#I primarily use back quivers
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In archery, as in life, it's rarely as clear cut as 'this is the best', but we all have our preferences!
(Btw, if you want more details on the specific quivers that I use, I'll be chatting about them on Patreon this week)
#remember#I primarily use back quivers#so that's gonna colour my perspective#but the only bad quiver is a poorly designed one#archery#archer#quiver#myth busting#nerd
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THE CARD
〔 this is dedicated to all the girlies who never stopped trying. because sometimes, putting up boundaries isn’t as easy as it seems and that’s okay. if you think i’m talking to you, i am. 〕
˗ˏˋ to be flat about it, simon’s daughter stopped making him birthday cards. this one unintentionally got a bit deep but i do that with everything so don’t act surprised.
⇀ 1.1k | no warnings
masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info | taglist
Your husband often forgot about his birthday. Lost to bad memories, and lack of care but primarily his job. Even still, it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to remember — feeling comfort in letting it slip under the rug, rubbing the back of his neck in absence when you had asked him the date. He insisted it was something to be ignored, and for your three years without kids it was, aside from the one present he reluctantly let you buy.
Of course, that was until your first born came along.
And there were a lot of things Simon didn’t know about having children. The obvious ones like the guilty regret late at night, being out of his depth and even how to deal with them. But, also their childlike wonder and passion for random things that seemed so foreign to him. Afterall, a birthday is a birthday, it never seemed to matter whose it was — your kid would turn to incredulous sobs if it wasn’t celebrated. Especially when she had found out about her fathers, bottom lip quivering when he had gently told her how he prefers to not do anything.
It started when she was a toddler, forgetting about his birthday until she had heard you talking about it. Small ears perked up at the mention of the word, hanging by the door to watch as you traced Simon’s arm and the tattoos, his head shaking and a few words mumbled between you. Every year you asked if he wanted to do anything, knowing his answer but hoping for another.
So, naturally, she took to her bedroom. Trashing her small desk with dozens of crayons to create a card for Simon, one that was unevenly folded yet made with her whole heart.
She did that every following year without fail. Except, her cards folded more evenly as time passed and the crayons were exchanged for pens, then pencils. The drawings got better and better, words spelt right and the inner messages were longer all before they had stopped entirely.
In seemingly simple change for a shop bought card. See, the words were joined together nicely though the message was shorter and the lack of ten kisses in exchange for one suddenly made the card seem empty. “Why’d you stop?” You would ask one night as the pair of you lay together in the dark, your husband's place taken by your daughter near every night when he was away. “Making the cards.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t think he cared.”
When in reality, those cards were the only thing Simon looked forward to year round. And it wasn’t like he had outwardly expressed how much they meant to him, rather giving a weak smile and a soft kiss to her temple each time. But he kept them, every single one, every drawing was stored for safekeeping in a small box filled to the brim. Sketches that ranged from family drawings, to landscapes, animals and solo drawings of him if not herself.
Time ran from small limbs clambering over your own, six in the morning to reach Simon who had stirred when she fell onto his chest, a hand instinctively placed on the back of her head in his half-conscious state. “It’s your birthday!” She used to drag out with a laugh, sitting up on his stomach and holding the card mere centimeters from his face.
To the last birthday, handing him the shop bought card in all teenage glory, too embarrassed to write ‘I love you’ so it came as a ‘Love you’ and the once overly done x’s and o’s were now a set of one. He didn’t know the first thing about teenagers either. How past a certain age everything felt detrimental and targeted, embarrassment seeped through everything and it wasn’t cool to like your dad anymore.
Especially not as a teenage girl.
And it wasn’t until he was away for his birthday for the first time in years that she had missed it. Missed the softening of his eyes and the way his arm would wrap around her shoulder and pull her to his side, hand rubbing her arm in acknowledgement of her efforts.
She took his safety for granted most of the time. Waving to him at the door with no doubt that he would be back months later, a naturally blunt text that he was safe would be sent to you and all would be well. Though, sometimes he was required to hand his phone in before the tougher trips. Designed to provide the safest atmosphere, though back home many miles away it never did feel safer. And that was when she missed him the most.
