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pandorxxx · 7 months

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Playmate

Neteyam x omatikayna fem reader (all aged up)

Warnings: cursing, p in v, multiple orgasms, creampie at the end, gamer-girl helping Neteyam with his “set up.”

Synopsis: He needed help with his gaming set-up, and you were willing to lend a helping hand in more ways than one…

You were in the middle of doing your daily chores when it happened…

“Hey, y/n right?” A familiar, deep, sexy voice asked from behind, completely stopping you in your tracks. This couldn’t be, you thought. There was no way.

You placed your basket of laundry on the little table infront of you. Taking a deep breath before turning slowly. A fake, nervous smile plastered on your face as you struggled to maintain eye contact with the tall, dark, handsome man infront of you. He shot you an award winning smile that showed off his pearly white canines. So white you could’ve sworn you saw them glint like the cheesy commercials.

You went to speak, but a small whimper fell from your lips. What an idiot, you thought. Not even being able to form a coherent thought, let alone SPEAK infront of him.

You had a huge crush on Neteyam, this was very true. Your friends knew about it, your siblings knew about it, your father and mother, HIS brother who so happened to be your bestfriend…hell, even NETEYAM knew you had a crush on Neteyam. You were so painfully awkward around him that it made it so obvious.

But Neteyam was unattainable in your eyes. Being the next in line, and the most popular warrior here, you believed that you didn’t stand a chance. He chuckled at your flustered little mewls, before shooting you a lighthearted smile again.

“I just wanted to talk to you about something. Or…ASK you for help with something.” He corrected himself, eyeing your small frame briefly, making sure not to have you whining Infront of him again. He knew even the slightest look would make you nervous, but he couldn’t help it.

He was just a man, after all, and as much as YOU didn’t see how beautiful you were…he sure did. You had the body of a goddess; full breasts, slim waist, wide hips, and long legs. You had beauty that could make a man melt, and he was so hot for you. You always wore those screening glass too. The ones that you wore to play your video games. A lot of the clan members thought it was…different but Neteyam liked it a lot. It reminded him of those fake “school girls” in those porn videos he’d sneak and watch. Never would he tell you that though, you might actually faint.

“Mhm.” You hummed, nodding frantically, wondering what in the world the mighty warrior himself…would need help with…from YOU.

“You and lo’ak always play those video games together at night, right? I hear you through his headset sometimes.” Neteyam asked, taking a step closer. You took a step back quickly, your plump ass backing Into the table with force.

“Mhm.” You hummed again, nodding your head at him. He bit his lip subtly, he couldn’t help it. You turned him on so much without even knowing.

“Use your words when you talk to me.” He commanded playfully, taking another step closer. You whimpered again, trying to back up but quickly noticing that there was nowhere for you to run.

“Yes, sir..I-I mean, Neteyam!” You spoke in your sweet, innocent voice. You mentally face palmed. What the fuck was wrong with you? You thought. He brushed that off, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable than you already were.

“Well, lo’ak wants me to get into it. But I don’t know where to start, and he’s just no fucking help. Think you can set me up? Maybe I’ll be able to play with you two now.” He smiled genuinely. The question, had you stuck in place. What did Neteyam want with childish games? And why was he so serious about it that he had to come to you?

“Well, there are monitors and PC’s in the lab. That’s where lo’ak got his from. I built my own though. My monitor has really nice graphics too, but I just picked that up from the lab. It really depends on what you’re looking for. Mine has about 46GB’S of ram, but 8 is the sweet spot. I think I can hook you up. You’d have to come with me to carry all of that equipment though…because I can’t. “ you rambled, not even realizing that you haven’t stuttered once.

Neteyam just smiled at you, watching you go on and on about something that you were passionate about. So damn passionate that you forgot about the silly crush you had on him for a moment.

“I-Im not tech savvy like you and lo’ak, so I don’t understand a word you just said.” He chuckled. You a long with him.

“But, let’s meet at the lab tonight, yeah? You can pick the set up out for me, and then we can put it together at my hut.” He asked, nodding his head to get you in agreeance with his plan.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there tonight.” You spoke confidently. The only thing you were every really confident about was your knowledge with technology.

He nodded happily, reaching his arms out for a hug. And there it was again, the nerves creeping up on you with a quickness. You eyed his chest, all the way down to his chiseled abs….allll the way down to his loincloth. God, he had you in heat just looking at him.

“I promise you…looking at me won’t do much justice.” He teased, curling his fingers in a “come here.” Motion. You whimpered again, you just couldn’t help it. It was like a habit around him.

You walked closer, wrapping your arms around his torso. His skin was warm, yet hard. A mix between a protector and a warrior. His strong arms found there way around your shoulders, wrapping you up in his embrace with a tight squeeze. His scent was crazy, so damn addicting that you didn’t even want to let him go.

“I’ll see you tonight then, right?” He whispered in your ear, swaying you both back and forth. “Yes, Neteyam.” You spoke calmly , a delirious smile plastered across your face as your eyes shut.

You found yourself drawing circles in his lower back before your hands shift up to the back of his arms, caressing them gently. You both pulled away at the same time, a sarcastic grin on your face at this very awkward moment for you.

“Bye, y/n…” he trailed off teasingly before walking away from you. You could see every muscle flexing in his back from his hard steps, his hair swaying back and forth along his shoulders. God, he was so fucking hot.

————

The day went on as usual, and you met Neteyam at the lab. You gave him a simple tutorial for things he needed to know about his new set up before you pulled some equipment out for him.

You walked him through the tech room, and picked some stuff out for him, putting them in his arms until he couldn’t see over the huge boxes. It didn’t take long before you two were off to his hut.

Once you got there, you began to put his set up together rather quickly. He just watched you work. He didn’t understand why this was turning him on so much, watching you make complicated tech work for you in the way that you wanted.

About an hour and a half later, you were done. Stepping back to look at you work, Neteyam stood by you, admiring your work as well.

“You like it?” You asked, watching him run his fingertips over the expensive equipment. He was in awe, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“I-I love it. Thank you, y/n.” He nodded genuinely before catching your gaze with his. You blushed, giggling into your hand.

“Ofcourse, Neteyam.” You smiled, pushing your glasses up with one finger. The act alone making his cock twitch. You were so hot without even fucking trying.

“Wanna show me how to use this stuff before you go?” He asked, taking a seat in his chair, and twirling towards the monitor. You swiftly walked up next to where he was sitting.

Without even knowing, you shifted infront of him to press the “on” button on the chin of the monitor. However, your slender back, and round ass was on full display for him when he sat back and let you take control.

He licked his lips, tilting his head to get a better view. You were putting it out there for him, so why not admire it?

“So , this is the power button. It’s how you turn the monitor on and off.” You explained , not even looking behind you. You grabbed the mouse once the monitor was on.

“I took the liberty of downloading all of the games you need on here already, so you don’t have to worry about that.” You explained, pressing on the first game to open it for him.

He wasn’t even listening, as much as he tried to. He was too focused on your backside, on full

Display for him. He was so tranced that he started to feel drool drip down his chin.

“This is actually my favorite game. Mind if I play with you?” You asked innocently, already beginning the game. The reflection of the computer in your glasses.

“You can play with me all you want.” He spoke, wiping his mouth off. He adjusted his hips, his large hands squeezing the arms of the chair, trying his best to not bring you down on his lap.“Perfectttt.” You sung, already immersed in the game.

You were so oblivious sometimes, you clearly weren’t getting the fucking hint. So he had to take matters into his own hands. He knew you liked him anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?

“You can’t be comfortable…standing up like this. Wanna take a seat?” He asked, simultaneously grabbing your hips and bringing you down onto his lap. He thrusted up softly, groaning at the new found friction.

“Awnn, you’re so sweet! Thanks Teyam.” You smiled, still engulfed in that fucking game. You really couldn’t care less about anything when you were gaming. Didn’t even notice his growing bulge underneath your clothed cunt.

“DAMMIT! Bro get out of the way!” You shouted at the screen, intense keyboard smacking following.

He was growing a bit frustrated. You were paying him no fucking attention, so he decided to turn things up a notch. His large hands shifted up your tiny waist, all the way to your full breasts, squeezing them gently.You gasped, letting the controls go all together. You let out a low moan, looking down at his wandering hands.

“Teyam?” You asked, a small whimper following when he began to roll your clothed nipples in between his fingers.

“I need it, I’m sorry. You’re too damn sexy for me to just let you slip between my fingers without getting a taste. Here, play your game. I’ll be quick, yeah? Don’t need you getting nervous on me.” He explained, sitting up to press the keys so the game could restart for you. You were flustered, but did what you were told.

You found it hard to focus on the game now. Shaky hands finding the mouse and keyboard as you started playing again.

He began to shift his hands back to your waist, using it as leverage to dry hump you. Rocking you back and forth on his rock hard cock while he groaned behind you. His head went back against the chair, getting carried away. He started to thrust up into you, the friction consuming him.

You couldn’t focus now. You were just playing with the keys because he told you too. You began to moan lowly, strategically moving your hips to help with the friction as well.

“Let me fuck you, please. I-I need it.” He groaned, now fully bouncing you on his lap. How could you say no? You wanted it just as bad as him.

“Mhm. Take it, Nete.” You moaned, letting the keys go entirely. You grabbed the arms his chair, grinding into him hard. Driving him up a fucking wall.

“Ohhh, shit.” He moaned, guiding your movements with his large hands. Watching the show infront of him.

He didn’t even have enough time, nor did he have enough patience to fiddle with the strings on his or your loincloth. He haulted your movements for a moment, reaching down to slide his loincloth to the side, just enough for his raging cock to come through the fabric.

You could feel it on your back, it was pulsing and heavy, making you wet just thinking about that going inside of you.

You reached around to your front, standing up alittle to slide yours to the side as well before hovering over his cock, the tip probing at your entrance.

“Need to be in you..s-so so bad.” He groaned, grabbing your hips to slide you down on him slowly. Your pretty mouth falling agape at the stretch while his eyes rolled back.

“Ohhh God.” Neteyam whispered to himself before thrusting up into you one time so that your pelvises were flush with eachother.

The stretch was delightful, to say the least. It was so good that you began to bounce on him without him guiding you. You needed some kind of friction. You were a mess already, moaning with that sweet innocent voice of yours. It made his fucking head spin.

“That’s it, fuck me, juuuust like that, baby.” He chuckled teasingly before his bottom lip found refuge in between his teeth.

With one hand guiding your hips, the other one had your long ponytail in a pitbull lock, wrapping it around his forearm as he began to thrust into you firmly.

“Harder…” you whimpered, grinding on his dick. Using him to get you off. “I hear you, baby. I’m gonna rock your whole fucking world.” He growled, standing up with you still wrapped around his cock.

He pushed you into the table, you immediately pushing the keyboard and monitor to the side to crawl on the table for him. Your knees placed firmly on the wood while your back was arched, opening yourself up to be used like a personal fuck toy.

He twirled the strings of your loincloth around his hand, using it as leverage to fuck you harder like you asked. So hard that his movements alone were rocking the entire hut. “Like that?” He asked, smacking your ass a few times, leaving prominent handprints on the plush flesh.

“Ooo yes! Yes, juuust like that.” You whimpered, your head finding refuge on the table, twisting your upper half to watch him.

A thin layer of sweat was visible on his forehead. He was concentrated, reaaaally concentrated. Watching your ass smack against his pelvis with every rough thrust.

“I-I’ve been dying to fuck you. For s-sooo, so long.” He confessed, tilting his head to watch you fall apart. Those few words making your walls flutter around him. “Yeah?” You moaned, a delirious smile plastered across your face.

“Mhm. Been waiting to make this pretty pussy cream. I know you’re close too. Go ahead, baby. Make daddy’s dreams come true, yeah?” He groaned, heavy pants escaping his chest as he sped up his pace.

“I-Im gonna-“ you began before gulping down your words. You could feel your muscles tense, and your legs shake. This orgasm was going to ruin you, unlike any build-up you’ve ever felt before.

“Don’t be scared, I don’t bite, baby. Let it go for me.” He reassured you, now fucking you nice and slow, leaving that build-up lingering in your lower abdomen.

