beam.

Despite appearing as though you were focused on teaching Neteyam, your gaze occasionally shifted to the others around you. In the distance, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Kiri were having their own lessons, led by a skilled warrior-hunter from your clan. It seemed as though they were learning well, albeit still displaying moments of clumsiness.

These past few months, normalcy resettled itself in the Sully family rather quickly, like a piece of a puzzle that’s been jostled loose slotting seamlessly back into place.

Kiri, in particular, seemed to be in her element — lost in a world of her own. The girl had long wandered away from her group, traversing the slope of the rock with a skill that far surpassed her experience. She was completely absorbed in the breathtaking views the mountain provided and the wild flora that adorned its sides.

Tuk, on the other hand, was having a blast with a group of younger kids. They were energetically bouncing off the lower parts of the rock wall with their ropes, playing and laughing together. Their youthful enthusiasm was contagious, and it brought a nostalgic smile to your face, reminding you of your own childhood.

Lo'ak had also adapted smoothly, effortlessly climbing higher peaks with a few Na'vi your age. He appeared at ease, his initial apprehension towards the heights now gone as he engaged in friendly banter and conversations with your people.

“I think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up, syulang.”

Neteyam's voice draws your attention away, his calloused hands cupping over yours and pressing them flat against the planes of his chest and abdomen. His dark azure skin was smooth beneath your touch, the defined muscles firm and sculpted, evidence of his disciplined training and physical prowess as a warrior.

A cross frown danced on your lips as you retorted, "It is you who is placing my hands over your skin. I am just making sure you're learning properly. “

Neteyam's lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't see you removing them," he quipped, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

With a shake of your head, you slap at his side of his ribs, eliciting a grunt of surprise from the man.

"Enough. Show me the form I taught," you instruct, shifting back into your role as his teacher.

Neteyam does his breathing exercises accordingly, and you watch with a keen eye, pleased to see his improved technique.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

"Yes," you nod approvingly, genuinely impressed, "that is good."

As the lesson continued to flow smoothly, you instinctively moved closer to Neteyam, wanting to better feel the rise and fall of his chest as he practiced his breathing. In response, Neteyam couldn't resist the impulse to pull at your arms, playfully coaxing you into his lap.

"Skxawng! " With a laugh, you surrendered and settled into his embrace.

Fronts firmly pressed against each other, the closeness between you felt comforting and familiar. It was like two halves of a whole coming together, bodies fitting together so naturally that it was as if they were meant to be in this position.

Neither of you made a move to break the embrace. There was no rush, no need to move on from this moment of connection. Instead, you found yourself cupping his face in your hands, a rare smile gracing your lips as you gazed down at him. Neteyam's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, fiddling with the back of your woven chest piece, causing a delightful shiver to travel down your spine. The simple touch spoke volumes, conveying a level of intimacy that went beyond words.

"I am still so impressed at how fast you have learned," you whisper softly.

"I have a great teacher," Neteyam laughs, his tail coiling around your thigh in an affectionate manner. Mirroring his actions, your tail trails up his torso, exploring his rugged skin before wrapping itself around his forearm.

As your hands move to his sides, intending to trace comforting circles, you notice a sudden jerk from Neteyam, followed by a low hiss slipping from his lips. In an instant, worry floods your senses, and you draw away from him, giving him space.

"What is it?" you say in panic, your eyes quickly scanning his figure for any signs of distress. They land on small, bloodied scratch marks by his ribs, and realization washes over you.

"Ah," you grimace, a hint of shame in your voice as you hastily reach into your medicinal pouch, your fingers searching for a specific bottle. "I apologize. I did not realize my claws were digging into your skin."

Neteyam offers a reassuring smile, though you can tell that he isn't blaming you in the slightest. "It's alright," he says. "You are acting like I was just maimed. These are little scratches, nothing serious."

You appreciate his attempt to alleviate your concern, knowing that he is not blaming you in the slightest. Still, you find the bottle you were searching for and carefully apply the healing ointment to the scratch marks, your touch featherlight. Neteyam observes your hands move swiftly, appreciating the skill with which you handle the situation.

As Tsahìk, you were used to being gentle and careful with your touch, but there were moments when your physical attributes could unintentionally cause harm. At the tips of your slender fingers were rugged and curved structures resembling claws. This unique feature was a defining characteristic of your people, granting you a remarkable advantage in navigating challenging terrains with ease.

Once you finish applying the ointment, Neteyam takes ahold of your hands, dragging them up until they are eye-level. The warrior's touch is tender as he begins to trace his finger along the curve of your claws. His eyes study the intricate detailing, admiring the look of your unique appendages.

When relaxed, your fingers appeared deceptively normal, concealing the sharp daggers within. But with a simple flex of your hand, the claws emerged gracefully. During his lessons, you would usually keep them out, ready to demonstrate and assist him at any moment.

"I should have been more careful," you murmur, withdrawing your claws.

Neteyam shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "It's not your fault." He then holds your hands in his, his large palm practically engulfing yours. "Your baby hands did not cause much damage anyways."

In offense, you playfully slap his shoulder, your mouth dropping open in feigned shock. "I will have you know that these 'baby hands' have scaled mountains and traversed terrains you cannot begin to imagine!"

Neteyam raises an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed, but a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "Oh, I am sure they have."

The carefree scene is abruptly interrupted as a shadow suddenly looms over you. Lifting your gaze, you find a familiar face twisted into a stern expression, the lines of displeasure etched across his edged features.

"Tserat," you spat the name out as if it were a poison lathered on your tongue, your disdain for him evident in the sharpness of your tone.

Throughout your life, this man had been a constant thorn in your side, always critical of your choices and quick to engage in arguments.

Among many, his vehement disapproval of your sudden engagement with the eldest Sully boy was no secret, and you were well aware that he had something to say about it now.

The Na'vi acknowledged you with a forced smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a flicker of malice in his gaze as he shifted his focus to Neteyam, sizing up the warrior with a critical eye.

"Forest boy, I see you're enjoying your little lesson," Tserat quipped with a mocking tone. "Didn't know you needed such close instruction."

"We were just practicing some breathing techniques," Neteyam replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he maintained a remarkable composure despite the charged atmosphere. The venomous tone with which Tserat addressed him was not lost on the Omatikayan, but he chose not to acknowledge it — avoiding any unnecessary conflict.

And yet, Tserat's taunts only continued as he stepped closer, trying to provoke a reaction. "A lesson on breathing techniques?" he scoffed. "Those are only given to little children."

Your patience was wearing thin, and frustration seeped into your voice as you snapped back at him, "Why do you come to us? What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to know why you are allowing him to seduce you like this," Tserat hissed, his glare intensifying. "This vrrtep—"

The derogatory word hit a nerve, and anger surged within you. Snarling in response, your tail whipped around angrily, "You speak to future Olo'eyktan, Tserat!"

"Future Olo'eyktan?" Tserat scoffed derisively. "The halfbreed can barely scale up a hill! A forest dweller like him wouldn't last a day with our mountain-born warriors, let alone dare to lead them."

"You would do well not to underestimate him," you spat back with a fiery edge, warning firm as you stood your ground, defending Neteyam. "He is embracing our ways with utmost respect and honor, more than some who were born into it."

"This outsider can learn, but his roots are deep in the forest. He will never truly understand the heart and soul of our people." Tserat remarked, face twisted in a hateful sneer. Then, his attention shifted to Neteyam, words dripping with scorn, "You should just go away!"

"Tserat—" you interject, but your words are cut short when a strong hand latches onto your elbow, shutting down the stream of your furious thoughts.

Neteyam steps closer, his hands now moving to gently grip at your waist, seeking to ground you.

"Leave it," he urges softly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Leave it, tìyawn."

You oblige, trying to shift your focus to Neteyam, desperately wanting to tune out Tserat's jeers, to let them fade into the background like distant echoes. But you knew him all too well; if he was anything, he was relentless.

"Stupid girl," the hunter hisses, his words laced with venom, as he whips his head back in agitation. "Always going head first. Never thinking!"

"Watch your tone," Neteyam growls under his breath, the low rumble vibrating through his chest like distant thunder, as his tail wraps itself around your hips protectively. Though his eyes remain fixed on Tserat, Neteyam's senses are on high alert, attuned to every nuance of your body language—from the subtle shift of your ears pinning back against your head to the coiling of your tail low by your feet.

At the sight of your clear discomfort, his other hand itches at the side of his hip where his blade was, instincts screaming for him to act.

"Hey!" The loud voice of Lo'ak booms across the clearing, announcing his arrival. His eyes narrows as he strides forward, each heavy step accompanied by the rhythmic swing of his braids and the clicking of beads.

"Fuck is your problem?" Lo'ak scowls, his tone laced with anger and disdain. He forcefully shoves Tserat back, nearly knocking the man off balance. The grin Tserat flashes at the Omatikaya in response is nothing but a display of teeth and pure viciousness.

"Look who's here, another half-bred freak," Tserat bites back as he pushes against Lo'ak's shoulders, attempting to regain some ground.

Kiri, appearing in a disheveled mess but fierce as ever, storms into the scene — anger lacing her features. Without hesitation, she raises her voice, directing her anger at Tserat.

"Leave us alone!" Kiri shouts as she takes hold of Lo'ak's arm, preventing her younger brother from making any rash moves. But before she can persuade Lo'ak to calm himself, he wrenches his arm free from her grasp.

Without a second thought, Lo'ak hurls himself forward, his fist colliding with Tserat's jaw in a sickening thud. The hunter's head snaps to the side, blood spewing from his split lip as he's left momentarily stunned. After coming to his senses, Tserat snarls, eyes filled with rage as he hits back at Lo'ak with an equal measure of force.

Both of them grapple each other, bodies locked in a struggle. In the chaos of the crossfire, Tserat unexpectedly knocks into you, catching you off guard. Your feet tangle, and you stumble backward, unable to maintain your balance. With a harsh thud, you crash onto the unforgiving dirt ground, pain flaring through your body.

"Tserat!" you shriek, a mixture of anger and pain lacing your voice.

Before you can fully gather your bearings, Neteyam is already in action. In one fluid and furious motion, he lunges forward and shoves Tserat away from his brother, the sheer force of the push sending the hunter hurtling back into the rugged rock face of the mountain. The impact reverberates through the air, a loud thud echoing in the clearing, followed by the rumble of loose stones tumbling down the slope.

Dust billows up around Tserat, momentarily obscuring his figure in a haze of grit and debris. As the cloud of dust clears, Tserat emerges, his eyes burning with a dangerous glint, his rage undeterred by the impact.

Neteyam's lips curl back into a snarl, fangs bared in an unmistakable display of aggression. A guttural hiss then erupts from his lips, a growl that emanates from deep within his chest. It's a primal warning, a clear message that he will not tolerate any further harm directed towards you or anyone else he cares about.

"You—!" Tserat, refusing to back down, meets Neteyam's hiss with one of his own, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the axe at his hip.

Neteyam's response is swift and decisive. He too arms himself, unsheathing his knife. Its sharp metallic sound rings out like a battle cry, slicing through the air with a deadly "shhlck!" The blade gleams in the dappled sunlight, its edge honed and ready for any threat that may come his way.

As the pain from the earlier shove courses through your body, you grit your teeth and rise to your feet, adrenaline fueling you. You rush to Neteyam's side, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your trembling hand as you press it against his chest.

"Ma'Neteyam" you hush. "Mawey. It is alright. It is alright."

Tserat's eyes burn with envy and resentment as he watches the bond between you and Neteyam, a bond that he can't comprehend, much less accept. To him, it's a betrayal, a disloyalty to your people.

The way your touch traced the outlines of Neteyam's skin, the concern in your eyes, and the unwavering support you offered—it all but intensified his misplaced fury. The sight of your closeness with this outsider feels like a knife twisting in his heart, fueling his anger and pushing him to the brink of it all.

Driven by a whirlwind of emotions, Tserat lunged toward you both with a roar of anger. But before he could reach you, a commanding voice cut through the air like a thunderclap, halting him in his tracks.

"Ftang!"

As you turn around, you see your mother landing with a mighty thump, her ikran letting out a shrill, piercing cry. The elderly chief dismounted and approached your group with a stony expression, her fur coat still adorned with remnants of snow.

With every step, your mother shed away her usual warm and caring persona as Iumayi and slipped into the familiar face of Olo'eyktan. Ruthless, cold, Olo'eyktan.

"Why are you here, boy?" she hissed, her icy gaze remaining fixed on Tserat. He looked away, clearly disgruntled and tense under the weight of her scrutiny. ”You disobeyed direct orders! You are supposed to be on patrol! Instead, I see you stirring up a fight!"

Amidst her tirade, your mother's gaze locked onto yours. Her stern expression softened momentarily as Neteyam rushed to help you up, his touch tenderly tracing the outlines of your bruises. The sight of her child in distress stirred her maternal instincts, but she swiftly composed herself, tearing her gaze away from the display of care between you and Neteyam, refocusing on the matter at hand.

"Olo'eykte," Tserat gritted his teeth, his words now flowing in the Iuva'rian dialect, knowing that Neteyam couldn't understand it, "Can you not see this mockery of a union? Y/N was promised to me."

"It doesn't matter what you believe was promised," your mother stated resolutely, switching her language to match his. "Eywa did not will for your union to happen. The Great Mother guides us all, and sometimes our paths lead us in different directions."

As his ears pinned back, a hint of vulnerability flashed in Tserat's eyes. Frustration, resentment, and envy tangled together, gnawing at his heart.

The memory of your father's vision surged in his mind, a painful reminder of what could have been. He recalled how the Olo'eykte had approached him, believing it was he who was in the vision. "A mighty warrior, fierce and protective of his people," she had said, her eyes ablaze with belief in his destiny.

With those words echoing in his ears, Tserat had undergone rigorous training, honing his skills and preparing himself for the role he believed was his birthright. But all of that changed when the Sullys arrived. With Neteyam's emergence as Toruk Makto's son, everything shifted.

The vision, once meant for Tserat, was now directed toward Neteyam, a forest dweller with no ancestral ties to the clan. The mantle of leadership, which he had longed for and devoted himself to, was abruptly snatched away, as if it had never truly been within his grasp.

"Everything is changing," Tserat spat out, hurt etched across his features. "This family brings destruction and war wherever they go. What's to say they won't bring it here?"

"This warrior," Tserat turned to look at Neteyam, his expression brimming with disdain."—does not even know how to breathe our air properly. And you want him to lead us?"

"This is not the time or place for a challenge," Iumayi scorns. "If you believe yourself more worthy to lead, you will have your opportunity to prove it in a ritual battle after he completes the coming of age ceremony."

Tserat ran his tongue over his lips, his emotions carefully hidden behind a neutral mask. With a sigh, he averted his gaze, locking onto the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the chief.

The tension in the air was palpable as the confrontation reached its conclusion. Tserat eventually turned and left, his departure marked by one last glowering look directed Neteyam's way.

Neteyam, still holding you close, sensed the lingering unease and decided it was best to move away from the scene. With one arm wrapped protectively around you, he bid a goodbye to your mother and led you toward Seze.

The Omatikayan carefully lifted you up and secured you onto her back, ensuring your safety as he climbed on behind you.

"Irayo," you whisper. Neteyam's strong arms encircled you, and you leaned back, resting against him

"Kea tìkin," Neteyam hums.

Neteyam had led you to a secluded green clearing hidden deep in the heart of the valley. The tall, ancient trees stood as protective guardians, shielding you both from the prying eyes of the outside world. The rustling leaves and the distant songs of wind created a calming atmosphere, offering a private haven for you and Neteyam to grapple with the emotions that had been swirling between you.

Approaching the dense thicket of trees that hovered over the peak, your steps faltered when Neteyam's rough fingers wrapped around your elbow, gently pulling you back. His hand then rested softly on your hip, thumb tracing soothing circles on your striped skin.

The weight of moodiness still clung to you like a stubborn fog, but his touch and tender words began to penetrate that cloud, slowly lifting the veil of uncertainty that had settled.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, baby," Neteyam murmured, the foreign English endearment slipping off his accented tongue as smooth as the cascading waters of a tranquil stream.

Despite his plea, your lips were sealed shut, teeth biting down on the plump flesh, eyes refusing to look away from the blooming purple bruises on your skin. Faintly, you felt a burning sensation building up on your waterline, an all-too-familiar sign of tears threatening to spill over. It was an emotion you had long tried to suppress over the years, but the events of the day had taken their toll on your strength.

"Sweet girl," Neteyam soothed, his thumb pressing onto your lips and gently easing it away from your fangs. He then reached out to brush a reassuring hand against your cheek, guiding your watery gaze to meet his. The sight of your unshed tears pierced through him like a spear, striking a chord deep within his heart.

"Tserat is a fool," you drew in a shaky breath, the frustration evident in your voice. "Stubborn. Resistant to change!"

"I saw," he acknowledged with a low chuckle, but his expression softened with understanding. "People like him hold on to old ways out of fear. But change is the natural course of life. Do not worry, they will come to understand soon. Give them time."

Neteyam then paused, his eyes taking you in, a rugged hand running up your back in a comforting gesture. The forest around you seemed to grow quieter. "You two seemed to know each other…"

You nodded, a mix of emotions welling up inside you as memories of the past flooded back. "Yes," you replied, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "We were once very close. Me and him were promised."

"Oh," Neteyam breathed out, his voice tinged with a deep, rich green envy that simmered just below the surface. The intensity in his eyes blazed, and a hint of possessiveness seeped into his tone.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, drawing you closer to him, and you willingly leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his protective hold.

The lithe form of his tail swished from side to side, revealing the restlessness he felt, while his eyes remained fixed on yours, guarded yet filled with a yearning for understanding. You could tell the man before you bled with questions, but he was treading carefully, respectful of your boundaries and not wanting to intrude.

It was something you had noticed over the past few months spent together. Neteyam, a warrior at heart, was skilled at concealing his emotions. He had a way of pushing down his feelings, riding out pain - both emotional and physical with a stoic determination until they dissipated. His strength and resilience were admirable, and you respected his ability to handle difficult situations without faltering.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, a part of you longed to see more of his vulnerability, to understand the layers beneath his tough exterior. You wanted to know the man beyond the warrior, the man behind the title of future Olo'eyktan, the person he was when he let his guard down.

In moments of quiet intimacy like this, you caught glimpses of tenderness in him, emotions he carefully kept in check. It made you feel that you were so close to understanding him on a deeper level, yet there was still a distance that kept you from fully unraveling the complexities of his heart.

"I said once," you reiterated gently, wanting him to know that the past was merely a stepping stone that led you to him. "I did not go through with the ceremony."

His grip on your waist softened, and he pulled you even closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. It felt as if the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you in that secluded green clearing.

"Why did you not?" Neteyam's question hung in the air like a delicate thread, his voice barely above a whisper, brimming with vulnerability.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the topic of conversation causing your heart to race. The freckles upon his nose and forehead caught the golden rays of the setting sun, making him look even more mesmerizing as his eyes languidly traced your face.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you found the strength to answer honestly. "I did not want him," you stated firmly, making it clear that your heart had never truly belonged to Tserat.

Ears pulled flat back, he stepped closer and found his hand reaching out to take a hold of his your hip. His gaze was dark, untamed like the forest as flickers of emotion flashed across the specs of gold, brown and green in his eyes. The tension between you and him thickened, fueled by a potent mix of jealousy, desire, and the simmering anger from the confrontation.

"And who do you want?" Neteyam's voice was a husky murmur, tinged with longing. He searched your eyes for an answer, almost as if he feared what would come out of your lips.

And you knew that this was the moment of truth, where your confession could either bring you closer or drive you apart.

In the past few months, both of you had danced around the touches of affection, tiptoeing around the unspoken feelings that had quietly but intensely grown between you. On the surface, it seemed as if you were merely fulfilling your duties, following the paths arranged for you. But beneath it all, there was something deeper, a bond that had become undeniable.

Standing before Neteyam, you could feel the tremor in his touch, the unspoken fear of rejection. But there was also a glimmer of hope shimmering in those golden pools, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you would choose him.

Without skipping a beat, you looked up into his eyes, your own gaze unwavering. "You."

"I want you, Neteyam."

Neteyam felt his heart leap to his throat at your words, desire chipping away at was left of the walls he had built up. His grip on you tightened and he looked into your eyes, seeking permission for what he was about to do, gaze gliding down to your lips.

Without words, you both knew what you wanted, what you needed. You understood the unspoken plea in his eyes and nodded, granting him permission to close the distance between you.

Neteyam's hand moved from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer as he drew you into a deep kiss. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair, and you felt the roughness of his braids against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of earthy warmth and a hint of something uniquely him.

"I want you too," he breathed out against your lips, attempting to pull you even closer, molding his body onto yours. "More than anything."

Minutes pass and the intensity of your passionate kiss gradually subsided. Finally, you both drew away, finding yourselves breathless yet exhilarated. The rush of emotions still coursed through your veins, leaving you both trembling with the weight of the moment.

Neteyam's forehead pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours as you gazed into each other's eyes, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"I see you," you finally gasped out, your voice hitching. Those three simple words carried the weight of all your feelings, a declaration of your understanding and acceptance of him, flaws and all.

Neteyam froze, his breath catching in his throat. The exhale from his lips was entirely broken, as if you had stolen his last remaining breath from his lungs. Slowly, he found himself giving in to the overwhelming rush of emotions, the walls he had built over years finally falling down in ruins.

"I see you," Neteyam returned, accent thick, voice breathless and guttural. He leaned in to kiss you once more, sealing his emotions with the tender touch of his lips against yours. Those three words were repeated over and over against your lips, a desperate show of his affections.

Neteyam bared everything he had inside, his deepest desires, fears, and dreams, pouring his heart before you like a crimson offering as he hoped beyond hope that you would handle it with the utmost care.

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

the relationship is established! now its time to plan on how to destroy it. /hj

TAGLIST: @rainbowsocks @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde @dark-mark @v4mp1rr3 @xylianasblog @piceous21 @celi-xxmoon @corpsebridenightamare @ducks118 @xylianasblog @bluealiensimp @tyongluvs @theyoungeagle @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @nerdfacesposts @isnt-itstrange @smile-skxawng @eywas-heir @mochiivqi @wavesarchive @wavesarchive @simpforramenboy @crazy4books @jamie-poopoo @gg-trini @dollyplayhouse @couragemydearheart @lynbubble @pinkpantheris @northsoulss @queer-griffin @lexasaurs634 @melllinaa @maki-z @crazyforteyam @rose-brulante @ladylokilaufeyson5 @lunarangelxo @rexorangecouny @thepineapplesimp @moneyoverl0v3

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :( Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc sometimes I can't see the comments ^^

1K notes · View notes

secret-smut-sideblog · 7 days

Text

Supine Bound

Gale x F! Tav

18+ tension, crossed signals, embarrassment, voyeurism (m&f), masturbation (m&f), restraint, body caging, dirty talk, roughness, domGale, oral (m&f), improper use of mage hand, Gale being a menace, some silliness a lil tenderness ayo, porn w/o plot

With Tav believing she's crossed a boundary of intimacy twice with Gale, she invites the wizard to get some retribution...

Masterlist

"Gods, I'm not that short." Tav planted her hands on her hips, giving Gale a mock glare.

"Notice that you had to look up to give me that withering look." The warm tease in his voice making her heart flutter involuntarily.

"Should I call over Halsin to give some input?" She trilled, smiling wider at the narrow in his eyes.

"Oh pish posh," He waved his hand impassively. "That elf is an outlier. It would be academically irresponsible to include him in our data."

"Our data, huh?"

His cheeks flushed the slightest pink.

Tav raised her eyes in memory, giving a puzzled look.

"I don't even remember applying for a grant to fund our research..."

He let out a small bark of laughter, her smile curling triumphantly at making him break first.

"Oh, there is a very neat magic trick people my stature can perform. Wanna see?"

He nodded, giving her an bemused smile.

She leaned down conspiratorially, him following her down. Crouching down quickly, she angled her shoulder under his hips, standing and flipping him onto her back.

"Up you go!" She cheered, bracing the hinge of his hip with one hand. Starting to walk through camp at a jaunty pace.

He laughed loudly, a joyful burst. Going mock limp as she trotted him around their small world.

"Oh, good catch!" Karlach called through a mouthful of apple. "Wizards are slippery! Hold on tight!"

"Ew, why...?" Astarion reeled.

"Guys, I'm trying to make a delivery, do you mind?" Tav huffed, putting a hand on her waist and popping her hip out.

"Of course, of course. Boy deliveries are very time sensitive, don't want him to spoil." Karlach nodded sagely.

Gale's giggle against Tav's back making her bottom lip curl to not smile.

Astarion put down his mending with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh! Hells, I've gotta go! He's getting unruly!" Tav's voice spiking in fear as Gale kicked his feet happily.

Tav took very careful steps to the turquoise tent, the night song of insects rising in the reeds. Fire crackling low, cleared plates piled, ready to be river tended.

"And here you are." She crouched down, attempting to ease him by the waist off of her shoulder. Gale only going fully limp.

"Oh... oh! The spell!" Tav cried, letting her body slowly crumple under him. "Gravity! it's getting so heavy!"

He giggled against her as she slid into a heap on the ground. His forehead resting above her shoulder, her arms thrown above her head, staring up at the newly woken stars.

"We're just going to lay like this, huh?" She sighed.

"The spell takes a while to wear off, I'm afraid."

She smiled, letting out a contented breath with the closing of her eyes. Enjoying his weight on her and the slow calm of night for a moment. His arm naturally encircling her head, face turned into her hair. Heart fast and breath slow.

She peeked one eye open, feeling his stare.

"Yes?" She whispered in a playful lilt. Turning her head to look at him.

His wide pupils held her still. A single breath shared between them as his eyes searched her, lips fallen open. Their turned faces unreasonably close, air softened with anticipation. All she would have to do was tilt up.

The haze overrode her better judgment, and she lifted her chin. Lips sliding into his in a soft part.

Her mind caught up with her mouth, pulling back in shock. He had very kindly turned her down twice now, the second time just last night at the tielfing party.

"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry." She rose up on elbows, face heating.

His wide eyes followed her as she stood, chest radiating a gauzy purple under his robe.

"I'm- I'm gonna go." She patted her thighs anxiously. "Sorry, again."

Turning on her heel, she grimaced as she strode away from him.

Gods. Way to take it too far.

Tav paced in angry circles.

"Fuck Mystra."

"You're going to dig a hole in the ground." Shadowheart raised her eyebrow at her rage loop.

"The fuck is her problem?" Tav continued on, waving her arms. "It's not enough to disgrace him, exile him, then leave him to fend for himself with the fucking orb that you know how to fix! Then you ask him to detonate it? Just all casual, no biggie?"

"Darling, we all agree with you." Astarion drawled, leaning back on the log. "But do you know who isn't as convinced?"

He tipped his head towards the distant point of Gale's tent.

"Maybe spew some of that venom where it's needed."

"You're right." Tav slowed, planting her hands on her waist. Taking a huffing breath out.

"I often am." Astarion sighed, flopping back on the length of the log. "And you can convince him to come start dinner. Unless you want to be supped from early tonight."

"Oh, I could start dinner! How hard can it be?"

"Karlach, that's a very kind offer. But let's see about Gale first." Wyll encouraged.

Tav waved her hand in acknowledgment, heading towards the outer loop of camp.

She took several deep breaths, knowing that coming in hot might just dig his feet in farther. Afterall, this was a diety he had devoted his life to, of course he thinks her stupid fucking idea is founded in some wisdom.

Low pulsing violet light emanated from the seat of his closed tent. Tav bit her lip in concern, ears naturally piqued for any sounds of distress. Picking up the sound of muffled hard breathing.

Her hand hovered over the flap of his tent.

If he was suffering, would he even tell any of them?

A pained whine broke her of her apprehension, lifting the opening.

He was laid back on blankets, head angled back. The underside of his jaw, chest arched up. Hand clamped over his mouth, eyes rolled up into his head.

Her wide eyes traveled down where his velvet shirt was bunched up around his ribs. Sleep trousers pushed down to the seat of his thighs. Bare hips writhing and thrusting up into-

His head lifted and caught eyes with her.

"Ah!" She yelped, turning quickly, pressing her back to the tent wall.

She groaned quietly, doubling over and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. A fruitless effort, that moving image was embedded for good.

"All the gods above and below, I am so sorry!" She stamped her foot, embarrassment spiking the threat of mortified tears.

There was only a low chuckle and the sounds of rearranging fabric behind her.

"It is not funny." She hissed, ducking her head around to give him an incensed glare. Getting only louder, snorting laughter.

"Cosmically? It's quite funny. Given the subject of my imagining."

Her cheeks heated at that, sure she had misconstrued his meaning.

"This has happened too many times." She sighed, shaking her head.

Ducking back around fully to level her gaze at him. "You need to get even with me."

"Even?" He gave her a confused but warm smile.

"Yes. I've got too many violations under my belt. It's your turn to do something mortifying to me."

"Interesting..." A mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Don't tell me what it is." She held her hand up preemptively. "Just decide and do it when the time is right."

"And nothing is off the table?" His eyes glinted.

"Go wild. I'll do whatever you ask."

Tav immediately wanted to walk that back, but bit the inside of her cheek.

"Excellent. And Tav..."

Her eyes met his.

"Thank you for checking on me. Truly. You're a guiding star in these dark times."

Tav's voice wavered in her throat into a muffled squeak. Giving him a nod instead.

"Goodnight, Gale."

It had been a tenday since their arrangement had been made, and she had fully forgotten about it. Too many events under their collective belts, battles won and grueling progress made towards overtaking Moonrise.

Everyone gathered around the fire, passing bowls and talking around full mouths. Cricket song in the tall grass. The ever-present oppressive air of the Shadowlands lessened just slightly by good company and filled bellies.

Tav had been sitting with their newest addition, Minthara. She naturally stayed back from the gathered camp, but Tav found her conversation very stimulating. She was tough but fair, giving harsh but insightful observations on anything they spoke on.

"What do you think of Gale?" Tav offered, her mortifying displays coming back in a slow creeping blush up her neck.

"The wizard?" Minthara gave that low chuckle she was prone to. "What about him should I find noteworthy? The fool hardy ambition and unconscious death wish is hardly unique to wizards of his caliber."

"Can't argue with that." Tav relented with a sigh. "He's very sweet when you give him the chance. I've grown quite fond of him."

"Yes, that has been obvious." Minthara lifted her glass to her lips, raising one eyebrow at Tav.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Tav mock huffed. Giving her a small smile.

"Why haven't you bedded him yet?"

Tav nearly spat out her food, coughing into her hand. Minthara giving her a few solid thumps on the back.

"Thats... that's hardly..."

"You don't strike me as inexperienced. But perhaps I am mistaken." Minthara mused.

"Or perhaps the wizard is. That seems likely, with the way his eyes follow you around camp."

"They do not." Tav grumbled, turning her eyes down.

"I have my own eyes, abbil." Minthara stated. "And they do not deceive me. That lovesick look is unmistakable."

She gave another low chuckle. "He's doing it right now."

Tav raised her eyes just slightly, catching Gale's in her peripheral. Whipping her eyes back towards her Drow friend. Minthara raising both eyebrows now, giving a knowing smirk.

"Either bed the wizard or put him down like a sick dog. It's a kindness to put him out of his misery."

Tav laughed, though she likely wasn't joking.

She reached out to take Minthara's empty bowl, walking up the way to the fire.

"And how was it?" Gale offered, smiling at her as she approached.

"Oh, delicious as always. You truly are magical making a meal with what we scrounge up." Tav set the two empty bowls with the others to be washed, bending over.

A hand ran from thigh up over her backside.

It was over so quickly she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't imagined it. Popping her head up and looking around in a fluster.

Gale raised a confused eyebrow. "You okay? Something bite you?"

"I'm okay, just... ah, nothing." She shook her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty tired, I might turn in early tonight."

Fingers trailed up the curve of her spine, splaying out across her ribs.

She spun around, finding only gnarled trees.

"You know what, maybe I will too. I might not be all there tonight." She turned back to him to level an apologetic look.

"Of course." He smiled graciously. "I'm confident you'll find rest at some point tonight."

"Here's hoping." She sighed. "Have a lovely night, Gale."

"Oh, I will." He made to walk away then paused, turning as if remembering something.

"Thank you for saying I'm sweet. I'm very fond of you too."

Tav could only nod, pink fluster reaching her cheeks.

Tav lay awake in her tent, the damned wizard smothering all other thought. The earnestness of his teasing reaching under her skin.

She pressed her pillow into her face and hit her heels against the ground in frustration. The pool of desire in her pelvis full, heavy and insistent.

She tossed the pillow down at her side and admitted defeat with a sigh. Hand coming down to snake under her waistband. Meeting her already piqued clit, fingers leading down in slow circles. Gathering her pooling slick up over it.

Leaning her head back, she got lost in her own touch. The rising pleasure in her body pulling her along, fingers moving to the unconscious demand. Pushing her sleep pants down to her knees, kicking them the rest of the way off. Letting out a soft moan, fingers working faster. The circling orgasm pulling tighter. All sounds and sights floating away.

Imagining his hands on her, those wide skilled hands. How they would feel climbing her body, grasping and pulling. What the stubble of his beard would feel like between her legs.

The hands splayed along her thighs, pressing them open. Her legs laying flat against her bedroll.

It wasn't until the hands inexplicably didn't dissipate inside her imagination that she opened her eyes.

Gale stared down at her, arms locked out straight, leaning down on her knees.

"Don't stop." He commanded.

"What?" She squeaked, trying to pull back to cover herself, but he wouldn't budge.

"You said I could request anything. We'll, I'm requesting that you don't stop."

She swallowed, the realization of what was about to unfold rising up her already bothered pelvis.

Leaning back, she let her hand return to her center slowly. Her embarrassment making the pleasure she pulled from herself feel even more salacious. Constraining her face in a turn of her head.

"Come now, that's hardly fair." He clicked his tongue, gently pulling her face back to center. "I've been so wanting to see you enjoying yourself."

Her eyes opened into an incredulous glare. Frustration pushing into her arousal, needling her hand faster.

"Well, you've had a funny way of showing it." She huffed.

He got quiet for a moment, then slid both knees onto the inside of her thighs. Leaning up to be level with her, balancing on forearms around her head. His weight holding her legs splayed open.

"I have wanted you so unbearably it has numbed my mind."

His warm voice pulling low into his chest, he continued.

"All of my thoughts have been encircled by you, threading through every tortuous night. My skin hungers for your touch, and no distraction I have tried has soothed the strain."

His face drew ever nearer as he spoke, shoulders lowering him down to her.

"All of your intrusions have proven to have only stoked the flame higher. Much higher."

He was breathing against her lips now, so near it made her eyes flutter up into her lids. The teasing making her feel delirious. Hips starting to writhe fruitlessly against the hold of his knees.

He looked down at her efforts, her stomach twitching in jolts. Her eyes following down, seeing the strain in his trousers above her.

"I want to touch you so terribly." He groaned, eyes lidded. "But I want you to cum first."

She bit back a moan, eyes desperate on his. Feeling like she was going blind with need, bucking her hips.

He leaned forward, cupping the side of her head as he rumbled directly into her ear.

"I cannot resist you much longer. You are so beautiful like this, it's driving me mad. Cum for me, I need you to feel you on my tongue."

She yelped out a moan, his mouth coming down to muffle hers. Her whimpers pushing into his lips. Orgasm crashing over her in high waves, swells rising up through her. He pushed her sleep shirt up to her clavicle. Leaning back to watch her ribcage rise, breasts heaving. Moaning at the sight low in his throat.

She grasped the front of his robes, pulling his face back to hers.

"I came, now please tou-"

His mouth smothered back over hers hungrily. Breathing hard through his nose, gasping against her lips. Pulling up on her waist, her thigh, his hands warm and insistent.

The pull between them was demanding, primal. Tangling and burning with need. Desire barely contained inside of bodies, ready to spill over in a boil.

She tried to reach for his sleep pants but was caught by her wrists, an unknown hand slamming them down pinned above her head.

She looked above and saw a mage hand.

"You bastard, that's what that was." She gasped out when she could get a breath in.

"It is so wonderful to tease you." He chuckled, head starting to lower down her body. Cupping her ribcage reverently as he kissed along her neck, her clavicle. Nose drawing a small circle around her nipple.

"You blush such a heavenly pink." He sighed, kissing along the underside of her breast.

She bit back a moan, coming out as a needy sqeak. Arching her ribcage up to meet his mouth.

"Gods, I want to drink you." He growled, cupping her breast and dragging his tongue up over her peak.

She writhed underneath him, wrists straining against the hand still pinning her down.

He lapped at the hard nub, flicking it with his tongue before enveloping it into his mouth. Undulating his tongue in a warm wave.

Her legs rose up into a curl, groans as quiet as she could manage leaving her. His mouth pulling pleasure from her in winding handfuls. The sensation pushing her hips down into an unconscious rocking, the ache in her pelvis her only driving force.

He cupped both breasts and ran his tongue between them, breathing labored warm air over her skin. A trail of saliva connecting the two peaks.

"Gods, Gale! Please!" She whispered, hips rising in desperation.

"No, I am taking my time with you." He stated, the mage hand tightening on her wrists. Licking up a line on the underside of her breasts, watching the flesh mold to his tongue, then bounce back into place with a satisfied groan.

He finally pulled his cock free of his trousers with a relieved breath, settling back down onto his belly. Reaching under her, taking both of her hips into his hands and pulling them flush to his mouth without warning. Tongue crashing into her clit with a vengeance.

She barely stifled the cry in her throat into a soft whimper. Hips already canting against his jaw.

One of his hands snaked around and pulled up on her pubic bone, giving him full access. Latching onto her clit and undulating his tongue in that same wave. Slurping and suckling, hand shooting out to hold her thighs open as they tried to clamp around his head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" She whined, pelvis trying to twist away. The pleasure so intense it bordered on unbearable. His near delirious enthusiasm rising it tenfold. Grinding his hips in time on the tent floor. Staring up at her, eyes dark with intensity.

She could feel her second orgasm about to unravel her. Arms still pinned above her and legs pinned open beneath her, she had nothing to hold onto but his eyes. Hers straining up in pleasure, realization of how intense this was about to be washing over her.

She begged out under her breath.

"Oh Gods, I need you to gag me or I'm going to scre-"

The mage hand left her wrists and pushed two fingers inside her mouth.

She writhed and jerked, orgasm ripping through her. Tearing through her relentlessly, biting down on the mage fingers to silence herself. The pads of its fingers massaging her tongue while his tongue below still pulled and sucked. Bringing her higher and higher, determined to collapse her entirely. Her hips rising in the same plea to escape, his mouth only rising with her. Chasing her up the bedroll.

"Ah! Stop, stop, stop." She breathed when the overstimulation got too much, a laugh on the edge of her words. Pushing his head back gently.

"Too much?" He hushed, a twinkle in his eyes.

She nodded, body going limp. Puddled out under him, eyes glazed and struggling to focus. Head lolling while her breath tried to gather back in her chest.

He rose back up over her body, palming over himself. Laying on his side, he watched her. Wiping his mouth of her arousal and spreading it over his cock.

She reached out again, but he directed her hand up to his cheek instead.

"Just let me watch you, the image of you like this has been tormenting me."

Her body fallen open, cum dripping down her backside. Too fucked out to feel bashful, she stared back at him with lust blown eyes.

His breath hitched in his chest, free hand running reverently over her hip, her belly. Eyes lost in her in awed desire. Hand pumping faster and faster. Face starting to crumple in pleasure.

Seeing the first telltale twitches of his hips, she shot forward. Pulling him entirely into her mouth and sucking down hard. Bobbing her head and opening her throat.

He collapsed back onto haunches, hips rising in jolts. Hand winding into her hair, crying out against his cupped hand. Tremoring hard as his cum fired in waves down her throat.

Using the last of her strength, she sucked mercilessly. Gripping his hips still as he squirmed. Only when he started whimpering did she release him with a pop of her mouth. Falling back boneless on her bedroll.

"There." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I have the upper hand again."

He collapsed down next to her. Both their breath a heady miasma around them.

"Oh?" He laughed, voice strained with lost breath. "Do you now?"

"Mm-hmm," She hummed, turning onto her side and flipping him by the waist to wrap around his back.

"Now you've gotta get even with me again." She nuzzled into his back, arms winding around his front. Hands cupping his chest.

He sighed out, body going limp inside her hold. His hands lacing over hers tenderly. Murmuring out something she couldn't catch when her legs cradled up under his.

"What?" She hushed, kissing the curve of his shoulder.

"Hold me. Closer, please."

She wound her arms tighter, palm rising up over the burned circle. Fingers smothering the purple light. His fingers winding into hers desperately. As if he didn't hold on tightly enough, she would drift away from him.

"Shhh.." She pulled one of her hands behind him. Scratching gently along his back.

He tremored at that, going limp again. Bowing his back unconsciously.

She smiled, reminded of a cat. Nearly expecting him to start purring.

His breath slowly evened out, curling up fetal. Her body following him, encircling into his curl. A deep sleep seemed to take him, a soft snore moving in and out of his throat.

"Sweet, sweet man." She sighed, kissing the edge of his jaw. Seeing the side of his mouth curl up in a sleeping smile.

#dom gale... release me dom gale #i probably could have made this a two part but ehhh #gale x tav #gale smut #bg3 smut #screenshot by @druizard #lyrics by: bury you - ari abdul

72 notes · View notes

iceman-maverick · 7 months

Note

is softly trying to wake up your sleepy partner a trope ? idk. anyway “ice, baby, it’s time to wake up.”

“Ice, baby,” Maverick whispers, lightly pushing at his shoulder “it’s time to wake up,”

Several truths reveal themselves to Ice the moment he returns to consciousness:

It is swelteringly hot

The base of his spine hurts like a bitch

He is naked

And, most troubling, he is quite sticky

None of these revelations are particularly encouraging, but his aching back quickly takes priority as Ice comes to and gets his bearings. He stretches his arms, grossly caked in dried over sweat, over his head and then yelps once his index finger collides with the metal coils of the bed frame. He frowns, bringing the wounded digit to his lips.

Maverick is sitting on the edge of the bed - dressed, showered, and shaven with an irritatingly dopey smile. He’s wearing jeans and his leather jacket, which doesn’t make much sense given how fucking hot it is in here.

Ice squints at him accusingly.

“What-” Ice starts, then swallows. His throat is bone-dry, his tongue not much farther off as he sucks on his still throbbing finger. “What time- wait, where are we?”

The curtains of the room are drawn shut tight enough that just the slightest ray of sunlight is able to creep in. There’s no air conditioning, and the bedframe squeaks loudly with even the slightest of movement so Ice figures that wherever they are, it’s old as hell.

“It’s almost three,” Mav tells him. He gestures for Ice to sit up and passes over a glass to Ice’s free hand. Ice frowns as the motion pulls unpleasantly at his back and then promptly gulps down the entire thing. Ice rolls his shoulders and pops his neck. God, he is fucking sore.

“Come on sweetheart,” Mav prompts, “wheels up. Slider’s starting to lose it out there,”

Mav stands and walks over to open the curtain, flooding the room with light. Ice flinches at the brightness, peeling back the thin cover sheet and swinging his legs over so that his feet land on the fuzzy teal carpet. The sheet - adorned with pastel pink flowers and butterflies - sticks to Ice’s leg as he moves. He grimaces as the puzzle pieces begin to fall in place.

“Am I in heat?” He asks, trying not to be overly put out by Maverick’s smug look.

“Nope,” Mav pops the 'p', from where he stands, arms crossed, by the window. “Well, you were. Not anymore though, I saw to that, thank you very much. It came on fast enough that we had to get real creative,"

Ice blinks, his stomach drops. "...Creative?"

"We’re in Nana’s room,”

Oh Christ.

It had been Ice’s idea in the first place to get the band back together so to speak. It had been a few years and between deployments, reassignments, and Hollywood going local, everyone was clamoring for a vacation.

Maverick famously hates anything to do with camping so they compromised, landing on what Slider has taken to calling Boyscouts Lite. Ice found an RV rental and enough tents to reasonably shelter a handful of pilots, three women, an eight year old, and twin baby girls.

A tall order to fill, no doubt, but thankfully Slider's Nana conveniently owns a vast plot of land up in NorCal with river access, enough trees to give Hollywood the creeps and, most importantly, radio signal. Maverick refused to go unless he could be guaranteed his daily dose of Springsteen. Nana was more than happy to act as their crew's headquarters, positively delighted to meet all of Ronald’s little friends.

Ice’s last lucid memory was breaking up an argument between Carol and Wolf. They had been organizing the fishing equipment when suddenly Wolf shrieked a sharp, piercing wail that startled several birds into flight. His finger had been pricked - barely, Carol protested. Accusations began flying and Maverick, naturally, was no help.

Within moments of parking the RV, Mav elected himself as the resident river thermometer, stripping to board shorts, making a real show of it once the chorus of whistles and cheers started up. He plopped himself down - a can of beer in either hand - onto one of Bradley’s tubes (the one with the flamingos, specifically) and cast off into the river. Supervising, he had smirked from his tube, bopping along without a care in the world. Ice supposed he should be grateful that his alpha wasn’t one of those excruciating knotheads that insisted on micromanaging everything, but mostly Ice was just annoyed that he was left alone to wrangle with the tents.

Ice vaguely remembers pushing himself between Carol and Wolf - the distinctly unpleasant scent of agitated betas making his lip curl. He had shoved Wolf back hard and then after that Ice’s memory goes mostly blurry.

Heat tends to do that to a guy.

“Come on,” Maverick startles him back into the present, reaching a hand out to pull Ice to his feet. Ice brings his arms up and around Maverick’s neck, breathing in the reassuring scent of content alpha - his alpha.

“Hi,” Ice smiles into Mav’s neck, swaying forward to let the alpha bear most of his weight. Mav makes a pleased sound and wraps his arms around Ice’s hips, digging his thumbs in to massage at the sore tissue.

The sound Ice lets out in relief is rather unbecoming of a naval officer with his record, but Ice is too blissed out to find it in himself to be embarrassed. Plus, they're alone and it's not ike Maverick is a stranger to the various groans, moans, and whines Ice comes up with. No, Maverick loves when Ice gets vocal, makes it his most sacred duty to get Ice to make as many sounds as possible in bed.

It's a shame he doesn't remember much of the previous night, Ice thinks. If the ache in his back is anything to go by, it must have been a good one.

Ice lifts up his right leg to rest atop Maverick’s hip and swoons as Mav, ever eager to follow Ice’s lead, uses his grip to pull up Ice into his arms. It’s a little ridiculous, what with Ice’s clear size advantage and all. But Maverick is strong, and takes Ice’s weight like it’s nothing. He shuffles his hold so that Ice can squeeze his thighs around Mav’s waist, effectively clinging like a starfish across Maverick’s front.

“Hi,” Mav smiles back once they’re both situated. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Ice drops his head to rest snuggly on Mav’s shoulder, and nods. He lets his eyes close as Maverick begins to walk towards what Ice prays to be some form of indoor plumbing.

---

going into heat while being slathered in sunscreen and bugspray must be amongst the top 10 ickiest feelings of all time, ice truly is so brave.

We're playing an IceMav askbox fic game. Send me a trope and a first sentence and I'll write at least one paragraph!

#Nana Kerner nation we ride at dawn #forever pushing the maverick picking ice up agenda #sorry this took so long bingo my beloved #omega ice #omegaverse #top gun #top gun maverick #tgm #tg86 #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #icemav #iceman x maverick #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ask game #tg fic ask game #my writing

67 notes · View notes

glugslove · 3 months

Text

A few more ways to solve the 'cross over the river' puzzle

#gamedev #game dev #game development #indie game #indie games

50 notes · View notes

aokozaki · 17 days

Text

Best part of Umineko is when they finally pay off Maria's fascination with Wolf And Sheep puzzles by having her outright mention "Picarats" as a difficulty score for one of them.

Picarats are both the score and difficulty ranking in the Professor Layton games. The harder a puzzle, the more Picarats it's worth. But each time you get it wrong, the puzzle's value for solving it goes down.

And as early as Puzzle 007 of the very first game, we get:

(No more than two animals can ride the raft at the same time - At least one animal must ride the raft in order to move it - If more wolves than chicks are on either side of the river, you must restart).

If you get everyone across correctly, the game says.

Well done! This puzzle can be solved in as few as 11 trips. How many trips did it take you? Fun fact time! There are several variations of this type of river-crossing puzzle, and they've appeared in writings dating back to over 1,000 years ago.

20 notes · View notes

prime-adeptus · 8 months

Text

LOST AND FOUND – ZHONGLI X READER

The lost star finds its place in the cosmos once more.

CONTENT.⠀Gender-neutral reader. Zhongli is referred to with they/them pronouns. Not canon compliant, light angst and hurt/comfort, reunions, god & devoted follower, religious themes, somewhat ambiguous relationships, introspective. 1,6k words

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

The life you’ve chosen for yourself after centuries of activity is one of solitude.

For hundreds of years, you’ve travelled around Teyvat, witnessed the joys and hubris of humankind, and returned home to document endless pages of history. The people of Liyue once worshipped you as a god; offerings would be made at your shrine in abundance, and those lucky enough would get to see your splendour in person. You were loved and respected, loved enough to be made into art and poetry admired by thousands.

But as years go by, some parts of history go forgotten and decay with time, including you.

The shrine at the front of your temple has become unkempt, covered in vines and overgrown moss. The lampposts on either side of the broken cobblestone steps have become weathered, splintered and on the verge of crumbling. A traveller would believe this is nothing more than an abandoned temple, just an example of ancient architecture one could paint a beautiful picture of and sell. You’ve grown protective of your temple since you found refuge in it from a terrible storm when you were but a youngling. Perhaps you’re more attached to it for the sentimental value than you are for anything else, but it’s your home, and you’ll stay here until the end of your days whenever that may be.

The plum blossom trees are in full bloom, adding colour to what would otherwise be a dull and faded environment. Some of its petals have fallen to the grass and the river, languidly drifting by with the motions of the wind and the water. Cranes and deer have also found their homes in the surrounding forests. They’re the only company you get these days, but even so, you don’t see them quite often. Perhaps it’s yourself and the air around you that scares them off. With a quiet sigh, you don your hooded cloak (more for warmth than for a disguise, you think bitterly) and make your way down the steps, heading toward the festivities of Liyue Harbour.

The hustle and bustle of the city never fails to bring a smile to your face. Nostalgia crashes over you in waves, sinking into your bones down to their marrows as you reminisce about the days of the past. You’d walk a few steps behind your god, weapon tightly clutched in your hand as they effortlessly fit in with the people like a puzzle piece. A guard dog was what you were in your previous life, and in this one, you are nothing more than a forgotten memory. Duty no longer makes itself necessary in your being; you find yourself lost and aimless more than anything else.

Still, you breathe and you live.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more disconnected than you do now walking among the joyful crowd. The bright lanterns and colourful ornaments decorating the stalls and pillars should fill you with at least a semblance of excitement, but instead, you find yourself shrouded in gloom. You’re not sure what they’re celebrating tonight — the Lantern Rite has already passed, so you assume it might be a new holiday you’re unaware of. You hear the harmonious sound of the strings, the hypnotic winds of the flute surrounding you in its warmth. It reminds you of your youth when you’d dance and smile hand-in-hand with a loved one, radiating happiness and innocence in the air. You wonder if you could ever find yourself in that state of bliss again even if you’ve been withering away like a flower without rain.

After what feels like a tumultuous journey, you finally make it to the docks where the festivities don’t reach. It’s cold and quiet, not that different from your home, but from here you feel less isolated. There’s a small sense of comfort from knowing that people are living their lives if you’d just turn around and go back to where the merriment takes place. Up in the mountains, all you have is the home mother nature granted you—it’s all you could ever ask for, but it’s not much if the only one who gets to see and stay is you. When you look in the sky, you find the moon and her companions of stars shimmering and shining bright in the dark. You’d recognise a constellation or two if you gaze long enough, and maybe if fate sees fit, it’ll send a shooting star that you can wish upon.

The lull into peace doesn’t last long, for a sudden shift in the air sends a shiver running down your spine. You can almost feel your heart in your throat as it races and threatens to break free from its cage. Something you haven’t felt in a long time thrums in your veins: a combination of fear, devotion, intense love, and everything in between, one that’s only felt when you’re in the presence ofyour god, the only one you’d go to hell and back for.

(And you have, because they reward your loyalty with their praise and protection, their acknowledgement. Back in their prime, you’d battle side-by-side with the yaksha following suit. Your god smiling at your victory is the biggest honour you could ever receive.)

Someone calls your name. Not the aliases you used to go by, not the titles you once had, but the name of a promise you made a very long time ago—the name that only they would know.

Memories spanning centuries come rushing back to you then, seeking shelter in the back of your mind and begging you to remember. To remember watching Liyue be built from the ground up, immortalising their legacy for the years to come. To remember the feeling of their calloused hands caressing your skin with the gentleness that someone so bloodthirsty shouldn’t have. To remember the pride in their tone as they spoke of you to the other archons and adepti.

They call your name again. When you come to, Rex Lapis stands before you with a small smile on their features — a sight you never realised you missed so terribly. You scramble to your feet, ready to kneel the same way you used to do with them, but they stop you with a hand on your shoulder. They sit down beside you on the edge of the pier, a soft huff leaving their lips. It seems as though they’re just as relieved to see you as you are to see them.

(They know you, they remember you, and that alone nearly brings you to tears.)

Rex Lapis looks different from what you remember. The black and gold markings on their arms, the horns hidden in their hair, and the scales adorning their skin are long gone; they’ve chosen to appear as human this time, wearing an ornate coat on top of a suit fitting their frame perfectly. Yet at the same time, they haven’t changed at all. They’re still the very same being you swore your life to. You part your lips to speak, but seeing them again after such a long time has rendered you speechless.

“You’re still so serious after all this time.” Their words are tinged with mirth as they speak to you. A wave of self-consciousness rises over you at how weak you must seem to them now. “It’s been many years since I last saw you.”

You swallow your nervousness down. There’s no use fretting over things anymore—you’ve lived long enough to know what matters and what doesn’t. Still, you can’t quite process the fact that they’re here in the flesh and talking to you.

“You remember,” you whisper. You hate how much it feels like you’re about to cry. “You remember me.”

“I do.”

“It’s been so long.”

“That it has.” Their amber gaze meets your own. You’ll always find yourself lost in them, you think briefly. Their eyes are fierce, sharp and commanding; they don’t need to lift a finger to get you to kneel for them. You’ll obey until the end of time. “But we’ve spent much of our lifetime and shared many of our memories together. You are not someone I’d dare to forget.”

You wonder if they’re aware of the effect they have on you. If they know how weak and vulnerable they have you with just one sentence—you are not someone I’d dare to forget. You think you want to pledge yourself to them once more, make another lifelong promise, but what else can you give them aside from your company and strength? There is no longer a need to fight. There is no more blood to spill. You are no longer a god and there is no need to act like one.

Maybe the reason for your devotion to them goes beyond an adeptus following their archon. It goes beyond the need to protect. Maybe it’s for something you never thought you’d ever feel: love. Pure and unconditional love, stronger than any force to ever exist, all for your beloved god.

“It’s an honour to be here with you again, Rex Lapis.”

“Zhongli,” they correct.

You repeat it, and you like the way it rolls off your tongue, so you say it again. Zhongli. It suits them. It’s a name you’d say with nothing else but affection and respect. It’s a name that will burrow itself in your system, making it all you’ll ever know every time you think of love.

Their gloved hand rests on top of yours. It’s warm and it fits perfectly like it’s where it’s meant to be. Zhongli smiles at you and the gesture feels unfamiliar, but you find yourself returning it. Tonight you may return home alone, but for the first time in what feels like an eternity, your life doesn’t feel so dull anymore.

(In the sky, the stars inch closer to the moon.)

#bitchcraftinc #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #vvv self-indulgent #selfship coded too sorry LOL #all

68 notes · View notes

synintheraven · 7 months

Text

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: the journey to Tamworth/Mercia begins, Sihtric and reader explore the land as he becomes slightly more approachable.

✵tw: mentions of violence/kills, nothing really :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part one | part two

We left at first light, riding slowly as we followed the river and the sun emerged from the sea. The green, muddy waters of East Anglia glimmered with the weak light of the morning and the wind brushed the reeds growing in our way, promising a bright day.

But we were soon to leave East Anglia and cross into Mercian territory. Where the small islands covered by the changing tide would be replaced by lush hills and large farm lands; for Grantebridge’s territory was vast and covered by orange-coloured trees, with a handful of churches and poorly fortified villages scattered throughout its higher ground.

—Right there, where the hills are greener, that’s Mercia. —He explained, riding by my side as he pointed his finger towards the Monastery’s tower, hiding behind trees in the far distance. —And we’re to cross it to its northern border, to the Ragnarsson’s camp in Tamworth.

I sensed Sihtric’s mood was different that autumnal morning. Seeing as the fresh wind blew on his face and swept the fur cape over his shoulders, making sure to keep pace with my horse as he stayed close to me. —Have you been there before? —I asked.

—We sailed to Mercia when we heard Danes were attacking King Burgred’s fortress, but we didn’t stay long enough to participate in their war. —He explained with a frown, probably remembering that journey.

—Why not? —I said as his eyes searched for mine, puzzled. —You could’ve taken a lot of plunder from a Mercian King.

—It wasn’t our fight. —He took a deep breath then let out a sigh. —We came here to escape Harald’s ambition and Halfdan’s pointless appetite for war, not to terrorize Saxon kings.

—What are you fighting for then, Dane? —I emphasised the word Dane, aware of how unlikely it was for a Dane to follow Norse lords blindly.

Sihtric took a few moments to answer, watching the heron birds resting along the river’s edge and the smoke filling the sky over the nearby villages, his hands holding the reins tightly as the sun reflected on his silver rings. —I’m fighting for Yggr, and for a spot of land where we can make our own lives. —He said with a hint of doubt in his calming voice, thoughtful.

—So, are you really going to follow Yggr as your Jarl forevermore? Or are you to set sail to unclaimed lands and become a Lord yourself?

—I will follow him, —He paused to look at me again, ever proud of his own words. —but should the Nornir decide I am to be a Lord, then so it will be.

We had reached a crumbling round tower, surrounded by dried trees and yellow grass. Yet it wasn’t the work of Roman giants, its muddy bricks suggesting the damp weather and time had destroyed the structure way before the Romans arrived.

The fog seemed to have lifted from our position, revealing distant cottages and the small church among reeds that sat on Mercian land. It was a reminder that we had quite a long way to go still, but in two days’ time we would reach Tamworth and join the brothers.

Our mission was to gain their trust and discover their plans for Britain, as we hoped to ensure they would leave East Anglia at peace for Yggr’s small clan; though as long as Wessex riches remained clear of Danes, the Great Army would stay away from our camp.

I watched the old stone bridge crossing the river, the ravens circling above the remains of a burnt farm. Complete disaster taking over the land all the way to the west, to Alfred’s Kingdom. Imagining the green hills, ancient roman walls and clean docks, without a single Danish longship navigating its waters.

And so I let out a sigh, aware that we would be forced to march against Wessex if we were to convince the sons of Ragnar of our shared ambition.

—What’s on your mind, Stavanger? —Sihtric interrupted, suddenly catching my attention as we crossed the river.

—Wessex. —I lied, still hoping to find the man who killed my family, feeling as if a hole carved itself through my chest as we spoke. —I heard its churches are full of gold and silver, yet no Dane has ever made it close enough to prove it.

—He’s the King, —he added with a smirk, looking away for a moment. —and he’s managed to keep our kin out of his land. You can’t do that without silver, and certainly can’t raise an army with nothing but empty words about Gods. —The tone in his voice had turned deeper as he explained, sensing the worry in his words.

—Have you killed many Saxons?

—Some, —he paused, probably feeling the unease in my voice as well. —but only when it was necessary.

It was the way of our people: to kill for food, shelter, livelihood and our families. But the Saxons saw a group of evil creatures killing anything and everything standing before them, ignoring that some of us weren’t after a hard, wooden throne.

Some of us were fleeing a mad king and others, like me, were only seeking the end of an old story, knowing no other feeling than that of resentment and vengeance.

We had reached a thin muddy road, following the way of the hill in between bushes and dried grass.

The land around us was deserted, with no more than a bunch of trees leading towards Theotford and a few foxes wandering around the yellowish hill. At the highest point, half covered by the fog, lay a marvellous stone structure. But, no longer beside the river, the view from higher ground revealed a long abandoned ruin, another one of the Roman’s great work.

Torn walls, broken columns and muddy tiles with curious patterns; a place once full with life, but now was home to old vases, smudged paintings on the walls and sculptures of Goddesses.

Yet despite the weather’s destruction, the place remained of magnificent beauty and calm, so we allowed the horses to rest as we explored the area.

It surprised me to realize no one had turned such a place into their home, seeing as the curved roof, made of bricks and stone, still protected one of the buildings against the weather.

—I’ve been here before. —Sihtric added as his eyes were fixated on one of the marble sculptures, running his fingers over the cold skin of its stone legs. —Yggr wanted to turn this place into our camp, but the river is quite far from here and we didn’t want to leave some of our crew behind to guard the ship.

—I’m sure you men would’ve enjoyed all these naked women painted on the walls, though many would’ve been easily distracted by them also. —I teased with a smile, making it obvious that I was talking about him too.

—I prefer women of flesh over these stone ladies. —He explained awkwardly, unable to hide his smile while he looked at me. —Yggr couldn’t keep his hands off one of the tall angels near the entrance, said he regretted it wasn’t a real woman. —he raised an eyebrow as he beckoned towards the tall arch, which I guessed was the entrance of the Roman ruin.

—Angels? —I asked intrigued, though in truth I was trying not to let out a laugh, his curved lips giving away that our Jarl probably wasn’t the only one touching the poor statue.

—They have wings like birds and the Christians think they’re holy creatures, apparently. —He explained dismissively.

—So you and Yggr desecrated their divine creature, then.

—No, I didn’t! —He chuckled with a fake frown, taking distance from the statue before us. —I accidentally broke one of its fingers, but Yggr did the inappropriate touching.

—I hope you remain very appropriate with me, then. —I teased jokingly, watching as his broad smile turned into a smirk and his face turned red.

Bonus facts (again)

Grantebridge/scire: modern Cambridge, both Sihtric and reader have to ride through most of the shire to cross into Oxenefordscire (modern Oxford) and later into Ledecestrescire (modern Leicester), where Tamworth is.

#sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x reader #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson x you #my writing #road to valhalla #rtv #tlk fanfic #the last kingdom fic

44 notes · View notes

joka13 · 10 months

Text

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 24

WARNINGS: frightening and intense scenes, gore, swearing

You silently cry yourself to sleep and into a nightmare.

You stand in the middle of a wood bridge that arches over a brutal, stampeding river. The air is thick with cold fog, making it difficult to see anything but the rapids beneath you. The water is deep enough that you can't see the bottom, and moves bone-crushingly fast. It absolutely terrifies you.

The bridge suddenly begins to splinter under your weight, and you fear you'll be dropped into the river if you don't act quickly. But you can't move. To escape the threat of the collapsing bridge you'd have to cross it and go into the fog, which now appears almost as equally frightening as the water. Then the fog parts toward the opposite ends of the bridge, revealing two sunny, welcoming paths to freedom. Your hopes are lifted momentarily, but there's another dilemma. Which path should you take? Then a sickening crack rings in your ears, and you're plunged into the dark, watery depths below.

Icy cold surrounds you. After the bubbles have ascended out of your vision, you search for the surface of the river, for air, but a flash of bright yellow catches your eye. You do a double take, still under the water, and find yourself puzzling over two, glowing, gold stones. They somehow remain completely parallel to each other beneath the ever rushing rapids, and they're growing larger by the second. With a horror more extreme than any sort of fear you've ever experienced, you realize that the pretty stones are not stones at all, but the eyes of a gigantic creature that's swimming toward you.

You naturally want to swim for your life, but suddenly find yourself without the ability. You've been literally petrified.

You bob helplessly under the water as the creature comes nearer and nearer, until you can recognize its terrible face as belonging to the basilisk that haunted your second year of school at Hogwarts. No, it's not possible... Harry had killed it! Indeed, a silver blade protrudes up through the monster's head. Now you notice the details of the basilisk's appearance: its scaly flesh has rotted away in some areas, revealing the cracked and yellowing bones of a snake-like skeleton. Its eyes are no longer parallel with each other; one floats loosely in the water, barely attached to the socket by a pink string of nerves. Three years ago, you thought you'd successfully made it to the end of the school year without being petrified or even killed by the monster. But, somehow, it has come back from the dead, zombified, with the sole purpose of taking you down to the grave back with it.

The basilisk opens its incredibly wide jaws, and you get a good look at the other half of the sword coming down through the roof of its mouth. Just before the decaying creature clamps its teeth down on you, you read a name engraved on the sword below the hilt: Godric Gryffindor.

Your eyes open and you roll over onto your back. You stare at the bottom of the bed above you for a couple minutes, still recovering from the awful dream you had during the night. But you don't have time to ponder. You've got to get to breakfast.

You get out of bed and slowly dress into your robes. As always, Maddy has woken up and left the room before you. You're glad of it. You don't want to have to face her again after last night. Your eyes begin to water at the memory of it, but you quickly pull yourself together... or you think you do, at least.

When you eventually get out of the Slytherin common room, you are met with Fred and George, who stand on either side of the doorway. "Good morn—" you start to say, but are cut off when the twins lean in to lay a kiss on each of your cheeks at the same time. The sweet, combined gesture is too much for your already sensitive emotions to handle, and the tears begin to well up.

The twins pull away and, seeing their smiles fade at the sight of whatever expression you are making, the dam finally breaks. You begin to cry.

"Y/n?" George says. Both him and Fred are obviously shocked. Yours was the opposite of the reaction they were expecting.

You turn to George and move towards him, asking for comfort. Though still confused, he opens his arms and you step into his embrace.

"What's happened?" Fred asks as you sob all over George's shoulder.

"I'll t-tell you at b-breakfast," you manage to hiccup.

And so you do. After you finish weeping your eyes out, the three of you head to the Great Hall, sit down at your usual table, and you tell Fred and George about everything: last night's conversation with Maddy, your rising fear of the future, and your most recent dream. All the while, the twins listen intently without taking a single bite of their breakfasts.

"Blimey," Fred mutters in disbelief.

"Do you often have such vivid dreams?" asks George.

"Yes, actually," you answer, pushing around the food on your plate with your fork in one hand and resting your chin in the other. "Ever since I was little. I almost always remember them, too." Then you sigh and shake your head. "I'm so sorry to dump all of my drama on you two."

There's a pause in the conversation as the twins contemplate your words.

Then, to your surprise, George chuckles. "If you aren't the one who's causing the drama, don't feel bad about it. That's what Mum once said to Ginny when she was in a social pickle."

"Yeah," Fred agrees. "Though she could really use her own advice sometimes if you know what I mean!"

Fred and George laugh together, and you can't help but join in. In that moment, you suddenly feel so grateful for them, for their ability to make you smile no matter the situation. But your worries won't go away that easily.

"What do you make of this... 'something is coming' bit?" you ask the twins, quoting Maddy. Fred's and George's expressions turn serious once more. They exchange a look and then glance briefly around the room to make sure no one is listening in.

Fred speaks in a hushed tone, "Something really is coming—"

"Of course there is," you cut in. "There are rumors that You-Know-Who is back. That obviously means that something is gonna happen... Such as the Ministry losing its marbles." You laugh a little too forcefully.

"But it's not like before," says George, reaching his long arm over the table to hold your hand (you hadn't realized that your hands were shaking until now). "Not like what that bastard Professor Quarrel brought in..."

"Or Tom Riddle," Fred adds. A silence falls over the three of you, and you shiver. From your second year of attending Hogwarts, it had taken months for your nightmares about the basilisk to cease, until you had that bad dream last night, of course. But you can't imagine the fear the Weasley family must've experienced, with Ginny being so involved... The twins shake their heads at the same time, as if to push the memory to the back of their minds.

"Our point is, y/n, that You-Know-Who has completely come back," Fred continues. "He's not just a spirit, or a fragment or whatever."

You stare at the table for a moment, then swallow thickly. "And Maddy is afraid that I'll get on his bad side..."

Neither of the twins have time to say anything in response before the Hogwarts bell sounds, indicating that it's time for classes to start.

61 notes · View notes

invisibleanonymousmonsters · 1 year

Text

chapter ix - gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,000+

Warnings: spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

For being one of the strongest High Fae currently alive, Feyre was still huffing quite a lot up the steep hill.

Y/N had tried to sneak out to go on another one of her hikes. The sneaking was due to her knowing no one would let her go alone after what happened with Cassian and Nyx. But that was exactly why she wanted to go alone: so no one else could be put in danger.

However, Feyre had been visiting the House of Wind, on the hunt for her sister, when she crossed paths with Y/N.

The High Lady had insisted on joining Y/N for her hike, choosing a very different trail and a completely different woods than where she had been attacked.

“You alright?” Y/N asked with a teasing tone.

Feyre glared at her. “I understand the benefits and joy of a hike. But why are we sprinting?”

Y/N shrugged. “Part fresh air, part endurance training.”

“I used to hunt in the woods, back in the mortal lands. Started when I was just a child. But I was slow and quiet.”

“I see,” Y/N took in the bit of information. Feyre didn’t talk much about her time as a mortal. It didn’t seem like a taboo subject. Perhaps her happiness with the present made her dwell on the past very little. “Hunting is quite different than hiking.”

Then Y/N paused and smirked at the High Lady over her shoulder and teased, “Maybe you should spend some time training with the Valkyries…”

Feyre laughed, but shook her head. “That is Nesta’s domain, her sisterhood. I dare not intrude on it. I train still, just not with them.”

For some reason, the response triggered Y/N to think about the third Archeron sister. She knew the least of Elain, but enough to know she was not a warrior. Y/N had never seen the middle sister train, and rarely did she ever leave the River House.

“I met Lucien the other day,” Y/N blurted out.

It was enough for Feyre to stop in her tracks.

Feyre gave a short nod. “Rhysand said Azriel mentioned him stopping by your shop.”

Y/N continued hiking, but slowed down the pace to make it easier for them to converse. “I did not realize Elain had a…mate.”

“We once called ourselves friends, Lucien and I. But I’m not sure what we are anymore. I should say I feel like I’m stuck between the two of them. But Lucien rarely has the courage to ask me about Elain. And my sister likes to pretend Lucien doesn’t exist.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, trying to tread the topic carefully, but still wanting her curiosities answered. “I just thought…from what I know of mates – you and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian…”

Feyre gave her a sympathetic look. “Mating bonds are…peculiar things. To some, they create soulmates.”

“Like you and Rhys.”

Feyre nodded. “But to others, it’s just two puzzle pieces finally being put together. Nothing more – no connection, not emotions. Bonds not always equate to love. Sometimes it’s the Cauldron telling us that two people would simply create superior offspring.”

“You make it sound so…cold.”

Feyre nodded again. “My sister…she would have never chosen the life she’s been given. Elain thought she was in love – and perhaps she was. But she was turned fae against her will. And the next moment: a stranger confessed that they were bond together – all while she still wore her engagement ring to a mortal, who hated what she became.”

Poor Elain, Y/N thought. “Is he so horrible that she won’t even give him a chance?”

“Lucien is not horrible. He has made great mistakes…but…he is a good male.”

Y/N processed that. The wind had told her of his lost lover, of being forced to watch her get murdered by his family and court. How could Eris have watched such a thing and not intervened? But the wind did confess that it was Eris who helped his youngest brother escape Autumn Court and seek sanctuary in Spring Court.

“He seemed surprised that Eris knew me, that he had saved me and brought me here.”

Feyre’s body stiffened at the slight change of subject.

“Does he not know that Eris wishes to take the throne from their father?”

Feyre took in a slow breath. “It is best that you do not speak of Eris’ plans for his court.”

“Does he know that Lucien is not his father’s son? Is he not the bastard child of Helion Spellcleaver?”

Y/N realized by the High Lady’s reaction that she just spoke an even more dangerous piece of information.

It wouldn’t be the first time the winds had gotten her in trouble with sharing such secrets.

“Y/N,” Feyre’s voice was so serious that it caused a chill to go down Y/N’s spine. “You must never speak of that to anyone.”

“Lucien does not know,” Y/N whispered in realization.

“No. And I do not believe Helion knows either,” Feyre added. “The Lady of Autumn has kept her son’s secret close to her heart – to keep him alive, I imagine.”

Y/N knows of Lucien’s true parentage, Feyre spoke to Rhysand through their minds.

But Rhysand only seemed amused, Who knew the winds could be so troublesome?

She seems rather curious about Elain and Lucien’s bond, Feyre added. Should we tell her? She deserves to know about Eris.

We cannot, Rhys answered immediately. We promised him we wouldn’t.

Feyre grew frustrated in her mates head, She will be just as angry as I was. But furthermore, she will be confused. She will not understand it like I had. He is not her kind.

He does not wish for her to know. Beron is still a risk to her. It is not our place, Feyre darling.

Feyre cut off the connection, further proving her growing frustration.

“You alright?” Y/N asked.

Feyre just nodded. “Damn your hikes.”

–––––

A week later, Y/N was cleaning around her shop. She was gaining more and more customers to her surprise – and also delight. She was even receiving custom orders, which meant more and more late nights spent casting and brewing.

The other night, Cassian had even found her passed out on top of her workshop table.

But now, Y/N was surprised to see a familiar redhead standing before her.

“Lucien!” she greeted cheerfully, trying not to immediately think of her conversation with Feyre about his failed bonding with Elain.

“Change your mind about that love potion?” She took a risk, teasing him on such a subject.

But to her relief, Lucien laughed. “No. Not yet, at least. I came to thank you for your…”

“Merchandise?” Y/N offered innocently.

Lucien smiled so charmingly that it was hard to believe someone like Elain wouldn’t at least give this male a chance.

Y/N crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “And it worked?”

But she knew her magic wouldn’t fail.

Lucien blushed and nodded. “I can’t explain it entirely. But I…felt so much lighter. I haven’t slept that well in a century.”

She smirked proudly and even stood straighter. “If you have trouble with sleeping, you should have told me. I have dozens of remedies for that.”

“Now you are just boasting.”

Y/N shrunk at such a comment, “I do not mean to, I promise.”

Lucien gave her a soft smile.

“I did not expect to see you back so soon,” Y/N changed the subject. “Feyre says Rhysand keeps you quite busy as an emissary of this court…”

“Yes. He’s kept me very busy. But I spend a lot of time in the mortal realm with a couple of friends. And one of them wished to try some of your merchandise, as well.”

“Friends?” Y/N questioned.

She didn’t know why the word sounded so unusual to her. But she had blurted it out nonetheless.

Lucien huffed out a laugh. “Yes, is it so surprising that I have them?”

“N-No! No, I’m sorry. I just…” But she couldn’t explain her response.

Perhaps because this was the first time she felt like she had them herself. Her coven was her family before all else. But having been on the run the past years, alone, and constantly needing to just survive, friends were not a privilege she was allowed.

But isn’t that what she had gained in the Night Court? Hadn’t Rhysand’s inner circle become her friends, too? And the Valkyrie’s… hadn’t they become even closer than friends?

Y/N blinked, and then forced a small smile. “W-What would your friend be interested in trying?”

Lucien’s amusement disappeared as he clearly caught Y/N getting lost in her own mind.

“My friend has been…cursed.”

Y/N opened her mouth.

“I am not asking if you can break it,” Lucien stopped her from interrupting. “The one who punished her is far more powerful than any High Fae. He is a death-lord.”

Y/N had heard whisperings of death-lords from the wind. She didn't know much about them. Only that of how powerful they were.

He took in a shallow breath. “She is forced into the form of a firebird during the day, only to return to her mortal form at night. And she experiences…pain after the transformation.”

Y/N gave a confident nod. “Anything else?”

“She doesn’t allow herself to sleep in her human form, saving it for when she is a firebird. Coffee nor tea is not strong enough to keep her up the way she wishes to.”

Y/N nodded again. “I can help with both.”

Then she was off, bustling about her shop to prepare what was needed.

Lucien watched her with both admiration and amusement. There was still so much he wanted to know about this woman.

Why had his brother saved her? Yes, she was beautiful. Anyone could see that, even feel it. Surely there was more to it than that. Or perhaps Eris had become so lonely that saving a damsel in distress felt rebellious and reckless.

“Has my brother visited since he brought you here?”

Lucien caught how her movements stopped for a moment from the question.

“Only once. After I was attacked.”

Lucien’s eyebrows rose a second. “Rhysand told me of the attempted kidnapping of Nyx. He also said you saved his life, most likely. How could Eris have known you were injured?”

Y/N shrugged. “I-I-I don’t believe that was why he had even come…” She shook her head. “I just figured he had business with the court.”

Lucien suddenly realized that Y/N hadn’t considered that perhaps Eris had come because she had been hurt.

Which just made Lucien have 20 more questions: Why would Rhysand tell Eris that Y/N had been hurt? And why would Eris care enough to see for himself that Y/N was alright?

Y/N had already returned to moving about her shop. At one point, he heard her mutter something while weaving and knotting a leather bracelet.

A few moments later, Y/N returned to him with a woven basket filled with various objects. And gently placed it in Lucien’s arms.

“This,” Y/N lifted a bright orange candle. “Tell her to light it as soon as she has returned to her human form. But it must be lit by only her, and with intention.”

She picked up an orange and golden gemstone that was attached to a gold necklace chain. “This is citrine. She should wear it throughout the night. It will shake off any grogginess and keep her alert.”

Then she pointed to a green gemstone, but this was too big to be jewelry. “This is malachite. After lighting the candle, she should rub this across her skin, focusing on the bottoms of her feet.”

Lucien nodded, trying to memorize the instructions carefully.

Y/N picked up the bracelet that he had heard her reciting an incantation over. “This bracelet will soothe any pain she has. But she should only wear it when experiencing it, not at all times.”

She grabbed a jar that was filled with what appeared to be various herbs. “When the pain is very bad, mix two spoonfuls of this mixture to brew tea. It’s capsaicin, cloves, ginger, turmeric, and rosemary – all will soothe her aches and pains.”

And before Lucien could thank her or ask any questions, Y/N unfolded a piece of paper that he hadn’t seen in the basket. “I’ve written down all the instructions here, as well.”

“Didn’t trust me to remember it all?” Lucien teased.

Y/N smirked. “I don’t trust males to do many things.”

“You wound me.” He looked down at the basket in his hands. “What do I owe you? I refuse to take any gifts from you again.”

Y/N sighed, but gave him a number to pay.

Lucien didn’t so much as blink at that price, so he must not be short on currency.

As she moved them to the register, Lucien cleared his throat as if trying to get the courage to ask something.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight?” He asked.

Y/N was so taken aback by the question that her head snapped up to meet his gaze, half expecting to see an expression that showed he was messing with her.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple times before she finally got her thoughts in order.

“That is very kind, b-but…” She closed her eyes for a moment and took in a shaky breath. “With Elain…I-I-I don’t think it is…appropriate.”

Lucien hid his disappointment well. “Not even as friends?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at the cheekiness of it all. “And is that what everyone else in Velaris would perceive if they saw the two of together?”

They both knew she was right.

But Y/N also had no intention of getting between two fated mates – even if one of them refused to acknowledge their magical bond.

“We are all going out dancing tonight,” Y/N quickly added, as if it would soften the blow of turning down his dinner invitation. “You should join us.”

Lucien was quiet for a moment, truly contemplating the invite. After a moment, he hesitated before finally giving a short nod.

The ease at which he accepted made Y/N wonder if his dinner invite was merely out of loneliness and not actual romantic interest.

“R-Really?” Y/N asked excitedly. "It’s called Rita’s – or so I am told.”

He nodded, “I know it.”

“If you wait an hour or so, I will be closing and we could go together. I’m meeting them there, it’s not a far walk.”

But Lucien shook his head. “I must drop these off at my apartment, and then run some errands. But I will see you there.”

And he was walking out of the shop.

Y/N didn’t truly believe Lucien would show up. But if he did, she hadn’t even considered that any of her friends would be upset that Lucien was invited in the first place. Elain wasn’t exactly one to go to the taverns and drink. But maybe tonight she would.

–––––––

Feyre walked into Rhysand’s office with a nervous expression.

Nyx sat on her hip as he was held and a bright smile appeared on the toddler's face when he caught sight of his father.

“Lucien is here,” Feyre quickly shared. “Says he wishes to speak to both of us.”

Rhys nodded and stood up, gently taking their son from her.

Feyre led them to the den, where their guest patiently waited for them.

Lucien’s arms were crossed and he wore a deep frown as he looked into the crackling and blazing fireplace.

“Lucien,” Rhysand greeted formally.

Nyx cooed in his arms.

Lucien turned and gave a slight bow of his head to both of them. “I come with a request.”

“And what is this request?” Rhysand continued.

“I wish for you to send a letter to my brother, Eris. I need to meet with him, and I do not have the same methods of contacting him while he is in Autumn Court.”

Feyre and Rhysand didn’t look at each other, but shared similar thoughts in their minds.

“What is this about?” Feyre questioned harshly.

“The mortal witch you are harboring in this court. I know that Eris saved her life and brought her here. But no one will tell me why. And it seems Y/N is being kept in the dark and is not fully aware of how peculiar her situation is.”

Rhysand ignored the accusatory tone and asked, “Where do you wish to meet him?”

Lucien has probably already assumed correctly, Feyre told Rhysand through their bond. Is this smart?

Rhysand answered, We cannot tell him the truth. Whether or not Eris wants his brother to know of his secret is up to him. Let him tell his story.

“The Band of Exiles manor,” Lucien answered.

Feyre rolled her eyes at the name of the dwelling.

“I will send him a message tonight then,” Rhysand told him. “Telling him to meet you there tomorrow as dusk.”

Lucien nodded, but still narrowed his gaze at the two of them. “I am an emissary to your court, but you still would not trust me with this?”

“Your brother asked us to keep Y/N safe. That is all,” Rhysand shrugged.

“All of us know Eris is not a merciful male,” Lucien growled. "He has nearly killed almost every member of your Inner Circle, including your own mate. Yet you protect someone upon his request.”

“Perhaps we do not know Eris as well as we once thought,” Feyre surprised them all by pointing out.

Lucien had nothing to say to that, then looked at Rhysand. “Just get him the message, please.”

He started to leave the room, but paused. “Will Elain be going out with you tonight?”

Feyre squinted in confusion. “No, why?”

Lucien only half-turned to face them. “Y/N invited me to join all of you tonight. If it will be uncomfortable for me to attend, I understand.”

“You are welcome, Lucien.” Rhysand answered before Feyre could. “You are an emissary of this court, as you said.”

Lucien nearly rolled his eyes and huffed, “Yes, but only an emissary and nothing more. That has always been made very clear.”

Then he pulled a pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket. “These are for Elain,” and placed them on the nearest surface.

And with that, he left.

Once he was gone, Y/N picked up the pouch to see that they were seeds.

Feyre gave Rhysand a sad look. “What would you have done had this been us?”

Her mate seemed to hold Nyx even closer. “I do not like to think about what could have been when it comes to us, Feyre Darling.”

–––––––––––

Please, please, please leave a comment or a message. it would be oh so lovely.

What do you think Lucien will say to Eris?

How do you think a night out at Rita's with all this tension will turn out?

What do you think Lucien will say to Eris?

How do you think a night out at Rita's with all this tension will turn out?

chapter x

#eris vanserra #gust & flame #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra #feysand #acotar #inner circle #night court #autumn court #velaris #vanserra brothers #eris vanserra fic

357 notes · View notes

sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

Text

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part 7

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Six Summary: Lori and Sy are alone again and Lori must make a decision.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 4k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Six Warnings: Smut, mostly kissing, touching and the implication of more, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne. Finally some smut for you all, but please don't hate me, I had to!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Six Part Eight

Lori

I felt pleasantly full from the pizza and beer, but waiting for Sy to come back had me on edge and my tummy kept flipping making me feel nauseous with anticipation.

I flicked through the channels while I waited and tried to settle my tapping foot and thumping heart. I settled on watching music videos, a best of the 70s countdown. It didn’t calm me completely, but at least I had a beat to bounce my foot to.

As excited as I was for Sy to come back, spending time with all the Brothers today was really enjoyable and I was a little disappointed when they left. I felt comfortable and safe with the four of them and despite how different they were, I felt equally drawn to each of them.

Mike was… Mike. He made me laugh and made me feel free in the simplest of ways. He was fun and welcoming and I could totally see myself having a great time with him. If I had met him in college, I would have dated him in a heartbeat. Marshall puzzled me, he was shut down in many ways, but every now and again he’d smile, or his eyes would flash with anger and I’d see the rivers of emotion beneath his exterior and I wanted in. Geralt was even more mysterious to me, but I liked being around him because he reminded me of the old school bikers I knew before things had changed. He seemed wise, calm and cool, and being near him gave me an overwhelming sense of home and comfort, even when an occasional shyness overtook me.

And August… he made me burn. Something about him stoked a raging bonfire in my gut, both from fear and lust. He seemed dangerous, always on the edge of humanity and while I was scared of him, I couldn’t deny my attraction.

And Sy, my God, Sy. He was everything rolled into one. Playful, deep, calming and dangerous, yet also sweet and compassionate. One moment he made me laugh, the next minute he made me cinch my thighs together and sink my teeth into my lip.

I was still thinking of Sy when I heard the door open and I sat up expectantly as he came back inside. He looked incredible as he paused, framed by the doorway. His thick black jeans fit snugly around his waist and his black faded Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt was stretched to its limits around the shirt and revealed his solid, inked forearms.

He closed the door and toed off his boots before walking to the foot of the bed. I expected that he would climb up the bed to lay over me, or maybe even finish undressing, but he didn’t. He crossed his arms and smiled at me, staring at me unmoving for so long I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“So,” I said, letting my legs fall open a little in invitation, “are you just going to stare at me or are you going to finish what you started this morning?”

Sy chuckled and dropped his arms. He shook his head at me as he walked around the bed, took the remote control from my hand and turned the music up. It was a slow rock song, I wasn't sure of the name of the band, but it was soft and the singer's southern twang was full of angst and yearning.

He held his hand out. “Dance with me?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

I tentatively put my hand in his and he rolled his eyes.

“C’mon,” he said.

I laughed softly as I climbed off the bed and Sy pulled me close to himself with a jerk. I let out a grunt as I crashed and nearly bounced off his hard body.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

Sy hummed, amused, as his arms encircled my waist. His scent cut into senses like a hot knife through butter. He smelled faintly of beer, mixed with the smokey smell of his tobacco while the skin on his neck smelled of leather and fuel, and below it all was a deep musk that was entirely male and potent.

He raised his hand to my neck, his palm pressed gently against my throat. His hands were warm and the cold metal of his rings made shiver as he ran his fingers over my skin. He smirked as he felt my reaction and his throat rumbled softly. Then his thumb lifted my chin higher and he dropped his head into my neck, his bearded cheek resting against mine.

My muscles went lax, my whole body felt like jello and I reached for his shirt to hold myself up. His arm went around my back drawing me closer, rocking us softly in time with the music, our bare feet on the carpet, he didn't seem to mind when I stood on his toes.

“Cat gotcha tongue baby?” Sy’s low words seeped like honey into my ears while his lips ghosted over my skin and the balmy heat in my gut burst into a raging fire.

“Didn’t figure you as much of a dancer,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “When I feel like it.”

“And you feel like it now?”

“That's right,” he murmured. “Seems to me you get me thinkin’ about doin’ lotsa things I don’t normally think of doin’.”

“Like what?”

There was a long pause before he lifted his head. “Sugar, I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Sounds ominous,” I said, feeling my body stiffen as if bracing for an impact.

“It ain’t bad, I just gotta tell you something before this goes any further.” I opened my mouth to say something but he shook his head and talked over me. “Just listen, baby. When we get back, I have to leave on another job,”

I raised my eyebrows, “But I thought…”

“I know baby, I don’t wanna go but it’s gotta be me.”

“Why?” Sy hesitated so I added sullenly, “You can’t tell me, don’t worry I get it.”

“It’s a logistics job, transportation across borders,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, I truly did not expect him to answer. “Did you know? That you’d be going?”

“Walker told me this morning,”

“How long?”

“A few days, a week?” Sy shrugged. “Depends what I find when I get there.”

Quiet moved in and we stood in each other's arms until the song ended and a faster, poppier one came on and the moment vanished. I moved out of his ambrace and he let me go looking at me expectantly.

“I get it,” I said flatly, “it's the life.”

“Baby…”

“No it’s fine,” I said, but it hurt. It really fucking hurt. I don’t know why I expected him to be any different.

He looked at me with such a pained expression I almost believed I really meant something to him. I turned away, turning the tv off and bringing my bag onto my bed to look for my PJs. I didn’t want to look at him because my disappointment was too hard to hide. I was not going to cry again.

“I was Army, Special Forces.” Sy said and I froze. “I was trained in transporting people and goods undetected across enemy lines. That’s why it’s gotta be me.”

I swallowed. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

“I wanted to,” he said, softly. I felt the heat of his body behind me, felt the back of his fingers skim down my arm. “I don’t wanna hide who I am. Not from you.”

“I’ll miss you,” I said, the words falling from my lips before I could stop them.

“I know.”

I huffed, not sure if it was true.

“‘Cause I’ll be missin’ you too,” Sy said, solemnly.

I turned back to him and tried to gauge his sincerity. “So how did you end up in an MC?” I asked to test him. I wanted to see how open he was prepared to be and I was not entirely convinced I would get an answer.

“A long series of events. Startin’ with a mission that went sideways and got some of my men killed and as a result I met Walker. Then we both met Geralt and later, Geralt brought Marshall in. And after finding we had similar grievances, it ended with us deciding to use our skills for ourselves instead of the government.”

“My men?”

“I was an Officer.”

“What skills? Were the others Special Forces too?”

“No, they… I'll let them tell you their stories.”

“What about Mike?”

“Mike, well, he's different,” Sy grinned. “Dumb kid just fell in with us.”

I searched his features for a sign that he was being deceitful, but despite his smile all I could see was the honesty I had noticed from the first time I laid eyes on him. Somehow I knew in the deepest marrow of my bones, that I could trust him. Even when he was being evasive, he wasn't lying to me. I ran my fingers over his lips, tracing the curve of his smile. His grin suddenly faded and he grew serious and I removed my hand.

Grimacing, he sniffed and turned his head towards the door. His jaw jutted forward as he spoke slowly and carefully. “The Brothers… They care about you.”

My face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“They care about you. Just like I do.”

My eyes widened, what was he saying?

He brought his attention back to me and the expression he wore was stoic. “And I know you have a kinda feelin’ towards them… the same as you do for me.”

He knew.

My blood ran cold and my stomach felt like it was shrinking in on itself. I looked away, I wanted to deny it, tell him it’s not true, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be sick.

“It’s ok,” Sy said, gently. “Believe me. It’s ok.”

I wasn’t so sure. The men I knew, the bikers I knew, they were territorial. One wrong glance from an old lady to another man could result in a beating, and in some cases not just for the other guy. Toxicity and violence was sewn into the fabric of the life, another reason why being here with Sy and entertaining my attraction to the rest of the Brothers was so momumentally stupid of me.

Sy’s hand was under my jaw again, lifting my gaze to his. He kissed me, his lips a gentle caress on mine but I couldn’t bring myself to kiss him back.

“Baby?”

“What must you think of me?”

“I think the world of you.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough to know that I’m one lucky son of a bitch,”

“Sy…” I chided softly, feeling my cheeks heat. I tried to look away but he held me firmly in place.

“I mean it.”

For a few beats there was silence as the heat of his gaze radiated through me. His breath started getting harder and tension grew in his body.

“Still want me to finish what I started this mornin’?” he asked, huskily.

The Memento Mori tattoo across his neck caught my eye and I raised my fingers to trace the lettering. Knowing now how close to death Sy had been in his life made the tattoo seem like more than just a vague sentiment. Remember you must die were words not written to stir feelings of dread, but instead to inspire you to seize the day, to do what you can while you live, because your time in this life was fragile and finite.

I thought of my mother, wondered what she would think of me in this moment, here with a guy like Sy. Would she think me a fool, or would she understand that the heart wants what the heart wants? Although they were divorced, my father and mother still loved each other. I think perhaps they had been spending nights with each other, unable to stay away from each other for long and it had ultimately cost her her life. Would she make that choice again if she knew what was coming?

Knowing my mother, she would make the same choices and she would understand mine.

I wanted Sy. I wanted to see where the connection between us went. I wanted to see if it was real. And I wanted to live in this moment, to take the chance that maybe he and the Brothers are more than what I assumed they would be.

I slid my hand around to the nape of his neck and standing on my toes, I kissed his neck and felt him swallow as my tongue swept over his throat.

“Jesus, woman,” Sy said, his voice a gravelly groan. His hand slid into my hair and his hips pressed against mine.

I kept kissing his neck as I slid my hands under his shirt and into the coarse hair on his abdomen, following the dip between the gentle peaks and valleys of his abs until my fingers reached the slightly softer hair that lay across his chest.

His hand gripped my ass, sliding into the back pockets of my kevlar jeans, his fingers digging deep into my flesh drawing me closer until I could barely take a breath. Bending his knees, he slipped his leg between mine and dragged my core across his thick thigh. I dropped my head into his shoulder and muffled my moan into his piquant shirt as the friction made me realise just how damp my panties were getting.

My fingers inched across his chest, drawn as if by a gravitational pull to the piercing in his nipple. I ran my finger around the hairy skin that surrounded it until curiosity got the better of me and I gently slid my nail over it, pulling it down briefly before it sprang back into place. Sy groaned and the hand in my hair tightened into a fist.

I backed off, not sure if I had hurt him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t stop,” he growled, “touch me however you want. Anywhere you want. You won’t hurt me.”

I swallowed hard and licked my lips as I took the hem of his shirt in my hands and lifted. He took over, quickly pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. His hands moved to my hips, his touch softer this time, gentle even and he drew me closer again.

“Don’t stop,” he repeated, this time his voice was almost a whispered plea as lowered his head to mine.

My hands continued their exploration as my eyes catalogued his ink, including the DILLIGAF tattoo in large gothic script arching over his navel. It seemed like a lie when he held me; I couldn’t reconcile the tattoo with the man. He seemed to care about everything, his brothers, his club, me.

A change in the texture of his skin made my brow furrow. A large but old scar marred the side of his ribs, one of many I had noticed on his face and arms, but this one looked like it had been serious. They were all sewn up nicely, not like a lot of the backyard jobs I’d seen on some of the guys in my brother’s club. Perhaps it had been from his army days.

I wondered if I would ever know how he got it and found I wanted to know badly. I wanted to ask him more about his past, I wanted to know everything about him. Maybe if I was patient, he’d tell me more one day. For now though, I wanted to see more of him.

This time when his fingers lifted my jaw and his lips brushed mine, I kissed him back, opening myself to the warmth of his mouth and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping across mine like satin. Pressing my body against his, I put my hands on his arms and felt the dense, rigid and strained muscles beneath his skin. My hands ran up to his thick shoulders as his made their way around my back and under my shirt before resting flat against my skin. His hands were scorching hot, burning me like a branding iron, except for where the cool metal of his rings slid over me.

My hands drifted over him, over his back, his neck, his short bristly hair and his soft thick beard and all the while he kissed me. Breathing hard into my mouth, he let me explore, sketching his features by touch, until my hands made their way down his stomach to his belt. He caught my hands in his and guided me onto my knees in the centre of the bed. He followed climbing onto the bed with a grin before he cupped my cheek and lowered his mouth to mine.

“You’re holding back,” I accused teasingly before our lips could meet.

He nodded, and said huskily, “It’s taking everything I’ve got not to rip your clothes off and take you.”

I whimpered, it’s the only way I can describe the sound that came from my mouth.

“Ah, you’d like that?” Sy asked, roguishly. “And here I was tryna be gentle.”

He ran his thumb over my mouth, slipping it between my lips. Instinctively my tongue flicked against his calloused pad, the texture of his hardened skin made me draw my legs together in anticipation. Then his mouth was on mine, his kiss light, tender, probing, but somehow still lustful and controlling. It made me shiver as goosebumps broke across my arms.

“Hmmm, but you like that too,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above mine.

Nodding, I lifted my mouth to his and he pulled away with a smirk. I tried again to chase his mouth but he moved again.

“What are you doing?” I whined.

“I like the way your lips look when you’re about to kiss,” he said, pulling his head away as I tried to kiss him again.

Frustrated, I said the first dirty thing I could think of. “Want to see how they’d look wrapped around your cock?”

Sy captured my jaw in his hand, his smirk growing wider. “You say the sweetest things, baby.”

Sy made a low noise deep in his throat as he kissed, his tongue sliding over my lips urging me to open for him. I did, meeting his with mine, lapping at the welcomed invasion. He sucked on my lower lip, his teeth scraping the delicate skin and my body pressed against his.

With a soft growl he pulled my shirt off over my head, returning his mouth to mine as he groped for my bra. He slipped it off quickly, his hands immediately on my breasts, groaning into my mouth. He dropped low, his hands holding me still as he took my nipple into his mouth. My hips rocked, the warmth of his mouth radiated through my nerves, each lap of his tongue was like a lick of flames heating and stoking the rapidly accelerating need that burned between my legs.

While his touch grew firmer and more urgent as he moved across my chest. “Your skin is so soft.”

Fuck me, he was so vocal; every kiss came with a soft rumble in his throat. By the time his mouth reached my neck I was trembling and my breath was bursting from my lungs in hard, short pants. He paused long enough to lay his forehead on mine, and stared at me. His eyes were lust blown yet laser focused and his breath ragged and rough as he palmed my breasts. My nipples tightened into small buds as they slipped between his fingers and he gave them a soft pinch that turned my blood into molten fire.

“God, I want inside of you,” he said suddenly.

He wrapped an arm around my back and swept my legs out from beneath me and laid me on the bed as I squealed then giggled as I covered my swaying breasts. He stayed on his knees and his hands were at my jeans, winking as he tugged on my jeans. I lifted my hips to help him then drew my legs up in the air while he yanked them from my body and he threw the clothes behind him. As my legs dropped he caught them and split them around his hulking frame. Then he was still, not moving except for his eyes and one hand that skimmed its way softly up the inside of my thighs.

“Sy, I—”

“Let me look at you a minute,” he said hoarsely.

His hand continued its slow climb, and he gripped my hip for a moment while his other hand mirrored his actions. His eyes wandered, his blue eyes were nearly black as he continued his appraisal. He studied me for so long I started to get nervous. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but under his close inspection I started to wonder if he noticed the thin silver stretch marks on my hips, or the scar on my ribs from where I had fallen off my pushbike as a kid, or how one breast was slightly larger than the other.

Sy seemed to sense my discomfort and he caught my eyes, his gaze was so heated it felt nuclear.

“You’re just about the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” he said so earnestly I couldn’t doubt him.

As he lowered himself onto me, my legs opened further, parting until they nearly hit the mattress to accommodate his immense size. Although he was supporting most of his weight on his elbow he was so deliciously heavy on top of me as his lower half pinned me and his hips kept my legs open. He kissed me again, a little more demanding and I parted my lips in invitation which he accepted greedily. He filled my mouth with his velveteen tongue, moving it inside me until I felt like there was no part of me he hadn’t explored and claimed.

His hands continued to stroke my side, rising slowly until his fingers ghosted over my cheeks and down my neck before he wrapped his hand around my throat possessively, yet so gently it was soothing. I whimpered into his mouth as he pressed himself against my core; I could feel him, hard and ready through his jeans, and the rough cotton rubbed against me as he rutted slowly.

I was a wet, throbbing, undulating, mess as I kissed him back. My hips worked with him, crudely urging him for more, but he remained rock solid and in control as he kissed down my neck, his kisses going lower and lower until he reached the small triangle of hair on my mound and raised his eyes.

I trembled in anticipation. Knowing how perfectly rough, silky and warm his tongue felt in my mouth, all I wanted in the world was to feel it on my clit.

He kissed lower. And lower. And lower. His eyes narrowed as mine grew wider and his beard brushed over the engorged skin between my legs. My hips jerked, and I let out a long shuddering breath.

Sy licked his lips as his fingers brushed over me, his eyes closing as I felt him part me and slide over my slick centre.

“Shit,” he drawled, elongating the words so long it almost was like he sang it. “You’re so fuckin' wet. So fuckin' wet for me.”

His breath tickled my clit, his humid exhale sent my nerves into overdrive while my brain simply shut down. My body strained to meet him, desperately seeking some contact or friction, anything to release the pent up tension in my quivering limbs.

“Relax baby,” Sy said, softly kissing the insides of my thighs, “I’ll get you there. I’m just enjoyin’ myself for a li’l bit first.”

“You’re teasing me,” I whined pathetically.

Sy smirked and shrugged a little, “Feels good though don’t it?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, it does,” his fingers slid over my swollen slick skin again, and I gasped, “Yeah, you’re feelin’ real good ain’tcha?”

It was a rhetorical question, but I nodded emphatically.

“Gonna make ya feel even better,” he murmured against my thigh, his eyes locking onto mine as the tips of his fingers were poised at my entrance, “You just gotta be a good girl for me and lay back and keep these pretty li’l legs open.”

416 notes · View notes

lnsfawwi · 2 months

Text

Stucky dark!soulmate AU

the soulmate mark presents itself at the age of 18. Few have soulmates, but those who do are destined to be killed by their soulmate

Steve has always known Bucky as his hero. Bucky has saved his life many times, from the bullies, from illness, from loneliness.

On Steve's 18th birthday, they come back from the sanatorium after visiting his mom, who's in critical condition. Sarah is quarantined so all they can do is watch her barely conscious form on a bed through a window. Steve feels like he's going to fall apart, but Bucky's with him, Bucky's here to hold him together.

That night, when he showers he notices a star-shaped mark on his chest right above his heart. It's his soulmate mark. A million thoughts crossed his mind: Who is the person? How will he die? When? What about Bucky? Should he tell Bucky? A part of him is relieved, death doesn't sound too awful compared to his life; another part of him is terrified, of death, of leaving Bucky heartbroken. He decides that he'll hide the mark from Bucky, what good can possibly come out of telling your best friend that you are about to be killed? He snuggles Bucky extra tight that night.

Years fly by and the war happens. After rescuing the captured people from Hydra facility, they march back to the base in Italy. Bucky waits until most people are settled down to clean himself in the river nearby. It's dark in the woods, the moonlight is too dim and pale for regular human eyes to properly function, but Steve is not a regular human being. He is patrolling the parameter when he sees Bucky emerge from the water, naked, his hair dripping, body slim and covered in bruises and cuts. He's beautiful.

"Buck."

"Jesus!" Bucky jumps, his first instinct is not to cover himself but to reach for his pistol on the ground with his clothes. "I could've shot you!"

"sorry." Steve walks closer as Bucky starts to put his clothes back on. That's when he sees. The star-shaped mark above Bucky's heart.

Bucky is his soulmate. One of them will kill the other.

They have a very very long talk which is comprised mostly of tears, promises, and unspoken dread. When the Army tells Steve that he's authorized to handpick a team, Steve doesn't want Bucky in it.

"Fuck no." Bucky says, "there's no way you do it without me. I don't give a damn about the marks, cus if you got your stupid ass killed by some crazy red face I'd revive you and kill you personally again."

So they fight together. The team doesn't know about their marks, no one does but themselves. Even with the ominous fate hanging over their heads, Steve still trusts no one else more to have his six than Bucky, not only because Bucky is an excellent shot but because that's Bucky. Bucky has saved his life more times than he can count and vice versa. They work seamlessly. They are soulmates.

Then Bucky falls. Steve knows that it's his fault. He's killed Bucky. He crushes the plane with the slight comfort that he would know how Bucky feels, the fall, the ice, death.

But he wakes up.

SHIELD knows Steve has a soulmate mark, therefore Hydra also knows. Only SHIELD doesn't know who Steve's soulmate is, Hydra does.

Before they go on to take over the helicarriers, Steve reveals to them that Bucky is his soulmate.

"there's a good chance that I won't come back." he tells them, "make sure the mission is complete. No matter what happens."

Steve goes into the mission accepting death by Bucky's hand as his ending. Maybe he does die. The medical record says that he has flatlined for almost 4 minutes on the operation table. Maybe he already died at the bottom of the Potomac.

But he wakes up.

Then the Accords happens, then Zemo, then Siberia, they never really have a moment to talk. Steve knows that Bucky evades him for 2 years partly because of the stupid mark, but once they start to fight side by side again, it's like finding the final piece of a puzzle, they are whole again, they complete each other so much so that even the idea of being apart again is agonizing, utterly unbearable. They are, after all, soulmates.

So when Bucky comes up with the idea that he should be put under cryo again, Steve won't let him.

"Can't you see, Buck? We've both died already. Yet here we are. Our story is not about killing, it's about protection and salvation. You died protecting me, and I did the same for you. It tried, it fucking tried to tear us apart and it failed. We are inseparable. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again, you won't hurt anyone either. If you want peace, we can retire. Just please, please don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to me."

The silence between them stretches out for far too long.

“Anyone told you you have a knack for speeches?” Bucky attempts a joke.

“One or two.”

“Ok.” Bucky says, eventually, “Ok.”

Yes, they've both died - many times, in fact. Maybe Bucky falling off the train was Steve's fault, maybe the Winter Soldier had actually managed to complete his mission, but the fact remains that they are both here, alive. They've defied fate, they've been to hell and back, they've been torn away from the other but found their way back.They are inseparable. 'til the end of line.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stevebucky #stucky #drabble #life and death with stucky #I'm with you til the end of line means something entirely different in this context #experimental writing

15 notes · View notes

foundtherightwords · 2 months

Text

The Firebird - Chapter 13

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: violence, gore

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - The Eagle and the Dragon

There was a rush of preparation. Ilya donned his armor, put his sword into his belt, slung the bow and the magic quiver onto his back, and held his mace in his hand. Paul, feeling rather ill-equipped, had Dobrynya's spear. On second thoughts, he took his broken sword and put it in his belt as well. It may be broken, but it had its use. Zhara stood on her perch, watching him with eyes full of love and concern, though she didn't try to stop him.

Elena gave Paul a pouch of herbs. "Burn this and whoever smells the smoke will fall asleep," she said. "Be careful to stand downwind of it. May the gods be with you."

Baba Yaga gave them two other things, a handkerchief which she said could help them cross a river of fire—she didn't know if Illarion was going to use it on them or not, but the river of fire had been a favorite weapon of Koschei's—and one of the skulls she took from the fence, its eye sockets stuffed with moss. Paul thanked her and put the herbs, the handkerchief, and the skull in a knapsack.

"A word with you, Russian boy," the witch said, beckoning to Paul.

Puzzled, he followed her outside, to where Voskhod was standing, calmly awaiting the return of his family at the end of the day. Baba Yaga didn't say anything for a while. She looked Paul up and down, causing him to rub a self-conscious hand through his curls, which were getting long.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" the witch asked abruptly.

Paul stared at her, uncomprehending.

"If you manage to return alive, I can open a door and send you back, should you wish," she continued. "I told you I still have some powers left, didn't I?" She smiled humorlessly. "But for now, I don't want Illarion to get wind of it. If he knew I could open doors between worlds, his ambitions would extend to your world as well, and that would be disastrous for all. So try to defeat him, Russian boy. Your fate may depend upon it."

Horrible as they were, there was something perversely encouraging in her words as well. But Paul wasn't really listening. All he could think was that he didn't wish to leave. He wished to stay, not to prove himself or to defeat Illarion or to achieve any such heroic deeds. He wished to stay simply so he could see the dawn with Zhara.

Baba Yaga gave a shrill whistle, and from the hills behind them, the Day and Night horses returned, their saddles empty this time. Paul and Ilya each took one. Zhara settled into her usual place in the inside pocket of Paul's kaftan—they had agreed that it would be best for her to stay hidden until they could determine what Illarion was planning. And then, leaping as one, Day and Night side by side, the horses flew across the vast expanse of sea, taking them to Buyan Island.

***

The horses landed on the rock, as lightly and daintily as stepping over a garden fence. The oak, which they'd seen from the shore, spread its twisted branches over their heads, its leaves so dark and thick that twilight reigned around its base, despite the midday sun. Other than the rustling of the leaves and the crashing of the waves underneath, there was no other sound, no sign of life on that rock.

"So where's the Alatyr Stone?" Paul asked, looking around.

"Some said the island is the stone itself," replied Ilya, holding his mace at the ready. "Perhaps that is why Illarion chose this place."

"What do we do?" Paul found himself dropping his voice to a whisper, as though afraid the island itself may be able to hear them.

Ilya slowly walked around the base of the oak, keeping an eye out for danger. "We wait, 'til Illarion shows himself."

That didn't sound like much of a plan to Paul. "In the tales of my world," he said, "Koschei keeps his death hidden in a chest under this oak tree. Should we—I don't know, start digging?"

"Digging?" Ilya snorted. "Do you honestly think Illarion would be so careless as to leave his death unguarded?"

"He may be arrogant in his power," Paul said, speaking from experiences. "It's worth a try."

Ilya looked closely at the gnarled roots at the base of the tree. Then he shrugged and drew his sword from its scabbard. "You take that side," he said to Paul. "Use the spear."

The moment Ilya's sword touched the ground under the oak, the tree split open.

A giant double-headed eagle sprang out of the oak and flew straight at Paul, feathers gleaming strangely under the sun, sharp beaks pointing at him like knives. A net dropped from the branches over him, pinning him to the ground. The eagle gathered the net up in its powerful claws and took to the sky, with Paul dangling under its belly like some grotesque fish.

"No!" Ilya jumped after the eagle. The roots of the oak, writhing like serpents, wrapped themselves around the bogatyr's wrists, dragging him down.

It was a trap. There was nothing on the island. Illarion had lured them here to make them easier to kill.

By some miracle, Paul still managed to keep a hold of the spear. He thrust it upward at random, hoping to make some contact, only to find that the spear was glancing off the eagle's claws and feathers ineffectively. To his horror, he realized the reason the eagle gleamed so brightly was that its claws and feathers were made of metal, iron and copper covering its entire body like a suit of armor. And most horrifying of all, a green medallion dangled from its neck.

Zhara leaped out from Paul's pocket. She flapped her wings, turning her entire body into a ball of fire, and tried to launch herself at the eagle, but the heavy, thick net weighed her down, and she could get no further than its legs.

On the island, Ilya gave a great roar and tore a root from his arm. He picked up his sword and chopped off the rest of the roots, freeing himself, before quickly removing his bow from his back and firing an arrow at the armored eagle. The arrow clanged harmlessly against its metal plumage.

"Destroy its medallion, Ilya!" Paul shouted, but his voice was blown off by the wind and the waves, and he couldn't tell if Ilya heard him or not.

Paul saw Ilya mount the Night horse. With a mighty leap, the horse took flight and chased after the eagle. It soon caught up. Ilya swung his mace at the bird, hitting its flank with an ear-splitting clash, sending a shower of sparks over Paul and Zhara. No matter how well-protected the eagle was, it had to feel that. It turned back with a shriek, razor-edged wings slashing at the knight and the horse. Caught in the net in its claws, Paul was swung around so violently that there was little he could do other than cling to the spear with one hand and hold Zhara close to his chest with the other. The sea and the sky whirled into a maelstrom of gray and white, making his head spin and threatening to bring his breakfast back up, until he had to shut his eyes and curl himself into a ball around Zhara, praying to all the Saints of his world and all the gods of this world that it would be over soon.

The clangor of steel on steel went on over his head, mingled with curses from Ilya, panicked screams from the horse, and screeches from both of the eagle's heads. Then there was a muffled screech, and the eagle dropped a little, as though a new weight was added to its back. Paul risked cracking one eye open and saw the Night horse leaping toward the shore with an empty saddle. His heart sank. Had Ilya been killed? If so, why was the eagle still howling and twisting? Then Paul heard a grunt and realized Ilya had jumped onto the eagle's back and was now clinging to its neck while trying to stab at the medallion. The shore was now within sight.

Though he and Zhara were still being jerked around like puppets on a string, the jolting and jostling were not as bad as before, and Paul found he had some measures of control over his movements. He stuck his spear at the eagle's legs again. With its armor, the stabbing of the spear probably felt no stronger than mosquito bites, but at least he could distract the eagle a little and give Ilya a chance. Next to him, Zhara also renewed her fiery attack. The eagle squawked irritably and tried to kick at them, but dared not let go of its precious cargo. Paul craned his head, trying to see if Ilya had gained a purchase around the eagle's neck at all. He couldn't see anything past the eagle's belly.

They reached the shore. The moment it was close enough, the eagle dropped the net. It landed in the shallows. Dazed, Paul picked himself and Zhara up, saltwater burning his eyes and nose, just in time to see the eagle land hard on the ground, using the sudden force to throw Ilya off its back.

"Ilya, watch out!" Paul shouted.

It was too late.

As soon as the knight tumbled onto the shingle beach, the bird drove the tip of its wings at his chest. Ilya rolled over, but he was not fast enough. Tangled up in the net, Paul could only watch, helpless, as the eagle impaled Ilya in the back with its knifelike feathers.

There was a terrible scream. Paul didn't know if it was Ilya or himself or perhaps even Zhara. He didn't stop to think. He picked up the spear, slashed through the net, and ran at the eagle. The monstrous creature was just pulling its bloody feathers out of Ilya and turning toward Paul when he drove his spear at the medallion on its chest.

It wasn't like with Alyosha and Afron, perhaps because the armored eagle wasn't a living creature. The medallion didn't simply crack. It disintegrated, and along with it, the bird collapsed in on itself. Feather by feather, plate by plate, the metal crumpled like sheets of paper in an invisible fist, until nothing was left of the bird but a ball of crushed iron and copper. It took the spear along with it, and Paul had to let go of the shaft before it took his arms off as well.

Then the sea exploded behind him.

A dragon, a zmei, like the one he'd only seen in pictures, burst out of the water, its body covered in coppery green scales, green leathery wings dripping foam, three horned heads with gaping red mouths roaring at him. Before Paul could even feel fear or shock, the dragon reached out one of its legs and snatched Zhara from where she stood on the beach, its claws closing around her small body like a cage. It then flew toward the castle on top of the cliff and was gone in a blink of an eye, leaving only behind an echo of Zhara's panicked cry.

Paul stood stuck to the spot, watching the dwindling figure of the dragon as it disappeared into the castle. He was too stunned to move, too stunned to even fully realize what had just occurred.

A choking sound from Ilya snapped Paul out of his daze and sent him stumbling over the shingle. He knelt down by Ilya's side. The bogatyr had turned over on his back. His armor still looked intact from the front, but the growing dark pool underneath him and the red stains on his lips revealed the severity of his wound. The coal-black horse of Night stood by placidly, joined by its milky-white mate. Paul's hands shook as he helplessly reached out for Ilya, both wishing to offer the knight some comfort and afraid he was going to make things worse. He looked down the beach, searching for any sign of the house on chicken legs, but the cliffs stood in the way.

"Try to be still," he said to Ilya, surprised at how steady his voice was. "I'm fetching help."

"No..." The knight shook his head. A red bubble burst at the corner of his pale lips. "Go after the tsarevna. Help her." At some point during the fight with the eagle, he had lost his mace and his bow. Now he pressed his belt and Baba Yaga's quiver into Paul's hand. "You're the only one left now."

With that, Ilya's fingers went slack, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Paul remained kneeling by the fallen knight for a moment longer. Then he got to his feet, trying to ignore the trembling of his limbs. Here it was, at long last, what he had always dreamed of. Here was his chance to be a hero. So why couldn't he feel anything other than crippling, sickening fear?

He knew now that if a coup were to occur in Russia, he might as well resign to his fate. He wouldn't be able to come to his mother's rescue as he had always imagined. He wouldn't even be able to save himself. Besides, he didn't care enough about his mother to risk his life for her, if it ever came to that. He had never cared about her. She was his mother in name only. He realized that with a strange sense of detachment—the thought of his mother no longer made him angry. Rather, he was a little sad about it, only it felt like he was sad for someone else, like he was watching another person's tragedy from afar, not his own.

But someone he did care about deeply was in danger, and he couldn't leave her to her murderous brother.

With a deep breath, Paul tightened Ilya's sword belt about his waist, strapped the quiver to his back, mounted the Day horse, and steered it toward the castle on top of the cliff.

***

The castle, its walls radiant like pearls under the sun, was deserted and silent as the rest of the coastline. The white horse circled the golden domes, before alighting on a high tower, its snowy coat blending it perfectly with the walls. Paul hid himself behind the battlements, and, from this vantage point, took in a sweeping view of the castle. Where could Zhara be? Illarion was preparing for some ritual, that much Paul knew, but whether it would take place in the dungeon or the topmost tower of the castle, he could not begin to guess.

Then he peered into the courtyard below, and his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dragon was curled up in front of the main entrance like a monstrous guard dog, a medallion glowing amongst its green scales, its three heads swiveling this way and that to watch out for any attempt to breach the castle. Even as Paul watched, one of those heads whipped around, fixing on the very tower where he was hiding with a baleful, suspicious gaze. Paul hastily ducked behind the battlements again, praying that the beast hadn't seen him.

No such luck. He didn't dare look down again, but he could hear the unmistakable clashing and scraping sounds that signified a dragon made of metal was slithering its way up the wall, trying to catch its prey by surprise.

What to do? There was a door leading from the battlement into the heart of the tower, but it was locked and barred; if he tried breaking the lock using Ilya's sword, the noise would surely draw the dragon's attention before he could get the lock open. He could try finding an open window and flying the horse to it, but again, the risk of being discovered was too great. No, he had to face the dragon. If only he still had the spear or even Ilya's bow, he could try shooting at the medallion. All he had now was the sword and a handful of arrows, and he'd be dead before he could get close enough to the dragon to use them.

Wait. Those were not all he had. He still had Elena's sleep-inducing herbs. Would they work on a creature that was made of metal? He had to try...

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Paul pulled the pouch of herbs and the skull out of his knapsack. After tying some herbs to an arrow, he removed the moss from one eye socket as Baba Yaga had told him. A spark of fire shot out, but the herbs, damp after his dip into the sea, refused to catch. The scraping sound was getting closer.

Cursing under his breath, Paul tried again. Blessed be the Saints, the herbs caught this time. Protecting his nose and mouth from the smoke with one hand, he threw the arrow haphazardly into the courtyard with the other, praying that it was enough to draw the dragon's attention.

And it was. As the arrow hit the flagstones with a soft clang, the scraping paused, then receded—the dragon was now crawling down to examine this new source of noise. Paul rapidly tied more herbs to arrows, set them on fire, and threw them down. Clang, clang, clang, clang. The smoke was now surrounding the dragon. Then he waited.

A dull crash, heavier than the clang of the arrows, told him that Elena's herbs had worked, even on a creature not of flesh and blood. Letting out a breath of relief, Paul got on the horse again. They flew into the courtyard, where the dragon now sprawled, its three tongues lolling out of its mouths. It was even snoring, with a sound like a boiling samovar.

Although it appeared asleep, Paul reminded himself to approach it with caution. He waited for the smoke from the herbs to dissipate before picking his way toward the dragon's heads, carefully stepping over the thick coils of its body until he was face to face with the medallion. Then, raising the sword above his head, he made his strike.

A harsh grating sound confused Paul. He looked down just in time to see the coils between his feet moved. He tumbled backward, the sword flying out of his hand, numbness reverberating throughout his body as his spine hit the flagstones. Iron claws swiped at him, and the numbness was replaced by an excruciating pain across his chest. The dragon, no longer asleep—whether because the smoke was gone, or because the smoke wasn't enough to keep it sleeping, or because it had never been asleep in the first place, he didn't know, and anyway, why does it matter now—bore down on him, all three mouths wide open like bowls of blood, showing fangs as big as daggers. He couldn't take in air, with the dragon's furnace-hot breath blasting him in the face and its weight pinning him to the ground, crushing him. He could only hope that he would lose consciousness from the lack of air before the dragon tore into him. Already black spots were swimming in front of his eyes.

This is it. I'm going to die here, like the useless, cowardly lump that I am.

Stop saying that you're useless, Zhara's soft voice sounded in his ears. He could feel her lips on his, her presence in his arms—had it only been the night before?

Paul's eyes snapped open. No, he couldn't give up. Zhara was depending on him.

Straining, he pulled his arm out of the dragon's grasp, screaming as the iron claws ripped through his old wound. He managed to close his fingers around the hilt of Ilya's sword lying nearby. Bringing the sword upward, he stabbed at the head closest to him, driving the sword through its chin. The dragon roared and wrenched away, exposing the medallion at its throat, where the three necks met. The moment he felt the weight upon him lifting, Paul jumped to his feet, pulled out his own broken sword, and rammed it into the medallion.

Just like the bird, the moment the medallion was destroyed, the dragon started imploding into a ball of molten metal. This time, Paul remembered to pull the sword out of the medallion, though Ilya's blade, lodged in one of the dragon's jaws, was lost.

Paul limped up the front staircase of the snow-white castle, toward the carved and gilded double doors, which were left ajar. He took slow, careful steps, partly because his ankle had been sprained when the dragon pulled him down, and partly because he didn't feel particularly brave, with only half a sword in his hand and a handful of arrows on his back, and he didn't know what other monsters or horrors the castle would have in store for him. But he continued anyway, putting one foot before another, spurred by a fire deep in his heart.

For all his caution, the castle seemed deserted. Unlike Afron's brilliantly painted fortress, the stronghold of Arthania was all lofty white walls, with decorations made out of amber or intricate carvings tastefully picked out in gold leaves. The late afternoon sunlight shone through tall windows, throwing patches of gold on the marble floor. The shuffling of Paul's feet and his heavy breaths were the only sounds echoing along the winding corridors, while he passed by door after half-opened door, leading into rooms decorated with more gold and amber, their color reminding him of Zhara's eyes.

Finally, after ascending a staircase flanked by giant marble columns, Paul arrived at another set of double doors, the only ones that remained closed in the entire castle. Something told him this was his destination.

"Hold on, Zhar-ptitsa," he whispered. "I'm coming."

He pushed open the doors and found himself in a throne room, all white and gold like the rest of the castle. A golden throne sat empty on a dais of white marble, in front of a floor-to-ceiling window facing the sea, framed by ivory velvet curtains embroidered with gold thread. A long table was placed just behind the throne, and a redheaded figure stood by it, bending down to examine the few items on the table.

"—recognize Gagana and Garafena, sister?" the figure was saying in the croaky voice of a boy who had just gone through puberty. "Our favorite childhood toys? Controlling metal toys is not nearly as fun as controlling a human being, but they have their use. I thought you'd like to be welcomed home by something familiar, now that Father and all your friends are gone—"

Hearing Paul's approach, the boy turned around.

"Ah. There is your gallant defender," he said. "I must admit, I didn't expect him to last this long."

Chapter 14

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

11 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 1 year

Text

my thoughts on tears of the kingdom (on a non-zelda blog)

so here's the thing, I love Zelda.

I've been playing the series since I was a child, practically raised on it by my oldest brother whom I have a 10 year age gap with. One of my most cherished childhood memories was when he got me Wind Waker on the Gamecube as a birthday present, I would have been around 7 years old and he would have been 17. Zelda was and still is a huge part of our lives.

So skip to today, we both got Tears of the Kingdom on launch day. We're both busy adults now who live far away from each other so we've just been updating each other on our progress and sending memes.

But I've got a lot of thoughts about the game that I really want to get out, as someone who's been with this series for two decades. My brother started with games like A Link to the Past and that was practically my first exposure to the series as well as it's what I would watch him play, alongside Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask.

There will be mild SPOILERS ahead concerning the gameplay and story, so don't click the jump unless you've already played the game or don't mind getting spoiled!!! LONG POST AHEAD!

So I guess let's just get on with this, yeah? I'm not gonna separate it into "good" vs. "bad" because I find everything in this game has good shit that comes packaged with bad shit. It's a lot of pros with cons attached, so trying to separate it cleanly between "good" and "bad" isn't going to be a very productive approach.

I've seen TOTK described as "DLC" for Breath of the Wild (derogatory) while on the opposite end, Breath of the Wild has been described as the "tech demo" for Tears of the Kingdom (positive). Frankly, I can see where both sides are coming from. There are lots of elements in TOTK that feel like they could have been in BOTW, whereas other elements can confidently stand on their own separate from that of BOTW.

One such example is the new Sheikah Slate, aka the Purah Pad. While there are some features from BOTW that are surely missed (Cryonis, sigh) others have been replaced with far more beneficial features such as Ultrahand and Fuse (the bread and butter of this game) and Recall, which - controversial I'm sure - is far more functional and has way more opportunities to be useful than BOTW's Stasis ability. The Ultrahand ability alone is a massive upgrade, allowing you to go wild with the game's physics engine. The shrine puzzles are a lot stronger in this respect, having more to work with by combining the Ultrahand ability with thematic Zonai devices, often times taking you through a gauntlet of rooms with similar puzzle-solving, each more challenging than the last. There's nothing more satisfying - and doubly frustrating - than seeing the solution to a shrine you've already spent three days on and going "Wait, I could have done that???" It just goes to show that the inventive creativity necessary to solving these puzzles from BOTW has carried over twofold into TOTK.

However, I feel like these new features are less rewarding as the game goes on. While mechanics like Cryonis and remote bombs made exploring feel unique and accessible in BOTW, the lack of these features in TOTK have made exploring feel far more difficult than it should be. What used to be an easy - albeit slow - endeavor such as crossing a river by creating ice block bridges with Cryonis has now turned into an exercise in futility and physics knowledge. You can't just cross a river, you have to build a boat out of whatever resources you can find or use to cross said river. And while this is a very inventive feature that has really stretched the creative bones of its players, it's a feature that becomes draining. Sometimes you really do just want to cross a river without having to build a spaceship or a ferry. Sometimes you do just want to be able to get up to the top of a cliff without needing to build a hot air balloon. Even with the Autobuild ability, these new mechanics do really start to feel grating after a while, especially for someone such as myself who struggles with executive dysfunction and doesn't want to build yet another boat or flying car just to travel 10 feet.

Regarding that last statement, I think the inclusion of the Ascend ability helps to combat tiresome climbing, but it never seems to be an option quite as often as it could be. I've seen people praise the ability stating that it helps them avoid climbing cliffs entirely, but more often than not, I've found the ability is only usable for a third of a rocky mountain where it happens to have a platform jutting out that's close enough for Ascend to reach - with the rest of it encouraging you to just climb up naturally, or, you guessed it, use the Ultrahand ability to build your way up. The Ascend ability - like Statis from the game's predecessor - is very specific and not accessible enough in the world's design to make it actually helpful. You know exactly when and where you're supposed to use it, and trying to use it outside of those instances won't get you anywhere. Of course, I'm not going to judge this ability too hard because it's still more than what we had in BOTW, but I find its application isn't quite as useful as it could be.

And boy, there are a lot of things in TOTK that don't have as strong an application as they could. I think there's no truer place this could be said than the expansion of the game's map, through The Sky and The Depths.

Disappointingly enough, just like in Skyward Sword, which suffered for having a strong premise but weak delivery with an open sky that had nothing to do in it, Tears of the Kingdom has barely fleshed out its Sky and Depths areas enough to make them feel memorable or worth going out of your way to explore. Once you've explored 10% of either, you've experienced all of it. While the Sky and the Depths each have their own dungeon, neither of them really feel justified enough to explain why they had to be there. The Depths don't add anything to the nature of the Fire Temple - by the time you're finished with it, you'll forget you're even in the Depths - and while the Water Temple does have the addition of lowered gravity up in the Sky, no other islands have this, so it feels like a random addition in the way of a gimmick that doesn't actually play much of a role in the dungeon's puzzle-solving.

As for the Depths, I do have to say that the game introduced it in the best way possible. No one spoke of them, outside of an NPC in Lookout Landing sending you on a quest to find a nearby one, but they still don't describe to you what you're about to come upon. It wasn't in any of the gameplay trailers. You see a big hole in the ground with gloom coming out of it, you know you can jump down into it, but it's not until you actually do that you realize you're diving down into the belly of a completely different beast. Link keeps falling and you're realizing how dark it's getting and hoping you can pull out your paraglider in time to hit a ground that you realize you cannot see - when the music shifts and the horns blare and your stomach sinks realizing just how dark and vast this place is.

The Depths are what I truly fell in love with in this game. I was struck with that primal fear in my gut that I hadn't felt since playing Majora's Mask as a child. For the first time in forever, I felt like the smaller species, like a speck of dust in unfamiliar territory. It was a welcome feature for a game that - if you had preceded it with Breath of the Wild - needed something to shake things up.

But, unfortunately, that initial thrill wears off eventually. The Depths become just that - a vast expanse with nothing in it. Aside from the odd treasure chest containing a piece of gear, the Bargainer's Statues, and a couple main story quests that take you down there, the Depths have nothing. Mapping them out is a feat in and of itself, even more daunting than mapping out the above ground with its tens of lightroots, but once you get at least 50% through the map, you realize that there's really nothing else to it. In fact, the map of the Depths exactly mirrors that of the map above you, with even less to do due to its lack of notable landmarks (outside of a central mining area, the Korok Grove, and the aforementioned Fire Temple), lack of biome distinction between areas (aside from the Eldin area created specifically for the Fire Temple), and lack of shrines. Once you figure that out, mapping out the rest of it is an unfortunately boring cakewalk.

I think both of these new inclusions in the game are unfortunately half-baked, making TOTK in and of itself feel like a tech demo for something that could have been more expanded upon. That said, it's a tall order, to ask for the game to run an in-depth open world map on three separate levels - the hardware itself already often struggles to load the Depths if you dive down into them too quickly, as the fall itself is its own cleverly hidden loading screen - but it's a shame to see it essentially repeat the mistakes of Skyward Sword, and it's where I feel that "this could have been DLC" complaint comes from.

There are features that feel like mild downgrades from BOTW, such as its new Fuse ability to fuse together weapons. While it seems inventive at first, the amount of inventory being carried over from BOTW makes the gameplay grind to a halt as you scroll through your pop-up inventory list to find the right thing to attach to your arrows or weapons, often times mid combat. While you can sort your menu into different sections - such as 'most used' and 'most powerful' - such a thing could have been fixed by allowing the player to create their own custom lists of items or just reducing what is and isn't capable of being fused. It feels like an unnecessary extra step thrown in to BOTW's weapon degradation mechanic just to make it feel more unique.

Moving on, this is where I want to talk about the game's story. Like the last game, it asks Link to piece together the memories of companions already gone. The story woven within these memories is a tragic one, with an emotional depth to it that I found myself relating far more to than in BOTW, which asked us to sympathize with characters who we had never met and were already gone. On the flipside, TOTK manages to tell a similar story with a lot more emotional depth, now using Princess Zelda as the tether between the present and the past, in a way that I feel works much better than in BOTW. Its climactic twist felt like something you would find in Spirited Away, and its one that I felt was appropriate for the game's setting and themes. That said, I still do not find myself compelled by this game's version of the Champions, similarly to what I experienced in BOTW. At the very least, it brings back cast members from BOTW for us to connect through, such as Purah and Lady Impa, who I was happy to see return.

And then there are the Sages.

I have a lot to say about the Sages.

The Sages have to be the single worst inclusion of this game. And that's not to say they ruin the game, but in a game full of wonderful moments and amazing gameplay, they definitely feel like a tarnishing C- on an otherwise perfect report card. Just like in Breath of the Wild, the game's main story gameplay is the weakest part of Tears of the Kingdom. While BOTW had Link conquering the out-of-control Divine Beasts, TOTK asks Link to unearth ancient temples and awaken the spirits of sages long gone for their powers to be reborn through their descendants, three of which happen to be the successors of BOTW's Champions: Riju, Sidon, and Yunobo. While the development team and press surrounding this game called these temples "traditional dungeons", they are fundamentally the exact same as the Divine Beasts, following the same 4-beat structure in which you have to activate 4 'locks' (themed around the dungeon's setting) to unlock the dungeon's boss. I found these dungeons were often even easier than the Divine Beasts of BOTW, essentially asking Link to solve four separate shrine puzzles to get to a boss that follows a simple mechanic loop. While the bosses are far less repetitive than the Blights of BOTW, they are also far less intimidating or punishing, barely requiring any extensive thought to figure out how to overcome them. The hardest boss in the game - the Gibdo Queen - ironically had one of the easiest dungeons out of the four.

But here's the thing - Tears of the Kingdom is built the exact same way as Breath of the Wild, giving the player freedom to choose the order in which they complete dungeons, if they even choose to complete them at all... but unlike past Zelda games which offered this freedom, TOTK fails in how it delivers these dungeons and the narrative surrounding them. I was miffed upon completing my second dungeon - the Fire Temple - and realizing that the cutscenes it presented were the exact same as the first one I did - the Wind Temple - and sure enough, that same cutscene played out from its respective sage for the following Water Temple and Lightning Temple. They are all the same. While one could argue this was their way of navigating around the freedom of choice - to allow the player to experience neutral cutscenes that won't be out of order or out of context - the memories themselves are also out of order and out of context so having the dungeon cutscenes be varied should be a feature, not a bug to patch out. Currently, with its repetitive cutscenes and what you gain from completing a dungeon, it makes them far less enjoyable to do, knowing you're essentially just doing one big shrine with a giant enemy (one you can find in the Depths for farming, which makes them feel far less unique or imposing) with the reward of a heart in the end.

Of course, I'm forgetting to mention the other reward you get after completing a dungeon. Sage abilities. The biggest downgrade from BOTW by far.

In BOTW, upon completing a Divine Beast, you would be granted with an ability from its respective Champion, typically a passive one - meaning, if you had the ability enabled, it would activate on its own or you could trigger it a specific way, such as Mipha's Grace which would automatically revive you once in between cooldowns (basically a fairy you didn't have to catch) and, the fan favorite, Revali's Gale, which could be triggered by holding down the jump button and would grant you so much more ease of exploring.

Tears of the Kingdom, instead, asks "What if we made all of the Champions their own characters who could run around you, get in your way, and offer even less useful abilities?"

The present Sages - Yunobo, Tulin, Riju, Sidon, and Mineru - are akin to a teenager taking way more dogs than they could handle out for a walk. They are five nuisances who will run away from you when you need them, and run around you when you're just trying to pick up an item, causing you to accidentally trigger their abilities which are simply mapped to the A button. Too many times I've had them trigger a fight with enemies I was trying to avoid, blow away loot I was trying to grab, or blow up explosives that I wasn't aiming at, killing me outright. While they can be turned off, I feel like it could have been far easier to implement them in a way that wasn't so distracting and obtrusive - currently, the way they're implemented basically demands you keep them turned off until you absolutely need them. Considering a map of the Switch controller buttons comes up with the A button highlighted, it begs the question, why even have the other three buttons visible onscreen if they can never be mapped? Why not make use of different buttons for different companions? Or make them passive abilities similar to that of the Champions from BOTW? Overall, their inclusion feels clunky and not well thought out, and their abilities aren't near beneficial or useful enough to justify this much headache. At most, Yunobo is helpful in blowing up rock walls when you don't have Bomb Flowers, and Tulin is helpful in gusting you towards a landing spot while gliding through the sky, but that's about where their usefulness ends. Unlike in BOTW, the efforts required to gain their abilities barely feels like a reward, but more of an obligatory chore, making the dungeons feel even less rewarding to do.

With all that said, unlike in BOTW, Tears of the Kingdom never becomes a smoother experience to explore. The effort you put into completing the dungeons and gaining better weapons and gear never feels rewarded with anything substantial or worth working for. The Sage abilities are a burden and give very little benefit to exploring or combat the same way BOTW's Champion abilities did, the dungeons themselves aren't experiences worth writing home about, and the story is so milquetoast and repetitive that once you beat one dungeon, you've experienced all of them.

That said, while I've done a lot of complaining, there are a lot of things about the game I'm enjoying compared to Breath of the Wild. One such thing are the sidequests - there are a LOT more of them in this game, and many of them feel far more engaging and rewarding than Breath of the Wild. Accessing the Great Fairies requires an actual sequence of quests now, in which you bring a travelling band back together, and from that point forward, you can always hear them playing their music at the stables scattered throughout Hyrule. Hateno has its own questline that rewards you with what's possibly Link's greatest piece of fashion ever, Cece's Hat. Even the small quests feel more rewarding to do because TOTK feels far busier than BOTW did. There are far more NPC's, and the world itself just feels more lively; I wouldn't expect any less in the sequel to BOTW which experienced a cataclysmic event that wiped out the population of the kingdom. It's nice to see the difference in how the towns operate in TOTK because you can feel it through its sidequests. There are still Yiga Clan members in disguise on the surface, but it's far less now compared to BOTW where you couldn't talk to an NPC on the road without getting shanked.

Of course, it wouldn't be a BOTW sequel without one of its most daunting sidequests of all - the Korok Seed quest. This time, there are 1000 Korok Seeds to find, with new puzzles to find them, most notably the escort quests, which require you to build whatever godforsaken Roman-era torture device you need to build to get wandering Koroks from Point A to Point B.

That said, the unfortunate news I have to break to you after finally seeing someone complete the quest themselves - all that awaits you in the end, once again, is "Hestu's Gift" which I have to say, isn't as quite as funny the second time around. While in BOTW it felt like a funny nudge at completionists, in the vein of "Haha, look at you! You worked so hard to get all those seeds and all that awaited you was a pile of poop! It's all in good fun! The real prize was the adventuring you did along the way!" but having that be the end prize again in TOTK where we're exploring regions we've already explored before feels far more passive-aggressive, like it's making fun of you for really doing what the devs expected you to do a second time, with a snarky, "Seriously? You're that stupid? You really thought there'd be something new this time?" Especially considering the Koroks exclusively populate the Sky and the Surface - giving players even less incentive to want to explore the Depths, further robbing this new expansive area of less identity. Ironic that the Depths, an area so big that it requires its own hidden loading screen, would end up having even less to do than the Sky itself, which barely covers any surface area in the game's overall map by comparison. It's a damn shame the devs couldn't be bothered to think of something to reward the player with for all their work. At least in BOTW it could be said the reward was the exploration, as so much of BOTW's map goes untouched by its main story and its world was brand new to us back then - it's not brand new now, though, and the areas that are new are going completely unused.

I realize this review is getting quite long, but I want to close it with one final point - Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom's place in the Zelda franchise.

There's a startling lack of one specific thing that makes a Zelda game truly Zelda, despite the dev's best efforts to return its old school elements such as traditional "dungeons" and its nods to previous games in the title through its referential gear sets implemented right into the game (vs. exclusively as DLC in BOTW) - and that's the Triforce.

It's said that a true Zelda game can't contain its core triad of characters - Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf - without containing the Triforce in the center of all of it, and yet Tears of the Kingdom did this, and frankly, it just proves that point.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not good at singling out a 'favorite'. Whenever people ask me what my favorite Zelda game is, my mind races through all the titles I played as a child - Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, Wind Waker, Twilight Princess - and yet I rarely think of Breath of the Wild and likely won't think of Tears of the Kingdom either. It's not for lack of trying or consideration, I do think both Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom are respectable games, both inclusive and exclusive of one another, but rarely does my mind go to them because to me, they don't feel like true Zelda games. And I didn't realize why until I recalled that the last game we had featuring Link, Zelda, Ganondorf, and the Triforce as core setpieces... was Twilight Princess. A game that will be turning seventeen this year, and will likely be twenty by the time the next mainline Zelda game releases. And one could argue even Twilight Princess doesn't count because Ganondorf was a last second addition - if we want to be really obtuse about it, technically we haven't gotten a game featuring Link, Zelda and Ganondorf as our main characters since Wind Waker, a game that turned twenty years old last year!

I felt its absence especially in Tears of the Kingdom, seeing Ganondorf manipulate his way into stealing the sigh 'secret stones' (I'm sorry but that name is so fucking cringe, please just call them "sacred stones" or "mystic stones" or SOMETHING more interesting than "secret stones", we don't even get any sort of lore or hinting towards where they came from, they're just magical McGuffin's with a stupid name) but not once mention his true motivations prior to finding out about the stone's existence. There was no emotional motivation such as what can be seen in The Wind Waker through a Ganondorf scorned by his lost culture and the kingdom that he just wanted to see wiped out to make things even; or Ocarina of Time Ganondorf who sought to access the Sacred Realm and take the Triforce and all its power for himself. Shit, there wasn't even a mention of Demise, the massive plot-twister of Skyward Sword, which Nintendo attempted to make the ultimate explanation as to why the games and their stories experience the same warring cycle from generation to generation; an explanation that could have worked, if they had actually followed up on it through BOTW and TOTK - yet, despite having the opportunity to do so, seem to just be whistling around the issue, pretending like it's not there. Despite having an Ouroboros in its title art, this cycle of death and rebirth is noticeably gone in Tears of the Kingdom.

Look, I get it. The developers have already stated that they're intent on moving forward with its open world format in future Zelda games. It's making them a lot of money. It's refreshing. It's bringing new fans into the franchise. And it's bridging the gap between generations by re-introducing classic exploration elements of retro Zelda while trying to also balance the narrative elements that modern post-N64 Zelda fans have come to expect.

But when you tear apart all the original components of a franchise, of its themes, its characters, its stories, and replace them with new components only slightly reminiscent of the old... can that franchise really be called the same thing anymore? When people ask me what my favorite Zelda game is, I don't think of Breath of the Wild or Tears of the Kingdom because to me, they're just not Zelda games. They're just what they are - Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. Nintendo had a huge opportunity to make Tears of the Kingdom into a game that could tie its predecessors together with a neat little bow, and yet it still took the half-baked way out, layering it instead with its own story that doesn't even really work or take advantage of the foundation it's standing upon. They're their own games, and that's okay, but I can't help but feel that the further we go down this road, the less it'll encompass what made Zelda what it was to begin with.

And yeah, I'm sure I'm just being a typical 'old Zelda fan' who's complaining about the exact same thing that people complained about in games like Wind Waker and Twilight Princess. But when your Zelda game featuring Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf does not mention a word of the Triforce, I think both retro and modern Zelda fans can agree to even a slight extent that you can't have Legend of Zelda without the Triforce. That would be like having Super Mario without Power Stars (or some equivalent of them) or Kirby without its existential nihilism or Sonic without Chaos Emeralds. Sure, you can have games in their franchises without their respective trademarks, but do it enough times and people will start to notice something's seriously off. I think we can all agree that while Twilight Princess and Wind Waker may be, aesthetically and thematically, completely different games, you can't deny they're Zelda games at their core because they still have that signature cast fighting over those pesky golden Doritos.

In this respect, Tears of the Kingdom feels like it's suffering from the same problem Star Wars is suffering from - it exists to spite the titles that came before it, but knows it won't succeed without the fans of those titles so it makes as many cheeky references to those titles as it can without paying actual respect to them. It even opens the game with references to things that retro gamers will recognize - Rauru, Ganondorf recognizing Link's name, etc. - but then all those elements are later revealed to be unique to TOTK, such as Rauru being the first King of a Hyrule that's exclusive to the BOTW timeline, or Ganondorf only recognizing Link's name because a time-travelling Zelda told him his name, not because it's the same Ganondorf of titles' past. It feels incredibly disappointing to have all this setup and so little payoff especially for these games that are claiming to be the 'next step' for the franchise. It feels less like a 'next step' and more like a complete reboot for a different audience. These games are not reminiscent of what pulled me and my brother into the franchise way back in the day.

But I dunno, maybe it's a weird hill to die on. I don't want to be one of those "not my Zelda" puritans but when the games don't even contain elements of what made them distinctly Zelda back in the day, down to its trademark features, it makes me wonder what exactly where the series is headed.

Anyways. That was a lot. I do want to make it clear that I am enjoying this game, very much so, but like many games that top the charts with solid 10/10's on release, I feel like there are definitely still places the game could have been further refined, despite the extra year it took to polish it. From the inconvenient gameplay halters like the inventory fusing, to the obtrusive butchering of the Sage abilities, so many things could have been tightened up just a bit more to further improve on what Breath of the Wild started, rather than trade out what BOTW did for weaker alternatives. It's a game of gimmicks, rather than one of substance. While Breath of the Wild lacked substance itself in many regards, it at least had the benefit of being a brand new format, with a vast world one could spend hours exploring - with that same world returning in Tears of the Kingdom, with very little done to flesh out the attempts to expand it, it very much feels like it's simply riding off the coattails of Breath of the Wild, and in that regard, I can agree to an extent with the "DLC" arguments, while also agreeing that there are things in TOTK that very much improve on BOTW and make it look like a tech demo.

One thing I will recommend in the end to those of you who might be reading this - do not play Breath of the Wild right before Tears of the Kingdom. Whether it's your first time playing BOTW or you're wanting to revisit it, don't do it. I was fortunate enough that my last time playing BOTW was several months ago, but I've seen loads of people not enjoying TOTK because they replayed BOTW in the days before its release, and let me tell you, this game is far less of a unique or fun experience if you play BOTW right before playing TOTK due to the world design. If you play them one after the other, you'll burn yourself out on it and not get to appreciate what TOTK adds to BOTW's world as much as if you had gone in partially or mostly blind.

And that's all I'm gonna say on that. Tears of the Kingdom gets a 8.5/10 from me. I am excited to see where the franchise goes next in terms of its open world concept, I hope Nintendo can at least stray away from this version of Hyrule so we can get something new like we did in BOTW. Tears of the Kingdom was by no means a negative experience for me, and I'm planning on getting back into it tonight and tackling more of its sidequests, which are probably one of my favorite parts of the game. I could very well be way too hard on it, so this opinion could change over time as I spend more time in its world, but these are my general experiences that have come up in the back of my mind over the past couple weeks since its release.

Thanks for reading!

#tears of the kingdom #tears of the kingdom review #long post #tears of the kingdom criticism #legend of zelda #TOTK #zelda #breath of the wild #BOTW #review #game review

71 notes · View notes