You always wanted what you couldn’t have.
Simon was no better. He had taken the younger years for granted. The tears before bed, stalking into his bedroom after a bad dream, tired eyes in the mornings and the excitement to see him once back home. He wasn’t to know when the last time he would pick up his daughter was, or the last time she would ask for help when reaching for a cereal box. Hell, even the final she had fallen asleep on his chest or asked him to stay until she had dozed off in her own ‘big’ bed. Small hands wrapping around his fingers, giggles and toothy grins had all evaporated into nothing.
It was tough being a dad.
But it was hell being a teenage girl.
Sometimes it felt ike you were made purely to drink iced coffee with alternative milk, wear baggy clothes and feel bad for old people every now and then. The act of growing up isn’t something you want, though something you concede to after realising you had wished your youth away.
And in that,
There was something about girls and their fathers.
The constant need for subconscious approval and love, feeling bad for the man who raised you whenever he was left to eat dinner alone or scorned by your mother in a heated argument you couldn’t help to overhear. Simon’s daughter had always been in that predicament.
She missed her dad when he left, yet hated when she shared the kitchen with him. It felt like an itch that you weren’t able to scratch, though his rare hugs completely killed all flame she had for him and sometimes, instead, they allowed for tears to flow. Because after all, a girl is really just her dad.
Maybe that card should've been made after all.
˗ˏˋ university is wiping me out already. it’s the first week back do you want to fucking calm down. been set two presentations (both recorded wtf) and three literature papers.
simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee
as always reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated blah blah blah
#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#cod mw2#cod mw fanfiction#ghost mw2#simon riley#cod mw2 x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley headcanons#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley headcanons#dad!simon#ghost call of duty#call of duty mwii#call of duty imagines#call of duty
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tender
husband!leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: succumbing to injuries inflicted by a B.O.W you fight the mental and physical battle to recovery. meanwhile, your husband does everything in his power to support you.
any leon timeline works, except re2. i did have older leon in mind though <3
a/n: inspired by lil a snippet from an anon request, find it here. anyhow, i love how this turned out, i was 🥺 writing it. pls lemme know what you think <33
content//warnings: depictions of blood & injury, hospital setting, non-graphic description of an IV, pain medication, y/n is used ONCE, pet names (dear, sweetheart, honey), hurt/comfort.
harsh white light wakes you revealing an image of horror. your trembling hands painted with your own dried blood, hooked up to an IV and a pulse oximeter. dazed, you know you’re in pain, but it’s not registering. it’s like you’re floating, possibly in a dream. a bad dream. but the reality of your condition is enough to confirm this is in fact not.
there’s a small group of medical staff standing at the end of your bed, talking quietly amongst each other. “the bloodwork came back, she’s not infected. all though the acid is wreaking havoc on her immune system, sending it into overdrive. the patient needs to be monitored for at least another two days.”
one of the nurses walks over to check on you, first, he looks at the monitors at your bedside, then goes to place a hand on your forehead. he notices you’re waking up, your heavy-lidded eyes focused on your hands.
he calls the doctor over, who pulls a chair up next to you. “hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is soft and calm.
“w-why am i here?” you mutter shakily, unable to make out much more.
“you sustained serious injuries on an extraction mission against a bio-organic weapon. you came in contact with its lethal acid, which is primarily why you’re here. your ankle is broken and you have puncture wounds in your arms.”
you’re still fixed on your bloodied hands, images of what you endured flood back. it was so intense- the last thing you remembered is a sharp talon-like claw piercing your upper arm. it all went fuzzy after that.
“you had surgery early this morning, and we have you on a morphine drip to help with the pain. please let us know if you begin to feel ill.”
you respond with an unsteady nod.
“you’re gonna be alright.” she smiles sympathetically.
another nurse comes into the room walking directly to the doctor. their speaking is hushed. “doctor, there’s a man here to see the patient. he says he’s her husband.”
“we can’t risk exposure from an outsider, we can’t have visitors yet.”
“he seems antsy.”