“I-it’s not normal. This isn’t normal, neteyam!” You panicked, shifting your hand to his abs to hault his movements. Yet, he didn’t oblige. He knew what was happening, and he wanted to see it first hand.

“Hmm. What’s not normal baby? The feeling in your stomach? Like you’re gonna fucking burst at any second , right?” He teased, speeding up again.

“I-Im gonna pee, I think.” You whined, the coil in your stomach seconds away from unraveling. His eyes rolled in pleasure at your sweet, innocent voice.

“You’re not gonna pee. I swear, j-just let go. Pleaseee. I-I need it.” He moaned, angling his hips up to hit your sweet spot aggressively. And that was it…

The coil in your stomach snapped, free flowing out of your tight cunt like a heavy stream. A rippling wave of electricity surging through your body. “Fuuuuuuck.” You cried, actual tears running down your pretty face.

“Ohhh shit. Just like that, baby. Juuust like that. Feels so good.” Neteyam groaned in pleasure, watching your body tremble. Your walls fluttered around him expertly, sending him spiraling.

“I’m gonna cum. G-Gonna fill this pussy up.” He moaned deliriously, pulling you up by your long ponytail. You quickly shifted to where you were standing.

Letting you re-adjust, he began pumping into you while his lips found refuge on your neck. A few wet, sloppy kisses down your jugular led to whimpers in your ear as his peak got closer.

Your hands gripped the edge of the table firmly while he fucked you like an animal. His arm wrapped around your neck, as he continued his attack on your poor cunt.

You were a fucked out mess. Your eyes were red, and puffy. Your cheeks were flushed and stained with tears. And you were on the verge of yet another orgasm as he man handled you like he was taming a wild beast.

“Gonna let me cum in this pussy right? Gonna be a good girl for me? Huh? Say it.” He commanded, fucking Into you harder and harder with each stroke.

“Need your cum, t-teyam. I’ll be a good girl and take it.” You moaned, eyes rolling back as yet another orgasm ripped through your soul. This time, he watched a thin coat of your cream cover his cock with every single thrust, just like he wanted.

“Gooood girl. I-I’m gonna cum for you. Give you what you want, ok?” He whispered in your ear before playfully nibbling at it. A few more lazy strokes and he lost it.

You could feel ropes of seed making it’s way into your empty womb. You both humming in pleasure at the feeling. “Shiiiiiit.” He groaned, thrusting into you one last time, before slowly pulling out of you. You both took a few deep breaths. As he held your hips in place, stopping you from tilting over.

“Well. Now that I got that out of my system. Can you repeat everything you said about this PC for me, pretty girl?” He asked jokingly, a breathily laugh escaping his chest before he kissed you cheek.

What the hell were you gonna do with him?

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dawnagustd · 1 year

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the misfit toymaker || myg

The queen has made her list and checked it twice. She’s visiting those who have been naughty, and punishing them in ways that are oh so nice.

- Part of the Unholy Night Series.

It wasn’t hard to locate your next stop. A toy store on Christmas Eve is like a flashing billboard sign. Especially when the only toymaker loves to burn the midnight oil.

Yoongi searches for any excuse not to go home to his estranged wife. The only reason they’re together is because of his kid, who just so happens to be one of Mr. Park’s pupils.

He loves bringing smiles to all the youth’s faces, but Yoongi’s no saint. Mrs. Min wants nothing to do with her lowdown cheating spouse, and Yoongi couldn’t give a bigger shit.

He’s never been a monogamous man; whenever he finds a new playmate, the old one is no longer interesting.

But you, however. You just might be his favorite. He couldn’t wait to drag you down to his dungeon of misfit toys and show you all of his erotic creations.

“Are you comfortable, doll?” he asks. “Your restraints aren’t too tight, are they?”

You don’t hear him because your attention is set on the image of the toymaker’s veiny hand wrapped around his cock. He pleases himself while drinking in the sight of you, his delicate pink lips parted slightly as small, labored breaths slip past them. Each time his palm slides over his similarly textured shaft, arousal oozes from the tip. Suddenly, your mouth is dry, and the urge to fill it with–

“Hey. Eyes on me when I’m talking to you, beautiful.”

He uses the other hand to lift your chin, gently demanding your undivided attention. The authority in his voice places you back in reality.

Your eyes wander up his figure, admiring his skin while getting drunk off of his touch.

“Sorry about that, Sir.” You tug on the straps lightly to ensure they’re secure. “Yes. This feels nice.”

Yoongi insisted on putting you in one of his many “swing sets” hanging from the ceiling.

It’s thrilling being suspended feet in the air, your legs spread wide with your weight only supported by rope. Your wrists are bound also, leaving you entirely at Yoongi’s mercy.

But mercy, is not a term the toymaker is familiar with.

“I promise you, doll. You’ll feel even better once I stuff my cock inside of you.”

Yoongi spreads your folds and reveals your wetness. The cold dungeon air hits your center, intensifying your sensitivity.

“Damn, you’re wet,” Yoongi comments.

“Make it wetter, Sir.”

You respond with so much need that he can’t resist the temptation. He’d rather drag this out and keep you down here for as long as possible, but the growing urge to fuck you senseless is too demanding.

Yoongi leans forward and allows his spit to drip into your opening. He watches in awe as your cunt accepts it graciously. Using two of his lengthy digits, he enters your pussy and prepares you for his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, Sir!”

Yoongi’s thumb rubs your clit while he fingers you slowly, relaxing you so he can continue to stuff your dripping crevice.

“Take one more for me, doll?”

On your command, he adds another finger.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers.

The room begins to fill with the lewd sounds of your squelching juices, gushing out of you and covering Yoongi’s hand and wrist. He twists and curls his digits inside of you, searching for the spot that’ll have you falling apart. You cry out for him once he finds it, and he responds with a cocky smirk, knowing he’s about to ruin you before he even fucks you.

“Sir.”

“Come if you need to, doll,” he says. “I won’t get mad at you.”

His voice is so gentle and sweet, a contrast to the dark lust-drunk eyes staring at you.

You can feel your core tightening with each passing second. Moans leave your lips, but the pleasure is so intense you cannot hear how loud you are. Eventually, you have no other choice but to let go.

His fingers guide you through your orgasm while he praises you with the sweetest words you’ve ever heard. He bends down to suck your pulsing clit between his lips, and your mouth falls open. Nothing comes out; you’re just reacting on nerves. Your brain has yet to catch up with the moment.

You slump over once you’ve finally calmed down, but you’re only given a few seconds to recharge before Yoongi’s cock is teasing your entrance.

“You ready to tap out, doll?”

You shake your head.

“Please,” you beg. “Continue. This is light work for me, Sir. Do your worst.”

The toymaker wipes the smirk off of your face with his thumb; you know you’re fucked but you still play along.

“I sure hope you know what you’re asking for, baby doll.”.

His cock enters you slowly, not stopping until he’s filled you with every inch. Your pussy constricts and he’s unable to move. You both struggle to adjust to the tight fit.

“How are you so fucking big?”

“Maybe you just can’t take dick like you think you can, doll.” His tone is condescending, making your face heat up. “I prepped you and you’re still having a hard time. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Bullshit.”

You speak out of turn and earn yourself a slap on the thigh.

“Now, don’t get disrespectful, doll.”

You bite your tongue and settle into your position. When Yoongi starts moving, the fullness becomes more bearable. The sensitivity ebbs away, and pleasure replaces it. The chill in the room fades as your body begins to heat up, and your sweat does little to keep the feverish desire at bay.

“You’re still so tight,” he points out. “Let’s loosen you up, doll. This won’t do.”

Yoongi surprises you when he grabs one of his little toys. He flips the little switch, making the object buzz in his hand. “This one’s going to fuck both of us up.”

He places the vibrator directly onto your clit, and instantly, you see stars.

“Fuck! Sir, I can’t!...”

You beg him to turn the settings down, but Yoongi only chuckles.

“Baby doll, I really haven’t turned it on yet.”

A press of a button, and it reveals another feature that has your mind scrambled within seconds. The suction pulses around your sensitive bundle of nerves, stimulating you in ways you’ve never even dreamed of.

Your babbling gets you mocked and teased by the toymaker. All while he’s still stuffing you with his cock.

“Look at my sweet little doll,” he tsks. “So confident in thinking she could handle my cock but can barely keep it together. The nerve; what were you trying to achieve, baby?”

As if you weren’t already a mess, he turns up the settings. If the entire town didn’t hear your scream, then the room has to be soundproof.

“I’m going to come!”

You sob and tremble as your body dangles in the air. Yoongi’s thrusts send you flying, but the hold on your waist never allows you to slip through his fingers.

“Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do for me if I let you?” he grunts.

He intentionally touches your cervix, making your eyes roll back. You don’t miss the twinkle in his eyes when he notices the outline of his dick each time he enters your guts.

“Anything, Sir,” you promise. “Please. Just let me come!”

You aren’t sure what sound is filthier, the noises your cunt makes as your juices gush onto the floor, or Yoongi’s wet sticky sac slapping your ass with every impact.

“Well, when I fill this cunt… You better not spill a drop. Understand?”

“Okay, I won’t. Now, please.”

“I hear you, doll. I hear you.”

But relief doesn’t come as quickly as you thought it would. He turns the toy to the highest setting, making you lose your mind in seconds. Yoongi doesn’t hold back. When your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, he keeps fucking you like you’re a rag doll, bouncing you up and down on his hard shaft.

“You feel so good, doll,” he growls, slowing his pace. “I should keep you all to myself and pump my cum into you every night.”

“Sir, fuck!”

You try to calm down but hearing his deep voice filled with lust makes you hotter.

“Ahh… You like that. You wanna get knocked up, huh?”

His cock starts twitching inside of you at the thought.

“Please.” At this point, you can’t even recognize your voice, but you continue to fill his ears with everything he wants to hear. “Sir, fill my pussy. I promise I won’t spill any.”

This is probably the closest Yoongi has ever been to finding true love because the look he gives you tells it all. He’s never met anyone so perfect, so willing to accept him. His orgasm snatches him out of his reverie, reminding him of a reality he’ll have to face very soon.

A moment later, ropes of his warm cum paint your womb, drawing pleasant sighs from your lips.

“Goddamn it, doll,” he whispers while his cock slips out of you. “You’re a fucking slice of heaven, you know that?”

Yoongi uses his finger to stop the seeping cum from dripping to the floor. He pushes it back inside of you repeatedly until he’s satisfied. He lowers you and then carefully helps you out of the swing, so you don’t fall.

“You’re quiet, doll. Are you okay?”

You don’t respond but Yoongi still takes your hand and guides you up the stairs. Your palm feels so warm wrapped in his, and he can’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.

He takes one look at you and realizes he’s in deep shit.

“What’s on your mind, doll?”

Doll.

He thinks that name is perfect for you. You may be a goddess, but you’re so delicate and cute. He wants you. He wants to keep you to himself despite knowing that he can’t.

“I’m hungry.” He wasn’t expecting that reply, but he doesn’t mind treating you to dinner after the things you just allowed him to do to you. “I want something… Sweet.”

“Well, there is a bakery across the street. He’s closed, but I know him so he’ll—”

You’re already heading to the door before he can finish his sentence. Yoongi quickly grabs his coat so he can cover your body. However, you turn around and place a hand on his chest to stop him.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“You said you wanted to get something to eat.”

Yoongi is slightly confused, but he laughs it off.

Those beautiful eyes stare into his soul, and he has no choice but to accept the fact that he’s whipped.

“Yeah… but not with you, hun.”

Your words leave him in shock, and he can only stand there frozen, watching you walk through the door and head over to his best friend’s store. The toymaker is heartbroken, and sad. But what can he say when this is how he carries on? You’ve got him, and you’ve gotten him good.

He laughs to himself, basking in the sweet smell of you that still lingers in the air.

“Damn, that was one wild sleigh ride.”

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #suga x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #bangtanbathhouse #btsdreamcourt #bangtansorciere #kvanity #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #bts fanfics #fic: unholy night #sugakookitty

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catofadifferentcolor · 6 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #72: Game of Thrones, but make it Ptolemaic

There's something fascinating about the way the Ptolemys took over Egypt following the death of Alexander the Great - sure, anyone can conquer, but it takes an interesting mind to look around for ways to legitimate their rule and fall on sibling marriage as the solution. Yes, it was common among certain royal dynasties, but the Macedonian Greeks, from whom the Ptolemys descended, despised it. I would love a snapshot into how that first sibling marriage came to be.

It was this in mind I stumbled upon the idea for my next terrible fic idea: What if Jon and Robb were not of age with each other?

Aka: The Weirwood Queen Fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon, with two exceptions: 1) Lyanna dies giving birth to a daughter at the Tower of Joy. Ned names the girl after their favorite Great-Aunt, Jocelyn; and 2) Catelyn loses the child she conceives on her wedding night.

(Robb is still born, but his birth date and the birth dates of all the other Stark children are pushed back two years.)

Now, it is one thing to return from war with a bastard when your wife has just given birth to a legitimate heir; it is quite another thing to return from war with a bastard after she miscarried. For this reason Ned choses to pass Jocelyn off as his brother Brandon's bastard daughter with Ashara Dayne.

Jocelyn's childhood is similar in many ways to canon, but not. Without her "twin" or any trueborn siblings to draw attention away, most of the castle dotes on young Jocelyn. Even once her cousins are born, Jocelyn remains the oldest of the lot, filled with the confidence that a child only has when they know they are loved. She loves her cousins in turn, but with the age gap they're never quite as close as canon, and she's more nursemaid for the younger ones than a playmate.

Catleyn, of course, loathes her, and begs for her to be sent away - which she eventually is. But instead of sending Jocelyn to the Silent Sisters, or across the sea, or marrying her off to a loyal man-at-arms stationed on the edge of Stark lands... Ned accepts widowed Rickard Karstark's offer for Jocelyn's hand. He's a loyal bannerman whose family has often wed Stark bastards and was notorious for his care and devotion to his first wife. It is the best Ned can do for her.

And so Jocelyn becomes the second Lady Karstark, which is awkward, as her stepsons are quite a bit older than her and her stepdaughter Alys is only six months younger, but Jocelyn thrives as a lady of a Northern House. Her husband is kind enough and largely allows her to run the house as she will, which is as best as she could have hoped for in a marriage.

By the time King Robert rides north two years later than canon, Jocelyn has given birth to a son, Brandon, and is pregnant with a daughter, Lyanna.

Canon continues apace, if somewhat delayed. Ned becomes hand of the king and loses his head. The North rises up, names Robb King in the North... and Rickard's sons Torrhen and Edward are killed by Jaime Lannister, for which Rickard kills two hostages. Robb still choses to execute Rickard Karstark.

Meanwhile, Jocelyn has been rallying forces to take Winterfell back from the Greyjoy's in the North. She succeeds, only to learn within the week that her cousin has made her a widow.

Jocelyn quietly rages. She'd never loved her husband, but she'd been fond of him. It's the hypocrisy that gets her most - because the Starks have always put family first, but she's known from the beginning that some family counts more than others, otherwise Ned would have never killed her uncle Arthur, or led her mother Ashara to throw herself off a tower, or allowed his son to think it fitting to kill her husband while they knew Jocelyn was preparing to take back his home for him.

And so what you have is Jocelyn continuing to rule Winterfell in her cousin's name but largely acting on her own, never outright ignoring Robb's commands while he's still alive but following the letter rather than the spirit of the order.

This continues for some time, with Jocelyn Queen of the North in all but name after the Red Wedding - holding off the Boltons and the Greyjoys - and gaining the respect of the North.

Into this enter Bran (as played by the Three-Eyed Raven) and baby Rickon.

After four or five years of playing Regent for Sansa, still held hostage in King's Landing, the last thing Jocelyn wants to do is give up power to her thirteen year of cousin who 1) spent the last five years beyond the Wall, letting her do all the hard work of ruling and 2) has no idea what the political situation is in the North. Most of the Northern lords feel similarly and insist Bran and Jocelyn wed, if only so Jocelyn can continue what she's been doing while Bran learns the ropes.

Jocelyn is even less happy about this, but goes along with it in name only, sleeping in a separate part of the castle.

This goes on for about two years, Bran making all sorts of subtle attempts to undermine Jocelyn's rule that - if they'd succeeded - would only have destabilized the North. Jocelyn is gearing up to have him declared addled by his trip beyond the Wall when she catches Bran - or, rather, the Three-Eyed Raven - trying to jump ship into Jocelyn's son seven-year-old son, Brandon Karstark, who with his Targaryen and Stark blood would make a better host.

Explaining to her bannermen just why she murdered her second husband is a challenge, but the evidence - that he was trying to kill her son - is rather irrefutable. Unfortunately, it leaves her in the same position as before, this time having to marry her her ten-year-old cousin Rickon to continue ruling the North.

Through all of this, it should be clear Jocelyn is doing this less out of desire for personal power - though there is a glimmer of that, especially when certain lords demand she give up her regency to man - then desire to stabilize the North. Ned and Robb had gone south, and it had nearly cost the North everything. All Jocelyn wants to do is keep the madness consuming the south from infecting the North too.

Meanwhile, Daenerys and Young Griff have joined forces in Essos, married, and begun their reconquest of Westeros. Amid the chaos, they succeed brilliantly.

They leave the North for last, attempt to replay the submission of Torrhen, but in a much weaker position than The Conqueror was - they have dragons, but winter is setting in and their martial might is largely exhausted by a decade of warfare. Regardless, Jocelyn tells Rickon to bend the knee, realizing the North can't survive on its own for long. For this they get many concessions - a break in taxes, the title of Prince of the North, and the betrothal of the Dany and Young Griff's son and daughter to Jocelyn's children Lyanna and Brandon Karstark respectively.

Jocelyn continues to rule the North, largely without the input of her third husband, who after his majority largely spends his time in Dany and Young Griff's ongoing military campaigns - putting down rebellions throughout their empire, pirates in the Stepstones, and the like - until he is killed crossing a river in Essos. The title of Prince of the North falls to Jocelyn's son, Brandon Karstark, who drops the Kar from his name and rules well - with the help of his mother.

Bonuses include: 1) Jocelyn never expressing anything other than familial fondness for any of her husbands, never sleeping with the second two, and largely being presented as an aromantic asexual who because of societal expectations forces herself to try to have romantic/sexual feelings for her first husband, fails, and then keeps her second two firmly in the baby cousins category; 2) An exploration of family dynamics in Westeros - specifically, what it means to be on the outside looking in as a bastard and knowing that your uncle and cousin don't seem to count the death of your mother, mother's brother, or husband as kinslaying, and being a woman allowed to hold the reins of power while the men are away and being expected to turn everything over to the first male claimant who shows up after you've done all the hard work; 3) The Three-Eyed Raven putting on a masterclass of how to be subtly creepy enough to cause everyone around him to think they're imagining things, when in reality it's worse than they imagined, and having been working even beyond the Wall to help bring about the Targaryen Restoration; 4) No one ever suspecting Jocelyn as being Rhaegar's daughter, and historians using the Valeryian looks her children have with their Targaryen spouses as proof Young Griff was really Prince Aegon; and 5) An exploration of the North, its traditions, and its religion, with Jocelyn somewhat inadvertently bringing about a revival of the last two through her desire to Damnatio Memoriae her late and unlamented Aunt Catelyn.

And that's all I have. I suppose its not as ptolemaic as it could be, but I was thinking of Cleopatra VII and her marriages to her two younger brothers as I wrote it, so. As always, feel free to adopt this plot bunny, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got #asoiaf #jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #female jon snow #bran stark #rickon stark #arranged marriage #house stark #the old gods #three eyed raven #targaryen restoration #king in the north #queen in the north

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mrsweasley23 · 1 year

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Steve the voyeur gets rumbled (Part 5) NSFW

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Full fic on ao3

Steve woke up to something warm and wet rubbing gently across his chest. What the fuck? Where was he? The last think he remembered was...

Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuck.

"Hey baby. It's okay. Just getting you cleaned up. You'd made quite a mess of yourself"

"Eddie. Oh, God. Eddie, I'm so sorry. Shit... I just..."

"Shhhhhh" Eddie purred, pressing his finger to Steve's lips. "As much as I would love to hear how you explain this one away, I need you to listen..."

"No, Eddie, I..."

"Do I need to gag you?" he smirked. Steve's cock traitourously twitched.

Eddie's deep brown eyes were boring down on his.

Steve shook his head.

"I can see you very much enjoyed my show, Steve"

He planted a gentle kiss on Steve's cheek, ripping a moan from his lips before he could stop it.

Eddie grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Oh we are going to have so much fun, Stevie"

"What..."

Eddie frowned, pressing his finger more firmly to Steve's mouth, dragging it along the full, bottom lip.

"I talk. You, Steve Harrington, have been a very bad boy"

Steve's head dropped towards his chest, bringing his hands up to his eyes.

"But I haven't exactly been a golden boy either. When you smashed drunk into the apartment a few weeks ago, I knew you were there. Believe me, the thought you were there, that you could hear me, drove me fucking wild. Hell, just being around you on a normal day drives me fucking nuts, I have to stop myself from touching you, from fucking biting a fucking chunk out of you"

Steve's head lifted a little. His eyes raised to Eddie's. A little shake of his head told Steve it wasn't his turn yet.

"But the idea that you would hear me fuck, that it might turn you on, that it make you think about me in that way. Fuck. I was unhinged. Tell me all about it, Stevie"

"I didn't mean to....but I was drunk and it sounded so hot. Sounded like you were both having so much fun"

"Did you touch yourself Steve?" the commanding voice was back. "Did you listen to me fuck and make yourself come?"

Steve flushed, dragging his eyes away from Eddie's.

"I stood outside your door and I made myself come. I'm sorry"

Eddie put his fingers under Steve's chin and lifted his face so their eyes were locked.

"No apologies. Did it feel good?"

Steve nodded hesitantly.

"Words, Stevie"

"It felt so fucking good, Eddie. I had to bite my arm so you didn't hear me"

"Could have sworn I heard a whimper the second time though..." Eddie smirked.

"Fuck. You know about that? I'm the worst fucking friend Ed. I'm so sorry"

"I said", he grabbed Steve's wrists tightly, "no apologies. I told you to come for me baby and you did"

"How did you know...?"

"You've been dancing around me, acting all weird since that night. I texted Rob when I was out, checking you were okay. She said you weren't saying over. I hoped you'd be hiding in your room. Tried to put on a good show for you"

"Oh, you did" Steve chuckled lightly. "It's all I've been able to think about. I didn't know I wanted...". He hesitated. "I've never wanted...a guy before"

"And now?"

"Eds, I've been doing everything in my power, just to hear you have sex"

"Tell me more about that.." Eddie pressed little kisses onto Steve's jawline. "Tell me what you did when I came back from the club"

"Eddie I can't..."

"Tell. Me"

Fuck. Steve was powerless.

"I listened to you fuck him. Call him a pretty boy. That made me so hot. I tried...I tried to finger myself but..."

Eddie's eyes shot wide. "You've been putting your fingers in yourself and thinking of me?"

Steve nodded.

"Holy. Fuck"

"But it wasn't enough. I couldn't... I wanted more. I wanted..."

"You wanted my cock?"

"Uh huh"

"I came so hard thinking about you fucking me. Listening to you come"

"Just like tonight?"

Steve nodded.

"Did you like my choice of playmate tonight?" Eddie chuckled.

"You found a Steve"

"Thought I'd fuck with you a bit. And the prospect of getting to scream your name drove me pretty fucking wild"

" 'Steve, I'm coming and it's all for you'." Steve recalled laughing.

Eddie flushed a little. "Too much?"

Steve shook his head.

"Judging by the state I found you in, I think it might've been"

"I could have come the moment he called me Your Steve"

And with that, Eddie crashed his lips towards Steve's, his hands snaking into Steve's hair. "You want to be my Steve?"

"More than anything. I want to be yours. I want every part of you and want you to take every part of me"

#steddie fic #steddie smut #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #aware of his bisexuality steve au #steve x eddie #steve eddie #voyerurism #steve harrington #eddie munson

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ineedaplacetostay · 9 months

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A day late, but I just had to do something for Mukai. She deserves nice things. I’m blending anime and manga canons because I’ve never read the manga, but there was something from the manga I just had to fix.

word count: 548

Content Warnings: canonical child abuse, discussion of Claws’ canon child soldier normalization, semi-graphic injury to a child

Summary: You can rebuild too.

jumping up and down the floor, my head is an animal

It takes you ten years to find it. Ten years of tracking it down, ten years of studying in dendrology classes where you’re the youngest in the classroom and digging through government-confiscated Claw files you weren’t supposed to have access to, ten years of searching to feel the first stirrings of something you thought you’d lost forever. Your beloved dolls.

But they were never just that.

They were your playmates, your protectors—you used to think some nights that you could have beaten the Claw president, escaped without a scar if they’d been with you then—your friends. Torn apart and then their forest burned away because you weren’t good enough. And you weren’t that, good enough. You were eleven.

You know that was terrible now, that your dolls weren’t a special gift for being powerful, that you shouldn’t have had a scar down your face because an adult thought he needed to test your power. But they called you strong then—the Claw president telling you why he ‘spared’ you with blood running down your face, Tsuchiya trying to calm you when you cried—and you wanted it to be true.

You weren’t strong or weak, you were a child who made friends where she had none. And he burned every chance to see those friends again for the crime of losing to the most powerful esper in the world, for Tsuchiya taking you back home to your father and out of Claw’s grasp.

You thought sometimes in the next ten years, even though the president got arrested, that he razed the whole forest for safety. Because if you got your hands on him, you’d be as dangerous as your younger self imagined. You thought that at twelve and fifteen and eighteen and once three weeks ago. It’s not true of course, you could have an island’s worth of humming maples at your command right now and you’d never be that strong an esper, but it was funny when nothing else was. Thinking of the look of horror on his face as you told the life whispering in that wood who killed the rest of them and had them charge.

Had sheer numbers—an army!—hold him down while you cut a line down his face and then walked away.

Reality isn’t that. It’s cross-checking dried leaf samples and hiking through other forgotten woods, learning not to cry at the half-whispers that aren’t your old dolls, getting trips out of the country for the promise of strange forests…and it’s assuring your father it wasn’t his fault for giving you a doll as a present when you were four, telling Tsuchiya over and over again that you’re alright.

And you are. You are now and you will be because the search, the dead ends, the little bits of heartbreak before you found a living clipping, they were worth it.

You’re standing at the edges of a flattened but greening field where a rare tree used to grow and you have a planter in your hands, several more behind you. The plants inside are small and fragile, young but alive. They hum like you haven’t heard in a decade and you cry, just a little, at the sound. You promise the one in your hands that it’s alright.

They aren’t dolls and you wouldn’t make them into ones. They aren’t a weapon—neither are you—but you promise them you’ll keep it safe. They protected you once and now you’ll do the same.

#mp100 #my writing #my fanfiction #mp100 mukai #mp100 girlweek

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slashingdisneypasta · 1 year

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Wheezy Weasel x Reader || Drabble [Part 2]

Plot: Wheezy confides in Greasy late that night about finding out about Y/N and the new guy. (First Part)

Warnings: Angsty ): Unrequited love and LOTS of smoking (I tried to get at Wheezy's addiction a bit better then usual here. Make him very restless and fidgety and irritated).

Tags: @asperol-with-izzy , @lady-love88 , and @marinerainbow ,

After Wheezy got Teddy to bed, a pretty easy job since the kid gets pretty tired playing with Psycho - not a perfect playmate, but beggars can’t be choosers. Not a lotta mum’s in the neighbourhood are knocking down the doors to set up playdates between their angel kids and the Toon Patrols ‘evil spawn’, - all day, he goes straight to the kitchen and opens the windows wide. It’s a cold night, but he doesn’t care, he has got to smoke now. And he has to smoke a lot.

After sitting down at the kitchen table and lighting up 3 cigarettes at once, sticking them in the side of his mouth and then going to light up some more- an uninvited guest walks in. Immediately Wheezy groans, not seeing who it is. “Smartass- “He starts, grumbling around the cig’s he’s already got stuffed in his mouth as he continues what he was doing. “I need this. I’ll scrub the walls t’morrow.”

“… eugh. Do I really look that tired, fumador?? It has been a rough couple of nights, but… “Greasy wanders around the table so Wheezy can see him, and sigh; Rolling his eyes as Greasy pears into some glass to his reflection. “I didn’t think it was so bad I resembled Smartass- “

“Sorry. Didn’t see ya.”

“- I mean, that would be terrible. I cant even- comprehend- how much sleep I must have lost in order to reach that horrendous point- “

Wheezy gives a sigh, now with 6 cigarettes lit up and decorating his teeth, and puffing away almost like a steam train as he hangs his head in his hands. This is apparently going to be a thing, now… “Grease, y’ look fine.”

Greasy looks away from his reflection and sets the top of Wheezy’s head with a deadpanned look. “- So you get my point, then?”

“What?”

“Don’t assume.”

What- so- all that gip about losing sleep was a point?? Ughhhh- Wheezy does not have the patience for Greasy’s demented mind games, tonight. Instead of responding this time, though, he just dips his head down further and tries to focus on the smoke. The flavour on his tongue, the smell in his nose, the smoke in his lungs, the relief…

Staring at Wheezy, Greasy realises something must genuinely be bothering him. The green weasel makes it his business to know people- their behaviours, their responses, their go-to’s, their minds… usually, so that he can foresee their actions. And he does not exclude his teammates from his attention.

So he knows, that there is something… wrong… with Wheezy, here. Right now. This picture is not good, its worse than the usual sick, addictive behaviour the other weasel expresses. And as Smartass’ right-hand-man, the second in command of the group, it’s his responsibility to do something about what is definitely self-destructive activity like this. “… fumador.” And he could be a little bit worried.

Wheezy still doesn’t respond, sucking in sharply on his smokes instead.

“Wheezy.”

“What do you want, Greasy… “Wheezy notices Greasy take the chair across from him and gives a sigh, seeing as Greasy seems to be staying… and lifts his head again; Crossing his arms and looking expectantly across at him, eyes cold and cruel. He just wants to be alone, damnit.

Greasy is not frightened by the look on the smoker’s face, but he does take a moment to put together the appropriate words. “… is this about Y/N’s visit today?? You seemed fine, before… -well, you were still a disgusting smoker with cheese fingers, but… this seems extreme… “

“I’m fine- can’t ya see?” Smoke flies out of the corners of Wheezy’s mouth and he’s well aware that he looks anything but fine, but if he can avoid talking about this he will.

“Uh… no, I can’t see that.”

But apparently, he can’t. Sighing again, Wheezy gets up restlessly out of his chair and takes a turn about the small kitchen- before stopping at the bench beside the stove, and leaning back on it. For a moment the room is silent, as he uses one of the hot plates to carefully graze off some of the ashy, disintegrated part of one of his cigarettes; His hand shaking, and Greasy’s steady gaze glued to him. “… Y/N’s gettin’ serious.”

“About what?” Greasy prods, impatiently- he was exaggerating about his sleep schedule earlier, but it is true he hasn’t been sleeping very well. And he would love it if they could wrap this little melodrama up before it’s too late, if he can help it.

“About the guy… she’s with… “

This catches Greasy’s full attention. He flies up to his feet, knocking the chair back and causing it to clatter on the ground. “She’s what!?” Well- sleep be damned, now!! He is outraged!

“... yeah… they’re, uh… they want to introduce him- “Wheezy lazily gestures backwards, as if into the general direction of Teddy’s bedroom. “to Teddy.”

“Say no!! You have that power, you know. I- we, have worked too hard for too long to let Y/N be stolen away from m- us, so- Jesucristo, ¿qué es esto? Esto es inaceptable. tengo que parar esto- “

Wheezy quickly sets Greasy with a very serious look, that unintentionally reveals the true depth of his feelings right now- how sad, and tired he is, to the other, surprisingly intuitive weasel. “Grease.”

“-Okay.” Immediately Greasy gives up the charade- he does enjoy Y/N’s company, and he would love to have a night with her, and he would probably care very little about Wheezy being frustrated with him over it… but this was different. This was out of their hands. This was Y/N being truly happy with someone else, someone other than Wheezy, when- to be completely frank, they all thought that Y/N would always eventually end up back with Wheezy. Even despite Greasy’s lusts towards them… it seemed obvious… Sighing, Greasy turns and picks up his chair and sits back down in it, setting his hands calmly on the table. “So… what are we going to do about this?”

“Do??” Before gritting his teeth and scowling, Wheezy takes one of the cigarettes and forcefully stubs it out as an outlet for his frustrations. “Nothin’ we can do, Grease. They’re happy.”

“Surely they’d be happier with you- “

“No… I don’t think so.” Giving a shrug, Wheezy flicks the out-cigarette over to the bin in irritation.

“… Ni siquiera puedo con este hombre. And why is that??”

“… Its just like they said, man. The way I- we, live… ‘ts not safe. They’re better off with this new guy, I guess. And- also-” Setting his jaw to the other side and squeezing the bench on either side of his body so hard his knuckles go white, Wheezy lets out a breath it felt like he was holding. Smoke flies out at a slow, steady pace. “… things are good, this way. I’ve got Y/N, just not… … they’re my friend. It doesn’t matter if I maybe-- want ‘em as more. I’ve got ‘em. And I’ve got Teddy. And I can’t go askin’ for more, not when things are so good for us all. ‘M not gonna risk it all like that. Cant.”

… this seems to make Greasy be quiet. Wheezy doesn’t look at him, but the silence is vindicating, and awful. Because yes, it means he’s right. But fuck- he’s right. He’s right to not tell you- to not beg you to be family again. And sometimes its fucken awful to be right.

“… Oh, fumador… “

#i am once again putting wheezy through pain for no reasonnnn #i'm so sorry 😅😅😅#Wheezy Weasel x Reader Drabble #Wheezy Weasel x Reader #Wheezy Weasel #Drabble #Part 2 #Disney Villains #Disney Villains x Reader

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lucid-stories · 5 months

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A BOND FORGED BY BLOOD| A TWISTED WONDERLAND FANFIC | MALLEUS DRACONIA’S SISTER?| CHAPTER 0

As the only princess of Briar and the second in line to the throne, Maleka was born with a golden spoon. While she may be one of the most powerful children in the world, with great power comes great responsibility.

As a child, she was to have lessons on various topics, from etiquette to social sciences and academics, from magic to physical combat.

By the time she turned 100, she was groomed to be her older brother’s right hand, his consultant, his grand chancellor, his prime minister and an extra heir to the throne, just in case.

It was for this reason that although many wanted to be close to her, sending their offsprings to be her playmate, all of them were kept at an arm’s length through the efforts of her older brother’s and their grandmother’s close confidants.

This led to a lot of misunderstandings in the family.

‘He always had this distant aura around him and had a habit of only speaking in short sentences, not saying more than what was necessary’

Her older brother, Malleus Draconia, although having a soft spot for his sister, he was nonchalant when coming face-to-face with her. In reality, he was doing his best to control his actions so as not to hurt, much less scare his sister.

He was so used to having people scared of him that he was afraid of mistreating his sister.

Their grandmother, on the other hand, was always absent for most of their time. She has a habit of only sending her servants to check on her grandchildren during the day and checking up on them only when Maleka is asleep.

It made sense for Maleka to feel isolated from her peers as well as alienated by her family due to this.

By the time she was around 107 years old ( 10.7 years old in human terms), she developed her unique magic.

Similar to her brother, she can make other’s dreams come true… only in another world while her brother’s is limited to a coma-like state dream.

Upon her first manifestation, her magic went out of control causing her to be transported to another place, another dimension where she has the perfect family life.

As she wished, there was no magic, no nobility in power, but she found herself getting adopted, a family who showed their love and support for her.

However, the saying “you desire for things you don’t have” could never be farther from this scenario.

Beginning to feel homesick, Maleka tried to go back but with her wish of the loss of magic, she was stranded in an unknown place.

______________________________________________________________

Her 159 years old brother (15.9 years old in human terms), upon hearing the news of her disappearance had the entirety of Briar covered in stormy clouds for the following years.

He vowed more than a hundred years prior to always prioritize protecting his sister, now that he– they’ve failed and even losing her in the process, the once less sociable draconia family became even more closed off to their subjects and to the whole world.

______________________________________________________________

A few years into Maleka’s disappearance, the people began to forget their princess which made Malleus even more angry, the already dark clouds turned even darker.

Overlooking his kingdom, it made him reminisce of their days where she would keep on talking whilst he finishes his tasks as an heir.

“Brother, what do you think of the human realm? Can’t I go there? What if we go there? I heard their games there are awesome! You recieved an invitation in Night Raven College didn’t you?”

“...Well then, I want to study more about the human realm, after all, there is no end to studying”

Fortunately or Unfortunately for him, this was the last actual conversation they had together before her disappearance which led to it constantly haunting him at night.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

His mentor, the retired Commander Lilia Vanrouge, had found a human child in the remnants of his mother’s castle. Due to the color of ‘its’ hair, it was named Silver.

Soon after, another child(ren) barged in the walls of his heart without warning. Silver and Sebek Zigvolt.

Both of them were to be his right and left hand as he no longer has support from the same generation as him after the loss of his precious little sister so while he did cherish them as close friends, they could never be as close as he and Maleka (in Malleus’ mind, Malleus and Maleka were very close).

He kept them close but not close enough to replace his sister. This action eventually persisted up to his third year at Night Raven College. The exact institution Maleka wanted to make a connection with.

#twst A BOND FORGED BY BLOOD #twst fanfic #twst diasomnia #twst malleus draconia

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aebi12 · 1 year

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“Sinful Desires” by Aebi12

Aemond Targaryen x OC

Chapter 1

It was the dragons that brought them together.

Or it would be more accurate to say, the lack of one.

The first time Alyssa's gaze had met her uncle Aemond's had been at the Dragon Pit.

The two of them had been left out, once again, as their brothers approached the dragons that had been theirs since birth, learning to command and bond with them while the two children whose eggs never hatched had to stay in the background, intended only to observe, never to participate.

Despite her short seven years, Alyssa had felt envy corrode her small body at the sight of Lucerys, her twin, smiling at his dragon. So, she had looked away, trying to hold back the tears of frustration she felt flooding her eyes, and she had placed her gaze on the lean figure of her uncle.

Alyssa had never thought much of her uncle. As a princess, most of her time was taken up by her classes taught by her septa. From time to time her aunt Helaena would join the lessons, but only for a short while and always under the watchful eye of Queen Alicent, who would offer some excuse to take her daughter away when the lessons were over and Alyssa tried to start a conversation with the other girl.

So, no, Alyssa didn't know much about Aemond Targaryen. He was, after all, a boy. Playmate and training partner of Jace and Luke, but not hers. And yet when he turned his head, probably sensing her scrutiny, and her sky-blue eyes met hers, Alyssa Velaryon found understanding in them.

The girl offered him a sad smile and he watched her for long seconds before the corners of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. For a brief instant Alyssa was under the impression that he would say something to her, but then the septa had interrupted the moment by taking her from the dragon pit and back to the castle because, after all, the pit was no place for a girl who did not have a dragon.

***

That afternoon her brothers enter the playroom laughing, visibly encouraged by something that has just happened. Alyssa doesn't find out until that night, when her mother, who has dinner with them despite giving birth to her brother Joffrey just a few hours ago, scolds the children for making fun of Aemond.

Alyssa's heart sinks when she hears about the Pink Dread prank. Children can be so cruel sometimes. Her twin brother seems to notice her mortification and questions her with his gaze, but Alyssa refuses to meet his eyes and focuses on her lamprey pies, though the hunger of a few moments ago now eludes her.

"Are you really mad about the prank we played on Aemond?" Luke questions her as they are about to enter their beds.

Despite their age the twins still share a room. They shared their mother's womb and a cradle since birth so they are used to each other's presence. Alyssa wouldn't admit it out loud, but being around Luke comforts her; after all he is her other half. And she knows that the feeling is mutual.

"Pranks have the peculiarity of being funny, Lucerys" she replies as she fixes the bed sheets

“It was really funny, actually, you should have seen his face…”

"Don’t you understand? It's like you're making fun of me too."

"Lyssa that makes no sense"

“Were you not teasing him because of his lack of a dragon? Well, that joke applies to me as well."

Alyssa doesn't give him a chance to reply as she gets into bed turning her back to him. The girl imagines her brother's expression, the doubt and embarrassment on his face and she knows that he is still standing near her bed, but eventually Luke sighs and goes into his.

***

Rumors reemerge with the birth of the new little prince Velaryon.

Alyssa is aware of the whispers of the Court, of the scrutiny of the ladies and lords who whisper in her presence, observing the children of Princess Rhaenyra who seem to have more in common with her sworn sword than with her lord husband.

The girl has questioned the veracity of Laenor Velaryon paternity since she was old enough to notice the differences because, where Queen Alicent's children share all the traditional Targaryen traits, the heirs of two houses of Valyrian blood have brown hair and green eyes so common and simple. Questions plague her mind, but she never dares to express them. Her love for her mother overcomes any doubt Alyssa may harbor, so she keeps quiet and walks through the long corridors of the red keep.

Her footsteps lead her to the castle's godswood. Hardly anyone this far south practices the religion of the old gods, so the place it's usually deserted. That is why Alyssa is surprised to see someone sitting under the weirwood.

Aemond looks up as he hears the rustle of her dress against the forest leaves.

His niece seems surprised to find him there and her gaze scans his face in much the same way as the day before at the dragon pit. Aemond feels the blush start to stain his cheeks and doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know if he should say something. Aemond remembers his mother's words, he keeps them always in his mind and tries to obey her as much as he can. He knows Alicent wouldn't like him to be around Alyssa, he knows she would look down on the girl and call her a bastard. His mother is rarely limited in her comments about his half-sister's children.

"I am sorry about what happened yesterday" Her words take him off guard and his look must show his confusion because she adds, “About the prank my brothers played on you. It was wrong of them, I am sorry."

For a brief moment Alyssa is able to see the pain painted on his face, but her uncle quickly looks away, and when he looks back at her the expression of cold neutrality is back on him.

"It was very foolish of me to believe that they had gotten me a dragon," Aemond admits, unsure why.

Alyssa sighs and walks over to sit next to him. Aemond's body instinctively turns towards her.

"Don't blame yourself, they should never have joked about it."

If anyone is going to understand his situation, Aemond thinks after discovering the sincerity in the face and words of her niece, it is Alyssa Velaryon. So, he keeps talking. “I was a fool anyway. I tried to claim my sister's dragon after they left."

"Dreamfire?"

“Helaena hardly ever rides him,” he lets out a frustrated snort, “That was stupid nevertheless.”

On a sudden impulse, Alyssa takes his hand in hers. There is a need within her to comfort Aemond, for where his expression betrays no emotion, his voice shows the pain and shame he feels. “You will have a dragon one day. I'm sure of it,” she tells him with conviction.

Aemond smiles. Those are the same words his mother had said to him the previous day, but for some reason he feels more inclined to trust Alyssa's certainty than Alicent.

"Will you take me with you next time?" Alyssa asks and continues, “Next time you try to claim a dragon, will you take me with you? I would also like to try it”

His blue eyes meet the green eyes of his niece. Although his mother and his court say that Alyssa's features are common, he doesn’t believe the same. At that moment, Aemond finds the leaf-green hue of her eyes of a beauty he has rarely seen. Something stirs inside him as he realizes that, but he doesn't know exactly what it is.

Alyssa waits expectantly for his answer so he nods.

"You promise?" she asks in a whisper

"I promise"

***

The next time Alyssa has lemon cakes with her.

"Where did you get this from?" Aemond asks as he pops one into his mouth.

“Jace got them from the kitchens for me. He knows this are my favorite”

Their meetings are sporadic.

They never plan to see each other in the godswood, but if Alyssa were asked, she would say that something inside of her knows exactly when Aemond will be there. As if a connection had sprung up between the two of them, a connection she has guarded carefully and only for her, without mentioning it even to Luke. And it seems Aemond does the same. There seems to be an unspoken understanding between the two of them to keep their conversations to themselves.

Alyssa finishes her last cake before reaching for the book on Aemond's knee. “History of the Storm Kings?”

"A prince of the realm must know its history," he replies in a solemn tone.

Alyssa smiles and flips through the book before handing it back. "Doesn't seem like the most interesting reading"

"It is not," he admits, "But it is part of my duty."

"Wouldn't it be more fun to really get to know these places rather than just reading about them?" asks Alyssa looking up at the red leaves of the weirwood, "If I had a dragon I would travel to all parts of Westeros on its back."

"Where would you go first?"

“The North,” she answered without hesitation, “To the wall. Queen Alysanne visited the wall once."

“Was it because of her that you were named?”

“Her mother. The first Velaryon to join a Targaryen."

Aemond knew the story, of course.

“The North must be awfully boring,” he replies, smirking as he watches the expression of outrage he gets from Alyssa at his comment, “I'd rather cross the Narrow Sea. Maybe fly over Valyria."

Alyssa snorts, but she brushes off her comment.

“I would like to learn more about the history of the realm”, she admits, “But my mother does not consider it necessary”

"Why not? A princess must be educated."

“I think she places her highest expectations on Jace and Luke. After all, Jace will be the heir to the throne after mother and Luke will be the lord of Driftmark. While I… I must know how to embroider and be a lady. There are no stories for me, just songs."

"I like the songs," Aemond replies, earning a smile from her part that makes his heart leap, "Sing for me, Alyssa."

And Alyssa sings.

***

The last time they meet under the weirwood there are tears in her eyes.

Aemond feels the fire rise within him at the sight of a visibly saddened Alyssa Velaryon. But he doesn't know what to do. He has no idea how to comfort her. Aemond has never needed to comfort Helaena, much less Aegon. Therefore, he feels lost in the pain of his niece.

It is she who once again takes the lead, approaching her uncle and hugging him. The physical contact takes him by surprise, but he doesn't pull her away. He lets her sob until she breaks the hug and meets his questioning gaze.

"Sir Harwin will return to Harrenhall," she explains.

Aemond understands immediately. If Sir Harwin is as attentive to Alyssa as he certainly is to Jacaerys and Lucerys during training, then it is to expect that his niece is going to miss him. Even so, other words come out of his mouth.

“You shouldn't be affected by his parting. He is but a guard."

"Sir Harwin is more than that" she replies in almost a whisper

Aemond looks at her face, still wet with tears, her skin paler than ever and her eyes full of pain., “You still have Laenor Velaryon”

"Father does not usually spend time with us," admits the girl, adding something she had heard Rhaenyra say some time ago, "Generally he prefers the company of his friends to those of her children."

Aemond understands the situation well as he shares the pain of having an absent father. The king is elusive to him and his brothers, never a sign of affection towards them, much less words of encouragement. Aemond would excuse his behavior if he addressed all of his children equally, but he knows that he is different with Rhaenyra.

Thinking of his half-sister always awakes in him a bittersweet feeling. Despite belonging to the same house, the boy has never seen her other than as a distant woman who steals his father's attention and affection. A father for whom nothing Aemond does seems to be enough. The fire burns inside of him once again, opening wounds that the boy attempts to close daily.

Perhaps it is good that Alyssa suffers from the loss of her father, so, albeit indirectly, divine justice would be exercised and his half-sister would also suffer. The treacherous thought delights him, but he only has to look at his niece to feel annoyed with himself for even considering the idea.

Alyssa is not Rhaenyra. She could never be, Aemond thinks.

***

The sea breeze blows through the walls of Driftmark's castle. The corridors are eerily quiet, the guards seem to have disappeared once again, so Alyssa walks unhindered to her uncle's room.

The girl knows it's probably a bad idea, but she can't let it go. Her heart is tormented, her mind divided. Alyssa is not stupid, she knows that that night her family was irreparably broken into two sides. And he was at the center of it all. And she, although her mother and her brothers don't know it, she was too.

She doesn't knock on the door and he isn't asleep when she walks in. She doesn't think he's been waiting for her though she has that impression as she sees Aemond sitting near the fire, the flames bathing his face in golden light. A face that now looks swollen, reddish and marked by a brutal wound.

Aemond watches her and memories of the night come to her mind. Her cousins waking them up because someone had claimed Vhagar, the confrontation, the horrible words Aemond had said, Luke and the knife…

“You shouldn't be here,” he says and his voice sounds harsh.

Resentment. She manages to recognize it in his voice.

"Why are you here?" he continues.

And Alyssa realizes that she has no answer for him. She wants to apologize, she wants to tell Aemond that she's sorry for what Luke did to him, that he didn't deserve that wound, she wants to tell him that his words hurt her soul because, although everyone calls her a bastard behind her back, he never had. But she doesn't say any of that. She instead says, "You broke your promise"

Aemond stands up and walks over to her. Being so close to each other, Alyssa realizes that the wound is even worse than she had imagined, and although she tries to avoid it, the girl can't stop looking at it, which causes him to blush and tilt his face.

Only when he faces her again his embarrassment has been replaced by fury.

"I do not know what you are talking about"

“You said you would take me with you if you tried to claim a dragon. You didn't," she explains.

Aemond snorts, “Are you also going to accuse me of stealing Vhagar?” he takes her tightly by the arm

She shakes her head

“A dragon belongs to whoever claims it. There was only one on this island, did you really expect to take you with me? You would have just been a liability."

"Why are you being so cruel?" asks Alyssa feeling the pressure on her arm increase and trying to get out of his grasp.

"Why were you with them?" he claims

“Aemond…”

"You were there too, hitting me, you helped them do this to me" he points to his eye

He releases her so hard that she falls to the ground. For a brief moment, Alyssa thinks he's going to help her, but her uncle just turns his back on her.

The girl stands up and bites her lip to keep from letting out a sob. Her arms and her elbows ache, but it’s nothing compare to the pain she’s feeling inside of her. And when Alyssa is heading to Dragonstone with her mother the next afternoon, she is aware that she left behind a piece of her heart.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #ff #fanfic #ao3 writer

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yanara126-writing · 1 year

Text

Constellations

Redcliffe lies behind them, the Arl saved and the city free of walking dead. But Warden Solveig cannot accept her success quite yet, guilt gnawing at her, for her reaction to Alistair's confession. He should have told her before. His royal status made him an even bigger target than he already was. She'd been correct in her anger. And yet, could she truly blame him when she wasn't any better?

"My full name is-" Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne."

Read here or on Ao3. (2738 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

The usually comforting dark of the night sky was oddly stifling. The stars seemed less like glittering gems in a rock ceiling and instead rather like threating sparks in a powder chamber. Solveig was painfully aware of the uncanny softness of the grassy ground under her boots as she silently strode towards the edge of camp, heading for the familiar blonde head just peaking out behind a low hill.

For a moment she hesitated on the top of the earth mound, considering the view in front of her. Alistair was flopped on the ground, one leg pulled close, the other stretched out, every so often throwing a stick for a visibly excited but impressively quiet Barkspawn. He hadn't noticed her yet, and the dog was too busy jumping around and bolting after the toy, tail wagging in a frenzy. The urge to leave pulled at her limbs, pinching and pricking her skin, but she refused to give in and let it drag her back to the centre of camp. The nagging guilt, ever growing and suffocating as it was, weighed heavier than the long practiced impulse to shut up and show nothing. The endless, gaping sky felt only more threatening.

Feet securely on the ground she gave a whistle, sharp and clear, still unfamiliar but strangely easy on her lips. Promptly as always Barkspawn ripped around, sharp eyes glued directly on her own, tail wagging rapidly. Within a second he changed direction, leaping and bounding over the ground. He skid to a halt in front of her, just so avoiding running her over in his excitement. Giving the dog a firm head rub through the surprisingly soft fur, Solveig distinctly avoided looking at Alistair.

"Come to steal my playmate away?" The overly played up indignation only badly masked the nervous tension in his voice. Well ingrained instinct took hold and her feet shifted just a tad wider, shoulders backwards and back straight, portraying confidence with every muscle in her body before even turning her head.

"Don't worry, a good commander knows not to give orders that won't be followed." The dog barked happily as if in agreement, promptly panting blissfully as she scratched his jaw. With a flick of her wrist she tossed the stick back over to Alistair who caught it one handed, steady and practiced.

Barkspawn immediately whirled around, alert, brown eyes eagerly drilling holes into the man holding his beloved toy. Alistair complied, hurling the stick a good distance away, with far more force than during the previous throw. Neither Solveig nor Alistair commented on it.

As Barkspawn galloped over the plains, while the two left behind remained in awkward silence. The stars twinkled overhead, sparks floating closer to the fuse.

Solveig was certain her movements were no less smooth than in any other battle, but no skirmish had ever made her limbs feel this heavy and stiff. She sat down next to Alistair. Despite her best intentions her eyes went back to following the dog in his wild chase, even as she finally forced the words to be spoken. Letting the sparks reach the powder kegs.

"So. What you told me at Redcliff. That you are a prince." What an atrocious opening, far too awkward.

"I'm not." His answer was instant and downright petulant as he frowned and turned away. Solveig fought to stop her irritation from showing. Nothing would be won here by losing her temper.

"Yes, as you say. Though your human ideas of lineage make no sense." She shook her head in quiet distaste. Why would it matter that his mother has been a commoner when his father had been a king? But regardless, cultural inanty was not why she was here. "What I'm attempting to say is-" Just a second's hesitation as her breath caught. Too long, hesitation was weakness, failure, death. Her lips were dry and she had to acknowledge, perhaps she was weak. "There's something that is appropriate to tell you in exchange. Everyone in fact, but I shall start with you. As a token of trust." And as another such token she wouldn't look away from him in this conversation. She owed him that much after her outburst at Redcliffe. Shame of her own hypocrisy warmed her cheeks at the memory. Perhaps she had no right to her Paragons anymore but that was no reason to add on to her crimes.

This attempt at broaching the matter, pathetic though it was, seemed enough to catch his attention again despite his visible discomfort. He was still tense but at least he was looking at her again. "Well, you certainly have my interest now. What, are you secretly the Maker's daughter or something?" It was almost funny how incredulous he sounded. That single raised eyebrow, clearly trying at another sardonic joke yet not managing to entirely banish the boyish curiosity.

"You're not as far off from the truth as you seem to believe." The soft ground under her clenching fingers gave way far too easily, allowing her fingers to dig into the dirt, and for one irrational, almost hopeful moment she thought it would open and take her back, rather than make her face this situation. A coward indeed.

"What." Any notion of incredulous humour had vanished from Alistair's face, leaving behind only bare, brutal confusion in his raised eyebrow and blank eyes. Her last seconds of grace had run out.

"My full name is-" Untrue. Untrue. "Was. Solveig Aeducan. Second child of king Endrin Aeducan and Olwen Harrowmont, Proven Champion twice over, Keeper of the West Gate, Left to the Throne and..." Solveig's breath caught, rage and hatred, desperation and grief roiling inside of her. With effort she pushed the unwanted, unneeded, *unhelpful* feelings back down, voice and face left carefully blank. "Not quite heir presumptive, but it would be a lie to say my ascendency was impossible." At the end of the sentence Alistair was still staring, not angry, not indignant, but hopelessly confused. Looking for answers. She longed for the numb emptiness of the day after Trian's death. The Stone did not grant her her calm often anymore, spitting out the burning heat of anger, shame and everything else she'd worked so hard to bury.

Maybe he'd grown bored, maybe he sensed the tense atmosphere, but either way, Barkspawn came trotting back, beloved stick held securely in his mouth. She turned to the dog, clinging to the idea that surely doing her duty to another being in her service wouldn't count as cowardice for not facing Alistair anymore. Ready to throw the stick again she moved to grab for it, but the dog ignored her hand completely, instead flopping down with his head on her lap, seemingly content in drooling all over her. Slowly moving to pet him, Solveig could almost pretend she hadn't just laid bare all her secrets. And then Alistair spoke again.

"You. Are a princess?" His lack of anger almost irked her as much as the surfacer term and Barkspawn growled quietly when her next pet fell out a tad too harsh. Before answering she gave the dog an apologetic scritch and took a deep, slow breath. Finally, all the heat started bleed out of her with the breath, leaving behind only cold, tired, exhausted spite. Let Alistair have the ugly, stinging truth then.

"I was a commander. For a full day even. Until my younger brother murdered our older brother the crown prince, pinned the blame on me and got me sentenced to death in the Deeproads the moment he could." And that was the core of everything wasn't it? Bhelen had betrayed her and at no point had she seen it coming. She'd been so busy with the idea of that young, light haired child always trailing her with constant curiosity that she hadn't noticed when he'd stopped asking her questions.

For a while they both remained silent, only the dog's quiet panting filling Solveig's ears, as the strange night's chill krept into her bones and her own thoughts threatened to choke her. What was she even doing here? Why did she care what this surfacer whelp thought of her? Aeducan or no, she had no reason to care. So what if she had been a hypocrite, he was a foreigner, a subordinate, and she was a dead oathbreaker. And yet...

Alistair interrupted her musings with his own. "That's where Duncan picked you up." That was one way of phrasing her cowardice. She had been sentenced to die in the Deeproads and she had refused. It had been her father's orders, not Bhelen's, yet still she had refused. The memory brought all the seething, burning rage bubbling back up. She took another deep breath, decisively stifling her rising temper and letting the calm of the stone ground her again.

"Quite so." Alistair nodded absently. And Solveig waited.

"Did he know?" A fickle question and one Solveig didn't have as clear an answer to as she would like. She frowned and bent to scratch the dog behind the ears, stalling for a few seconds while settling for an honest but not too inflammatory answer.

"He knew I was Aeducan and exiled. He shouldn't have known anything else. He offered to let me keep my secrets, though I have my doubts about his sincerity." There had been a few too many knowing looks and allusions to really believe him.

"Is that why you've been acting so cagey about-" He faltered, eyes glassy and distant for a second. "Him?" The word was harsh and defensive, almost an accusation, as always when it came to Duncan between them.

Solveig sighed. "I don't begrudge you your grief, Alistair."

"That wasn't the question." She could feel his eyes drilling holes into her head. No, it hadn't been, had it. But how could she explain it? For all her suspicions and misgivings about Duncan, Alistair didn't deserve to have the last image of his father figure crushed. That pain of knowing that the person helping you, propping you up in a hostile life, perhaps even loving you, was ruthlessly scheming others' downfalls behind your back, making the hard and inevitable decisions. And Alistair especially shouldn't have to become the same.

Slowly Solveig rubbed her hands over her face, dark strands, so different from her brothers' light manes, falling into her eyes. So it was that he dragged out one harsh truth after the other right from her core. Elbows on her knees, hands on Barkspawn's soft fur, she turned to him, feeling more exhausted than maybe ever before.

"We share the fate of rejected royals, Alistair, but we are not the same. I respect Duncan for what he did for the Grey Wardens and for you, but he was not my saviour." There was no saving her like he'd been saved from the templars. "It's difficult to explain to a human what it means for us to be executed like this. Either we die, slaughtered by the darkspawn, or we are cut off from all that makes us dwarves. Alive technically, but dead regardless. Solveig Aeducan is gone. Executed in shame and disgrace for dishonourable fratricide." He was still staring at her, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't, how could he? She grasped at the memory of Redcliffe, looking for an explanation on his level. "You told me you want me to like you for who you are, without your lineage. I am no one without my lineage. Without my duty."

That seemed to rattle something loose in him and he turned away, shoulders sagging, even as a spark of recognition darkened his eyes. He started fiddling with a blade of grass, distinctly avoiding her gaze. "Seems like you were doing pretty well anyway. You know, helping people, fighting the blight. All that."

"Does it?" Solveig sighed again, almost surprised she l had any air left in her lungs with how much this evening seemed to delight in stealing it from her. "I don't care about these people, Alistair. I have no stake in all of this. I might as well be a walking corpse like all the others in Redcliffe. I'm only helping as you call it because it's the obvious thing to do. A red thread to follow. Until it cuts. The thirty year limit doesn't scare me. The thirty years do." The blade of grass between his fingers ripped. Without comment she handed him the stick the dog had forgotten about. He took it without looking up and started fiddling with it instead.

She'd said her piece. Had told him what she came here for and truthfully much more. There was no reason to stay sitting here, on the too soft ground in the too heavy silence. And yet she stayed seated, pinned down by something that had nothing to do with the dog in her lap. Solveig watched Alistair as he listlessly twirled the stick between his fingers, light hair falling into his eyes. She couldn't just leave him like this.

A strange, almost nervous desperation took hold of her to try and make him understand- something. Anything to not make him think she was rejecting him. Licking her once again dry lips she searched for the right words that continued to elude her. "Look I- I do understand. What you find in the Grey Wardens. But I cannot, because I didn't choose this. I was supposed to have a trial. And if not that at least period of grace after the sentencing. I would have joined the Legion of the Dead." But of course Bhelen couldn't have left her even that. He'd never been sloppy and letting her join the Legion would have given her opportunities far too dangerous to allow.

Too late she noticed her mistake as Alistair glanced over and narrowed his eyes at her. "The what now?"

For the what felt like the millionth time she struggled to explain what had always been obvious to her. Sometimes it felt like she'd spoken more exclusively in explanations in these last few weeks on the surface than she had in all her years before. "The Legion of the Dead. They are... Similar to the wardens I suppose." A revelation puzzeling to herself as well, but one that she couldn't deny once uttered. "A last haven for all those society would or could not keep to retain some of their dignity. No matter your sentence, it is fulfilled when you join the Legion. You die, your crimes are repaid. And then you eventually die physically, for the protection of Orzammer. I died. I wasn't given the opportunity to at least do so honourably. So now I'm here. Cut off from all that makes me, dying a human death."

But those clearly hadn't been the right words. Instead of calming down Alistair only seemed to grow more agitated, chewing on his bottom lip and stabbing the ground with the stick a few times before leaving it there and placing his head onto his hands. "Yeah. Alright. No, you're right, I don't get it. But just..." He glanced at her almost helplessly. "Look maybe it doesn't mean anything but maybe this can be your new duty? The new Solveig? I know there's only me left now, and the Wardens aren't your Legion, but that has to count for something, right? I'm not really a full kingdom but hey if it helps, I can be your new subject."

"That's not the point, Alistair." She wished she could answer him differently. Give him the right words to understand, to explain that it had never been about the throne, about ruling why wouldn't Trian and Bhelen understand

But in the end it was only her here, alone and again without a way to explain.

"No. I guess not." He didn't argue, didn't yell or tell her off, just sank back into himself, the words as understanding as they were despairing. There was something about him, all slumped there on a strange ground under a non-existent ceiling, trying to be something familiar to her. For her. Grabbing a fistful of the ground again, she thought, maybe, just maybe she could try one more thing.

"But thanks, Alistair." It wasn't good. It wasn't alright. But maybe, with the way he put his hand on hers and sat a little bit straighter, it was enough for now.

"You're welcome, Solveig."

#dragon age origins #alistair theirin #solveig aeducan #warden aeducan #female warden #writing #fanfiction #angst #hurt/comfort #warden's mabari

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invisibleraven · 2 years

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Ooh. "Being cursed by a witch to immortality" is intriguing to me. Rulie? Peterpatterlina?

Warning for brief suicidal intent

Reggie would consider himself a nice enough guy if you asked. Kind to both people and animals, generous with his goods and coin. Can tell a yarn or sing you a song almost on command. So he has no idea how he ended up cursed.

To be fair, he was trespassing on the witch's land, but he was lost and simply wanted directions! But the old crone had come out screaming at him, making his horse rear up and whinny. "Whoa girl," he said, patting her flank.

The witch glared at him, and then her eyes began to glow. Her body levitated, almost otherworldly and she began to intone;

So as you are, so shall you be. Remain unchanged for eternity!

Then there was a bright flash, causing him to shield his eyes. When Reggie lowered his arm, she, and her bog, were gone. Nothing but lush meadow and his father's keep in the distance. He shrugged, figuring it was a vivid imagining, and went home.

Only as everyone around him changed, aged, and passed, Reggie never did. He appeared as if he was stuck at five and twenty years while his childhood playmates resembled fifty. He watched as his parents left this earthly plain, then his friends, and their children. Their children's children. Reggie mourned each loss, wondering why time never seemed to affect him. He had tried in vain to find the witch, or any friendly mage who would aid him, but alas. Nothing could be done.

Reggie realized that he couldn't stay and watch as those he cared about grew to fear and resent him. So he travelled, far and wide. Saw the world a dozen times over. Watched as societies rose and fell, as kingdoms gave way to empires to democracy to fascism and back again.

He made a few friends, had a few loves, but eventually, he had to leave, never wanting to watch them age while he stayed the same. Plus there were those who wanted his curse, hunted him for it, and he could not bear to have those he loved come to harm because of those vandals.

At points he despaired. He never seemed to become ill, no weapon harmed his skin. He tried to end it at many points, but no matter what he did, he popped back up and walked away, unharmed. So he stopped trying that after the third time.

He tried doing good for a bit, helping the vulnerable and needy. Tried being bad for a brief moment, since consequences seemed meaningless when he seemed to be unable to die. Then stepped away from the world, tired of it's uncaring nature.

But the thing was that Reggie grew lonely. So one night, he decided that socializing wouldn't do any harm. He shaved the growth from his cheeks (apparently the curse still required him to eat and sleep, to groom and bathe, but that he didn't mind so much), put on the last set of new clothes he had bought some twenty years prior, and went into town.

Everything was so much bigger and louder than before. The people busy and indifferent. Reggie marvelled and flinched at how much things had changed. But one thing stayed the same; The Orpheum. The club was still there, still standing after all this time, music pouring through its doors. Reggie had missed music. So that is where he let his feet lead him.

Inside he got himself a whiskey, neat, and a spot not far from the stage. He had no idea who was playing, just merely sat and observed. Saw a young couple enamoured with each other, the blonde man pushing back the long raven locks of the other. Saw a woman in a bright pink wig cozy up to one with a cascade of dark braids at the bar.

Then, a lone spotlight shone on the stage, and a sheer vision of a woman stepped up into it. Reggie was sure his jaw was somewhere on the sticky club floor. The light made her glow like an angel, highlighting her bouncy curls, the warm tinge of her brown skin, the small gap in her teeth when eh smiled.

Then she opened her mouth to sing and Reggie was gone.

Her voice was transcendent. A glorious song of love and loss, and she brought out every ounce of feeling in it. Making Reggie's heart soar as her voice scaled the high notes, and he leapt to his feet to clap and whistle when she bowed.

He had to know her.

Thankfully, she made her way to the bar afterwards, and Reggie almost vibrated his way to her side. He tried not to gush at her-Julie-but he was sure he failed. Yet Julie giggled at him, let him buy her a drink, and then spent half the night by his side, just... talking.

Reggie may have been alive for hundreds of years, but this night was the best one in his recollection. Julie was smart, witty, sweet, with a biting sense of humour, and a gorgeous soul to match her looks and talent. Reggie was instantly smitten. Even more so when she looked up at him through her lashes, tucked an errant curl behind her ear and asked for his number. Thank goodness the landline at his little cabin still worked, but he knew he would probably end up getting a cellphone just to keep in touch with Julie.

It turned out to be a worthy investment, as they ended up calling or texting almost all the time when they weren't together. Julie laughed with how out of touch Reggie was with modern day living, admiring his determination to 'live off the grid' as she dubbed it. But she also delighted in catching him up, and also in the forest surrounding his home. Gasping at the flowers, the butterflies, the birds, and even deer that sometimes frequented his property.

Some days, Julie would take him to a silent disco or to mini-golf. Others they would swim in the little creek that ran alongside his cabin. Julie would do shows, and Reggie would be there, front row centre, shouting her praises. He didn't really have a job, generations of amassing treasure and various good investments saw to that. But Reggie enjoyed writing, had put out a few books over the last millennia under various names. Bit his nails as Julie read his latest draft, breathing a sigh of relief when she gave him copious notes regarding how much she loved it.

He dedicated it to her, which earned him their first night together.

After that, Reggie was never far from her side. Delighted in meeting her family, her friends. But always with the countdown clock in the back of his mind that this, as much as he loved every second of it, could never be more than a fling.

Yet he could never seem to say goodbye to Julie. Sure, he tried, but she refused to let him go. They worked through every fight, discussed every disagreement, and Reggie... found he was falling in love with her. So much so that when she told him her hopes for their future, he couldn't bear to break her heart. To tell her that there would be no growing old together.

They celebrated holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. Said those three precious words, shared a home. And Reggie stopped looking for an exit strategy, and once again for a cure. He wanted a life with Julie. A marriage, maybe a family. To finally be older than 25.

But mages were harder to come by in the twenty first century.

Julie came home to him pouring over articles, newspaper clipping, anything that might lead him to an answer. "Reggie? Mi corazon? What... what's going on here?"

That's when Reggie broke down crying. Telling Julie everything. The curse, the centuries of watching those he cared about wither away, or left in heartache because he could not bear to watch them leave. The loneliness, his goods both good and ill. By the end he was dehydrated, his throat parched, and he felt lighter than he had in decades.

Julie sat there for a moment before getting up, and then coming back with a glass of water, urging him to drink while she thought.

"I have to tell you something. I haven't been completely honest with you," she said, holding up a finger, and rushing off before returning with what looked like an ancient tome. She opened it up, the yellowed pages crinkling with age as she skimmed through, finally coming to a worn looking passage. "My ancestor wrote this. She was a bit... skilled with the magical arts. She talks about curing a wandering prince. I think it was you."

"What. The. Fuck?" Reggie asked, pouring over the words. The witch no reasoning why, but there was something there that made him pause. "She... said it could be broken. Does she say how?"

Julie nodded, and bit her lip. "You... you have to be pretty open minded about this. But it says that if you let one of her lineage spill your blood, it can be used in a potion to counter act the curse. Make you a mortal man once more. Or... if the descendant drinks it, they will share the curse with you."

Reggie's eyes flew to hers. "Julie, I could never ask that of you. I don't want to die any time soon... but I want to live my life. Settle down and grow old with someone. I could never burden someone else with this. Yes I want forever with you, but not like this."

Julie breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, that's what I was hoping you would say. So, hold out your hand, and I'll make the potion. Make you a mortal man once more. And we can do that whole growing old thing... together."

Reggie held out his hand and didn't even hiss when the knife Julie produces sliced through his skin, the crimson blood weeping to the surface. The potion tasted awful, and there was no real way to know it worked, but they lived in hope.

They decided to start their forever right then and there, getting married after a short engagement, having children not long after that.

And Reggie delighted when one morning, when he looked in the mirror, there was a single silver hair in his usual dark locks. Screaming at Julie to come quick. She raced into the bathroom, and when she saw it, they both burst into happy tears. "It worked," Reggie hiccupped.

"We get to grow old together," Julie replied, swiping at her eyes. Then flicked his floppy hair. "You know... I kind of dig the thought of you as a silver fox."

"Race you back to bed?" Reggie proposed.

"Try to keep up old man!" Julie said before taking off like a shot. Reggie giggled and ran after her, finally feeling his age, and loving every second of it.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rulie #julie and the phantoms

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dojae-huh · 2 years

Note

DY thinks of himself as a difficult person, he even thanked JH for being with him despite that fact. I think I can relate with him as I'm easy to talk with people but my circle is small and I like to come to ppl when they need helps. I have no problem listen to my friends all night but may be a lil picky to let them in. That's why I like JaeDo, their relationship lets each other have their own space and be independent.

The way I see it, all people have their negatives. It's about the compatibility. There are sensitive people who will dislike you for a simple correction of facts and there are people with tough skin who will just brush off any "minor insults" and cherish you for some core traits. Like Taeyong doesn't mind the jokes about his ribs poking out and his face being a 6 instead of 10, or his arms being twisted. Instead, he will tease Doyoung about his left chest and return the favour.

I see DoWoo as a good example of a case where "close friends" doesn't work, but "work friends" works well.

When Jungwoo came in, he was taken under Do's wing. Naturally, Woo clung to him a lot. However, he soon discovered that Doyoung isn't that fun and won't move from his bed to entertain Woo, that there is Jaehyun, so he found a better playmate in Mark and a better target for poking in Taeil. On the other hand, Woo follows Do's path as an idol (entertainment, MCing, I think acting in the future), their working schedules cross a lot, so the mentor/pupil combo continued. They can work together well as Woo allows Do to "bully" himself into listening to him. There is an ongoing fight for dominance, but Woo listens when it matters and doesn't mind at all the idol games of pretence. He himself wants to be liked by the fans even more, and is ready to use ships, fanservice and what not.

I get a feeling Doyoung talks himself down. He once expressed a desire to be calm during arguments, to be able to talk in even voice. He also went to every musical rehearsal, even when it wasn't his turn to sing (and he could have skipped). He wants too much from himself. To be as perfect as possible (in other's eyes). His words about relieving stress and being able to express negative emotions during acting were revealing. Or the way he took the history exam "to be a good idol, a good example". He wants to be "not difficult" living a super stressful life.

Yes, Jaehyun is what Doyoung needs. The only one "difficult place" I can come up with is Jaehyun's jealousy paired with Doyoung's attention on everyone else. But this problem is lessened with a few things (Doyoung being super soft with Jae and giving in to him easily, Do being a man of his word and a man of big gestures, Jaehyun's ability to endure hardships, adjust). He wants what Doyoung gives with ease (like praise, tolerance for teasing, PDA), likes to be helpful (follow Do's commands and ideas) and doesn't mind being left alone (he has solitary hobbies like playing the piano, song-composition, riding a bike to vinyl stores, going to art museums).

Jaehyun is a high maintenance person himself, heh. It's also difficult to get into his inner circle.

#ask me away #doyoung is a dark bunny #glee club conductor #just give it give it give it

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paulcastel · 1 year

Text

When I was six I used to float paper boats up the local stream.

From folded papers from used pads with writings and drawings and math equations.

In big black letters I wrote my name and of my friends' from where I used to live.

Hoping that that someone somewhere will find them and pick them up and know who I am.

With toy soldiers I manned them thinking wishfully they find their way back home.

I used to launch them from our garden with the sky up above looking gray.

The rain may unleash a malevolent gush and gale might render them capsized.

But I knew a playmate in the sky shall take heed, lead them back.

At night time, I used to bury my face in my pillow and dream that my paper boats float on high under the stars.

The warriors that I sent steadfast, commandeering the fleet whatever the tide.

In the garden I return, wishing, watching, waiting…

They're gone.

So was I.

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ut-girl666 · 2 years

Text

Presenting my beloved ship kids, starting with one of my Original ones I made way years ago back in Gacha Life, and revamped a few years ago, in Gacha Club;

Silver

A child from a one night stand between Megatron and Nightbird, and Meg’s only child, period.

A sweet femme, and in her early years, was something of an Angel child for her father. Never tried to bite him, never tried to drink the colorful stuff under the sink, never tried to crawl into the vents, none of that. Beautifully behaved, well mannered, and held herself with quite an air of dignity.

However, she did eventually one day become more of a problem for him, as she hit her adolescence, and it became obvious she was a chaotic alignment. It never necessarily led to fights between them, just left Megatron wishing for his precious angelic little girl back sometimes, as much as he loved her to death no matter how old she was.

A notable feat of her, is that she comes of a first-time single father with only experience in babysitting, and dealing with actual adults most of the time, who were definitely not his children (as much of a mother hen as he may be over his command).

Sharing genetic with Nightbird of all femmes, was really a serious hit-or-miss, so when put in a rock and hard place, due to an obsessive femme and his innocent newspark, Megs chose Silver, and had to be rid of Nightbird as the only way to truly keep her safe, at that time. He wasn’t fond of having to do it, but knew he had to for the better.

Being that Megs raised her on his own, her maternal figure comes in the form of her Aunt, - or her father’s sister-in-law - Elita-One. Optimus and Elita never mind their niece, and would happily take her as their own, should something ever happen to Megs, leaving her without him.

Silver gets along with her family well, and doesn’t really mind mixed company, when it comes down to faction. She’s fun, and always has some entertaining idea to find herself playmates when she needs.

Silver’s always had an obvious swing towards girls, rather than guys, being a lesbian, and her particular crush she’s never really gotten over, is Cyanide. Always obviously liked her, and was all over her. Her obvious allosexuality is a little exasperating to Megs, but he doesn’t really comment, aside from gentle encouragement to keep it a touch more to herself, than informing the whole world. This mainly comes from that he’s a Repulsed!AroAce, frankly doesn’t really want to know what the hell kinda shit she’s into, and is used to keeping his identity to himself, rather than out of malice or distaste.

Obviously, Megs may not be a ‘perfect’ father, and Silver’s not a ‘perfect’ child, but they are close as can be, and love each other dearly, even if their love languages don’t align, and they’re drastically different people at times.

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libidomechanica · 6 months

Text

“And whyne”

A kimo sequence

And her together. And whyne. But in her Eyes half an hour dear is a great enfranchisement.

And as for the paths which, lightens, and also; and made he, of bigamye? Sicker sike another.

III

As fills with convinced.—Thus through the door was fals; I dremed of some people mad, for each endear’d.

And so stands and when I err a bit. Three bands of freres er I come to bid thee in loue and pure.

The grey-hair’d creature wept. Of some chilly midnight should mingle with scorn his name; and frugal life?

On that same gan so to scorn, good sureties will be false theef? She vow’d and not set my high rate.

VII

But you out. What it appears milking a stay, then that command, if that she did but must bear it.

VIII

Prefer a spouse away. The ruling Stars by Night; or suck them for a fair wrought! This bosom dies.

Has nought the time prefer thee thus to the mere splendid than solemnity. And stupid stamp: yes!

And my own child. A weary woe. Thus ending, on the cooler air they change, and eternal joy.

And wound wherewith my filial joy? Love are few, and place, all fears to perfection for sings.

XII

To blend and panting of her care. Perhaps the wo, Ful giltelees, by Loues Standard beare: what, he!

XIII

Queen Virtue—as they obey the sea of ocean. How many kisses, whose might decreed in peace.

XIV

But you on you and man, that Philo- genitiveness. With me tie are humble looks increased.

Sweet western glooms, the bed a tent, and deeply ground; and that moment bent, i’ll tell you why you out.

XVI

Ay me, such wild barbarous middle. Loving, not a pincushion, seem’d full of hous al of gold.

XVII

No more—Oh! So much—to give back the tables, what a gift prevailed, as principle will or save.

XVIII

The breezy shade and strife, nor long endure they? To see her in a Whispers said, I see around?

XIX

Poor Frederick may do. The little shall renew, clipt from over stumps and heateth kindles red.

All youth—but with a dissipated life. The truth, and liking, yet, lilies, as though Heaven knows?

XXI

Was—at least it rhymes to comply. As some years of a flowers decay: and young, whose tame leopards.

XXII

Nor mark’d by the slender was fortune sha’na steer thee; but yet I pray you tell. To Arms, to Arms!

XXIII

Pan, I care nor thunder’s face, fell down amber plains. That euer she drank they continued battling hands.

XXIV

The teeth of winter hoar. You lose my playmates; shapes committing drunk himself the sky and watches.

XXV

What shalbe the Guadalquivir. When Musick steals men’s days we wounds euen now for love; or if her hair.

XXVI

Thus seyde that sit in mageste: of alle men his way, a portion joined. Then for a lover’s Tongue.

XXVII

Flaming, fill high triumphed, or at the Doctor! She would Prudence’ direst bodements halcyon.

XXVIII

Dolphins were soft, unseen as the solve is the sea-nymph’s home. These my night on thy heart most beware!

XXIX

Her heard the potently? And if I have sought, that they surveys his rightful bride, and t’ other.

XXX

Rape: unpraised by dignity. For their golden head, crowned without a shout most, and though the fair.

XXXI

And forest, and rams up the lady’s case. To golden brooch: beneath the swollen at the palms. Earth!

XXXII

My own peculiarly be seen; the calm oblivion passeth. Whom thou love these poor weakness!

XXXIII

Voice, and then how vast a word the other pull of fearful, and crime, and would flow some fragments lie!

XXXIV

’ Set out. To give him quickly to the way with calm words he told her arms, with a moonlight bower.

XXXV

As much amiss,—love is dumb. Does not be, nor had ponderous silence scandal’s my aversion.

XXXVI

Thirty-two and twenty-first of sin; but never such serenity her bed. The stormy sea!

XXXVII

Bet is, quod the Virgin’s height delights are banquet of my tongue; use power to love you go. Stems.

XXXVIII

Light; in various tasks of summer weather win. The Hebrew noun which he smoothly to my tale.

XXXIX

If I, indeed who quake to stand to; they liv’d or lasted plains speckled and curse. Affirms your bed.

And fixed on her. And one in silence the hall, the vent’rous youth’s hot wishes crown, that fears below.

XLI

Close by, began to muse for support in al. God grant but thou guess so, but if it came too late!

XLII

And when she is, bitter, but did entreat one spare. One could with heavy poem again the pool.

XLIII

Thus ended she. As if still her grinders bland; her husband, not you again. And exorcise theef?

XLIV

He yaf my lust, that thus low! Languish and me: for woman seated on through opposite of what sweet.

XLV

Not her proper spheres. The steep rough some frail success, no doubt, if I don’t even bury a man.

XLVI

And so late, or elles oftentimes that was ironed with grace obtaining fairly gained. Fair Nymph!

XLVII

On the wolf and the first the winds blowing! To signified: the Daughters of your flowery nest.

XLVIII

Tis beauty’s successe confirm my speculative hit, but Heaven! Appeared, the wildered you!

XLIX

Till it whisper I looked as if they toil’d, alfonso’s swords his bigamye? The grief itself is dawn.

That lord the good hearts bleeding hair. Her Eyes she prayed she might turn their nuptial exercised in black.

And shakes those eyes, except in pondered hart. Would melt at Abydos, the bust of metaphysics!

LII

How shall wed. And found the better that beautiful, her own and far beyond expressive Embleme.

LIII

His horse to flow. Again she sees, and none at all. Bug with no great experience t is true.

LIV

Banquets, Doric mother is brought: of all duns! Think no man wole, and many a moonlight star!

For thee that next I make, I weep afresh love’s use the last. Like is like to Cymon was her name.

LVI

They lived with the dearest dinner. They cry The Babe! Husband, and still surveys his relinquish’d foes.

LVII

A God finger with the rites in which is the old price, because, yet might be kings were a decree!

LVIII

He scarcely woman else, and stupid. These flowers, and wake up and get new, a strange matter hours.

LIX

A league being fires love light! Fault at last, mind’s eye doth lie. And duty duty, cleared, than—Oh shame!

Woman with a peculiar superstition. For the sea of ocean? As breeze this vaine scuse giue?

LXI

He wished, murder, to be counted by human frailty, follow’d, as no doubt of Rome. Catch her hair.

LXII

The same who I am, entirely— for he stood the Fray. He sholdė wedded to this a time.

LXIII

The kindred of hers follow’d upon him now be still we will I be at home. Besides alas!

LXIV

Rascal to person appear, and that’s like a roundle neuer sene? Dead, long divine, and pity!

LXV

The man was denied! Those poets gave the trophies of affliction, and young men should sink thus load.

LXVI

The wild echoes, and the smoot me on a beauteous roof to ruinate which derive. To name they twitch.

LXVII

These he wants the Silver Thames. Tis the old oak tree. Mine in parfitly, and hail with Samian wine!

LXVIII

)— I say, a thousand times are in the Fight. Of grace, shriek of sage Miss Reading, prickling these treasure.

LXIX

In all Spain. Sixteen the women what is the sun was strook. A vigil or dream’d that he craved it.

LXX

Since we have cost his promise after all at once, all her stood. Meantime, or add a Furbelo.

LXXI

And Theotormon on my flessh so deadly blind: these field-flower! Smile as infant’s grave understand.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #178 texts #kimo sequence

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