#sparkling-half-elf

[drathe]

fire of your soul

[zureiil]

Night at the Northrend Ball ❄️

WoW illustration commission for @/CryptidCrybaby over at Twitter

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[justauthoring]

the trees told me about you.

the trees whisper to you and gojo thinks that makes you special.

a/n: i just started watching frieren and i NEEDED something fantasy okay???? also, i love him <3

pairing: prince!gojo satoru x f!elf!reader

The trees whisper to you.

Whisper words that ghost past your ears and leave your eyes sparkling with warmth, staring at the twinkling green leafs that bristle in the wind. 

No one else can hear them, except for you. 

Some think you're mad, others just don’t like you cause you’re different – either way, you’ve long ago learned not to care.

Because the trees speak to you, tell you secrets of the world and bring you the love you’ve never felt elsewhere. They don’t judge you because you look different, and they make you feel included – loved.

So even though you’re glared at and cruel words are whispered behind your back;

She’s not right. Spending her days talking to trees…

They say her parents abandoned her when she was young… you don’t have to wonder why.

What a lonely life… but no one wants to talk to a girl who thinks trees speak.

You’ve learned that there’s no point worrying and no point in trying to change their minds. 

A life of solitude is one you’ve accepted for yourself. And besides, you don’t feel all that alone in the first, shrouded by trees, protected from the small, the feeling of the dirt and grass and earth beneath your fingers as you smile and laugh and talk.

Yeah, you don’t feel alone at all.

At least, until you meet him.

-

“You know they all think you’re insane, right?”

A moment ago, you’d been positive you’d been alone. You hadn’t heard him walk up, the crunch of his footsteps along the forest floor or even the rustling of his clothing; so when you hear his voice, so much louder, harsher, sharper than the voices that whisper in your ears, it makes you jump.

You’re startled, incredibly so. You lose your footing beneath you, your bum hitting the ground harshly as you turn your head to face the voice, worrying just who it was that had snuck up on you.

It’s a boy. Roughly your age, or at least you assume so. He’s tall. Even though you’re on the ground, you know he’d tower over you. He’s got bright white hair that shifts to a purple hue when the sun hits him just right. And his eyes are a striking blue that rivals even the sky and unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d lived in your small village all your life and you’re positive you’ve never seen this boy before.

“Who… who are you?” Your words come out shakier than you want but then again, you’re not all that accustomed to speaking to others. Most of your time is spent listening… and even you know there’s a difference between listening to trees and real people. You’ve never had someone speak so directly to you before – most of the time, they opt for whispering behind your back even though both you and them are aware you can hear them.

Still, you force yourself to speak; “what are you doing here?”

He’s grinning. Ear to ear. And it’s wide and it’s bright and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that seems some sort of mischievous, yet, the smile feels real and genuine and almost… kind(?).

Then, he’s crouching, moving so he’s more level to you and his head tilts to the right. “Gojo Satoru,” he introduces, saying his name with pride. “And I am going for a light stroll in the woods.”

Gojo Satoru…

Gojo…

That’s… that’s last the name of the king—

Your eyes widen, instantly shifting to meet his gaze while he continues to just smile at you, bright and happy, hands clasped in front of him without a care in the world. You take in his clothes properly then, the detailing and the quality of the fabric, hemmed with laces – clothes you’ve never even had half enough coin to buy.

Clothes you’d never be able to buy.

You’d heard the King had a son but you’d never seen him or any drawings of him either.

A boy that looks like this though? Looks like he could be the King’s son.

“I ventured through the village beforehand,” he gestures over his shoulder. “You are not well-liked.” 

You blink out of your daze, frowning at his words.

Shifting, you move so you’re sitting straighter, straightening out your blouse as you glare at him. “That’s rather rude.”

He shrugs, still grinning. “You didn’t deny it though.”

And you frown because you know he’s right.

“Okay, so, what’s the King’s son doing taking a stroll in the woods well outside of the castle grounds?”  

He pauses, raising a brow; “so you did recognize me…” He hums lightly, pointing at you. 

You nod; “yes, I did.”

You’re well aware that your lack of respect for the King’s son could get you arrested, or worse. But, you don't care all that much. You figure that Gojo would’ve done something by now if he was really bothered by it, and… well, he’s the one who snuck up on you in the first place.

Laughing lightly, Gojo shrugs; “couldn’t stand being there anymore.”

You raise a brow; “the castle?”

He nods. “It’s so… stuffy! Gods, no one knows how to have any fun in there! And I'm constantly getting reprimanded for trying to liven the place up a little.” His words are dramatic, doubled by his actions as he wildly waves his hands around, rolling his eyes as he sulks. “You’d think royalty, with all the money we have, would know how to make things at least a little exciting… but no! They’re dreadfully boring.”

He finishes his rambling with a loud huff, and a second passes before you burst out in laughter.

Gojo blinks at you, once, twice, stunned before he’s grinning once more.

“That’s funny?” He asks, watching you amusedly.

Clutching at your stomach, you shake your head; “sorry,” you gasp. “I just never expected the King’s son to be so… un-princely?”

Chuckling, Gojo’s eyes trail your figure as you continue to laugh; “no?”

“No,” you snort, calming yourself down. Then, a second later, you glance at him; “so you ran away?”

“For now,” he agrees. “And you?”

You blink; “what about me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Your smile fades. “Well… you heard.”

“So, you really do talk to trees?”

You pause, bewildered. “You believe me?”

“Why would you lie?”

And it’s the first time you’ve heard someone say that to you… because, yes, why would you lie? Why would you make all this up?

And yet he’s the first one who believes you.

“I’ve never seen someone like you before you, you know,” he shuffles closer and your breath halts, eyeing him as he leans in. “I thought you all died out.”

Subconsciously, your fingers move to touch the tip of your pointy ears that’s hidden by your hair. “We did,” you whisper, “it’s just me.”

Resting his head on his crossed arms, Gojo fidgets in the spot. “That’s unfortunate.”

You hum, not sure how else to respond. It was unfortunate and sad, but no one else had ever seemed to think so. At least not anyone in your village. Scorned and judged because of your smaller stature and your pointy ears… you were a freak amongst humans in your village and they constantly liked to remind you of the fact.

“You think the trees talk to you because you’re different?”

Wide eyed, you turn to Gojo. “What?”

“I don’t hear them,” he frowns, and he strains his ear, cupping it for emphasis as if that’ll help. “And I’m royalty. They should talk to me… but they don’t. I bet it’s because you’re an elf. Makes you extra special then.”

Lips parting, you glance around, taking in the trees, hearing the whispers that have softened, before turning back to his blue eyes. “More special than the prince?”

He smirks; “I guess,” he obliges, chuckling. “Just this once.”

You smile. A real, genuine smile.

“You shouldn’t hide them, either.”

“Hm?”

“Your ears,” he explains, reaching forward. You barely have time to react before he’s brushing back your hair, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your ears as he tucks the hair behind, revealing your insecurity to his eyes. He doesn’t look away, and panicked, you watch him, overwhelmed by how close he suddenly is, breath stuck in the back of your throat.

But he doesn’t look disgusted or freaked out.

He looks… amazed.

“You shouldn’t hide them,” his gaze shifts back to yours, grinning again but this time it’s softer, more demure. “They’re what make you you.”

“They make me look strange. Different,” you mumble to yourself, lowering your gaze as you attempt to pull your hair back out from behind your ear.

Gojo grabs your wrist, small in his own grasp, halting your movements.

You turn to him with parted lips.

“No,” he whispers and it’s the softest he’s sounded, but yet, it’s still so confident. Like he doesn’t doubt a single word he says. “No, they make you special.”

You stare back at him, stunned. But you don’t pull away and you don’t move. You like it, having him this close. This boy who you've just met. This boy who is the King’s son. The prince. Next in line for the throne.

This boy who’s made you feel more normal than you ever have your entire life.

But then he’s pulling away, despite the disappointment that burns through you, standing up straight as you crane your head up to look at him. He’s grinning, ear to ear again, as he takes small steps back.

“I should go,” he explains, laughing. “My father is probably throwing a fit. But, come back tomorrow okay?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head in wonder.

He just laughs.

“I plan to run away again.” 

Is all he says and then he’s turning, offering you a short wave before disappearing through the thick of the trees, leaving you to yourself and the whispers.

You stare at the place he left, undeniably grinning from ear to ear yourself now.

“Yes,” you nod to the whispers. “I think I like him too.”

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐤𝐲

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You drift into sleep, and the chaos begins. Memories swirl around you, fragmented and hazy, flashing too quickly for you to grasp. 

Voices echo, overlapping and fading before you can understand them.

"...May the present life shine like gold."

"Further Killing is meaningless."

"...But their death must mean something."

"Death is not the end of life... We will redefine humanity itself."

"...But we all know this world is beyond saving."

"... Despite that, we must become heroes."

You try to focus, but the images shift and blur. Faces you should recognize merge into each other. You hear different voices, yet you are unable to concentrate while the flashing images cross your mind.

A memory flickers: a pink-haired elf in a white dress. This time it's a bit clearer.

You hold her in your arms, blood pouring out of her chest. Her eyes are sad, yet filled with an unspoken warmth. She caresses your cheek, her touch gentle despite her pain. She says something, her lips moving slowly, but the words are lost to you. Then the scene shifts abruptly, the memory distorting.

You find yourself facing a long blue-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He looks at you with intensity, his expression serious. "Y/N, promise me you never forget...-" The memory distorts again, the edges blurring, "...love you."

The images speed up, a kaleidoscope of moments you can't hold on to. They slip through your fingers like sand, leaving only the faintest impressions.

You jolted awake, sitting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Your hand clutched your rapidly beating heart as you gasped for breath. An overwhelming sadness gripped you, manifesting in uncontrollable tears streaming down your face. You let the tears fall freely, unable to stem the tide of emotion.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as fragments of your memories resurfaced, each piece as elusive as mist. You climbed out of bed and paced the room, trying to shake the disorienting sensation. You halted in front of the mirror, compelled to confront your reflection.

Staring back at you were eyes that seemed hollow, devoid of any spark of life, like a puppet's vacant gaze. Your cheeks glistened with the remnants of dried tears, evidence of your inexplicable sorrow.

As you blinked, your reflection shifted.

The reflection showed you with white hair and golden horns. One horn was half-shattered, the broken end dissolving into a sparkling golden mist.

You reached out to touch the mirror, your fingers trembling as they met the cold glass. The reflection stared back with a haunting emptiness that mirrored the void you felt within.

"My MANTIS form? Is this an illusion?" you whispered, barely audible, to yourself.

In the mirror, your reflection stood differently. It wore a white kimono, stained with blood and dirt, its eyes glowing a piercing gold. The reflection seemed more alive than ever, staring back at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Find me,"

The reflection's voice echoed, soft yet commanding, as it leaned closer to the glass.

"Your end... my origin."

Suddenly, the mirror's surface cracked, spiderwebbing outward from where your reflection's hand had pressed against the glass. Startled, you stepped back, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection flickered and then returned to your current self, leaving only the shattered fragments of glass to catch and distort your image.

You stared at the broken mirror, your face reflected back in jagged pieces, each shard a fragment of a whole that felt lost to you. The encounter left you shaken, the echo of the reflection's voice lingering in your mind.

You draped your coat over your nightgown, pulling it tightly around yourself, and stepped out into the cold night.

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Your heels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestone streets, resonating through the stillness of the night. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of the sea.

The moon cast a pale glow over the empty streets, its silver light the only illumination as the city slumbered. You wandered aimlessly, unable to shake the unsettling dream that had stirred your memories.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry!..." A blonde traveler exclaimed, trailing off as his eyes met yours. His expression shifted from apology to shock, and he instinctively took a step back.

You sighed, crossing your arms to ward off the chill. "I'm not going to eat you," you said with a hint of sarcasm. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Aether looked alarmed but quickly relaxed, sensing no threat from you. "I had a nightmare..." he admitted, leaving out the detail that the nightmare involved you.

"A nightmare, hm?" you mused, walking past him and stopping at his side. "The more that weighs on your mind, the more your fears turn into dreamscapes."

Aether glanced at you but remained silent. There was something about you that felt familiar, a sense that beneath your icy exterior lay untold stories. Perhaps, he thought, you had a complex history with Zhongli.

"And you?" he ventured.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, you offered, "Walk with me. Let's forget our problems for a while." You began to walk, your pace slow and deliberate.

Aether hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside you. The two of you strolled through the quiet streets of Liyue Harbor, the silence around you amplifying the noise in your minds. The city's usual bustle was absent, replaced by a serene, almost eerie stillness.

"What a quiet night..." you murmured, your voice soft in the tranquil air. "They say the quieter things are around you, the louder they are in your head. It's true, isn't it?"

You didn't look back at Aether, but you could feel his presence beside you, a silent companion in this nocturnal journey. He nodded in agreement, the sound barely audible.

You halted at the edge of the harbor, where the cold sea breeze caressed your face, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, rhythmic murmur of waves.

You clutched your coat tighter around your body, the thin nightgown beneath providing little warmth. The soft rustling of the ocean's surface reminded you of him, a memory as elusive as the shifting tides.

The traveler, Aether, watched you quietly. The moonlight reflecting off the water cast a gentle glow on your face, accentuating your mysterious allure.

To him, you were an enigma. His only encounter with you had been during that tense moment with Zhongli, where you had seemed intimidating. Yet now, in this peaceful setting, you appeared more contemplative and perhaps even kind. He realized he knew almost nothing about you, not even your name.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice curious but respectful.

You turned to meet his gaze, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment.

"Oh? Out for a midnight stroll, are we?"

Childe's voice cut through the night, dripping with suspicion. He approached, eyes narrowed at you.

"Up to no good, perhaps?" His tone was accusatory, a familiar annoyance that you felt in your bones.

You barely knew him, only having seen him briefly at the funeral, yet he seemed to harbor a baseless animosity towards you.

"We're just walking," you replied coolly, meeting his gaze with a calm, unyielding stare. "Neither of us could sleep. There's no need for your baseless accusations."

Aether turned to Childe, sensing the tension. "Childe? What are you doing here?"

Childe's expression shifted slightly as he acknowledged Aether. "Ah, the famous traveler," he remarked, his voice tinged with a mock cheerfulness. "I see you've found your way to her." He glanced back at you with a passive-aggressive look, a mix of irritation and something unreadable.

Aether glanced at you, seeking an explanation, then back at Childe, expecting answers.

"She hasn't told you?" Childe raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "She's quite infamous among us, actually," he began, his tone laced with amusement.

"Us... Are you one of the Harbingers?" Aether's eyes widened, his body tensing.

The quiet harbor was momentarily disrupted by the rippling tension between you and Childe.

You crossed your arms, your gaze steely. "Childe," your voice was sharp, cutting through the crisp night air like a blade. "Her Royal Majesty sent a personal letter apologizing for your... behavior. I strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut."

Childe's smile widened, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Or what? You wanna to fight?" He stepped closer, eager for confrontation.

Aether glanced nervously between you and Childe, feeling the intensity of the moment.

Then, in an instant, a Hydro dagger materialized in Childe's hand. With a wild laugh, he lunged at you, his speed blurring as he closed the distance.

The blade aimed for your throat with lethal precision, but before it could touch you, your hand shot up, clamping around his wrist with an iron grip.

In the blink of an eye, you delivered a flurry of punches to his face, each strike landing with brutal efficiency. The world seemed to slow down as you pounded him with lightning-fast blows.

As he reeled from the onslaught, you released his wrist, spinning gracefully before delivering a powerful kick to his abdomen. The impact sent Childe flying, crashing through the air and landing hard against a row of trash cans with a thunderous clatter.

The entire sequence happened in a mere heartbeat. The force of your actions left Aether stunned, the air thick with the intensity of the moment.

He stood in stunned disbelief. One moment, Childe had lunged at you, and in the next, he was sprawled across a pile of trash cans, thoroughly beaten. Had it all happened in the blink of an eye? He turned his gaze to you, realizing with a shiver that you were capable of much more than he had imagined.

"Don't worry, he won't bother us anymore," you said calmly, turning towards Aether, completely composed.

"I doubt he will ever..." Aether muttered, noticing your unruffled demeanor. It was as if the scuffle hadn't even phased you; you weren't even out of breath.

"About your question from before," you continued, meeting his eyes, "I am part of the Fatui and one of the Harbingers. My code-name is Innamorati."

Strangely, Aether didn't feel the usual wariness that came with meeting a Harbinger. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of ease, a feeling that it was better to be on your good side.

"Innamorati... I've never heard that code name before," Aether said, curiosity piqued. "And what about your actual name?"

You sighed, crossing your arms. "You might forget it, so you can call me whatever you like. But my real name is Y/N."

Aether blinked, taken aback. "It's... a beautiful name." He blurted out, then blushed slightly. "I mean... you have the same name as the unknown lady in the story."

You tilted your head, puzzled. "Unknown lady? What story are you talking about?"

Aether suddenly realized his slip. The tale he referred to only mentioned Morax and his two lovers, Guizhong and an unnamed woman, without ever revealing her identity.

"Uh... it's a story about Morax, the Geo Archon, and his two lovers, Guizhong and... um, Y/N, the unknown lady. It also involves Osial being jealous," he explained quickly.

At the mention of Osial, your eyes widened as a memory surfaced, a fragment of a dream featuring a blue-haired man with striking blue eyes. You turned towards the ocean, a sad expression clouding your features.

"Are you alright?" Aether asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It's nothing. I just... have a bad memory. The name Osial... I knew him well... or used to," you murmured. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now."

Aether, both surprised and curious about you, realized it was time to part ways as the night was nearing its end. "If you'd like to hear more about the story, we can meet up tomorrow. And..., good night," he said, a shy smile accompanied by a faint blush on his cheeks.

You were momentarily taken aback, your expression softening. "Thank you."

Then, with a thoughtful pause, you looked him in the eye. "Before you go, may I make a request?" Your tone was serious.

"It may seem strange, perhaps even rude, but I must ask..."

"...Have we met somewhere before?"

The question hung in the air, and Aether's eyes widened in surprise.

After a moment's thought, Aether responded, "Perhaps we have."

A small, knowing chuckle escaped your lips. "My memories often fail me..." you murmured. Stepping closer, you leaned in to whisper in his ear, your breath warm against his skin, "Return safely whence you came... Because a particular Yaksha is following us." You glanced around subtly. "If you feel unsafe, you can follow me."

Aether's eyes widened further, immediately thinking of Xiao. "I'm okay, I know this Yaksha," he whispered back, attempting to reassure you. You gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words.

With a final exchange of goodbyes, you turned and headed back to the hotel Pantalone had reserved entirely for your stay. As you walked away, you remained vigilant, aware of the green-haired Yaksha's presence in the shadows, watching your every move.

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Reblog if you like this story

[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

[justporo]

Laid Out Traps

Astarion has many masterful ways with which he keeps seducing you - traps laid out masterfully for you to fall into. And you are eager to let yourself get dragged under. But this time you're pulling him down with you.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Well actually I wanted to write something else today, but here we are. Thoughts about how Astarion would continuously work on seducing you, making sure he's always on your mind didn't leave my mind. So enjoy some... not quite smut, but something sensual? Anyways, here goes.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: light smut, lots of tension, blood Wordcount: 3,1k ~~~

You were walking through some forestry bits during another day of crossing this godsdamned Mountain Pass. It had barely been half a day but you were already exhausted. The journey just didn't seem to ever get any easier. Hopefully there would a break soon and you'd find some peace to calm your body and sort out your mind a little. Your thoughts had been running rampant for a while now and you were thankful for a moment away from the others when you could just let go a little.

Astarion - and therefore the reason why your mind was so scrambled - walked behind you. And he was also part of the reason why you felt so exhausted. Not only because the two of you had made it a frequent habit now to steal away when the others had gone to rest. But also because no matter how often you had found your way into the vampire’s arms, your thoughts never seemed to stray far from the pale elf. The hunger and need for the other never really sated.

It very much wasn't the kind of thing where the anticipation and the buildup had held all the magic. It hadn’t been merely a fling where the urge was overcome and then matters were dealt with for good.

No, much rather the more often you sought his embrace the more tightly wrapped his hold on your mind was. And you were beginning to feel that it might not even stop with his claim over your body and mind. At some point you would have confess to yourself that the sassy vampire, whose eyes sometimes were universes away with sorrow, had firmly snuck his way into your heart.

And Astarion took every opportunity to seduce you, to lure you in. Wrapping his strings tighter around you.

You were well aware of it.

He'd laid himself out as bait from the very beginning. You had known. At least you had very quickly been sure that he wasn't just after a body to lose himself in. Therefore, his ways were way too elaborate.

And also there were those moments when you were with him when it seemed he wanted to be anywhere but. But his focus always snapped back. Especially when you were trying to address these moments of absence.

Then he'd usually double his efforts, desperately trying to make you forget whatever thoughts had just sprung to your mind.

And unfortunately, he was masterful at that.

A master at deceiving you, luring you in and then keeping you trapped, being an addiction. It would probably not end well for you. Most vices didn't.

But you just couldn't stay away - neither from the way he held you but also from just… him.

A break was announced at some ruins you'd come across. Everyone seemed relieved. You set down your backpack and stretched when you felt a light touch at your back.

You turned to see Astarion who was lightly touching your shoulder. He gave you a knowing smile while his hand was quickly wandering down your arm with his fingertips finding some bare skin as quickly as possible at your wrist. The vampire's red eyes with a barely noticeable lifted eyebrow were an open question - or a promise rather.

His fingers in the meantime had moved to ever so lightly loop around your wrist. Not holding your hand of course, but it felt pretty intimate nonetheless. His lips were slightly parted, the tip of his tongue running over them absent-mindedly.

Your eyes immediately darted to them, then back to his gaze. Astarion's eyes were sparkling now in the midday sunlight and his mouth grew into his signature smirk.

This was exactly how he did it, how he caught you time and again: he made a game out of it, an adventure. Touching you when the others weren’t paying attention, letting his hand linger just long enough for you to feel a little heated, saying something playful that completely caught you off guard, sharing a stolen glance which always was a promise for more, for later.

Once he’d left you a little note in his narrow elegant handwriting with a line of poetry the two of you had once talked about. You still had it neatly tucked away under your armour - close to your heart. Sometimes you took it out to just look at it. Asking yourself how it could be if he always left you notes like that. You were hopelessly lost.

He had a thousand little ways of keeping you on your toes - or on your knees, much more -  and you were so prone to comply.

You were enjoying it, the way he turned it into this back and forth as if you were forbidden lovers: trying to hide away your attraction while finding as many moments to get lost in each other. It made it all the more titillating and intense.

You were absolutely sure the others knew anyway even if it was merely talked about in innuendos. But this didn’t stop Astarion from playing his little games with you. And you really didn’t want him to stop.

And so you also followed your lover this time, coyly throwing a glance over your shoulder to check if one of the other’s might be noticing. Then you let yourself be led around the ruins until you were around a corner of a former building. There was nothing much there but some underbrush and smaller blocks of former buildings.

Astarion had let his hand wander further until it had covered yours completely. And immediately when you had rounded the corner the vampire lifted your hand while he turned to you and with a few rash steps made you walk back until he had you up against the remainder of the wall.

He pressed your joint hands up against the stones next to your head while a predatory but auspicious grin had crept onto Astarion’s face. The vampire lowered his head as his gaze darkened and he took you in - lips, eyes, the hammering pulse at your throat.

His hips were pressing into yours, immobilising you against the stone wall, and the fingers of your joint hands were now laced - his thumb softly caressing yours lovingly despite the pressure he applied to trap you there with him.

The moment he’d pushed you against the wall, your former storming thoughts had been silenced and almost disappeared completely. Now you could only focus on the sensation of his closeness. Your lips were parted in anticipation already, your heart racing, a pleasant kind of tension was forming in your lower stomach.

You too took him in for a long moment, trying to burn this into your mind: the way he looked at you with his unique red eyes - almost from under his eyebrows -, soft lips curled into a cocky smile, the tips of his fangs noticeable, some of his silky white curls falling in his face, the curve of his high cheekbones that became even more noticeable when he slightly turned his head.

Astarion lifted his other hand to your face. He cupped your cheek for a moment, then let the back of his hand lightly stroke down your face. The gesture almost seemed too innocent in contrast to him having you pinned against a wall. Your eyes just widened more at him.

Then finally, his long fingers settled under your chin, his thumb placed on your chin, forcing you softly to tilt your head back while he moved in closer still.

“Shouldn’t you be careful who you follow into the woods?”, he whispered teasingly in a low voice.

His thumb was on your bottom lip of your already open mouth now, stroking over it as you let out a gasp. He was so incredibly close now too. Your hot breath must have moved over his cool skin. There were no thoughts in your head, only the feeling of the vampire being so impossibly and deliciously near - if only he moved like an inch or two closer.

“I wouldn’t want you to get trapped”, Astarion whispered again, drawing out the last word. His thumb tugged your bottom lip down now with quite some pressure before he let it slip back. Another gasp - almost a moan - left your throat.

“Maybe I am already trapped”, you managed to whisper in response. You earned a low chuckle and saw how the vampire’s eyes lit up and his grin grew broader - pronounced canines now fully on display. Your throat was dry, all of your hairs felt like they were standing on end in anticipation and your heart felt like it might give out any second. He slowly closed in on you, pupils dilating even more the closer he came - a hunter closing in on his prey.

And then he finally bridged the remaining gap, pressing his open lips to yours.

You immediately rewarded him with a deep moan. Your free hand was desperately trying to find hold on his armour to pull him even closer while your other was still firmly held in place.

Astarion’s tongue almost immediately slipped into your mouth, searching for dominance you willingly gave him when you welcomed his eager open mouthed kiss.

It wasn’t tender this. It was a powerplay - but it was full of burning hot passion. Fires were set ablaze in your lower body and the earlier tension was now making your whole body hum, sing for being graced with his attention.

The vampire moved so one of his legs pressed firmly between yours, almost forcing you up onto your tiptoes. Being even more immobilised, you were held at his mercy: indeed stuck in his trap - and you liked the place you were in.

The kiss was all tongues and teeth. Heads moving around while your mouths never left each other. Breathy groans and gasps were exchanged while his hand at your chin moved to your throat, fingertips pressing lightly onto your thrumming pulse before they wandered up again to outline your jaw, slightly applying pressure. With that he made your head tilt back even further.

Astarion eagerly claimed your mouth as his while pressing his body against you and you against the stone wall that pleasantly twinged at your back. If he wanted you right here and now there wouldn’t be a moment of hesitation. The water wasn’t even up to your neck anymore, you had well gone under and were happy to let go completely.

But after long moments Astarion withdrew from you. Instantly, you almost slumped down against the wall. Partly because of Astarion not holding you up anymore but mostly because he’d devoured almost everything of you with just a kiss. Knees were wobbly as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes fell on Astarion who had taken a few steps back and was looking at you. His crimson eyes were wide with arousal, his breath a little ragged too. But he was still very much in control - the chase was only paused, not ended.

“Tonight then?”, he simply asked with an eyebrow jumping up.

This godsdamned bastard - turning you almost into a puddle with some kissing and now this audacity. He’d returned to his familiar stance, not one fucking hair out of place, breath already returning to normal. As much as you enjoyed this all, this game, the teasing, the nightly rewards. The asymmetry was all of a sudden making you mad.

Astarion cocked his head and blinked at you several times, with a sassy expression on his face still awaiting your response. He knew exactly what he’d done to you - smug arsehole.

A thought formed in your mind. You immediately jumped to the execution before you could second guess yourself.

You cocked your head just as he was still doing. Then you started to saunter over to him. Your gaze was locked onto his as you tried to not let your intention show on your face.

For once, just once, did you want to be the one leaving him flustered and in desperate need for more.

Astarion’s smug facial expression shook slightly the closer you came. For a moment you thought you even saw a slither of fear and worry run over his face. But this surely must’ve been an illusion, right?

His eyes became wide and round. Probably unbeknownst to him, but yet another thing that made you fall for his trap harder. Whenever the vulnerable person beneath all the sultry jokes and the perfect mask showed you wanted nothing more but to keep him safe.

But this wasn’t your focus now.

You shortly stopped before him, staring into his open eyes. Then you stepped closer even until you were almost touching him and you could take in his smell again. He gasped silently, all while his gaze never left yours.

And then your hands shot up, grabbing his face, pulling him to you once more in a kiss. You made him do the same thing he’d done with you: with your body pushing him back step by step. Then when Astarion’s boot heel hit a low stone of the ruins, you gave him a little push, so he landed with his butt on the stone.

You immediately followed, pressing your legs to his shins and knees so he wouldn’t have a way to get up - trapping him.

Heat was coursing through your body as you looked down on him now.

Astarion was breathing heavily now through his open mouth. He held your gaze - his expression surprised but not scared. If anything it was dominated by hunger now, demanding to be fed.

And so you did: sitting down on his lap, straddling him with both your thighs firmly pressing around his hips, ripping a low groan from him. Immediately you ground against him, already feeling his hardening arousal.

You grabbed his face with both hands and without hesitation pressed your mouth to his once more. This time you were in charge, your tongue playing with his and exploring his mouth.

Meanwhile Astarion’s hands both moved to cup your behind, squeezing your butt with splayed fingers, earning him your moan.

One of your hands went to the back of Astarion’s head, gripping some of his curls so you could pull back his head some more and shift your weight on his lap. You were leading this, you had him pinned - and you were keen to draw out the moment.

Your other hand caressed his face, fingers spreading, then wandering over one of his pointy ears, softly tugging, caressing and teasing - rewarding you with what could only be called a pleading whimper.

You rolled your hips again while your lips were still eagerly moving on his, not letting up, not giving Astarion a moment where he might take charge again.

Again, you were ready to just go all the way. Strip down bare here and now and just give into the carnal need that threatened to consume you both - but where would be the fun in that? And also you had been taught by a master.

Your last coup was to drag your tongue slowly along Astarion’s teeth. Feeling the sting of the vampire’s sharp fang as you drew your tongue along it.

A coppery taste flooded you for a moment; you’d drawn blood. Good, just as you had intended.

Of course Astarion had also immediately tasted your blood. His grip on you immediately intensified. A low growl rumbled in his chest when your taste hit him.

Your eyes that had been closed for the passionate kiss, flew open when you heard the vampire’s sharp intake of breath. His eyes were open too now and you saw how the black of pupils almost drowned out the red of his irises.

You gasped as you were eye to eye with the predator. Shortly asking yourself if it had been a good idea to wander willingly into his arms - his trap, as he had said before - and offer yourself up so eagerly.

Because this was also when the tides turned again.

One of Astarion’s arms looped around you while his other hand went up to grab your face. He pulled you even closer as he shifted his weight. Your hands slipped from their grip in his curls and went to simply cup his face as the vampire leaned you back.

He held your face in his firm grip as he groaned and deepened the kiss even more, eagerly trying to taste you fully. His tongue ran over yours as he was claiming your mouth once more.

He was leaning forward so much now as he eagerly sucked up every last delicious drop of you that you were arching your back, leaning back into nothing but thin air on his lap. Held in place only by his arm firmly looped around your waist and his hand pressing your face to his.

But soon every last drop of you for that moment had been abundantly tasted and devoured. One carnal desire - if not filled - at least postponed to a later time. Leaving one other still.

The kiss had slowed a bit again. But you still felt Astarion’s and your own arousal pretty evidently. The one tasted pleasure had fueled the other. But you had always only planned to tease him. To give the vampire a taste of his own medicine.

You arched your back once more to press your body against his harder one last time. Meanwhile you dragged his bottom lip between your lips just for a short moment, making the vampire groan and squeeze you against him harder, one of his hands on your butt again.

But then - at the height of your eager teasing - you withdrew. Startling Astarion so much with how you just swiftly got up from his lap that he simply let you go.

His eyes were still wide and he was obviously still feeling the rush of tasting your blood and from the kiss. His chest was lifting time and again as he was obviously desperate to regain composure. Besides surprise, admiration snuck into his gaze and into the smile he offered you now while he leisurely leaned one of his arms on his knees. His white curls were now thoroughly dishevelled as you noticed with satisfaction.

You were very much pleased with yourself, especially since resisting the urge had been no easy feat and you could still feel the need to grab and feel Astarion right this instant. But for once you had turned the tables - having the hunter end up in the prey’s claws just this time.

“Tonight then”, you answered Astarion’s previous question with a smirk. And then you turned and left your catch struggle. To return to it at a later time - and finish the job.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

[bastart13]

The generals reincarnate into better people like the Witch Queen and teleport back to the fantasy world. How do you see it going?

Pfft oh my god, that's a wild image

Ralph voice: "Ha ha, I'm in danger..."

Oof they would not have a fun time. Even less power and authority than the Witch Queen and they're not seducing their way out of the dungeon like MC

Lennox and Jinhai would have fun grappling with suddenly being a new species. Jinhai would be half-dissociating, half-accepting of the new ears and hair. Lennox would be openly freaking out that he's sparkling and his irises have gone. Magnus, on the other hand, has to deal with being isekaied as a middle aged man

Jinhai would... probably have the easiest time? He made enemies, but he doesn't have to manage a cult or armies and he's not known for his deception. Probably still not the most tactful, but maybe some brutal honesty will get it across that he has no idea what the fuck is going on, why is he an elf??? His story would probably be learning to commune with his animals and repair their relationship to nature while helping Reiner's retainers

Lennox's cult is the big issue. They'd probably find him wherever he ends up, forcing him to act as their leader without a clue to what he's doing. He'd be lucky if Saerys doesn't kill him on the spot, and every attempt to smooth over misunderstandings with charisma would be seen as him manipulating his enemies. Once things cool down though, he'd probably have fun learning to fly and using magic

Magnus... Magnus, buddy... He'd be lucky to get out of the dungeon without being executed. Magnus is known to lie, cheat, and take advantage of any opportunity, no matter how immoral. It would not be out of character for him to trick Reiner and his only saving grace would be his pride and desperation to get back to the normal world. I think he'd have to find a way to disband or redirect his army against the Witch Queen to earn any kind of trust

[quartz-crow]

BG3 Scents (Headcanons)

Okay so bear with me, I’m slowly getting back into writing on here.. in the meantime, I’ve really gotten into perfumery, and so, here are a few thoughts/headcanons of mine...

Gale: Candle wax, olive oil, sea salt, black tea, parchment paper and a very faint citrusy scent - perhaps lemon or grapefruit.

The wizard’s scent is reminiscent of an old stone house, the very kind which provides you with cool shelter on a hot day… and somewhere in that house, someone has found an old recipe and is now searching through the cupboards for ingredients…

Astarion - Red wine, leather,  french lavender, oud, bergamot, smoke.

This scent seems so awfully overpowering at first. It’s the kind of smell that makes you curl your nose up - however, the longer it lingers in the air allows you to notice the subtleties of the scent.. the sharpness of the wine, the sweetness and smokiness of the oud. It’s the kind of scent that is intoxicating - and certainly not for everyone…

Shadowheart - Sugared rose, cherry, lilac, french lavender, frankincense, vanilla, myrrh.

Floral, sugary and almost religious in nature… The half-elf’s scent is reminiscent of an ancient stone church, dark, cool and ancient in nature… There is, however, a floral element too - as if a bouquet has been left to lay wilting by an altar.

Halsin - Pine, oak, woodsmoke, birch sap, fig leaf, wet fur, nag champa.

The druid’s scent is subtle; it’s almost exactly how the forest smells after a heavy storm.. strong, wild and raw and yet, there is still a heady warmth to the scent. Waves of nag champa and fig leaf lay layered on his skin - and of course, due to the nature of such smells, last for days on his clothes too.

Lae’zel -Juniper berries, fresh mint, cypress, sweet grass, dew, white cedar.

This scent is clean, fresh and delicate… It awakens your senses just as a bright crisp sunrise would after a refreshing night camping in a meadow.  At first, it may seem like a fairly gender-neutral fragrance, however, the softer notes of the sweet grass and juniper berries can be noticed whenever the wind changes direction.

Wyll - Cardamom, honey, tobacco, bourbon vanilla, grey amber, almond, musk.

This scent is rich, perhaps even a tad on the spicier side of the scent spectrum. To some, it may seem like a spiced dessert paired with a strong drink - to others, it’s reminiscent of being nestled up by a fire, reading a book whilst a thunderstorm cracks overhead. It is sweet as it is masculine, royal as it is earthy. 

Karlach - Blackberry, ginger, pepper, dragon’s blood, sandalwood, orange.

Just like the tielfing herself, this scent is unapologetic - firey and playful. The scent toys your senses, the pepper and ginger bubbles like sparkling wine - whilst the sweeter notes of fresh tart fruits provide a girlish, youthful touch… the scent reminds you of pricking your fingers on thorns whilst you collected berries as a child. However, the deeper notes of dragon’s blood and sandalwood round the scent out - those warmer scents are welcoming… homely even. 

[lamemaster]

The MOVs

AN: I remember making this entire scenario up with @animatorweirdo and this has lived in my head ever since...it's been years I think. RIP Argorn you would've loved this.

Genre: Fluff

Summary: A society of mortals in Valinor

Pairing: Mentioned Maedhros x Reader

You knock twice on the looming wooden door, mimicking the rhythm of Varda's ancient hymn. Glancing around nervously, you wait. A sliver of light appears as the door creaks open, revealing a glimpse of the man within.

“Password,” a gruff voice whispers.

“Eonwe for president,” you reply softly.

The door swings open wider, pulling you inside.

“Dramatic as ever,” you grin, embracing your friend. Tuor of Huor was the only one who knew the secret to a perfect hug in the land of Aman.

You both turn to nod gratefully at your elven escort, the incomparable Beleg Cuthalion. Trusted with guarding the Mortals' secret meeting place in Valinor, he was a master of blending into the crowd. He disappeared into the alley without a backward glance.

Inside, a warm hearth, steaming tea, and tempting snacks greeted you. Bilbo was already eyeing the food with interest.

Bilbo, Frodo, Gimli, Tuor, and the recent additions of Dior, Earendil, Elrond, and yourself comprised the Mortals of Valinor Society,MOVS,  a secret that continued to baffle the Elves. Peredhel, the newest member, added an intriguing element to their exclusive group.

"What support could you need when you have me?" Maedhros asked, leaning over a counter, trying not to overshare his disapproval of the society that seemed to have his spouse, your attention every other week. He followed you around like a sulking cat. Making his discontent clear.

Ignoring his prying questions, you reign in your smug smile wrapping yourself in a warm scarf, “I know I have you,” you stand on your toes pecking his cheek, “it’s nice to have…my kind. Just to talk, you know.” You try explaining without giving up the meaning behind the meetings.

The meetings started with normal gossip away from elven hearing. This soon morphed into an evening full of dirty jokes, card games, unfiltered messy dances, anecdotes, or the simple pleasure of relishing the ardent, unsettling ire these meetings seem to stir in the hearts of the elven population of Valinor.

So, the challenge came to be. Mortals against the immortals. In their home field.

There have been tries of thwarting the meetings, of spying, and figuring out the secrecy behind the doors. But the MOVS, equipped with quite the team of players had been quick to employ their own elven player. Beleg Cuthalion, the only elf with the patience to hold on to the secrecy and never pry into the matters of mortals.

A reliable ally, who had for now been the reason behind the winning streak behind the mortals. His motives- simple, the smile on Tuor’s face that mimicked Turin’s. And that had been enough for your trusted elf.

Breaking away from Tuor’s hug, you wander into the room filled with the hearty aroma of good food. And today’s object of interest is coveted by the looming figures of Dior and Gimli. “That cannot be,” the half-elven man exclaimed.

“It is not possible in that position,” the Peredhel and dwarven master debate over the crudely drawn porn that you truly were not proud of.

All the while you catch Tuor’s fleeting jest- “The man sighed and replied ‘My left arm is stronger than my right arm’ ” To which Elrond stared back at him confused while Bilbo snickered next to a blushing Frodo.

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you observed the heated debate. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," you interjected, your voice cutting through the tension, "any thoughts on the last week’s fest?"

"They would not stop singing!" Earendil exclaimed animatedly, his face flushed with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "For two damn days, it was like a chorus of larks had taken up residence in my halls!"

Frodo nodded vigorously, his face mirroring Earendil's exasperation. "I believe the verse was too dense for musical notes," he added, shaking his head.

And the hall of MOVS erupted into chaos.

[loulouhattie]

The Vampire’s Violin

Pairing: m!Tav x Astarion

Summary:

In my playthrough, Astarion multiclasses as a bard. My HC is that he loved music once, and played it before Cazador took him. Now, with his taste first of freedom in 200 years, he indulges himself by trying again. But doesn't anticipate Finn watching him

Tav: Finn is a half drow fighter/paladin who puts up a front of being a too-cool, tough guy jock. In reality, its a mask for his sensitive and gentle nature

Rating: teen

Tags: fluff, romantic tension, little bit of enemies to lovers, but very light

This is a very self indulgent one-shot I wrote because I couldnt stop thinking about this story hc, and then I had to draw it to bring it to life and

Well

Bon appetit i guess

————————

‘Gods above!’

Astarion almost dropped the violin, swinging around to see the Finn staring through the bushes, eyes gleaming and his face split into a mischievous grin.

‘How bloody long were you standing there!’ he hissed.

Finn shrugged.

‘I only came out here to find a tree to piss on. Certainly didn’t expect to find you giving the squirrels a concert!’ Finn smirked at him.

Astarion's fingers curled around the bow. He hated this feeling that he’s been caught.

But there’s nothing wrong with what he was doing, is there?

Finn noticed the tension in his shoulders, and his sneer softened.

‘Can I listen?’

‘What? No. Fuck off,’ Astarion spat, ‘and if you tell the others, I’ll decorate your bedroll with your innards.’

Finn stepped out from the bushes, standing only a few feet from the pale elf in clearing. Astarion’s eyes narrowed, his hackles tense like a cornered cat.

‘I won’t breathe a word, honest. I guess I’m just surprised, you don’t strike me as...well, it’s nice to learn a little more about you,’ Finn explained earnestly.

His tone was sincere, but Astarion’s eyes remained narrow.

‘well, it’s not much to learn about. It was a long time ago. From before I was turned,'

He absently twirled the bow,

'I suppose I got curious. People have often said such skills never leave you, and, well, like I said. I got curious.’

‘Cazador not a music lover?’

The bow stopped twirling.

‘That had better be a joke.’ it came out in a snarl.

Finn raised his hands in apology. The silence in the clearing was cool and comforting, accented by the occasional chirp of insects.

Astarion’s shoulders relaxed, and he turned so that he faced Finn fully.

‘You’re not going to fuck off. Are you?’

‘Nope!’ the half drow’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any rounder as he plonked happily down on the ground, legs crossed and beaming like a child.

Astarion scoffed. He twirled the bow once more, chewing the inside of his cheek.

‘If you’re going to insist on staying here, just keep quiet. It won’t do to distract me.’ he snapped at Finn, raising the violin to his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn’s eyes sparkled as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

The pale elf exhaled, pressing the rest into the crook of his neck. With his bow hand, he plucked the string. He turned the peg for the corresponding string slowly, plucking steadily as the note sharpened.

A hot spot in his fingertip formed under the string’s friction. The note pinged clearly through the clearing, and he was satisfied. Onto the next 3 strings.

Finn watched the vampire intently. He couldn’t help but notice that his posture shifting. His brows were always so furrowed with malice, but now the focus on tuning the instrument had melted them.

There was a ghost of gentleness to his red eyes. Finn made sure not to move, careful not to disrupt this trancelike state.

Astarion plucked all 4 strings once more, their notes singing gently into the air. Shifting his stance, he raised the bow to the instrument. The insects were silent, waiting. Waiting for the performance to begin.

But the elf hesitated. His gaze clouded. Finn felt a sense of melancholy radiate from him.

‘Is…is something wrong?’ Finn probed gently. Astarion lowed the bow, dejected.

‘I don’t know what to play.’ he admitted.

200 years without so much as thinking of playing, and he was going to just give it a go?

Pathetic. What a stupid, foolish idiot he was! He wasn’t good for anything beyond manipulating and seducing pretty things-

‘I know!’

A sharp whistle sang through the clearing, making Astarion winced.

What was this idiot doing now? Astarion stared at him incredulously, about to snap at him.

Finn’s face scrunched with focus as he barely got a half cooked tune out between his lips. The only time he ever whistled was for Scratch, and this tone deaf fool couldn’t get a note out!

Then, he heard it. In between the very flat notes, he recognised that tune.

It was the song that Alfira sang in the Grove.

Astarion went still. He focused on the notes that wove together in a tapestry of melody.

Could he piece that melody together? Something he had only heard once?

He raised the bow, and passed it across the instrument. The strings squeaked in protest.

A grimace.

Finn continued to whistle... well, he continued to struggle.

Astarion repositioned the bow in his fingers. He pulled it across the violin again.

And this time, the note flowed forth. And melted into the next, flowing into a song.

It was as though mage hands were gently guiding him. The dust fell slowly from his memory as he recalled the forms for playing.

What started as rough squeaks began to form into a melody, a song. It filled the clearing, and he instinctively began to shift his weight from one foot to the other to keep his tempo.

Finn watched, transfixed. What he thought was a shift in demeanour before when he was tuning the violin was nothing compared to what was before him now.

Moonlight gleamed off Astarion’s pearlescent skin and snowy curls, dancing off him to the song he deftly coaxed from the instrument. He was a different being entirely - he was lost in the music.

His face creased in focus, not out of his usual snidenesss. He was transcendent, his brows and lips dancing to the rhythm as he bow flowed across the strings.

The song came to an end. And both men were still.

Neither said a word for a beat.

‘I won’t lie: you’re a bit shit.’ Finn broke the silence.

Astarion let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter. Finn snickered to himself. The air was light, and mild around them.

A blush crept up Finn’s ears.

Astarion lowered the violin, letting it hang at his side. The silence of the forest permeated the clearing. He was suddenly aware of how exposed he felt out here. The bliss of feeling the music vanished in an instant.

‘We should head back, before some goblin or beast comes calling for an encore.’

‘Wait,’ Finn stood up quickly, dusting off his trousers. ‘I really enjoyed that. Listening to you play. Do you…'

He shifted on his feet, scooting dust beneath his shoe,

'if you play again, could I come and listen?’

Astarion took in the half-drow before him. He hadn’t noticed before, but his ashen skin seemed to absorb the moon and starlight. A gift of the Underdark, perhaps.

His red eye sparkled, and he recognised the blush on his ears and cheeks. The faintest hint of desire.

This would be easier than he thought.

‘Darling. I suppose we could arrange a more intimate viewing.’ he stalked past Finn, taking care to breeze so closely by that he brushed delicately past Finn’s fingertips.

He heard the faintest trace of his breath catching, and he knew he had him in the palm of his hand. He gazed at him through lowered lashes, a smile etched across his face. Poor, pathetic boy.

‘Let’s head back to camp. Maybe tomorrow night, we can arrange another little…performance.’

[azyexia1]

Twilight Embrace (Astarion)

Summary: You (Referred to as Tav) & Astarion find yourself at a nice Tavern to relax for a bit unbeknownst to you since you entered that tavern all of the other patrons' eyes have been on you, this causes Astarion to feel a pang of jealousy.

Word Count: 633.

Pairing: Astarion & Female Reader

Warnings: Mild violence, jealousy, possessiveness, flirting, unwanted attention, vampire themes, intimacy & romantic themes, mention of alcohol.

-

In the heart of the bustling city of Baldur's Gate, the weary travelers Astarion and Tav sought refuge in a quaint tavern after a grueling week of battling enemies and navigating the treacherous depths of the enchanted forest. The tavern's warm glow and the aroma of hearty stew provided a much-needed respite from the dangers they had faced.

Astarion, a brooding half-elf vampire with an aura of mystery and danger, and Tav, a graceful and enchanting elf, found a corner table in the dimly lit tavern. Their weary bodies sank into the plush chairs as they shared stories of their recent adventures over mugs of deep red wine. Laughter and the clinking of glasses echoed around them as other patrons revelled in the lively atmosphere.

Tav's radiant beauty and ethereal charm had not gone unnoticed by the tavern's patrons. Throughout the evening, subtle glances and flirtatious comments were directed her way. Despite Tav's polite deflection of the attention, Astarion couldn't shake the feeling of possessiveness that gnawed at him each time someone vied for her affections.

As the night wore on and the tavern's patrons grew more boisterous, Tav leaned in closer to Astarion, her delicate hand finding its place on his pale, cold forearm. Their eyes locked, and a shared understanding passed between them—an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond they had formed through battles fought and challenges overcome.

"Did you see the audacity of that one?" Tav murmured, her voice a soft caress against Astarion's pointed ear. She nodded toward a particularly persistent admirer at the bar, an audacious bard whose silver tongue seemed intent on winning her heart.

Astarion's lips curled into a half-smile, a mixture of amusement and possessiveness dancing in his eyes. "Perhaps I should remind them of the dangers they're playing with," he purred, a hint of his vampiric nature glinting in his words.

Tav chuckled, a melodic sound that sent shivers down Astarion's spine. "My enigmatic half-elf, always ready to guard what's yours, even when it's matters of the heart."

Their playful banter was interrupted by the arrival of a serving wench with a platter of rich, savory dishes. The aroma of roasted meats and fragrant spices enveloped them, and the tensions of the evening seemed to dissipate in the presence of such comforting sustenance.

As they shared their meal, Astarion found himself captivated by every nuance of Tav—the way her lips curved in a secretive smile, the sparkle in her eyes, and the way her laughter seemed to illuminate the dimly lit tavern. He realized that amidst the chaos and peril of their world, they were bound to one another—a steadfast source of strength and companionship.

With the tavern's patrons growing more animated by the minute, Tav stood gracefully and extended her hand to Astarion. "Dance with me," she whispered her voice a melodious invitation laced with longing.

Astarion's heart swelled as he rose, his tall and commanding form dwarfing the elf. Disregarding the curious gazes of the other patrons, they moved to the center of the tavern's impromptu dance floor. Their bodies swayed in sync with the haunting melody played by a skilled bard, their movements fluid and graceful.

As they danced, the world around them blurred into insignificance, leaving only the press of their bodies and the intertwining of their fingers. Tav's laughter and Astarion's deep chuckles melded into a harmonious symphony, creating a melody that spoke of camaraderie, shared experiences, and an unbreakable connection.

In that intimate moment, surrounded by the flickering candlelight and the distant hum of conversation, Astarion and Tav found solace not only in the safety they provided one another in a perilous realm but also in the simple joy of sharing their lives—their triumphs, their vulnerabilities, and the eternal bond that had grown between them.

[redeemers-and-dragons]

Redeemers: Greenest in Flames! Prologue

Narration: A caravan of brightly painted carriages cuts through the verdant hills, heading for town of Greenest. The air is thick with the scent of pine trees and the chirp of birdsong, and the warm breeze blows through the leaves, creating a tranquil atmosphere. The travelers are eager to reach the sanctuary of Greenest before day’s end, hoping to enjoy a peaceful respite after their journey.

Among these travelers they are joined by a peculiar party of adventurers, newly formed and heading to their first mission together…

Reese: (Goblin Artillerist Artificer. Crime: Mass Destruction of Public and Private Property.) Are we there yet???

Party: *Groan in annoyance*

May: (Dark Heritage Half-Elf Gloomstalker Ranger. Crime: Vigilantism and Murder.) Reese, I promised you already. The second we are there, you are the first I will be telling. Now please… shush.

Reese: But we’ve been traveling forever!

Adam: (Minotaur Champion Fighter. Crime: Insurrection and Banditry) *Growls* It’s only been three days. 

Cinder: (Tiefling Fiendish Pact Warlock. Crime: Soul Racketeering and Organizing a Cult without a Permit.) It probably only feels so long because of your incessant whining.

Neon: (Tabaxi Kensei Monk. Crime: B&E and Assault with a Deadly Weapon) You should, like, totally take a note from Neo's book. She’s barely said anything this whole trip.

Neo: (Changeling Arcane Trickster Rogue. Crime: Grand Larceny and Identity Theft) *Flips Neon off.*

Reese: *Grumbles* Well maybe next time Sir Shiny-Pants should pick a closer quest! Where is he anyways?

May: I think he went off to pray.

Cinder: *Chuckles* Pray for mercy, maybe. Who ever heard of a knight with motion sickness?

Neo: *Makes some mocking dry heaving motions and then conjures an illusion of sparkles flying from her mouth.*

Adam: *Huffs* To think, our fate is in the hands of that human. My soldiers would never let me live it down.

Neon: Meh, at least he seems harmless enough. We could have been put with a real hard ass. I give it a week before we bully him into releasing us early.

Party: *Snickers and jeers amongst themselves*

Jaune: (Human Oath of Redemption Paladin. Duty: Redeeming the Party Before the Eyes of the Law and the Sovereign Gods.) *Jogging up after meditating to calm down his motion sickness* Hey everyone! Did some tell a funny joke or something?

Cinder: Oh just the usual banter. Nothing you’d find amusing I’m sure.

Reese: KNIGHT ARE WE THERE YET?!

Cinder: See?

Jaune: Actually, yes Reese. We should be there in like 10 minutes. *Points over pass them* Should be just over that big hill.

The Party: *Various sighs of relief.*

Reese: See?! I knew it was a valid question!

May: So, what are we going to be doing here?

Neon: Yeah, and how exactly is this “Redemption Quest” even supposed to work? Are we, like, building karma points or something til you let us go?

Neo: *Casts Minor Illusion to create a scoreboard with 100 points above her head.*

Jaune: Well, to complete a Redemption Quest, you six will have to complete a good deed with pure of heart in order to make up for your past sins. I’ll be there to watch over your progress and help usher you to the path of good and get you pardoned for your crimes.

Cinder: And so you’re sending a bunch of convicted criminals to do quests for the state.

Adam: Yeah, what are we, some kind of Suicide Sq-?

Jaune: NO! No. We are “Adventurers”. A group of adventurers who most of which just so happen to have darker paths…

May: That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’re going to Greennest. Is there a quest already decided for us?

Jaune: There should be. We’ll be meeting a man in Greenest that goes by the name Qrow Branwen. Apparently he needs help with an investigation.

Neon: What is he investigating?

Jaune: I’m not too sure. Something about bandits I think? But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing too dangerous. The Church wouldn’t give out something big or important for a “Redemption Quest,” or to a squire of my level. All you will probably have to do is help out however you can and we will get you all pardoned in no time! Simple as that.

Narration: Sundown is approaching just as the caravan crests the hill and spots the town of Greenest just a few short miles away. But instead of the pleasant welcoming town they expected, the Party sees columns of smoke rising from burning buildings, running figures that are little more than dots from this distance, and a dark winged shaped wheeling low over the stone keep that rises from the center of town. The red skies of sunset turn a violent purple as the far off dragon breathes lightning bolts down onto the town.

The Party: …

Jaune: …Well. This may be-

Adam: *Bellows at the top his lungs and charges off towards the town.*

Neon: *Runs after him* I’m getting that pardon first!

Reese: *Runs* Jokes on you shitheads, I’m getting DOUBLE pardoned!

May: *Rolls her eye and chases after them* That’s not how pardons work.

Cinder: *Rushes forward* If you see any extra souls lying around, save them for me!

Neo: *Gleefully runs towards the town to start looting.*

Jaune: *Stands there watching as his half a dozen criminals run into a burning town.* …Boldrei give me strength.

[ruiniel]

Hello!

I hope your feeling better, I myself have been feeling like crap lately so you have my sympathies.

I saw your post on glorfindel and was wondering if you'd be happy with more tolkien requests, though I definitely love your castlevania works!

That being said, may I request a glorfindel and a human lady reader?

Thank you for sending! And yes, welcoming Tolkien requests.

I redid an older Glorfindel scene for this... wanted to 'revive' it instead of letting it sit in my drafts. Might follow up with something NSFW, not sure?

General note: also working on the older asks, it's taking forever

Lairë

Pairing: Glorfindel x human fem!reader

Count: 0.5k

Rating: T

Forlond, Lindon, late Second Age

“Laurefindil, Laurefindil!”

He turns from his musing at the sound of his name, his eyes torn from the swaying waves. The day has given way to dusk, and it’s been one of clear skies and mild winds. He breathes the salty breeze, his chest filling with the rush and flow come from the sea depths.

You’re breathless when you reach his side, taking him by the arm. “Look, look a whale! Do you see it? Look there, to the East!”

Glorfindel watches you for a moment, smiling at the sight of your sparkling eyes. He follows your pointing finger. Indeed he sees the tip of a tail splashing silver foam away in the far distance, just where the Gulf of Lune flows into the sea. “I do see it… well done,” he glances back at you. 

Your hair is loose, your dress wet, the sheer material clinging to your thighs and legs after a spree in the shallow waters kissing the shore. Glorfindel himself is unshod, his plain grey tunic reaching his knees, his trousers rolled up to his calves. 

“Well done indeed, and I win, my lord,” you tease, a finger pointing at his chest. “And you know the wager. Tonight, you dance.” His frown makes you chuckle. 

“I most certainly will not.”

You cross your arms. “That was the wager. You took it. I said that I saw them, and you asked me to prove it. I did. Or does Lord Laurefindil only keep his word when it suits?” For a long time, you’d taken to calling him by his Quenya name, knowing it gladdens him to hear it. “No, you promised. Imagine the look on their faces!”

The Elf shakes his head. “You’re being childish.”

Whatever else he may have uttered, it is lost with the way you barrel into him, and even Glorfindel loses his balance with the swiftness of your movements. The sand is warm beneath him, but it’s also in his mouth and ears. Your face hovers into view, framed by salty locks, eyes now twinkling mirthfully above him. “Rise and let me up, or you go unaccompanied to your dancing tonight.” He tries to sound demanding, but somehow, in the short years he’s known you, you’d come to see through most of his devices. 

A half-smile graces your lips, your arms propped on his shoulders. “Make me.” 

He could never stay upset with you for long, pretend or not. His hands slip along your thighs, up your hips, settling there. He closes his eyes at the warmth of your mouth, trailing along his chin, to his lips. His grip tightens on your hips.

And then he’s fast on his feet, even with you struggling and laughing in his arms.

“Put me down, you cannot! Put me down! Laurefindil! You will regret this!”

Still smiling he carries you, futile resistance and all, to the shore. Glorfindel advances into the lazy waves, painted gold and green in the sunset.  “No,” he takes your chin between his fingers. “You will.” And he drops you.

You gasp when cold water douses your sun-warmed skin, thrashing to be free of him. Anyone passing would stand perplexed at the sight of a famed Balrog slayer jestingly dunking the head of a young maiden beneath the sea while she grapples and tugs at his clothing like a writhing handmaiden of Uinen. Your laughter glitters along the shore, lost in the faraway winds.

[self-destructinganimal]

The Fall and Forgiveness

(Or the waterfall brain rot is real and this fic is evidence of it)

Rings of Power fanfic

Characters: Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-galad

Tags: Minor Hurt/Comfort, Some Angst, References to Silmarillion and Kidnap Parents

Rating: Gen

…

A life can pass before one's eyes in the stretch of a handful of seconds. The sounds of happy laughter in a hazy dream of a once real home. Tense conversations between parents, while one tried to keep their brother asleep so he would not worry. War. Death. The flowing hair of his mother as she took one glance behind at him, met his eye, and turned again. Her face had been set. 

The fall. The fall. The fall. 

Outside all of this, a roaring. The water rushing to meet him, the spray coming up at him as if a wave. He saw his father’s ship tossed on it, sparkling. In this moment, between ground and wave, he could have been with him. And what would his father think of the son clutching the pouch to his heart. What would the mother think of his leap - was it as justified as hers? Was hers? And he thought of long nights wiping silent tears off the cheeks of his brother, of turning his own head so the same brother did not see his own. 

Years of pain and neglect and aching, flashed by as a feeling. Nothing concrete to grab onto, nothing to grab onto at all. The years had passed as silently as he had become so. 

And then, the poison had become something else. 

The fierce brothers with the dark and red heads who had taken them prisoner,  had grown, in time, into something almost like a shelter. Some of the aching had become soothed, by the song of the dark one, and the grumbling of the red one, and what was broken had become oddly refitted. 

Then came growth, came becoming, came meeting the elves who had wished over their welfare for years. Joy of becoming one’s own. And then flashing by, he could reach out and touch the choice. The brother, the light of his life, the companion of his youth, the sharer of the pain and suffering and small joys, had reached out his hand for the gift of Illuvatar. 

The pain of that choice blinded him. Robbed him of his breath, sucked the air out of his lungs as he slammed into the unforgiving arms of loss. 

And the angry swirling waters received him into their grasp. 

...

Death is gentle, I have always imagined her thus. Soft and silent, with cold arms, coming to take you gently into her arms. 

Life is painful. For the mother who births it into the world, to the toil to preserve it, to the pain as the body rebuilds itself from injury, to the agony of staying when all else goes. 

The fall into the arms of the swirling waters is not gentle. I am alive. 

…

She was angry. So angry at him that when the door burst open she did not try to gentle the guards who marched in. She was still staring out at the darkness before her and the stars shimmering on the lapping water, she could still see the boat. Dimly, she heard them grab his arms, she heard his sharp inhale. 

She was so angry, it almost made her glad. A little punishment might do the peredhel some good. 

He is young. Be patient with him. Her heart ached at the reminder. 

But she had been convinced the salvation of her people lay in the beautiful rings he had bundled up. She had not seen him, until she found out he was missing. She had known then, where the young half-elf had gone. To his king. 

To a king who did not listen to him, that gave her some grim satisfaction. But he had still outmaneuvered them, when his opinion had been cast aside once again. Eyes widening and then hardening into some firm sort of resolve before he turned to jump. 

Her heart had been in her throat. She didn’t know if it were primarily for the young foolish elf she loved like a son, or for the rings she believed were the salvation of Middle Earth. 

It was all over now. 

In this, he had succeeded. 

She turned to look at him. 

Hands splayed out, head bowed, elbows already held tightly in the grip of the guards. 

“I will come willingly” 

He murmured, and she saw his face was strained by the effort, by the embarrassment. 

“That is more than you deserve, Peredhel” spat one of them in anger.

He was moved roughly through the door. Galadriel followed, but she could not bring herself to feel ill at ease for him, not as he shivered in his torn tunic before the king, not as he caught the stares of the other elves who gathered around and lifted his obstinate chin, not when Gil-Galad shook his head and the tones of his remonstration struck Elrond’s face as if it had been a blow from his hand. Not when he was made to mount a horse tethered behind the angry guard. Not even when they arrived in Lindon and he was marched off. As he passed her, he lifted his face and caught her eye, but no word was spoken between them. And still she felt no sympathy. 

…

The king stood in his hall, waiting. He had not told Galadriel, no other elf was present. No other elf needed to be present. 

He was also angry. 

Angry that his authority had been so willfully ignored. By one whom he had guided and mentored into his service. It was shocking, of all the subjects in elvendom, the least he had expected to do such a thing was the mild-mannered, gentle and somewhat uncertain of his place half-elven. He remembered the orphaned child and young child growing into adulthood. He remembered how Cirdan had recognized his gifts right away and recommended those be put to good use. And put to good use, they had. 

Gil-galad had been surprised how much easier his own burdens became when he had placed them on the shoulders of young Elrond. 

He was kind, quiet, but gifted with wisdom and foresight beyond his years. Underneath the skilled word and soft-spoken respect, Gil-galad had always suspected there was a steely strength. He had not seen it pushed yet. 

Not until he had been at the top of the waterfall. For a moment, the eyes had flashed fearful, like the young orphan child, and then they had flashed with a steely determination, and still, he had not known he would risk life for his conviction. 

He sighed, he loved the half-elf, he also was sovereign over him. 

The door opened, the object of his rumination was marched in again, and the guards bowed and left, closing the door behind them. 

How could you do this? 

He watched as the lips snapped into a thin line. 

“High King”

He expected an explanation. He was wrong. 

“I apologize for the disrespect done to you. It was willful and wrong. I am sorry for it.” 

His eyes were firm as they met his, but wounded, shining almost. As if he were in pain to be in this position. 

Gil-galad’s heart ached. 

“It was wrongly done,” he said instead.

“You speak truly, high king, yet I would do it again” 

Gil-galad measured him. He saw that his face was white, his shoulders seemed strained, almost listing forward. He was still clad in the torn tunic. Face smeared with the mud of the river  and eyes tired and pained. 

Ai, he hated what he would have to do. 

“You know a king can not be thus disrespected with no recompense meted out.”

“I know it”. 

“I intend to call the people to the golden tree in a fortnight to inform them we must pass over the waters - until then, you will be imprisoned in the hall of stone. No feasts nor dinners shall you attend, I will have you work brought to you so that you may not neglect your duties to me. When I call the people you will attend under guard, but after, you will be free to return to your normal positions, and the punishment lifted.” 

He gentled his tone. 

“We will all have to say our goodbyes to Middle Earth. I am sure there are places and people you would bid farewell to.” 

Elrond kept his face set. His eyes were shining when he lifted his bowed head. 

“Thank you high king”. 

…

One could feast on one’s convictions, but they were a meager meal. When naught but the scribe bringing piles of papers and letters and affairs came to see him. When the sun came only through the two small windows. When there was no walk through the arms of the forest in the evening, when the day had been long, when the sounds of faint singing rose to his window and he ached to be down amongst them, to be a part of it. 

The hall of stone was an old training hall. 

Bed and desk had been placed on one end of the room. In the center were targets for the young archers. But they were now onto another aspect of training. 

He sat and stared at them. 

...

“Put it down Elros”

“No!”

He was chasing him across the darkened field, grasses bending beneath their light feet. Maglor had laughed when Elros had asked him for a bow, but Maedhros had instead looked at him thoughtfully. 

Several days later his brother had a bow and had run out to the field when the sun had set. 

A sudden panic had filled him. That his brother was too young and too impetuous and he could not bear the thought of losing him to accident or death. So he had sprung up after him. 

Elros had stopped before they reached the tree line. He was looking up at the sky as he fitted an arrow to his string and loosed it. Elrond knew which star he was fixed on. 

But his brother's face crumpled when the arrow flew straight up and then bent in an arc into the trees. 

“I wanted to send a message to Father. But I shall never have the strength to reach him”

Elrond had nodded, his eyes tracking where in the forest it should have landed. 

“Let us search for it brother, mayhap it has not fallen and the wind will carry it to him for you.” 

They looked far and wide and when Elrond found the errant bolt he tucked the scrawled note into his tunic sleeve and tossed the arrow into the river while his brother's back was still turned so that he did not see it . 

Elros said nothing on the walk back, but his eyes were full of hope. 

…

He woke up on the ground, in pain. 

There was a dull ache behind his eyes. 

He knew the tenderness of the wrenched shoulder, that pain was familiar. Had been since he slammed into the harsh waters, since the guards had wrenched him up onto the horse. Throbbing as Gil-galad had pronounced his judgment. 

He had more than a cursory knowledge of healing. He had done what he could to assuage the pain. But there were no healing herbs or tonics or salves in the hall of stone. And he would not suffer his king for them. 

He had disregarded his authority in front of the elf who had been his hero since he was a young boy, her eyes widening in shock  as he jumped, her warning cry. He had done so in front of his guards and his subjects. 

He had done so because he must. 

Life is pain. 

…

It was not the scribe who found him. It was Galadriel who had spoken to a king who did not need to be asked twice to relax his ban on his most beloved herald. She had pushed open the door to find him there, leaning against the cold wall, shaking. 

In one swift movement she was kneeling beside him. 

“Elrond, return to me” 

He woke then, when she laid a hand on his inflamed shoulder and he recoiled, a sharp cry escaping his lips before he was aware. 

“Stubborn orc” 

She hissed, gently touching her hand to his forehead. 

“How could you not let us know of this?”

“Stubborn orc!”

Maglor had said, wrapping his scraped arm in linen. 

“Why did you not let me know of this?”

…

Eyes filled to the brim with tears. 

“How could you not let me know of this?” 

He had asked Elros, when he had come to him finally after the choosing

They had fought then, bitterly. And then, they had loved one another again. It had taken time. 

…

When he was released from the healing halls, he thought of this. 

When the king sang his song, and the very rings he had bartered his life over were returned. And his king, friend and counsel had each placed the rings on their fingers and he crashed into waves for a second time. These, more loud and treacherous than the first, they threatened to pull him under. All he felt was the angry and betrayed aching - and the pain. 

To live was pain. 

Ai Elros, is it any wonder you chose the gift of Illuvatar? 

But to live was defiance, to live was to persist. To live was to make right the broken shards and make them into a whole. 

He walked away from the Golden tree. He could not bear to look at it any longer. Could not bear to think of what might come of the implications of their choice. What had come of his mother’s choice clutching the Silmaril to her breast. Time alone would tell if he were the fool or they. Still, his mother had made her choice and where there had once been only pain, there was now love again for her memory. 

He would love them again. 

He would forgive. And perhaps also, they could forgive him. 

It would take time. 

He had time.

[cinderminx]

The light shines into his eyes and as he drowsily comes to he realizes he's been laying in a sunbeam. He bolts upright to check his skin but he's completely unharmed. Looking around, he realizes He's in a grove of trees, laying in tall grass decorated with purple flowers. A slight breeze moves the leaves and he stops to listen to the birds chirping above him. “Gods, I haven't heard that in 200 years” How is he not being burned to ash? How did he make it out of the crash? A surge of pain rushes through his head and it all comes back to him, the parasite. Mind flayers, of course that would happen to him. He gets to his feet and looks around to get his bearings, but this place is completely unfamiliar. “Where in the hells have I ended up? What the fuck is going on?”

To the west he hears footsteps and lowered voices, sounds like two people are walking close by. He crouches down into the tall grass and edges towards the trees. An elf with long red hair and facial tattoos comes into view, a druid by the awful way she dresses. Next to her a half elf with an annoyed look is dressed in armor, her gear looks familiar but he can't quite place it. He almost lets them pass when a wild boar runs by, giving his position away. Time to act.

“Hello? A little help? I have one of those brain things cornered.”

The druid takes one look at him and he knows she doesn't buy this charade for a second.

“You look perfectly capable, you kill it.” She rolls her eyes but still walks towards him.

He grabs her and pulls her to the ground “ Don't struggle, wouldn't want to hurt that pretty neck of yours. I saw you on that damned ship.”

The druid headbutts him and rolls effortlessly to her feet, grabbing a small dagger at her waist. Shit she's good.

“ I'm sorry! I just…aaagghh!” His mind somehow connects to the stranger, showing her dark alleys in the city, a camp, a child's hand in his, Sebastian’s lips, searing pain on his back. He looks up at her and he knows; she saw all of this. “What did you do to me?”

She puts the knife back in her belt which her companion does not seem to approve of and puts her hands out, a truce. “I was on that ship too, the tadpole.. I think it connects us. I'm Tav, this is Shadowheart. We're going to look for a healer, maybe we should all stick together and figure this out .”

This total stranger is trusting him and he didn't even try to charm her, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. “I'm Astarion, I was going to go it alone but no harm in joining the herd. Lead on.”

As he goes to follow Tav up the trail, he realizes he's standing in full sunlight. To his left a sparkling blue stream shimmers in the daylight. Flowers surrounded by butterflies are bursting with colors he almost forgot existed. A breeze teases through his white curls and he wonders if he could hide here forever from his master. Nonsense, he runs to catch up with his new companions.

A large piece of the ship blocks the path forward, as they step over debris and small fires looking for anything useful for their journey a mindflayer comes into view. It lays in the ruins of its once massive ship, a gash in its belly- the look on its face shows that it knows its near death. He looks down at it with disgust but as he does, the orange eyes lock with his and try to get him to help it. Help it? Not in this life, even if he can walk in the sun. Tav steps in front of him and smashes its head in with her boot. Who is this woman and why is he impressed?

All of this sunlight and walking is exhausting. His mind wanders to thoughts of a goblet of wine or maybe something more sanguine. Can he trust these new companions with the truth of his nature? Best to play it safe for now but how much did Tav see when her mind locked with his?

He emerges from his thoughts and realizes Tav is about to put her hand in a malfunctioning portal. The purple sparks go up her arm and she lets out a yelp. “Well what did you think was going to-”

A hand juts out of the rocks and swirling purple sparks and a man's voice echoes faintly through the portal.

“Hello, anyone care to give me a hand?” The hand politely asks.

Tav looks at him for approval, like he cares what happens to this mystery hand. She grabs on with two hands and braces a foot on the cliff side. Out tumbles a wizard in a long purple robe, a strange marking on his chest is barely visable. “Oh Gods I can't stand wizards, I'm surprised this one didn't blow up.” he muses to himself.

“Hello! I am Gale of Waterdeep. Thank you so much for my rescue. I was just experimenting with a new spell when Tara, that's my cat, opened up a portal and blah blah blah..” He does not care.

“Can we go camp somewhere now? I'm positively exhausted!” Astarion complains.

“I suppose we should figure that out while we still have day light. Are you any good with a bow Astarion? We'll need something for dinner.” Tav hands him a small crossbow and he can't help but think she's teasing him.

“Of course I am, give me that.” The audacity of this druid.

[audley-and-cherry]

I may have said this before, but my favorite thing about Dungeon Meshi is that canonically, Senshi is the most attractive character. Not the blonde half-elf, not the big burly tallman, not the (very young, eesh) catgirl, but the dwarf who doesn't wash his hair often enough.

See: Senshi is the only one who treats us to panty shots lounging on the bed with his shirt off, very sexfully in the doppleganger episode, everyone thought the hot version was the real version (except Marcille, but she's a lesbian and can be excused) in the body swap episode, he was a sparkling, beautiful elf.

HOT SENSHI FOR LIFE