“well, assure him that she’s okay”-
the room is dead silent, so you can rather clearly make out what they’re saying.
“bring him in.” your voice quivering.
their heads turn, giving you a look of disappointment. similar to the one your mother gave you as a child. a sullen expression of remorse when she couldn’t afford to buy you new toys.
they do not want to hold your loved ones away from you. but it’s what has to be done. after all, it could mean life or death.
you sigh. you’re in no place to put up a fight.
“i’ll talk to him.” the nurse whispers. leaving the room.
“i’m sorry mrs. kennedy, you’re just not in a well enough state for visitors yet.”
you respond with yet another dreary sigh. fidgeting with the ring finger of your left hand.
your wedding ring is missing. you know you were wearing it prior. you’re always wearing it. sometimes you would loop it around a necklace chain, but you didn’t before this mission. surely it was on your finger.
“-doctor” you whisper.
“yes mrs. kennedy.”
“do you have my wedding ring?”
your tattered and blood-stained belongings were placed in a biohazard bag. a nurse picks up the bag feeling through the plastic for a ring.
“it’s not in here.” the nurse admits, a touch of anxiety in her voice.
“that’s okay.” you exhale.
it’s not okay. your beautiful diamond ring was more than just a pretty thing. it was one of the only sentimental pieces you coveted so highly. hand-picked by leon, it was a symbol of his undying affection. despite all the odds pinned against your love.
wanting to cry, but your bloodshot eyes are dry. the medication numbs you enough to let the pain run by, but you still feel broken, physically and mentally.
the hours pass as you bob in and out of sleep. your wavering limb’s finally settling. nurses and doctors are always present, constantly checking your vitals.
the next day two nurses come to bathe you at your bedside. gently wiping the sticky dried blood from your skin. the other trying to get it out of your hair.
“thank you, i mean it, thank you,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open.
it was a relief. the sweet, metallic smell was driving you crazy. it felt itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.
…
leon hasn’t left the hospital. confined to a chair in the waiting room for the last day and a half. constantly flagging down staff for updates on your condition.
“she’s doing really well, the blood transfusion took perfectly.” the nurse smiles reassuringly.
“does that mean i can see her?”
“not yet, but soon.”
leon sighs. “well anyways, thanks for the good news.”
he sullenly returns to his chair. the stress and lack of sleep painting his under eyes dark. in his grasp is a picture you two took together, one he always carries in his wallet. it was taken a few years ago and you’re kissing his cheek. it’s the only solace he can find in the depressing waiting room.
leon had fallen asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. slumped over in his chair, chin resting in his palm. he jerked awake when his chin slipped. it was dark outside and the lobby eerily quiet.
3:47am
leon walks to the front desk heavy-footed and groggy. “my wife, y/n kennedy, is she okay?” his voice is grave.
“yes sir, she’s sleeping- and everything is looking good. but, you should get some sleep too sir, it’s gonna be a while until she wakes up.”
“-thanks.”
the pain of not being able to see you cuts like a knife. leon can't stand the image of you suffering and alone. but he’s borderline delirious from the sleep deprivation. he returns to his chair, lays his legs out across another, and falls asleep.
leon is jolted awake by a nurse tapping his shoulder. it’s morning- warm sun seeping through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the lobby.
“do you need me to move?” he asks, still half asleep. voice deep and raspy.
“oh no mr. kennedy, your wife is on the right track to her recovery. you can go see her now.”
…
you feel much more alert, the daze the blanketing your apprehensive thoughts finally lifting. they switched you onto a far less invasive medication, which was probably helping.
it’s been a week since you’ve seen leon, and about two of those he’s been here, but just barely out of reach.
whenever the nurses praised you for the progress you made- you jump straight to asking if you're well enough for visitors. In your defense, it’s been unbelievably hard going through this journey alone.
the door creeks open, a very common occurrence of your stay. but instead peaking through the door is your blonde-haired husband.
you immediately start to cry- tears welling up and streaming down your cheeks. leon tears up too, casting a glossy filter over his blue eyes. he delicately wraps his arms around you, careful not to inflict any more pain. and you bury your face into his chest, immediately staining his shirt with your cry.
“i missed you, leon, i can't believe you’re here, i’ve missed you so much.” you sob.
“it’s really you, you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you, dear.”
you take your time, relishing in the comfort of your husband's arms. he gently rubs your back, consoling you with his touch.
“how're you feeling?”
“ugh okay, i guess. my whole body hurts and i can barely move. but the doctors say i’m improving- so yippee” your deadpan tone emphasizes how exhausted you are.
“that’s what i heard. and look, i know it’s been hard, but i’m so proud of how strong you’ve been, sweetheart.”
“i love you.”
“i love you, too” leon squeezes his embrace around you a little tighter, gently kissing the top of your head.
you smile, the first one in a while. but it quickly fades. “leon, can i tell you something.”
“of course you can.”
you fidget with your hands pressing your face deeper in his chest. “i lost my wedding ring- i think it was during the mission. i’m so sorry.”
“is that really what’s on your mind right now?” leon chuckles.
you look up at him with, tears streaming down your face. “you do understand how much that ring meant to me.”
“of course, i know, dear. but how can i care about the stupid ring if the wife i thought died is actually alive and in my arms?”
leon wipes the tears from your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw. “i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“okay.” you say sniffling your runny nose.
with a big yawn, leon stands up raising both arms up into a stretch, his shirt lifts up slightly showing off his abdomen. “i’m going to find your doctor, see when you’re coming home.”
you smile. it’s nice not being alone. you feel bad knowing leon anxiously waited at the hospital for days. but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in knowing how much he cares. leon had always cared about you- before you were even dating. that’s one of the many reasons why you married him. aside from the ongoing list of shared interests- he’s so protective, it’s one of his beautiful ways of loving you.
leon comes back to the room, “looks like they need to run more blood tests, make sure that acid is out of your bloodstream before you come home.”
you’re totally spaced out, it feels like you haven’t even had a chance to take in what’s happened to you. it’s all become a blur, taking in the moments a second at a time. you were so worried about the details it almost failed to compute that you were nearly infected by the very thing you swore your life to rid of.
like a time release valve finally triggering; anxiety washes you cold- it could have been the end. leon would have been widowed, and all your friends would have been at your funeral. your mind is playing devil's advocate. what if i don’t get better? are the doctors just hoping i stay positive?
“are you okay?” leon’s bloodshot eyes are nearly aching with concern.
“i’m scared.” your chest is sinking deeper with each anxious breath.
“why? why would you be scared?”
it may not make sense to you now- but having leon there was a sort of reality check. alone, you just survived. with him, everything has weight.
“i dunno… i just want things to be okay. i want you to be okay, i want to get better.”
leon rushes to your bedside, holding your hands in his. “but it will get better- you’re doing better, so much better! i’ll be there every step of the way. i promise you.”
you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. trying to hang on to his words.
you sob, absolutely overcome by emotion. “i love you, leon. thank you for being here, thank you for everything you’ve done.”
a nurse knocks at the door but you don’t let go of leon’s hand.
“mrs. kennedy- so sorry to intrude. but the doctor wants to do a scan of your ankle. is that okay?”
you wipe the tears from your face, trying to compose yourself.
“yes, of course, that’s alright, thank you.”
leon whispers “you got this, dear,” before standing up and sitting in a chair by the window.
…
leon has done everything possible to make the next few days easier for you. like ordering takeout and watching your favorite movies with you. serving as a distraction while you recover.
it certainly worked. he’s good at keeping you calm, and the energy light-hearted. you didn’t even think it was possible, given the grim reality of your circumstances. but somehow he can have your eyes filled with tears, giggling with laughter.
four days you’ve been in the hospital, and today is your last one. you’re able to stand up and the effects from the B.O.W are finally gone. granted you still have a long journey to recovery, at least you can go home.
…
after the agonizing hours of travel, you make it home. leon helps you into the house, guiding you to your bed. “i want to take a bath, i feel disgusting.”
“i’ll draw one for you, you want it now?”
“hmhm” you nod.
“sure thing, sweetheart.” leon tenderly kisses your forehead.
he runs a hot bath, adding a little lavender soap, just the way you like it. he walks you to the tub and helps you undress. he holds your hand as you shakily step in, slowly adjusting to the hot water.
“god my first real bath in a week, can you believe it.” you sigh, sinking your body in the bubbly water.
leon chuckles, “i know, you poor thing, those nurses really tried their best to help. but it’s never the same, is it?”
“…especially considering i was covered in congealed zombie guts”
leon laughs, “but look at you now, covered in…” he pauses to read the name on the soap bottle “…lavender dreams”
you both giggle, in love and delighted by each other's company.
“okay, i’ll leave you to it, holler if you need anything.”
…
“leon! will you fetch my bathrobe!” you yell from the bathroom. you hear his feet patter across the hardwood, “coming."
you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your wet hair, inspecting the scars, bruises, and stitches that litter your body. it feels like you came home to a different person, a body you’re now unfamiliar with.
leon peaks through the door. head cocked to the side. “everything alright, baby?”
“i don’t know- it’s hard to wrap my head around it. i-i feel off.”
“c’mere i got something to show ya.” leon swoops you off your feet carrying you in his arms.
“what are you doing?” you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.
“you’ll see.”
he delicately sets you down on the couch in the living room and sits next to you. he fumbles around in his pocket pulling out a little black velvet box.
“leon-honey, oh my god, what is that.” your eyes are round and doe-like, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.
he opens the box, presenting it to you as if his hands were a clamshell, revealing a glimmering ring set in pearlescent white satin.
“for you- i know it was hard losing the ring, but that one was beaten up anyways. you deserve something a little nicer.”
tears swell, gathering in the inner corners of your eyes. chocked up and rendered speechless, you mouth the words, i love you.
he reached for your trembling left hand, sliding the diamond wedding ring onto your finger.
“i love you, most.” he beams, the words fluttering with tenderness.
“i-i love the ring, it’s beautiful-truly. but how’d you do it?”
“do what?”
“get a new ring, you were with me the entire time…?”
“i have my ways,” he smirks, planning on keeping that little secret to himself.
leon holds your hand, admiring the way your hand looks adorned by his diamond ring.
“remember when we got engaged?” he muses.
“of course i do! you took me to milan, i should have known you were going to propose.”
“you have the same look in your eyes as you did then.” leon swipes his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself, gazing into your eyes.
“and you’re as smooth as ever” you look at him through your lashes, pupils wide. “but really leon, thank you, means more than the world”
“you are my world.” his soft lips meet yours, kissing you gently.
somewhere in the crystal pools of leon’s eyes, you find the hope you were looking for. his unbreakable faith in you, alongside his never-ending acts of love, is reassuring.
hell, it’s not going to be easy, but at least you're not alone.
⭐️tags
@yourgentlegirlfriend
#academy fics✨#thank you for reading <3#leon kennedy#resident evil#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon x reader#leon kennedy fluff#leon kennedy x you#leon scott kennedy#leon fluff#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort#husband!leon kennedy#wife!reader#leon kennedy x fem reader#resident evil fanfiction
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Things Between Us | Cillian Murphy x OC
Chapter 13 : Mine Alone!
Warnings: This fic contains explicit content related to sexuality and various age relationships. The content is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. *The entire story is a work of fiction. All characters, time periods, and places in the story are purely imaginary.
"Damn!" Sansa jolted awake in the bathtub.
“Oh my! How long did I accidentally fall asleep here?" she mumbled, disoriented.
Sansa felt exceptionally drained today. It had been several nights since she had a proper rest, primarily due to the exhibition stress. Coming back from the gallery today, she was so tired that she dozed off unintentionally. Now, stepping out of the bathroom, she went straight to her phone. The screen showed five missed calls and two texts.
"What are you doing? - Cillian"
"Can you please pick up? - Cillian"
Then, another message popped up, "I’m waiting outside your apartment - Cillian."
Sansa immediately called Cillian back, and indeed, he was waiting for her downstairs. "Damn it! I shouldn’t have fallen asleep," she scolded herself, feeling guilty for not answering his calls and making him wait. Quickly throwing on some clothes, she rushed down to meet him.
Descending to the lobby, she saw Cillian waiting for her already. He appeared significantly drunk, his face flushed, eyes half-closed, and the distinct smell of beer emanating from him. Cillian's expression was troubled, to say the least.
On the elevator ride up, he said nothing to her. Sansa noticed Cillian seemed unusually anxious, as if he was in a hurry to get to the apartment. Ding! The elevator doors opened, and Cillian rushed into her apartment, heading straight to check every nook and cranny—the bathroom, the dressing room, seeming to search for something or someone.
"What are you doing?" Sansa asked, puzzled and alarmed by his behavior.
"That bastard! Where is he? Where?" He shouted, anger in his voice.
Sansa was taken aback by his tone and demeanor, "What are you talking about? I don't understand," she furrowed her brows in confusion.
"Him! The French guy you met today. You were with him, weren't you? That's why you didn't answer my calls!" He ranted, walking around frantically as if he'd lost his senses. "Where is he? Where have you hidden him!" He repeated, approaching Sansa. He grabbed her arm, shaking her. Sansa was shocked by his actions and the force of his grip caused her pain.
“Cill, stop! You're hurting me!" Tears welled up in her eyes. In that moment, as if snapping back to reality, Cillian's expression softened, and he quickly released her arm.
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," Cillian repeated, his voice quivering as if he were on the verge of tears. He embraced her, resting his face on her shoulder, deeply regretting his actions just moments before. Sansa was initially shocked by the turn of events and struggled to grasp what was happening. 'What's going on?' she wondered, feeling bewildered.
Once she collected herself, she guided Cillian to sit with her at the counter bar to talk.
"Calm down, Cill, you're drunk," she told him, gently touching his cheek to soothe him.
"I didn't answer your calls because I accidentally fell asleep in the bathtub. There's nothing to worry about. Why would you think I was with someone else?" Sansa explained the truth, hoping to calm him down.
"I'm sorry, are you hurt?" Cillian asked, taking her hand, carefully inspecting her arm for any harm his earlier actions might have caused.
"I thought...you were with someone else," Cillian admitted with a heavy heart. "They kept talking, and I got scared."
Sansa frowned, confused. "Who was talking?" She asked, trying to understand.
Cillian didn't respond to the question. He slid his arm around, pulling Sansa to sit down on the chair. Both of his hands touched Sansa's face gently. He used his fingertips to touch from the forehead, down to the eyebrows, passing the nose, and trailing down to her soft, delicate lips.
"This is mine," his husky voice spoke lowly, echoing into her ears seductively. Cillian leaned in to kiss the person in front of him. . Sansa thought this kiss wasn't like all the others before. It was filled with a strong pressing and sucking. It felt as though he was sucking as if afraid her lips would disappear somewhere. Cillian put his tongue in and out, swirling around her mouth. He licked down her neck, the man deeply inhales the scent of her neck to ease his longing. Cillian knelt down, his face between her chest curves. He began to touch and massage both of Sansa's breasts. He squeezed and fondled them with a horny face, his ocean blue eyes peering deeply into hers.
"This is mine," Cillian shifted his body, pressing his lips softly, tracing his tongue around Sansa's nipple like a toddler.
He was possessive of her! Damn it! Sansa gasped. She had completely forgotten all the unpleasant feelings she had experienced previously. They were now replaced by the overwhelming desire that Cillian instigated, as he licked two beads on her chest.
Cillian began to shift his tongue's movements from her chest down to her flat, smooth stomach. He licked around her waist before descending further down towards the softly rising mound. He separated and spread her trembling legs apart. Cillian lifted two fingers and offered them for Sansa to lick. She pressed his two fingers into her mouth eagerly and hungrily. She sucked, licked, and worshipped the two fingers passionately, immersing herself in the belief that it was his dick!
"Cill!" a loud moan come up as the wet fingers from her mouth were slid into her pussy. He began to move his two wet fingers, pressing into the soft, tiny hole. