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crucifiedfaerie · 7 months

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Sparring Sessions ༉₊˚✧

Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

➴ Summary: When Snoke makes you his training partner against his wishes, Kylo vows to make your little sessions as nightmarish as possible. But it gets increasingly more difficult for him as his feelings for you grow.

➴ Word Count: 3.2k

➴ Warnings: no actual smut but lots of sexual tension and slightly implied smut so 18+ MDNI, slowburn ??, snoke in his matchmaker era ???, reader's AND kylo's POV, kylo ren is a mean emotionally stunted dickhead as always, mean!kylo to soft!kylo, so much tension and mutual pining, reader has some fire in her and doesn't take his bs, crylo ren, A LOT of angst, a little bit of fluff, swearing, typos and saint being illiterate probably.

➴ Taglist: ( @enviedear @capitanostella @teapartydreams )

A/N: guys i kinda hate how this turned out. but idk im chronically too hard on myself at all times so maybe im just in my head about it. nonetheless, i really hope you guys enjoy. theres no smut in this one, and it is a oneshot currently, but if you guys do actually like it and request a part two, i will definitely consider making a part two with smut. also adam driver is sooo sexy in that gif like... LOOK AT HIM !!

Kylo Ren was always a loner at heart, sparing little attention towards his peers, let alone attempting to seek out positive relationships with them. He simply preferred to be left alone, his hot-headedness couldn't handle a person even remotely getting in his way.

The day Snoke told him he would be getting a training partner, he retreated to his quarters and threw what can only be described as a temper tantrum. His lightsaber shrieked as he swung at the durasteel walls, shouting profanities with each hit.

The following morning when you enthusiastically offered your hand to shake, Kylo simply stared at you. His dark eyes narrowed as they flitted from your outstretched hand to your face in a deadly glare. "We are not, and will not be friends... let's make that very clear." He stated coldly.

However, with each passing day, his hatred for you turned into something different. Despite Kylo's annoyance, he couldn't deny how beautiful you looked and he was constantly catching himself lowering his gaze to your lips.

As the months passed, your relationship built on hate evolved into a strange competition of who could annoy each other the most. Your constant bickering had even started to piss off the Stormtroopers.

The two of you would spend the first ten minutes of your sessions arguing over who got the shittier, cracked training saber. Kylo's favorite excuse being "I won more matches yesterday so I should get the better one." He'd use that even if it weren't true, as if he were hoping you'd somehow forgotten you'd beaten him multiple times the day before.

Some mornings you would breeze past him as he walked down the hall to the training bay. You'd sprint through the doors and hear his footsteps quicken behind you. Your level of speed was something Kylo could never match, which always made him mad. By the time he would make it through the doors, you would already be holding the better training saber, twirling it around in your hand. "Too slow, Ren." You would sneer at him.

Other times, Kylo would arrive to the training bay early, knowing by now that being punctual wasn't necessarily your thing. When you would try to take it from him, he would raise the saber as far as he could in the air, smirking as he took pleasure in watching your futile attempts to jump up and reach it. If Kylo's speed was inferior to yours, your height was most certainly inferior to Kylo's.

He would tell himself he hated how physically close you were to him in those moments, but deep down he knew that wasn't true. Each brush of fabric or slight bump against his side made his heart race... made him feel... something. And whatever it was, he resented you for making him feel that way.

This morning you had woken up feeling different. Your feelings for Kylo had been slowly evolving as well, and you seemed to be unable to get his dark eyes and stupid smirk out of your head. Truth be told, you were beginning to grow tired of how he treated you like some nuisance he only found pleasure in tormenting. As you walked down the quiet halls of Starkiller, you decided you were in no mood for his games today.

"Ten minutes late." Kylo shook his head, "That has got to be a new personal record." He jeered.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes, ignoring his jab and walking past him to pick up the damaged training saber he left for you. With your feet planted firmly on the floor, you take a fighting stance, waiting for him to make the first move.

Kylo lunged at you and instinctively you ducked, catching his saber with your own before pushing it away from your body.

You blocked each other's attacks in silence, the only sounds that filled the room were yours and Kylo's breathing and the clicks of dull metal blades hitting each other.

Kylo watched you intently with a dark gaze, gritting his teeth. Your fiery attitude always amused him. It was something he secretly really liked about you, so your silence today was unnerving. The longer you ignored him, the more he wanted to catch your attention.

"Hey." He said in a low tone as he dodged another one of your attacks.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing. "What?"

Kylo took in your annoyed expression as a smirk tugged at his lips. He stepped closer, attempting to take a swipe at your abdomen with his blade before answering.

"You're looking lovely today." He smirked, attempting to catch you off guard.

You jumped back from his attack, his blade mere inches from making contact with your skin. "Very funny, Ren." You rolled your eyes, emphasizing his name in a sneer.

Kylo slightly shrugged, still smirking. "Why's it funny? Am I not allowed to compliment you?" He challenged, his tone still teasing.

"Not when it's laced with sarcasm." You mock his tone, taking another hard swing at him.

Kylo's lips curled into a smug grin as he catches your blade with his, pausing his attacks to look down at you, blades still touching. "But what if it isn't sarcasm?" He mused. In reality, he did genuinely think you looked lovely, but in the moment he was being sarcastic to get a reaction from you.

You laughed, ignoring his question. "You know for someone who hates my guts, you sure do try to make quite a bit of conversation with me." You took the opportunity to use your saber to knock his from his hands, sending it to the floor with a clatter. "I'd even say you have a crush on me or something." You jabbed, smirking.

Kylo's jaw clenched at your words, his fists tightening as he watched his saber fall to the ground. He tried to hide that your words struck a nerve with him, and that you were completely right. He did hate you... once upon a time, but things were different now and he absolutely despised how easily you could call him on his bullshit.

"Fucking- shut up." He snapped.

You let out a small huff of a laugh. He was never good at hiding his anger.

"With pleasure." You dropped your saber to the floor and gave a sarcastic curtsy before walking past him, bumping shoulders with him on purpose as you made your way to the door.

Kylo's eye twitched. "You-" He was filled with an insurmountable amount of rage at your audacity. You had really gotten under his skin this time. "Where do you think you're going? Training doesn't end for another two hours." He demanded, his tone shifting dramatically towards cold authority.

You groaned in annoyance. "To my quarters to be alone... Away from you! I'm done for the day."

Kylo scoffed at you, his ego bruised. "Of course you're going to run off. You're too much of a baby to train with me." He stepped in front of you, blocking your straight path to the door as he crossed his arms.

"Asshole." You rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath before swiftly darting around him and out the door, leaving him alone in the training room.

His pride was hurt, and he wasn't going to let this go. He stood in the training bay doorway and shouted at you down the hall. "You know what? Don't bother coming back tomorrow! I'll tell Snoke having you as a training partner was a mistake, that you'll never be good enough to train with me."

"Fine!" You shouted back at him, waving your hand in the air behind you and not even turning to look in his direction. "I'm done being treated like scum by you anyways!" You turn the corner, leaving him standing at the end of the empty hall.

Panic and regret instantly washed over him as he watched you disappear around the corner. Kylo didn't actually want you gone, he only said it to get under your skin. He wasn't expecting you to so nonchalantly agree.

Why did I do that?

Kylo tried so hard to resist the thoughts and feelings he had for you that plagued his mind, how just the sight of you made him feel... funny. He always thought that maybe if he was mean enough to you, they would go away. But now with you gone completely, the feelings only rose to the surface.

"Fuck." He muttered to himself as he leaned on the doorframe, face in his hands.

When he looked up his expression hardened, noticing a Stormtrooper in the training bay staring at him. "What are you looking at!?" He yelled.

That night you laid on your bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in your head, which only made you angrier.

You massaged your temples in annoyance. "Stupid fucking man-child with his stupid fucking beautiful face and h-"

Your mumbling was interrupted by a light tapping at your door. It was pretty late, and most of the crew was asleep, so you were confused as to who would be knocking on your door at this hour. You were in no mood to talk to anyone though, so you just laid there, hoping whoever it was would go away.

After a few moments of silence, you heard Kylo's voice on the other side of the door.

"It's uh... It's me. I know you can hear me." The sound of his voice caught you off guard, his tone was one you'd never heard from him before. He sounded almost... sheepish.

"I'm sleeping." You shout back to him.

You thought you heard him let out a small laugh. "No you aren't. I just wanted to talk to you. Just- Can I come in? Please?" There was a slight whine to his voice.

You got up and swung the door open, glaring at him. "What?" You gestured for him to enter, your annoyance with him clear from your expression and hand movements.

Kylo stepped into your room, before you practically slammed it shut. He looked as if he were trying to look everywhere but directly at you. "I just... wanted you to know I'm..." He couldn't even finish his sentence. "I shouldn't have said what I said earlier."

You laughed, leaning against your door. "Are you in my room... apologizing to me right now? I'm sorry I just wanna make sure I'm not in some weird dream." You looked at him with a mixture of amusement and perplexity.

Kylo scoffed at you, trying to hide the slight strain in his voice. "I'm not apologizing. I'm just being... courteous... for once."

"..... Courteous?" You laughed, unable to hide how much enjoyment you were getting from this.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, shifting slightly. "Look, just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you. I'm not saying I'm sorry. I do still despise you, after all."

"Oh, sure." You said sarcastically, nodding your head. "Because when I despise a person, I definitely feel the need to come to their room at midnight to explain myself."

Kylo's eye twitched as you called him out. "I do despise you! I just realized I may have gone too far, so don't be so full of yourself. Gods- I wouldn't have come here if I knew you'd be such a nightmare!"

You sighed, the amusement fading back into hurt and contempt. "If you only came here to insult me and make the situation worse, you can leave and never see me again. Which I'm sure you would love."

He took a step closer to you, pausing before speaking as a twinge of guilt crossed his expression. "Please stay." He tried to sound stern, but he knew he was in no position to give you any commands. "Look... just... come back to training tomorrow." He could feel the power slipping through his fingers.

You've gone soft, Ren. Lost your edge.

Your eyes narrowed as you glared at him. "I'll see you tomorrow." You said coldly, opening the door and gesturing for him to leave.

Kylo's brow furrowed, his ego bruised once again by your attitude towards him, but relieved that you agreed to stay. "Fine." He replied, a glint of anger returning to his eyes.

He went to storm out of your quarters, before stopping in his tracks just outside your door. "I... goodnight." He sounded pained.

What is wrong with me?

You laughed at him again, which only made him seethe. When he turned around to say something though, he realized you had already shut the door, leaving him in the dark emptiness of the hallway.

Kylo clenched his fists, his eyes burning with anger and want. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, trying to ignore the nagging thought of just... being honest with you about his feelings. Apologizing and asking you to come with him back to his chambers.

Don't be fucking stupid, Ren. She wouldn't want that. Just go now and save yourself the embarrassment.

He walked back towards his quarters, his head hung low, thoughts racing. When he entered his room, he slowly made his way to his bed before collapsing on the soft, dark sheets.

He attempted to rationalize the situation in his head, tried to brush off the entire interaction as nothing.

It's fine. This is just how we are. Tomorrow, we'll go back to normal.

Except none of it felt normal anymore.

Kylo was a mess. The entire ordeal had knocked him completely off balance, making him question himself for the first time. He took a deep breath, the anger in his heart fading to soul crushing emptiness.

Gods- Why am I like this? Every time I want to be kind, I end up going cold and pushing her even further away... I couldn't even say I was sorry and now she fucking hates me.

I dont even know why I want to be so nice to her, she constantly has an attitude and she acts like she's better than me.

His heart sank as he realized.

She is better than me.

He fought back tears, ashamed by his own weakness. Kylo laid completely still, taking a few more deep breaths before finally surrendering.

He shuddered as tears began to fall, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had someone there who he didn't have to hide his pain from.

You sat on the edge of your bed, knee bouncing and staring at the floor. Your mind was running a million light years a minute as you argued with yourself, your heartache and your anger having a moral battle.

I shouldn't have been so harsh, he seemed genuinely remorseful there for a moment... until I made fun of him.

Oh please. Ren is never remorseful about anything. He just enjoys tormenting me at training and was worried about losing that.

But there was an air about Kylo tonight... something different. Something softer that only a trained eye could have seen. And you saw it, you know you did. It was something you had never seen from him before.

I need to talk to him.

You quickly stood up and rushed out the door of your quarters. You didn't make it twenty feet down the hallway before you ran into something- someone.

You yelped at the sudden collision. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the quiet hallway you looked up and your eyes connected with Kylo's. Usually he had this perpetual expression of anger on his face, but now he looked... sad?

It's him.

It's her.

Kylo froze, his body tensing slightly once he realized you were mere inches from him. He had a second realization, and a small wave of excitement and nervousness washed over him.

Did she come to see me too?

"W-what are you doing here?" You whispered, not wanting to admit you were headed to see him.

"What are you doing here?" Kylo asked back, tilting his head. The truth was, he had just finished crying and he was fighting the urge to tell you how badly he needed you. How every time you're near him he finds himself gazing at your lips. How he absolutely adores your fiery attitude that always comes out the most during your sparring sessions, despite how much he pretended to hate it. It was a losing battle, he could only hide how he felt for so long.

"I asked first..." You attempt to retort, but trailing off as you notice his tear stained cheeks in the dim lighting of the hallway. Your expression softens. "Ren, have you been crying?"

Before you could even begin to process the foreign idea of someone as cold as Kylo crying, your face was in his hands and his lips were crashing into yours.

You froze initially, before melting into him. His kiss was full of need, months of tension snapping as your lips moved against his. He moved his hands down to wrap his arms around you. His grip on you was gentle but he held you tightly, as if he feared you would disappear at any moment.

Kylo pulled away just for a moment to breathe, pressing his forehead against yours. His heart raced with emotion, and his body felt entirely out of his control.

"I don't care if you hate me, I just couldn't survive much longer without telling you how much I need you." His voice was soft but there was a tinge of desperation to it.

Your fingers snaked their way through his dark locks. "I never hated you, I just thought you hated me." You smiled slightly, out of breath.

The energy from your touch and your words surged through Kylo's body, any remnants of the fear and contempt he felt just hours ago had now disappeared completely.

"I only ever hated myself for feeling something I didn't understand. But I understand now." He whispered before kissing you again, this time more urgently.

You were everything Kylo ever wanted. Your touch, your voice, your presence. Everything about you enchanted him and in that moment he felt like he had known you for far longer than he actually had. He couldn't stop kissing you, and he never wanted to stop.

Instinctively, you moaned against his mouth. The sound of the sweet noises he drew from you made his whole body feel like it was on fire. He pushed you against the durasteel wall, his lips sliding down your neck and then back up to your mouth. He smirked against your skin at your soft gasps of pleasure.

Kylo pulled away again for a moment, his dilated eyes locked on yours as he breathed heavily. He quickly took your hand into his own, gripping it tightly before taking a few steps back, pulling you away from the wall and leading you down the hallway to his quarters.

The sounds of your hushed laughter and shushing of each other filled the quiet of the hallway as you both practically ran hand in hand. If someone else had been in the halls, you would have looked like two school children running off to do something you shouldn't.

You knew you would both be late to training tomorrow morning, and so did he... but neither of you really cared.

#kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #star wars x reader #kylo ren fanfic #ben solo fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequel trilogy #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #crucifiedfaerie #saint writes !

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ltwilliammowett · 4 months

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Black Ships

The Black Ships ( 黒船, romanized: kurofune, Edo period term) was the name given to Western vessels arriving in Japan in the 16th and 19th centuries.

Commodore Perry's fleet for his second visit to Japan in 1854 - Engraving from Gleason’s Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, Boston, May 15, 1852, Volume II, No. 20, page 305

In 1543, Portuguese initiated the first contacts, establishing a trade route linking Goa to Nagasaki. The large carracks engaged in this trade had the hull painted black with pitch, and the term came to represent all Western vessels. In 1639, after suppressing a rebellion blamed on the influence of Christian thought, the ruling Tokugawa shogunate retreated into an isolationist policy, the Sakoku. During this "locked state", contact with Japan by Westerners was restricted to Dutch traders on Dejima island at Nagasaki.

In 1844, William II of the Netherlands urged Japan to open also the mainland to trade, but was rejected. On 8 July, 1853, the U.S. Navy sent four warships into the bay at Edo and threatened to attack if Japan did not begin trade with the West. The ships were Mississippi, Plymouth, Saratoga, and Susquehanna of the Expedition for the opening of Japan, under the command of Commodore Matthew Perry. The expedition arrived on 14 July, 1853 at Uraga Harbor (present-day Yokosuka) in Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan. Though their hulls were not black, their coal-fired steam engines belched black smoke.

Their arrival marked the reopening of the country to political dialogue after more than two hundred years of self-imposed isolation. Trade with Western nations followed five years later with the Treaty of Amity and Commerce. After this, the kurofune became a symbol of the end of isolation.

#naval history #black ships #short overview #before i get the asks what they are #western vessels #japan #16th-19th century #more about perry soon #age of sail #age of discovery #history

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haeseolar · 7 months

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it's no coincidence, it's a kitty-incidence

for @mau-month day 12 - kink: pet play 😺, foot stuff

summary:

“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead. Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing. Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.” “‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.

kinnporsche / rated E, 1.9k words

Porsche feels winded partially lying on his back, propped up on his elbows and legs splayed wide so Kinn can fit himself in between them as he comes up to the edge of the bed. He feels petty, spiteful, full of humiliation from wearing a damned collar and fluffy cat ears, and before he can stop himself from acting out, he kicks his leg out and Kinn comes to a sudden stop, Porsche’s foot planted squarely on his chest.

Kinn’s eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting Porsche to misbehave, sure of the fact that he’d already broken him down and bullied the fight out of him. Porsche is anything but a quitter, though. He feels ridiculous, dolled up and - he can’t even say it in his head, can’t even fathom the words Kinn has been feeding directly into his ears, the way his fingers have left imprints of their reverence and want in his skin so much that it feels like he’s burning from the inside out with the knowledge.

“Do you think this will stop me?” Kinn asks, grabbing a hold of his ankle. The grip is tight, unforgiving, and cruel.

Porsche wants to bare his teeth in defiance, but he holds back, not wanting to add any more fuel to the fire when it comes to feline characteristics, so he just clenches his jaw instead. It aches, his teeth feeling like they’re shifting in their places with the pressure on them. It stops him from hurling choice words at Kinn for now, at least, or voicing just how much he’s enjoying this despite how much he hates it.

The silence stretches on, Porsche not willing to give up for a second, and Kinn waiting for him to move his foot on his own accord. Porsche knows Kinn would immediately let go if he felt him retreating, but he doesn’t, so the fingers around his ankle get even tighter, digging in until he completes a circle around it. He feels his pulse thump in his foot, his circulation restricted.

They’re at a stalemate, standing off as they stare at each other with calculating eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Porsche feels stuck, undecided on if he’s ready to completely give into this new thing they have, or hit the brakes for a bit. He wishes his brain would shut off already, but he can see the ridiculous white frilly socks he’s got on, the colour contrasting with the dark shirt Kinn is wearing from where it’s still planted on his chest, and he feels like he can’t let go just yet.

He hates how he doesn’t hate it. He hates how all he wants is to sink into the feeling and indulge in the way Kinn wants him, even looking like this. The bell on his collar jingles as he shifts, pressing his foot more into Kinn’s chest, the sound of it breaking the thick tension between them. The pink paw pads printed on the bottom of his socks crinkle with the movement, and that sound alone is almost enough to get his hackles up again. Porsche holds his breath, keeping those roiling emotions at bay, realising that Kinn is waiting patiently for him to decide, giving him the time and space to do so.

Something in his chest finally cracks, his bottom lip trembling with splitting his desire open so clearly, and he breathes out. The tinkling of the bell this time is hypnotising as he moves again, but this time it’s to curl his toes, catching on the fabric of Kinn’s shirt.

It’s permission, and Porsche sees the second when Kinn realises it. His expression softens, settling into something more relaxed rather than on edge, and Kinn moves his foot for him. But instead of pushing it away like he assumed, he pulls it higher and higher, until the tips of his toes brush against his lips, and then even higher still. Porsche’s heart jackrabbits in his chest, his breaths getting shorter as it feels like the collar around his neck is constricting his airflow until he’s barely breathing at all when Kinn’s tongue flicks out at his heel, the feeling of it over the thin cotton of his socks makes his whole leg jerk and his stomach bottom out.

“Kinn!” Porsche gasps, unable to hold back any longer. He squirms at the tickling sensation - it’s not like anything he’s felt before, like an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s as if it’s connected directly to his cock as it twitches within the confines of his panties while waves of heat wash over him.

Kinn hums against his skin, the vibrations rippling down his leg and reverbing around his body. Porsche can’t look away, not even to blink, even though his eyes are watering from pleasure.

He worries that he might kick Kinn in the face, but he’s holding onto his ankle so tightly that it doesn’t budge in the end. Once again, Porsche has no power, forced to just lie down and let Kinn do whatever he wants. Each lick and nip Kinn leaves on the sole of his foot as he works his way up makes his calf muscles jump, the place behind his navel tugs dangerously, and his hips twitch. It’s not just his body he can’t control now, it’s his voice: whimpers and mewls spill from his lips, his eyelashes fluttering with each sound.

Kinn grazes his bottom teeth across the arch of his foot, the drag of the sock and his hot breath makes his spine curve upwards, his mouth dropping open so wide, a moan caught in his throat. It’s the wrong move - it shifts the butt plug inside him, forcing it to press down harder on his prostate.

His whole body jolts as if shocked by electricity, throwing his head back as his arms finally give out from holding him up as he collapses onto the bed. Porsche’s brain fizzes out, his skin buzzing with static as he loses himself in angling his hips down to nudge the plug inside him as Kinn continues working, clutching at the bedsheets just for something to hold onto. He knows he can’t touch himself, even though he’s desperate to get a hand around his cock or even palm over it just to feel the scratch of the lace over his length. But he also knows that if he did, Kinn would stop – pulling away and leaving him there with nothing but the disappointed set of his mouth. That scares him more than anything, so he hangs onto the sheets like a lifeline and rides each wave and pulse of arousal that shoots through him.

Porsche can’t help it when his toes begin to curl, hooking over Kinn’s bottom teeth, his mouth open and trying to get enough air in that saliva begins to slide out the sides of his lips, pooling in his hairline and making it feel even stickier than it already was with sweat. He can’t tell if it’s too much - if the way Kinn’s hand around his ankle is too tight, too hot, too heavy, or if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored down to earth.

Mournful noises begin to filter out, dazed and caught between wanting too many things while not getting enough at the same time, but still, Kinn doesn’t stop; if anything he just doubles down – tongue pushing in between his toes as his lips close around the tops of them to suck. The material of the sock is so thin already, and with the added saliva, it’s practically translucent. Porsche’s panties aren’t any better off, ruined and stained, coated in his own pre-come and copious amounts of lube that soaked through the heart-shaped cut out in the back.

Kinn bites as if sensing that Porsche is hanging on by a thread, and he groans in pain. He should find it gross - he’s worn these socks in the bathroom, and then across the plush carpet of their bedroom, but Kinn’s eyes are hooded and impossibly glassy as they stay zeroed in on his face. Each pass of his tongue and graze of teeth tickles, sending thrills through him. It feels like it’s something dirty, something that feels against the rules to like so much, but he does, and that fills him with even more excitement - the type that floods him with shame, prickles at his cheeks and makes more beads of pre-come gather at the tip of his cock.

The sound of when Kinn pulls away from his mouth away from his foot is filthy, and along with his lips swollen and red, thin threads of spit still join them, keeping them connected even with the distance. Porsche has to bite down on his bottom lip so hard that it feels like it’s bleeding to stop himself from coming on the spot. Kinn’s eyes are blown out, his chest heaving just as much as Porsche’s is, his hair mussed and ruined beyond saving, worn and frayed around the edges as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing as his eyes rake over Porsche still splayed out on the bed.

Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing.

Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.”

“‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.

Kinn raises an eyebrow at him, his eyes drawn down to the tail that’s draping limply over the edge of the mattress, catching on his ruined panties as he moves them back up to the pastel pink collar fitted snugly around his neck, and then to the pair of ears on top of his head before he finally meets Porsche’s gaze again.

Porsche feels a whole new wave of humiliation redden his cheeks and heighten his temperature at Kinn’s stare, knowing exactly how much his words contradict his appearance. He wants to hide, bury under the covers and call off this whole thing, but -

“You’re so pretty, Porsche,” Kinn’s earlier words echo in his head, his ears ringing. He’d seen Kinn look at him with a multitude of emotions, but the one he had on his face when Porsche first stepped out of the bathroom after getting changed was unlike anything before. He feels that rush again just remembering it: that high, the way he can feel himself preening, wanting to show off and let Kinn experience how lucky he is, how good he has it with Porsche, that the endless depth of desperation comes roaring back to life in him.

Kinn takes his silence as continued resilience, his eyes narrowing down at Porsche and pinning him to the bed with that alone. His muscles seize up, joints locking as his breath catches in his throat with the intensity of it.

“A pity,” Kinn says simply, his voice terrifyingly neutral as he drops Porsche’s leg, letting it fall back down onto the bed as if he’s discarding him, “I was looking forward to you hearing you meow again.”

Porsche has nothing to lose anymore, nothing at all, and if doing that one small thing is what it takes, he’ll do it.

“Meow,” The sound is off-pitch, cracking in the middle, his mouth drier than ever, his head feeling like scribbles on a piece of paper.

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if enough people like this, i'll write a whole fic for it! ^^ but for now it's just this scene hehe. lmk what you think on here, or on twitter! 🥰

#kinnporsche #my writing #kinnporsche fic #kinnporsche the series #kpts #mau month

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aita-blorbos · 1 month

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Am I the asshole for destroying Tokyo and killing a lot of people?

So. I am not really the most experienced with human things like "writing" and "internet", and English is not my first language (that would be Japanese), so I make this apology in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors.

Alright. So, I was an endling apex predator, minding my own business in the sea around a certain island in the Pacific when, well...

It hurt. It hurt a lot. Turns out that's what a 'nuclear bomb' does.

It was so agonizing, I couldn't think straight, could only think of finding and punishing those who hurt me.

The first things I saw before and after were well... a boat full of little humans. I'd seen such things before.

That boat was destroyed. By me. They did it, I knew they did.

I kept going. Swimming west. Some boats crossed my path, I sunk them and killed all aboard. In my frenzied mind, all little humans were the same as those who had hurt me.

I made landfall on an island. I knew this place, I had been worshipped as a sea dragon god here in my old life.

I continued west, attacking all who dared approach me. Their little weapons fired, barely more than insect stings.

Finally, I arrived upon a coast, a city. The humans had set up a stretch of electrified wires to stop me. I tore through those, and set upon the city.

The entire place was ablaze with white fire before the night was over. The air, the dust around me was toxic now, and would kill them too.

As dawn broke... there was nothing around but ashes. I retreat to the bay, unsure where to go now. The fire inside me still burns and still hurts. All those humans dead did nothing to quench it. I am still this. I want to... I want rest, I want peace now, but I cannot see a way to get it.

I can see the shadow of another boat above the water, feel the ripples of its wake. They are coming to strike back at me. Maybe their weapon will hurt me, kill me, maybe it won't.

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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littlehypnone · 6 days

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i talked with @rainsbasspick about little ghouls and they asked if i could write little rainy having some girl time with the ghoulettes. i absolutely loved the idea, so here it is!!! also in this one rain is definitely physically smaller

Rain wakes up small, aching and cold. She was with Dewdrop, but he had to get up and leave early, having a busy day planned, so when she wakes up the bed is already cold. She grumbles, tumbling out of the bed and whining when she puts some weight on her legs. The little water ghoulette pouts as she grabs her crutches—the smaller pair; purple ones covered in glittery fish stickers—before leaving her room.

Rain heads to the kitchen by the common room to grab a little snack for breakfast. She’ll wait for a big ghoul to make her something proper, but for now a milk slice will do. She grabs one and retreats to the couch to munch on it as she waits for someone to show up.

The little ghoulette gets lost in thought and a little sad that she can’t spend time with Dewdrop today. She loves others and will gladly spend time with them, too—anytime—but Dewdrop is her favorite, and sometimes it’s only him that can keep her mean thoughts at bay. Today she’s doing okay in that department, but she’s not exactly cheerful, either, and she could really use Dewdrop’s presence and warmth.

Rain gets snapped out of her thoughts by footsteps in the corridor behind her and she turns—hoping it’s the fire ghoul coming down for a snack himself. It’s not and she whines under her breath, but she’s still happy to see Aurora and Cumulus.

The older ghoulette notices her first. “Oh, hi, little pearl! What are you doing here all alone?”

“Just sittin’.” She shrugs, before taking another nibble out her snack. “Got a milk slice.”

“I can see that,” Aurora giggles, coming closer to ruffle Rain’s hair. It’s a bit more tangled than usual, she notes. “Glad you got a snack, sweet girl.”

“Mhm,” she hums. The two air ghoulettes look at each other knowingly, their brows furrowed at the little water ghoulette’s mood.

They seem to be having a silent conversation for a minute before Aurora speaks again, “How would you feel about having some girl time with us, Rainy?”

“We could do our hair, paint our nails and do some makeup,” Cumulus chimes in. “Maybe even have a little tea party with juicy gossip. What do you say, pearl?”

The two of them can see Rain’s face brightening at that in real time and she nods excitedly a second later, “Yes, please, mama, please!”

Cumulus and Aurora giggle at how adorable Rain is, the former picking her up into her arms while the latter grabs her crutches. Soon enough they’re settling in the ghoulettes’ shared room and preparing all the stuff they’re going to need for their girl time. Rain’s so much more light, already, and they haven’t started yet.

Aurora brings an armful of cosmetics and hair accessories from the bathroom while Cumulus pulls out some fancy looking robe to swaddle Rain in and make her feel like a truly pampered lady. She giggles when the older air ghoulette wraps the fluffy robe around her and leans down to rub her face against the soft collar.

“What about we start with face masks?” Aurora proposes and the other two nod. They put them on each other—that type that grows into a cloud on one’s face. Rain giggles through it, crossing her eyes to stare as the face mask grows on her nose, and blows on the bubbles when it’s ready to wash off so they’ll fly away.

Then it’s time for hair and makeup. Rain does Cumulus’ and Aurora’s faces first, before the other two take care of her. She’s happy and bubbly and the other two are so grateful that they came up with all that.

The nails are left for the end, so that they can dry in peace. Aurora has acrylics done, as usual, so she waits while Rain paints Cumulus’ nails and while the older ghoulette waits for them to dry, Aurora does Rain’s.

“Okay, now we can talk while your nails dry, pearl.” Cumulus sits criss-cross and rests her elbows on her knees, leaning in closer to Rain. Aurora does the same and they start talking and giggling about all kinds of stuff. Gossiping, essentially.

Their little session gets interrupted a while later when someone comes gently knocking at the door. As Aurora gets up to open it, Rain turns around to see who came to see them.

“Dewy!” the little water ghoulette cheers and scrambles to get up. Her legs still hurt, though, so she doesn’t get too far, but thankfully Dewdrop picks her right up and spins her around.

“Hi, my little lady!” he laughs. “I missed you today.”

“Missed you, too,” Rain purrs, nuzzling into the fire ghoul’s neck. Dewdrop walks over with her back to the ghoulettes’ bed and sits on the edge, greeting Cumulus. “What are you three up to in here?”

“Girl time!” Rain announces happily. She pulls back to show off her sparkly purple nails, freshly dried, and her hair—two high buns with pretty pins and a few loose strands framing her face. “D’you wanna join, Dewy?”

“Oh, but I’m not a girl,” he chuckles. “I don’t want to intrude, I just came to check on you, baby.”

“No, i’s okay! Come on, ‘m gonna do your makeup,” Rain giggles and smiles so brightly and Dewdrop could never ever tell her no.

“You’ve got no choice, sundew,” Cumulus winks at him with a smile. The fire ghoul notices her nails and makeup are a bit…clumsily done today and looks over at Aurora to see her in a similar state, minus the nails. He gathers he’s going to leave there looking similarly, but he would never complain about anything that makes Rain happy.

“Nope,” Aurora seconds. The little water ghoulette nods excitedly.

“Well, then,” Dewdrop claps his hands and grins. “Take care of me, ladies.”

The fire ghoul and Rain emerge from the ghoulettes’ room a few hours later; Dewdrop carrying her as she fell asleep halfway through one of the Barbie movies they ended up watching. His nails are done (nearly up to the first knuckle), his long hair is in two uneven ponytails—adorned with big red bows—and his face is covered in various makeup products that make him look just a little bit creepy. Especially the blush.

#hypno writes #little ghouls #age regression #little rain #cg cumulus #cg aurora #hypno's disabled ghouls #cg dewdrop

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quillthrillswriting · 24 days

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art credits<3: @l-a-l-o-u

ever wanted kataang as a little mermaid retelling, with a bit of an extra romantasy twist?

i present- "you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes"

years ago, the spirits tui and la split the earth between the sky and the sea. however, they did not lose all hope for the rejoining of earth's peoples- tui blessed one avian a generation with the gifts of the mighty avatar, while la carefully selected one siren to grow into the role of the painted lady. the two were their little sliver of hope- hope that one day, the siren and the air-rider would fulfill their destiny, would find a way to reunite the tribes, would be able to root out the poison seeping through the land.

OR: a KATAANG AU where aang is a winged avian and katara is a siren!!!

the following are excerpts from this in-progress work: <3

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Avatar Aang had been told time and time again that to venture across the surface of the sea when the moon had risen and claimed what rightfully belonged to it was to sign your own death certificate.

And yet, he found himself here, at the water’s edge, skipping stones, lost in thought.

To be the Avatar had once meant something, years before. Before the four tribes had separated, scattered to the ends of the earth. Those who formed fire itself chased the other tribes from the surface lands, those who could move rock and metal burrowed underground, those who flowed with the air sent ships with great sails across the sea until they reached towering mountain spires.

Those who bent water, who bent blood… they retreated to the depths of the sea, and with time, they became a part of it. Legend told of the way in which the Water tribes had adapted, two legs smoothed into razor sharp scales and voices twisted into something dark and luring.

Now, they were the monsters known as sirens.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

As if in answer, the winds of the sea whispered back his own song, the melody made haunted. He made to turn himself away, to find shelter for the night, but that very whispering gave him pause. There was a different quality about it, something feminine, not simply his own voice reflected back. His instincts told him to duck, to crawl, and he did, bracing himself against a stone at the beach’s edge. The sound was louder here. He turned around the rock, wincing in anticipation…

…Only to be met with the sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He understood all at once why so many men had fallen prey to the charms of the siren.

For this girl to even gift him a wayward glance, he would build a temple. A religion.

She looked like a painting come to life, a sculpture kissed by the spirits themselves.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

“I thought that sirens made a point of dragging Airriders to the depths of the ocean long before either party exchanged names.”

“Did you truly think so little of me?”

“The legends seem to think very little of you, at least. Me? I’m still making up my mind.” Aang tossed her a teasing grin.

“You seem fairly calm for a man who believes his fate to be sealed.” Katara raised her eyebrows, crossing her slender arms over one another.

“If my destiny is to spend the last few moments of my life at the side of such a lovely enchantress, who am I to fight it?”

“Handsome and a charmer. Is that your plan, to lull and seduce me into a sense of false security so that you can send a blast of air at my gills and leave me stranded in the bay?”

“If I’m remembering correctly, you are meant to be the lulling seductress of the two of us.”

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

He smiled down at her, reaching out to take her hand in his and press his lips against her perfect skin. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Katara.”

She pushed herself up off of her elbows, reaching up to brush her lips against his cheek. “The pleasure has been all mine, Airrider Aang.” With that, she slipped back under the waves of the sea, and Aang was left to wonder if the entire exchange of words had been nothing more than the spirited imaginings of a madman stranded and drowned at sea.

♥ if you want to stick around for this to come out, feel free to head over to my ao3 here! ->

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peachymilkandcream · 4 months

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My Husband, My Monster|Part 11|William Afton x Wife!Reader (Finale)

(A/N: So this is the last chapter of the series! Like I said before it was going to be shorter since I have a specific mind in how I want to end it. However, the epilogue is actually Scrapped (Part 2 As well) which can be read on my blog. Also I know this chapter is short but that's just how I wanted to end it. Thank you for all the support and I really appreciate everything you guys have done! Who knows I might make some oneshots or headcanons as the next movie comes out but still feel free to request some if you'd like.)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

================================================

William had been studying tirelessly, trying to determine why it was that these creatures seemed so haunted. His wife didn't even see him for days at a time since he spent all of his time in that shut up place. He had to know the truth. This thing seemed so much like his daughter it was scaring him. Her body had passed in it, true but that didn't explain this feeling that his child was still with him. Maybe it was grief or the fact he couldn't have a proper funeral since an explanation had to be given and everything he worked for would be over. He didn't know.

Out of desperation he tore open the chest cavity and found nothing, of course there would be nothing. But it was still there. It spoke and moved as if it were fully conscious of its actions, more alive than he was at this point. It made no sense, it couldn't be made to make sense.

As he turned, he caught sight of a newspaper article he had pinned up a while ago, back when Freddy's was at its peak. He had pinned it because it made him laugh at the time, some employee fired for tampering with the animatronics telling the media that the machines were haunted and came after him in the night. Back then, William had laughed it off as a disgruntled employee trying to get back at the company because he had been fired. Now reading it the uneasy feeling grew, wondering if he hadn't just been a disgruntled employee.

Whatever was going on here, the answers weren't in this place.

They were at Freddy's.

===============================================

The place had been abandoned all this time. Leaks and stink of rot filled his nostrils, like it had been walked out of and no one looked back. It was disgusting to see his life's work reduced to something like this so quickly. Henry was a vile pig for not taking care of everything he entrusted to him.

The suits were just as they had been, rotting and full of holes. But they were still his. His designs, his everything. He had to know, he had to know what he created.

Each one was ripped apart individually. Searching for the answers as to why his Circus Baby was haunted and if some remnant of the children he had slaughtered still remained. He was losing sleep over this series of what ifs in his brain. If he knew now he would be at peace, finally at peace.

=============================================

Like before there was nothing. Although this time he didn't bother putting them back together. Let them rot in pieces for all he cared. Just some stupid night guard probably high out of his mind trying to make a few bucks in a lawsuit. That's all it was, he was just paranoid. He'd go home now and see his wife, his child, and forget about all of this. Just a bad dream to go away.

That's when he saw them.

The haunting figures of all those he cut down. Each of their little faces, sobbing and coming towards him. He was hallucinating, he had to be! This couldn't be real, it wasn't!

"Get back- get back!" He retreats slowly in fear, picking up a broken chair and waving it at the children to attempt to keep them at bay. However this proved unsuccessful as they refused to relent and pushed him into the corner.

"What do you want from me!?"

They refused to answer, continuing to approach their attacker.

"You vicious little beasts I said to stay back!" As he stepped closer to the wall his foot hit something hard.

Behind his back was his rotting suit, the same one used to kill these miserable children. He would be protected in there, safe inside and with metal protecting him he could escape, bring his beloved suit with him and be free of this nightmare. Hell, he'd even come back to burn it to the ground.

Quickly and without hesitation he climbs into the suit, its smelled of blood and mold but it was home. It was familiar, safe. Somewhere where he could be himself and do what he loved. Such a silly thing to be scared of, a bunch of ghosts. He was invincible in this, invincible!

"Now what will you do!? Look at how small you are, how worthless you are! I made you!" He breaks into laughter, almost embarrassed for being so afraid.

Until he feels the first lock drive itself into his flesh.

"Fuck-!" He tries to relax his breathing to avoid further malfunctions but it's fruitless.

More and more of the locks pierce his flesh, digging through flesh and bone until they're all into their original position. Trying to remove the suit just causes excruciating pain that would do more damage than good. He was going to die here. All of this, all of his dreams and ambitions. Gone. Because of his own stupidity. He had been such a fool. More measures should have been taken, and now he's stuck with the consequences. It was all over. All of it.

The edges of his vision were going black, he was going to die. He knew he was going to die. The last sight on this earth not his precious family but the faces of those he took from this world.

Rage burned inside him, it was their fault. They did this to him.

"I'll see you in hell, you hear me? I always come back, always!"

He collapsed in a pool of his own blood, thoughts of revenge burning in his mind.

Taglist:

=======

@fandomreader @n3r0-1417 @2pacl0ve

#william afton x you #william afton x oc #william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton #steve raglan x oc #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan smut #steve raglan #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddys movies #five nights at freddys movie #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddy's

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

Text

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Six (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Thanks for answering the poll about length of chapters - much appreciated!

Really hope you enjoy this one. It's a bit of a quieter tone, but things get a touch more 'intimate' next time... It's my favourite scene so far anyway. *shrug*. I've fettled with this chapter so much now that I can't see the wood for the trees, so here it is anyway.

Content: a chance encounter with Edmund leads to some clarification, and an invitation is delivered to Heath Top House that sends a chill of dread through Winnie but opens up an opportunity for Nel... Wordcount: 2995

Catch up here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw)

By the time she reached the front door of the manor house, Nel could hardly see for the tears that made her vision swim and shift, but she made it upstairs to her room before bursting into a shuddering flood of emotion that threatened to drown her completely.

She ached more than ever for the easy, familiar companionship of her best friend, but she missed something else besides Will’s steady presence; something that had been teased before her that very night, but which she would probably never know in earnest: the true affection of a lover’s touch.

Plus, she’d made a complete fool of herself in nearly kissing Locryn Trevethan like that — Lammas Dance liberties be damned — and guilt and shame at what Edmund Nancarrow must think of her now flooded through her like one of the breakers which had nearly drowned her on the beach. With a shuddering huff of despair, she sank onto her bed and wept bleakly until her head ached and her throat was raw.

Outside her window, the music and dancing continued late into the night, and the laughter got more raucous and rowdy as the night wore on. She hoped Locryn and Ned were among those laughing, and Winnie too. Perhaps Locryn would dance with the young woman with whom she’d seen Edmund talking and laughing earlier. She had had the same large, brown eyes and pale skin as Edmund, and Nel wondered if she too was one of the numerous Nancarrows whom Aggie had mentioned living in the area; perhaps a cousin or a younger sister.

At some point hours later, when the music had faded and folks seemed to have drifted home in dribs and drabs, her bedroom door opened and she heard Winnie’s soft voice whisper her name. She feigned sleep from the depths of her chilly bed, her dress abandoned on the floorboards nearby, and the sliver of light on the ceiling retreated, plunging the room into midnight shadow once again.

That night she dreamed once more of thundering surf and dark kelp, and of the silvery flash of something swimming between the seaweed that wasn’t the eel’s tail she’d seen in her dreams before. She got the odd impression that she was being searched for as she lurked down among the shadows at the bottom of a deep, submerged cove, and in the dream she tried to conceal herself further in the fronds of kelp that brushed against her sides like a lover’s hands.

For three days after the dance, Nel could barely muster the energy to leave her bed, let alone go out of the house.

She pretended to have caught a chill, sitting in the library by a small and rather unnecessary fire that Davis had insisted on lighting for her, and reading the novels that Winnie regularly sent for from a bookseller in Bath.

Eventually though, she got past her dark mood, and took Blackthorn out again on more wild gallops along the coastal path, sometimes almost as far to the west from Polgarrack as Lantic Bay.

“Will you come into town with me?” Winnie asked one morning as they sat finishing a late breakfast beside the fire.

Nel shot a glance at the raindrops tracking down the windows, and pulled a face. “Today?”

“Yes,” Winnie sighed. “I want to post a letter to James’ sister in London, and I’ve already put it off for two days.”

“Can’t you ask Liddy to post it for you when she goes in anyway this afternoon?”

“I suppose I could,” Winnie said. “But I had hoped to catch the second post. We’ll take the carriage, obviously.”

Poor driver and horses, Nel thought, but said nothing.

After picking at the remainder of her eggs, she went to change into her usual, sturdy redingote, and by the time Nel was done, Winnie was already waiting for her, and the small carriage was just drawing up outside with the driver huddled under a wide-brimmed hat and an enormous, oiled cloak. He looked more like a pilchard fisherman than a coachman.

They posted Winnie’s letter and decided to sit at a table in The Lantern with a warming drink to drive the chill from their fingers and toes. “Before we go back, and now that the rain has eased off a little, I want to look for some more ribbon,” Winnie said as she finished her small cup of spiced wine. “Do you mind?”

Nel shook her head. For all that she was confident in calling herself Winnie’s friend by that point, she was also still a paid companion, and she wasn’t paid to object to Winnie’s whims, so the two of them settled the bill for their drinks and scuttled out into the rain. It had backed off to a miserable, sheeting drizzle, but the narrow lanes of Polgarrack’s twisting streets sheltered them from the worst of it. They still bustled headlong into the shop in their eagerness to get out of the weather though, and almost ploughed straight into Edmund Nancarrow on his way out.

He barely stepped back in time as Winnie flew in out of the rain, and Nel made it across the threshold with hardly any more grace, but they both drew up short when they realised that they’d almost knocked the man flat. “Oh, I apologise!” Winnie gasped, clapping her hand to her chest. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

“No harm done, m’lady,” he said and then let his gaze slide to Nel. “Miss Bywater.”

“I apologise too. We should have been looking where we were going,” she mumbled. After making such a fool of herself in front of Edmund’s lover, she found she couldn’t meet his gaze, and to her shame, she allowed herself to slink away around the ribbon display without another word.

From the corner of her eye though, she could see the way he lingered in the doorway with his own parcel tucked under one arm. He must have been on an errand for Mr. Fordyce at that time of day, and seemed to be considering whether to confront her about her behaviour with Locryn. She tried to will him away with her thoughts, but she wasn’t hopeful. While Winnie was distracted in a discussion with Mrs. Gwinnel about the best width of a ribbon for a bonnet these days, Edmund made his decision.

He eased himself back around, limping more markedly in the damp weather as he approached, and he looked at her with his head slightly cocked to one side. “Miss Bywater, might I speak with you for a moment?” he enquired in a hushed voice that scarcely carried across the scant distance between them, let alone to the other occupants of the shop.

With a tight, private sigh for herself, she nodded and turned to look at him at last.

He didn’t seem angry or hurt, which she took as a good sign.

Edmund swallowed thickly and offered her a twitchy smile. “Locryn was worried he’d upset you…” he began without preamble. “At the dance.”

“Locryn was worried?” she said, a fraction louder than she’d intended and she immediately lowered her voice to a terse hiss. “I thought… I thought perhaps I might have — ” she bit her lip and blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want to make any trouble for you,” she whispered. “I just wanted — I just wanted to dance with someone for a bit, that’s all. And then when he was kind enough to offer, I… Look, I didn’t mean anything… afterwards…” She had though. She had very much wanted him to kiss her. Frankly, she wanted either of them to kiss her, and she hated herself for the selfishness of it. Let them be happy with each other, she growled at herself.

However, comprehension and a small degree of relief too washed across Edmund’s expression, and the tension melted from him with a little, low laugh.

He shook his head, his mousy hair falling into his dark brown eyes. “Miss Bywater, the last thing that either of us thought of you was that you wanted to make trouble between us. I should thank you though for your… uh… for your discretion regarding our… relationship in front of the Penrose family,” he added. “Not everyone would be as understanding as you after all.”

She shrugged. “My best friend is not so different from you,” she said carefully. “Your situation is not… unknown to me.”

His smile grew from shy to almost awestruck for a moment, and then he glanced over his shoulder out at the rain, and ducked his head in a farewell bob. “Well, that’s all I wanted to tell you,” he said. “That Locryn was worried he’d caused offence and had asked me to apologise if I saw you.” Given that Locryn Trevethan was a bit of a loner and hardly interacted with the folk of the village, it seemed natural that he would have asked Edmund to mass the message along on the off-chance of a meeting.

“Not at all. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologising to him. I shouldn’t have left like that. Will you tell him? Next time you see him.”

Edmund nodded.

Nel heard the soft clunk of heels on the wooden floor behind her, and turned to find Winnie looking from one to the other of them. A fierce blush swept up Edmund’s pale skin from his collarbones to his ears, and he bowed stiffly from the waist, fiddling with his dark, tricorn hat in his hands. “A good day to you both,” he blurted, and bolted out of the door into the soft rain, where he jammed the hat on his head and disappeared out of sight around a corner.

Winnie raised her eyebrows at Nel, and said, “I seem to remember you talking to him at the Lammas Dance, no?”

“I’m surprised you remember anything, given how much cider you’d had,” she quipped reflexively, her sharp tone uttered mostly in defence. Mercifully, Winnie took it with a laugh before Nel could regret the barbed comment towards the person who was her employer, no matter how similar their sense of humour.

“Not enough to have forgotten the tailor’s handsome, soft-spoken assistant,” Winnie said dryly. “Shall we go back, or do you have any business in the village?”

It did not escape Nel’s notice that after that encounter, Winnie took almost every opportunity she had to take Nel into Polgarrack with her.

Most of the time, they never saw Edmund Nancarrow up close, and on only one occasion did she see Locryn Trevethan. He was mooring his little fishing boat at the far end of the harbour wall, and Nel ducked away into the apothecary’s before he could look up. If Winnie was being insufferably insistent about Nel ‘conveniently’ running into Edmund again, she certainly didn’t need Winnie noticing something strange with the village’s semi-wildman, Locryn, as well.

One morning over breakfast, Lord Penrose waved a heavy-looking piece of card stock around like it was a little flag, and chortled merrily into his boiled egg. “Winnifred, my dear, we have been invited to the Merrywells’ Christmas ball in Plymouth.” Beside him, his wife beamed at her, but Winnifred looked suddenly a little ill.

“Nel, you’ll come with me, won’t you?” she said immediately, staring wide-eyed at her companion and reaching for her forearm with a thin, birdlike hand. Nel had never seen such open panic in her eyes, even during the lightning storm earlier that summer.

“Certainly, if it wouldn’t be considered presumptuous for me to attend as well…?”

“Of course it wouldn’t!” Winnifred’s father-in-law scoffed, oblivious to — or uncaring of — Winnie’s visible discomfort at the whole idea. “You both must go. Winnifred must have someone her own age attending with her, and the high society of all Wessex will be there! One or two officers of the Navy too, I’d wager,” he added with an over-the-top wink in Nel’s direction.

Nel caught Winnie’s eye again and they came to a silent understanding, even as Nel ignored Lord Penrose’s so casually adding five years to her own age. Winnie was legally secure in her fortunes, and had absolutely no intention of remarrying, but her parents-in-law were clearly only too happy to try and set her up again. Nel would keep her company all evening if necessary. Hell, she’d bark like a guard dog if Winnie asked it of her.

Almost imperceptibly, Nel nodded her head, and Winnie relaxed with a sigh.

“Of course, you’ll both need new dresses,” Mary Penrose cooed. “But we shall have to arrange for Mr. Fordyce to come to the house, since Mrs. Dewell relocated to London.” She added that last as if it were a personal slight to her that their former mantua maker had married and moved to the capital where, no doubt, she could charge better prices.

There were certainly no female mantua makers in the tiny village of Polgarrack, and it was a cost that Lord Penrose was apparently not prepared to pay this time to send for one from Plymouth or Truro, even for the Merrywell’s Christmas Ball. Since it was also too much of a strain on Winnifred to travel herself simply for a fitting, Mr. Fordyce’s skills would have to suffice this time, as they had for the last dress he’d made for Winnie’s birthday in August.

Nel wondered fleetingly if Mr. Fordyce’s presence would mean that Edmund would come too when the master tailor came to discuss colours and details, but she deliberately didn’t spend too long on the thought. The very idea of Edmund’s graceful, pale hands that near her body threatened to recall all those dreams of exposed throats and soft, gasping moans which had long since faded since the nights after his rescue from the waves. She still dreamed of the sea almost every night though, but in a more abstract way.

Two weeks later, as October announced itself in a series of squalling storms, Mr. Fordyce was shown into the drawing room where Winnie and Nel were taking tea while they waited for the tailor to arrive. As Nel looked up, she heard the soft clunk of a cane tip on the wooden floorboards of the hallway outside, and her eyes rose to meet Edmund’s as he entered the room behind his master. Her heart gave a small flutter when she saw him. The shoulders of his simple but perfectly-fitted, dark coat were dusted with water from the short distance between carriage and front door and he had his dark hat tucked under his right arm.

He smiled briefly and bowed in greeting to the two ladies as they rose, and while Winnie spoke with Mr. Fordyce first, Nel found herself moving tactfully away towards the bay window. Winnie hardly needed her opinion on dresses — in fact it was the other way around — so Nel simply waited out of the way.

Outside, rain still hurled itself at the windows in a series of splattering gusts, and the distant sea was a cold, iron grey, and frothed with great white caps. She stared at it until she heard footsteps approaching from behind with the off-beat addition of a cane, and Mr. Nancarrow halted at a polite distance and followed her gaze out to sea.

“The weather is brutal today,” Nel murmured, her breath fogging against the windowpane while runnels of water tracked their way down the glass outside. “It’s a wonder you and Mr. Fordyce ventured out in such conditions.”

Edmund smiled softly when she glanced sidelong at him, and she tried not to notice the way his smooth, clean-shaven cheek dimpled slightly. He had freckles, she realised for the first time. They were very faint — barely a whisper of gold on his pale skin — but they were there all the same, and now that she’d seen them she couldn’t stop noticing them, so she tore her eyes away and looked out at the blurred grounds as the rain continued to race in off the sea.

“Is…” She paused and phrased her question carefully in the hopes he would understand her true meaning, “Is anyone out at sea today, do you think?”

Immediately, his smile lost a bit of its lustre and he sighed and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Though in truth, to those who have spent more time at sea than on land, she holds little danger.”

“How can you say that?” she asked as she turned sharply to face him, her eyes darting to the pink, new scar just visible on his forehead where his hairline began. “You yourself were nearly drowned not so long ago.”

“True,” he conceded, adjusting his grip on the cane and his weight onto his left leg a little more, with the flicker of a grimace just touching his eyes.

He was clearly in some degree of pain, and trying to keep it to himself. She wondered if the cold and damp made it worse, and hoped that the warmth of the room would ease it a little while he was there. She also wondered how he had come to be hurt in the first place, but wouldn’t presume to ask.

“But… I’m a creature as much of the land as I am the sea,” he went on in his delicately-articulated way. “There are those, like Locryn,” he said with gentle emphasis on his lover’s name, “Who are quite as happy at sea in this weather as they are on a sultry summer day.”

“I find that incredible,” she breathed. “But then again, I grew up in the countryside a good day’s ride from the coast.”

“This must seem a wild and savage place indeed to you then,” he said gently, and not without a little sadness as he gazed at her.

He was not much taller than her, but she still had to raise her chin a little to meet his eyes.

She shrugged. “It’s not without its beauty too, Mr. Nancarrow.”

Next time, Nel gets measured for her new dress...

Next chapter ->

I hope you’re still enjoying it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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humanpurposes · 7 months

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Karma is a God

Chapter 14: The God's Eye

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, grief, death

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

It comes to him in a dream first; the ghost. Faceless, colourless and shapeless, he knows it is coming for him. It follows him wherever he goes, until he can hardly tell the difference between waking and dreaming.

He can scarcely remember his burning of Pinkmaiden. He remembers heat, screams of terror and then agony, the light of Vhagar’s fire, burning as bright as the sun and banishing the darkness of night. He was reminded of how his brother had sounded in the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, his raw, throaty screams as his flesh mingled with his melted armour. Which would be a worse fate, dying or surviving to endure the pain for so long?

Where Aegon’s suffering had made Aemond the equivalent of a King, Pinkmaiden had only made him more of the monster that he is.

He feels it, settled on the edge of a cliff overlooking Ironman’s Bay, the empty feeling in his chest, as though the Gods are withholding fragments of his soul.

He doesn’t know where his brother is now. Perhaps Aegon had found some sense after all and crossed the Narrow Sea to seek refuge in the type of life he always wanted, far from the Keep, far from the crown. He doesn’t know why their men fight for a King who could be dead, or who could have abandoned them altogether. And yet he knows his role in this war has been set out for him, one which he follows mindlessly. He is his family’s terror, the only one who can give Daeron and Cole enough time to rally their forces.

He hears so little as of late. He hasn’t seen another person’s face for weeks. For a time he allowed himself refuge in a tavern with his hood over his hair and his sapphire eye hidden in shadow but eventually he decided comfort was not worth the risk.

Daemon is in the Riverlands, he knows that much, hunting him but never able to catch up to him. So far his uncle has not thought to look this far north, where he can see the Iron Islands clustered in the west and Seaguard to the east. Ships pass the sea before him but he remains unnoticed, as does Vhagar, buried on the shoreline amongst dirt, sand and rocks. If she is hungry she will find a flock of sheep or a herd of cows, but for now she is content to lull herself into a long slumber, occasionally letting out a low grumble as she breathes.

He hunts rabbits and does little to shelter himself from the harsh sea air, the rain and the spray of the sea when there is a storm. He is numb to the cold and the discomfort, retreating into his dreams in the hopes he might find some comfort in a vision of his mother or his sister.

More than that, he prays the Gods will show him an image of Lucerra. He would take anything. The small, stubborn girl disturbing him in the library, grinning as she presented him with a winged pig. Her furious little face when he held her by the throat in the cave below Hightide. He would take the tears she shed in the Hall of Nine, her silent, wide-eyed pleas for forgiveness. He would take the woman who stood before him at the Red Keep, at Storm’s End, the feeling of her skin, the sound of her breath.

Her voice is less than an echo in his head after so many moons. The memory is elusive, he fears he will never picture it clearly, but he can remember her words. My blood is precious, uncle, if you want it you shall have to earn it.

In Rainwood, they say a ghost circled Shipbreaker Bay in the days after his niece’s apparent demise.

When the dragon with pale grey scales finally comes to him, he knows what it means. Not a ghost, not the one he had been imagining. Grey Ghost, the wild dragon, the beast that attacked Daeron and Tessarion in the Reach, now the second mount of Princess Lucerra.

He mounts Vhagar as the sun sets, its light bleeding across the sky like an open wound, spurred on by desperation and something hungry, like bloodlust. Grey Ghost is quick, flying out of his view but he can guess where the dragon is leading him, southeast, towards Harrenhal. Aemond does not know if they fly to death or salvation.

There is hardly any blue left in the sky when the five towers of Harrenhal fade into view. The setting sun burns in the west like dragonfire, licking at the darkened clouds and shining down onto the surface of the God’s Eye.

The black banners of the pretender, Rhaenyra, hang over the gates to the castle. Below its walls, by the lakeshore, is not the opponent he had expected to meet.

Caraxes rears his head to the sky and lets out a shrieking roar, teeth bared and eyes ablaze. He can feel Vhagar lurch in anticipation. All of her battles, save for Rook’s Rest, have been like bloodsport to her. She wants to fight, wants to rip her talons into flesh, sink her teeth around something larger than a farm animal. But he feels something else, a slight hesitation, a sad sort of growl sounding in her throat,

Daemon has donned his riding leathers and stands beside his dragon. He holds Dark Sister before him, resting his hands on the hilt.

He sees no sign of Grey Ghost, nor his rider.

He lands Vhagar along the lakeshore, keeping Caraxes out of reach to avoid premature violence. He is determined this will be done properly. His boots land with a crash against the pebbles once he climbs down, his hand lingering on Vhagar’s saddle.

He remembers the night of the dinner, Viserys’ final hours, as his uncle had stood between him and Jace, eyeing him like a parent stares down a petulant child, a faint smile on his lips. It had amused him, watching the bickering of boys.

Now there is no amusement in Daemon’s eyes, no sense of excitement. They have all suffered too many losses for anything other than pure hatred.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were slaughtered at his order, Helaena left to rot in her grief, to leave her last living child motherless. What were the children to Daemon Targaryen? They were his kin, his brother’s grandchildren. Their deaths didn’t put him closer to the throne, didn’t win him any allies, but it wasn’t about strategy, was it? It was about pain.

Aemond doesn’t care to count the seconds or minutes they spent in a silence, broken only by the rush of the waves and the hisses and growls of their dragons.

It is like standing face to face with a wild animal, anticipating what he may do, which move he may make.

He sees Daemon’s eyes flicker momentarily to the sapphire that sits in his left socket, and smirks. In some cruel twist of fate, a dull pain blooms at the base of his skull, but he endures it.

“You’ve come out of hiding at last,” Daemon says.

An unease pools in his stomach. For a moment he thinks he sees movement in the sky above him, but when he looks, there is nothing.

“I was under the impression I was being hunted,” Aemond retorts.

Daemon laughs. He means to mock him but it’s not quite careless enough to be convincing. “Do not flatter yourself, boy,” he says. “Your whore said you would come.”

An unsettling feeling washes through him, like he is being watched.

Alys. He had left her in a cell with the bloody remains of the rest of House Strong, evidently not long enough for her to starve before Daemon’s return to Harrenhal. “Did she care to say why?”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Do you still believe you are owed a debt?”

He recalls a cold thrill that had come with killing Rhaenys. It hadn’t been enough to justify the anguish he had seen his family suffer, how they have continued to suffer. He wonders if killing Daemon will satisfy him.

Still, his uncle is not the reason he followed Grey Ghost to the God’s Eye.

She must be here somewhere and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He hungers for her like a man starved. He wants to feel her, her heat, her blood, his hand around her throat and her heartbeat under her skin. He wants to see her eyes again, full of fire and fury.

He can feel Vhagar’s urge to fight beginning to boilin his blood. He welcomes it, lets it fuel his anger and his grief, pounding in his chest like a war drum. “You have lived too long, uncle,” he says.

Daemon sheathes Dark Sister and reaches up to grab at Caraxes’ saddle, ready to mount. His voice is solemn but his eyes are dark with vicious intent. “On that much we agree.”

And so Aemond mounts his own dragon, fastening the chains that secure him to the saddle. He looks to the sky, then to the castle, waiting for a flash of pale grey scales, a dragon’s cry or a girl with dark hair. He finds nothing. Grey Ghost must be here and yet there is no trace of him or his rider. He clenches his fists around Vhagar’s reins and digs his teeth into his lip. His patience is wearing thin.

Caraxes moves first, leaping from the ground with an ear splitting screech, breathing a stream of fire into the air as he flies.

Vhagar is slower to follow, scrambling over the pebbles to push off from the ground. He feels the force of her wings against her own body, hauling her to ascend, pursuing Caraxes into clouds of grey and red, the sea of flame.

He braces against the fire, roaring in his ears as they break through the clouds and come into the vastness of the sky. Daemon and Caraxes are nowhere to be found. Through the spaces in the clouds and the fire below them, the God’s Eye watches, bathed in red by the setting sun. Soon enough it will all be black.

Vhagar roars, deeply and furiously. A bait, a call to battle.

As suddenly as a thunderbolt, the red dragon breaks through the clouds. Caraxes surges towards Vhagar with eager teeth and talons. She breathes a plume fire unlike anything Aemond has ever seen. Caraxes avoids the stream as he goes for her side, slashing at her belly with his claws and screeches as he rears his head, ready to strike her neck.

But Vhagar gets there first. Aemond’s jaw clenches instinctively, the taste of blood pooling on his tongue as Vhagar sinks her teeth into Caraxes’ shoulder. The dragons writhe and thrash in a deadlock, unrelenting in their attacks but determined to escape each other.

They start to fall. It is a chaotic struggle, beating their wings, screaming in agony and rage, pulling away and ripping at each other.

There’s nothing Aemond can do. He tries to urge Vhagar with the reins, tries to scream at her to let go, to obey, but his efforts are all lost to the wind, the spurts of dragon’s blood rushing through the air, desperate bursts of flame.

Until Caraxes wrenches his claws away from Vhagar’s side. His wings struggle as they fall but he scratches at Vhagar’s head, urging her to release the grip on his shoulder. She does, only to close her jaw around his neck with another snap of her jaws.

The lake is getting closer.

For a moment he wonders if he could jump before the dragons hit the surface of the water. He probably wouldn’t survive the fall, and even if he did, his riding leathers and the chains that keep him fixed to Vhagar’s saddle would weigh him down.

They will die with their dragons then.

He hears the call of a dragon, not the aged roar of Vhagar, not the piercing cry of Caraxes.

Through the haze of blood and fire, his eye finds a pale figure on the lakeshore, another dragon.

His heart stops.

Grey Ghost darts into the air, and glides around Vhagar and Caraxes, coming clearly into view.

And he sees her.

He can hardly make out the details of her face and he feels all the more deprived of her. A silver breastplate glimmers on her chest like dragon scales, catching the final crimson glow of the sunset. Dark hair flies behind her with the force of the wind.

Her hands aren’t on the reins, her arms are outstretched. At first he thinks she is reaching for something, until he realises she’s holding a bow when she reaches for an arrow from a quiver strapped to her back.

He feels frozen, helpless as he watches her position the arrow and pull back the bow string. It would be a quicker death than drowning, and it would be by her hand. He might find peace in it, if only he could see her face on final time.

It is just, surely. He threatened her, demanded she repay her debt with her body and then her eye, pursued her through a storm and watched as she fell through the clouds with the pieces of her dragon.

He tells himself he deserves it, for the way his mother looked at him when he returned from Storm’s End, the way Helaena couldn’t stand to be near him, the screams echoing in his memories, for all the pain he has caused.

The anticipation doesn’t have a chance to set in. He feels himself knocked back by something lodging itself in his shoulder and even then he cannot take his eye from her.

Vhagar lurches, screaming in pain as something hot and wet seeps through his leathers and the shirt underneath.

The shock takes a matter of seconds to wear off, then there is just a searing pain.

His dragon releases her jaws from Caraxes’ neck. Caraxes’ claws continue their assault on her head, aiming for her eyes, but she is almost indifferent to it as she turns her attention to Grey Ghost.

Vhagar can hardly move from underneath Caraxes, but she can drag him with her. Grey Ghost seems to be larger than Arrax was, but it will only take Vhagar a single snap of her jaws to claim both dragon and rider.

He can’t watch Luke die again. He will not.

He can scarcely breathe, can hardly think straight or see anything clearly, but he musters all the force his lungs can manage and wrenches on the reins. “Daor, Vhagar!” he commands. “Ziry daor!” Not her.

Against her desire for blood and her own stubbornness, Vhagar obeys. She turns her head once more to Caraxes. With a slash of her talons, she makes another tear in his belly. Blood gushes from the wound like a river, streaming through the air as the black surface of the God’s Eye comes closer, and closer.

This will be a battle with no victor. As Vhagar delivers her blow, Caraxes twists his neck and sinks his teeth into her throat. She tries to cry in pain, but it is muffled as she gargles on the blood that floods her gullet.

Aemond tries to look for Luke and Grey Ghost again, but he cannot find them. He sees blood, he sees flames, he sees the colours of sunset in the sky and the lake.

He has to get out of the chains, but he does not know if he has the strength.

He looks up, or what he thinks is up, following along Vhagar’s neck, to where Caraxes’ jaws are clenched around her flesh, along his red hide, to his back.

Daemon is standing in the saddle, Dark Sister unsheathed and poised before him. He should be falling– in fact he is, falling with the dragons, down, down, down, his sword ready to strike.

Daemon means to kill him, before they can meet the water.

He would give his life to Luke, but he will not allow his uncle the satisfaction.

He doesn’t stop to consider if he has the time, he knows he has to act. First he takes hold of the arrow in his shoulder, snapping off as much as he can of it, bearing his teeth through the pain. Then he heaves the heavy chains to unhook them from the saddle.

As the point of Daemon’s sword comes to meet him, Aemond hauls his body out of its path. With his left hand he reaches for the hilt, and clasps his fingers around it.

With the force of Daemon’s falling, the Princes are dragged from Vhagar’s back.

Aemond has one final chance and seconds in which to take it.

He grips the hilt of Dark Sister as harshly as he can, crushing Daemon’s hand under his grip. He twists his uncle’s wrist, driving the point of the sword into his stomach and driving it forward into his flesh, as far as it will go.

He doesn’t hear a cry of pain, a final grunt or an exhale of breath before the treacherous waters of the God’s Eye consume them.

The noise of their battle, of screaming dragons and roaring fires, are engulfed in a cold, black void. Everything drags him down, his leathers, the force of two dragons hitting the water, and the weight of the limp body run through on Dark Sister.

Aemond does not fight it. He feels the sting of cold water against his skin and in his nose and throat. On his tongue he tastes blood but cannot decide where it is from, torn between icy numbness and pain. It is everywhere, his shoulder, his limbs, his chest…

Vhagar is gone. For the first time in so long he feels incomplete.

But even then the thought of grief fades into the cruel quiet of the lake.

Perhaps his end will be peaceful after all. He is not sure he deserves it, but he wants it all the same.

He hears his heart now, pulsing in his ears, echoing through his veins.

He thinks of Helaena and his mother and wonders if they are being kept together or apart. He thinks of Daeron, fierce, young, vulnerable, the only dragon rider their family will have left. He thinks of Aegon and Maelor and can only hope they are safe. He thinks of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, little white nightgowns seeped with blood, and tightens his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister.

Something disturbs the water above him.

He can see their faces through the darkness, a thousand and one, constantly shifting. Without saying a single word they tell him he is safe.

Something like a limb curls around his torso and grabs him. The pressure on his chest is excruciating but he cannot scream with water in his lungs. It hauls him up. He feels the break through the surface of the lake but he still cannot breathe.

He wonders if this is the Stranger himself crushing come at last to claim his life and face whatever judgement the gods will pass on him.

Until he lands on solid ground, though not quite solid. It shifts beneath him, cold and sharp under the palms of his hands and the side of his face. With his heart drumming frantically in his ears, his body acts for its own survival, pushing him up onto his hands and knees, retching up blood and water, gagging on the taste it leaves in his mouth.

He hears something land on the ground before him and knows it is a dragon. Through his own struggle he recognises the sound of footsteps against the pebbles, slow and cautious.

His vision is blurry and the only light the sky can offer is a gloomy red. He can see the gleam of it against Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya, Maegor and Daemon, just beyond the reach of his fingertips.

A hand that is not his own closes around the hilt and brings it out of his line of sight, the point coming to rest at his throat.

Retribution will come with fire and fury…

He drags his body back to rest on his haunches so he can look up at her.

She’s covered in red, her skin under the sunset, her skirt and the sigil of the three headed dragon embroidered on her riding leathers. But she is unmarred by blood, either her own or another’s.

She looks eerily peaceful, a quiet rage simmering under the surface of tired eyes and a soft, rounded face. He does not take his eye from her and she meets his gaze without shame, without fear or pride. He thinks then, he would be content to die at her hand.

He waits for the blade to pierce through his throat, for whatever warmth is left in his body to fade and for the world to go dark again. He waits for the pain to finally end.

… and so it will be your salvation.

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#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc #aemond x fem!lucerys #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond x original female character #aemond x reader #fem!lucerys #lucemond #my fics #karma is a god

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omgkatherine01 · 1 year

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Dream Girl: Chapter 3 - Neytiri

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Pairing: Neytiri x female reader

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I was completely alone, you thought as you looked around the forest.

Wet and bruised, crouching under a screen of giant leaves, you hacked manically at the end of a cut sapling with your knife, forming a crude but sharp tip which Tom taught you to do.

You started to walk through the forest like it was a minefield, carrying your new spear white-knuckled. You won't lie, especially not to yourself, but you were freaking out, and hyper-alert. The trees surrounding you were a hundred meters high, blocking out the sky. A few pencil beams of sunlight filtered down into the cyan gloom.

As you passed under a tree limb, you could feel like you were been watched... and you didn't like that feeling at all.

Unknowing to you, you were indeed been watched. It was a na'vi girl, sitting on a tree above you, watching you with only her eyes. She rose soundlessly. In one fluid, sinuous movement she knock an arrow to her bow and draw, aiming right at you.

Utterly silent.

Below her, you were unaware of the arrow aimed at you. As you were looking around, she followed you with the bow, muscles tensing for the shot and something drifted down in front of her which made her freeze.

A single Woodsprite floated down to land on the arrow-head.

Like a dandelion seed, but larger, the Woodsprite waved its silky cilia feather light, as it balanced on the deadly point. It glow faintly in the dark shadows.

The na'vi girl frowned, puzzled, and lowered her bow slowly. The Woodsprite whirled away into the gloom. The na'vi girl looked toward you and frowned again before moving away but not far.

She was going to watch you, for now.

The sun had set, and now you were still stuck at the forest, in the dark night. You couldn't sleep, you would be back in your human body, and you would lose this avatar body to the creatures that would appear in the night.

Your thoughts were correct, when you noticed movements in the shadows and eyes glowing. You started to act quickly, tying your button shirt around the end of your spear and jammed the makeshift torch into the sap you found, soaking the shirt with it. You quickly lighted it as you heard a sound that sounded like a Hyena's psychotic laugh.

You quickly turned and moved the fire to see a couple of viperwolves' eyes staring at me.

The viperwolves can run like a dog and climb like a monkey. They were hunting you from the ground and the trees as you moved back.

You ran by torch-light, on the edge of panic. You reached a steep banked stream and without thinking, you ran across it on a horizontal trunk and stopped dead on the other side. The torch illuminated green eyes cutting ahead of you across the trail.

The viperwolves had you encircled. The psychotic barks became more intense as they signaled each other, getting excited. One of them made a run at you, angling on your legs from behind but you moved, jamming the torch in its face.

It yipped and went past, but another moved in. You jabbed it with the end of the spear and it snarled, retreating, baring its fangs. Now half a dozen were circling you in the open.

You had to make a stand.

You whirled the torch in an arc, keeping them at bay. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, it went through you like a lightning bolt and the fear was gone. "Come on!" you yelled, hissing at them.

With snarls and a blur of motion they attack, you cracked the spear down on one, then spined as another leaped at you, and you planted the spear in it, striking true, but it wrenched it from your hands, and the torch went flying.

Left in semi-darkness, you draw your knife, hissing. A viperwolf lunged and you slashed it with the knife which cut deep into the beast's shoulder. You sprinted trying to escape, but a snarling viperwolf leaped, grabbing you by the ankle with its fore-hand.

You kicked it off of you, and you pushed yourself to your feet. Three of them charged at once, but then one of them got shot by an arrow.

You looked at the body in surprise and confusion, while all the other viperwolf turned to the trees.

You looked to where they were looking and a blue na'vi girl emerged from the trees, screaming at the beasts as she knock another arrow, draw and fired in one fluid motion, and another viperwolf fell.

She leaped right over you , and cracked her bow down on the skull of a circling viperwolf. Another charged toward her and she dropped under its weight, but as you took a step to help her, she rolled, coming up on top of it with a knife in her hand. Her knife flashed down, buried to the hilt in its chest.

Snarling, a wounded viperwolf attacked you, but you kicked it away. It spined and leaped back onto you, and you barely caught its throat in time to keep the snapping jaws away from your face.

You threw it away while the girl swing her bow in a big arc, cracking it across the heads and shoulders of two remaining viperwolves.

The viperwolves slinked and circled, yelping as the bow whistled past them. Finally they broke and ran away, with her chasing and they bound away through the foliage as she shouted.

Panting, you looked at the girl as you got up. Her tail swinging as she scanned the forest, listening to the fading yelps of the viperwolves. Satisfied the attack is over, you let out a breath.

The girl turned to me before quickly looking at the fire, hissing as she spit in na'vi, "Fayvrrtep!" These Demons!

She took the spear and you frowned, "Hey, wait." Your eyes grew wide when she threw it into the water, "Don't!"

"Faysawtute!" she hissed, These Sky People!

You looked at the water and sighed softly, "Great," you muttered softly, but then blinked around in the darkness, realizing you can still see.

In fact, with the blinding torchlight gone, the forest was transformed. The jungle had come alive with Bioluminescence spots and patterns, ghosts and galaxies of blue-green light.

You scrambled to recover your spear while the girl kneeled beside a dying viperwolf. It's cries were pitiful, and it paws the air, trying to raise its head. She pulled her knife from its chest, speaking softly, "Oeru txoa livu. Ma oeyä tsmukan, ma oeyä tsmukan." Forgive me. My brother, my brother.

You watched her cutting its throat, ending the pitiful cries. She touched its head gently, regarding it with sadness. She wiped the knife and returned it to the sheath at her waist. She crossed to another slain viperwolf and kneeled, pulling the arrow from its heart.

"Oeru txoa livu, ma oeyä tsmukan. Hu nawma sa'nok tivul ngeyä tirea. Oeru txoa livu." Forgive me, my brother. May your spirit run with the Great Mother. Forgive me.

"Irayo," you said in na'vi. Thank you.

The girl glanced at you but then walked past you. You frowned but quickly followed her, speaking English, "Hey, wait! Wait up, I just wanted to say thanks for killing them--I did say thank you, right? I'm a bit--"

You wanted to finish by saying you were a bit rusty with the language since you haven't spoken it much, but made a mistake by placing your hand on her shoulder, and she turned around, making me quickly move back. She glared at me and spoke with an English accented.

Halting, angry English.

"Don't thank," she said, "You don't thank for this. This is sad. Very sad only."

You nodded a little, "Okay. I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I am sorry."

"All this is your fault," she said, pointing behind you to the dead viperwolves. "They did not need to die."

You glanced behind you and then back at her quickly, frowning, "My fault? They attacked me. How am I the bad girl?"

She silenced you with the tip of her bow at your throat. "Your fault!"

"Whoa, hey," you said calmly, and took a step back.

"Your fault," she repeated. "You're like a baby. Making noise, don't know what to do."

You nodded a little, "Okay, fine," you said quietly as you stared at the tip of her bow and then looked at her, "If you love your little forest friends, why not let them just kill me? What's the thinking?"

The girl tilted her body a side, not turning her gaze from you, "Why save you?"

You nodded, "Yeah, why save me?"

She seemed to be hesitating for a few seconds until she answered, "You have a strong heart. No fear." She leaned forward, much closer to you before scolding, "But stupid. Ignorant like a child."

You were a bit offended by that and she ignored your frown and turned to leave. You started to follow her, "If I'm ignorant, then teach me."

"Sky People cannot learn," she said as she walked on a root, and I followed, "You do not See."

"Well, then teach me how to See."

"No one can teach you to See."

You looked around you with amazement before quickly following her again, "Look, come on, can't we talk? Where'd you learn to speak English? Grace Augustine's school?"

She stopped and turned to you for a second before taking a step to continue to walk away. You followed her but then you slipped, gasping while you dropped your spear, but the girl quickly turned and grabbed your wrist, saving you from falling.

You were pulled upright, and you watched the spear cartwheel down to splash in the river. You looked at the girl as she scolded me in English and Na'vi, "You're like a baby."

You frowned, offended again before letting it go. "I need your help," you said.

"You should not be here," she said.

"Well okay, take me with you," you said.

"No!" she said.

"I can't go off by myself, I didn't really had a choice but to get away from the jaws' of death earlier," you said.

The girl nodded behind you, hissing, "Go back."

All of a sudden several Woodsprites float down through the trees, as they descend silently toward the two of you.

The girl, sensing a presence, looked up to see the Woodspitres, pulsing with purpose, float right towards you. You looked confused as they danced gently around your shoulders and head.

More Woodsprites gathered around you and on you. You hold still, intrigued by them, not knowing what they were, but as they didn't seem to want to harm you, you just... kept still.

The girl watched with amazement and wonder as you spread your arms. More Woodsprites come, landing all over your body.

"What are they?" you asked.

"Atokirina'," the girl said, "Seeds of the Sacred Tree. Very pure spirits."

"Woodsprites," you breathed out as you looked at one floating on your palm. The girl didn't say anything else and continued to watch the Woodsprites moving closer to you. Your body was now pulsing in white bright light, and she smiled a little. Then the Woodsprites whirled up and away, scattering into the darkness.

Her smile faded away as if she realized now something, and when you watched the Woodsprites disappear, you turned to her, still dazed by what just happened. "What was that all about?" you asked.

She whispered something in Na'vi that you couldn't hear, and then looked at you. "Come," she said quietly.

"You taking me with you then?" you asked.

She nodded, "Come," she repeated and took your hand, pulling you to follow her.

You looked down as the two of you crossed a bed of purple moss which reacted to the pressure of your footsteps. Rings of green light, like ripples on a pond, expanded outward from each footfall. Exploding rings of light where your feet touched down.

Dream-like, surreal beauty.

As you ran over a large root, across a mirror-like pool at the base of a waterfall, you followed the girl, running along a raised root-trunk.

"So, my name is y/n Sully, what's your name?" you asked.

The girl let out a sigh, but when she opened her mouth to speak, either to answer or ignore your question and say something else, you didn't know since it was interrupted when a rope flew at you, spinning and tangled around your legs.

You tripped off the root and crushed into the foliage below. The girl turned and gasped, quickly moving back to you. You untangled yourself, getting up to run just as several Na'vi riders thundered toward you. They were riding six-legged, armor-skinned alien Clydesdales.

You saw that the riders' queues were connected to the horses' long moth-like antennae were a neural-link with which they can command the horse, leaving hands free for weapons, just as Grace told you.

The riders aimed bows and spears at you as they approached. You turned to see more hunters approached out of the shadows, weapons aimed. You dropped your hunting knife on the ground, letting out a breath of annoyance.

The girl dropped to the ground next to you and looked around, "Mawey, Na'viya! Mawey!" Calm, people, calm! She turned to the lead rider, hissing at him, "Ma Tsu'tey! Kempe si nga?" What are you doing, Tsu'tey?

"Fayvrrtep fìtsenge lu kxanì!" he said in Na'vi. These demons are forbidden here!

"Aungia lolu!" the girl snapped, "Tsahikur txele lu!" There has been a sign! This is a matter for the Tsahik!

Tsu'tey clenched his jaw. He turned and angrily remounted his direhorse, barking a command to the hunters, "Pot zamunge!" Bring her!

You looked to the girl and opened your mouth but was grabbed by two hunters. You were pulled forward and the girl followed with the rest.

Taglist:

@ara-a-bird, @imthefunniestpersonalive, @mistyyyy, @lovelyspecs, @octavias-next-meat-bite, @redwitchredspeedster, @fanboyluvr

#avatar 2009 #avatar series #neytiri #neytiri imagine #neytiri x you #neytiri x fem!reader #neytiri x reader #neytiri x avatar reader #jake sully imagine

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searchingforserendipity25 · 8 months

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@finweanladiesweek. day 4. finduilas & idril

finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive.

it is a hard lesson for a young maiden to learn, but on the burning shores of the sirion she learned it all through the long retreat. the smoke moved like a living creature, and the fire was nothing so much as garthour's will extended. the air smoked of blood, bone-ash, dying grass, groaning stones.

orodreth held the tower as long as he could, but his daughter was sent away with the first refugees. because the way to nargothrond was long and winding, and the pursuit relentless, finduilas' guards took many days to find shelter.

she looked backwards many times, over hill and crag, riding through the aspen country, ever-fearful. it was because she looked back that she saw them. fair and golden, vaster than even the songs had told, the great eagles of manwë crossed the very edge of the horizon.

finduilas' heart leapt, for a moment, high enough that she could taste her own hope. had improbable rescue not come before already to the noldor, at the time of greatest despair? had not the princes of her people been brought to salvation unlooked for? orodreth might live; her people might leave, the tower might be retaken, the crops sown once again, the rot sang out of the land --

the eagles crossed the very edge of the horizon. they took the high roads of the sky, where the wind was fiercest. their great wings cut the sick yellow of the smoke clouds like knifes. they flew past it, and did not look back.

this, then, was the doom of the noldor, as much as the great battlefields, the poisoning cold, the impossibly crowded barracks of melkor's thralls.

this: the rider clad in grey linens and black soot, the lady all lonesome on the crest of the hill. finduilas was never going to get out of this story alive; maidens who look back never do.

they waited as long as they could. the tower faced the sea, was built to enlarge its echoes. tuor could not sleep, now, without that song to lull him, and even his dreams were dark, damp, blue-lit.

silver found its way to his beard, the fur of his chest, the back of his clever hands; then his temples. some days he woke coughing, spitting out mouthfuls of salt.

they waited as long as they could: until idril said, enough. said: we with our backs to the sea are as the hare against the fence. said: i will have you dead of ancient age or a bad plague or morgoth's spears, but not this.

'no hope have we here; westwards i shall go, and make the speeches my father lent his mariners,' idril said.

she stood in the fullness of her height, hair braided for ruling, her bare hands upon the maps laid out on her great table. all the rings she owned were the ones she had worn on the feast that became gondolin's wake; all of them she had passed, one after another, to her son and her son's wife; to her vassals.

they stood also, the last lords of the white city. legolas pressed his palms together in prayer, rog was very still, dangerous contention barely at bay.

her husband looked at her, and the relief in his eyes was dearer to her than all the feasting and treasures lost to the balrogs and the dragons.

her son alone of all the gathered wept. but her son always wept a great deal. at times ulmondil's son seemed to his mother made up of water as much as flesh. for him too idril built the ship, and for the sake of young elwing's fledgling queenship.

tuor embraced all his friends; idril blessed all her servants. their son sang over the tiller, and elwing raised high the farewell pennants.

they went west. the west would not have them.

adrift, their vessel wandered from strange island to strange island. foul fogs trapped them; ossë's whims overtook them, his queer jealousy of ulmo's friends won over only over many a swell and many a quest. becalming days kept them trapped for fortnights with no wind to stir the sails.

and none of it mattered, none of it - for tuor's voice sang salt out of the water, tuor's webs caught fish often, tuor slept well on the berth under the stars, tuor's cough grew even and faded.

tuor's silver hairs shone under the pitiless sun, marvelous to idril's eyes, wondrous under her hands; petulant ossë dragged their ship away from the doldrums whenever they started to enjoy each other's closeness too much, spraying them for their laughter.

longing wounded sharply, fear clogged the hours of uncertain charting. the sea was their friend; but the sea was not an easy friend to have, not constant in its mood or reliable in its boons.

they traded stories, sang together, crafted little things to gift each other, engraved the walls of their cabins and the pantry and the mast, too: chased each other like trapped cats, at times, imprisoned together without relief. old griefs rose; harsh words caught the edge of the wind and cut close to the skin.

it was never long, before they reconciled; but it was never simple to sit down, hold a hand, weep for the pain they shared and the children left behind, their maddening odyssey and its mad estel.

all the same. tuor grew old, not ill. away from shore, caught between worlds, idril did laugh: at night, when the rigging was set, and there were new sun-spots to count on tuor's cheeks, idril did not think of gondolin.

westwards, always. their course was set to hope most necessary, hope most dire, hope unanswered. in urgency they had sought to evade grief and disaster from their kin, and grief and disaster came, on swords raised by their own kin.

idril and tuor know this not. none can say where they sail still; but ëarendil in his far journeys to give guidance to lost sailors peers often downwards into the wide sea, seeking for a glimmer of fair braids, an old man's silver head.

#finweanladiesweek #finduilas #orodreth #idril #tuor #my fics #the silm #the house of finwe #earendil

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sailorb00 · 2 years

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Just a few doodles.... that turned into a few mini comic panels 🤭

I'll look to maybe continue this in the near future, but who knows... 🤷

OH. And I've included a partial summary of this AU that I've been brewing in my noggin just below💡y'know, in case anybody was interested fsdf

So basically this is the premise for my Salamandrian Encounter AU (still thinking of a better title tbh 🤔) or at least the beginnings of it — somewhere between a few months to a year following the aftermath of the ROTTMNT movie, a strange meteor flies across the NYC skyline before crashing in the middle of Central Park. Witnessing the sight while doing their usual nightly patrol, the "Mad Dogs" go to investigate. At the crashsite, they find a strange frog-shaped alien spacecraft (I gotta doodle it some more, but drawing mechanical is hard orz. A mini doodle of it can be found here) and its pilot, knocked unconscious.

Before the boys can do much of anything, besides freak out about a another possible alien invasion, men in black suits and armoured vans arrive—i.e. the EPF/Earth Protection Force—with Agent Bishop at the helm, and the two parties have a stand off. Finding it hard to not only keep the government agents at bay, but also to keep them from seizing the unconscious alien, the Mad Dogs make a hasty retreat, leaving the spacecraft to be collected and contained by the EPF.

Taking the pilot back to the lair, the boys patch her up, remove the two strange half-spherical objects from her temples—of which Donnie's interest is immediately piqued. I mean, c'mon, mysterious alien tech?! Boy's brain would be ABUZZ with all the possibilities!—and leave her in the medbay to recover while they debrief the crazy events of the night. Unbeknown to them, not long after they begin to discuss the EPF, with supporting security camera footage and drone shots taken thanks to Donnie—who is multitasking: fiddling with the strange alien tech in his hands mid-discusssion/info-dumping about the information he's found about the EPF—the pilot stirs in the medbay.

POV switch to Y'Gythgba—a young, intelligent, earnest but socially naive Salamandrian warrior/engineer on a mission, awakes not only to a pounding headache and a couple of cracker ribs—made worse by the bright flourescent lights and her lack of psionic amplifiers/holovisor, which have mysteriously gone missing—but also to an unfamiliar environment, with no sign of her AMPHIBAMECH (if anyone can come up with a better name, please pass along your suggestions lol). Immediately on alert, Y'Gythgba goes into full on Solid Snake stealth and begins to sneak about the lair, not sure of what to make of her strange 'alien' surroundings.

Silently, she stalks from tunnel to tunnel, passing a sleeping rat-man in a lazy boy recliner as a projector plays an archaic holovid of a strange humanoid in a jumpsuit and large optic lenses, fighting several adversaries. Y'Gythgba pauses to observe the old rat, trying to assess if he is an immediate threat or harmless, until raised voices—faintly familar yet unintelligible to her ears—grab her attention. Summoning/'pulling' her NovaBlaster from its pocket dimension with a wave of her hand and a trail of pink alien code and light ribbons (think Tron Legacy 😉), Y'Gythgba confronts her 'captors' from the doorway, catching them by surprise as she demands to know where her ship/AMPHIBAMECH is.

Obviously, neither the Mad Dogs or Y'Gythgba can understand one another, so as the boys take a step towards her, Y'Gythgba raises her blaster and fires a warning shot on its lowest setting... just inches above poor Raph's head 🥲

And voila! SHENANIGANS ENSUSE. That's all that I really have set in stone ATM, but I'll probably add more in the future if I do more doodles (...maybe)

OH. And the alien language that Y’Gythgba/Mona is using can be found here

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #rottmnt mona lisa #tmnt mona lisa #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt salamandrians #rottmnt salamandrian encounter au #carareedart #carareed #rottmnt au #rise mona lisa

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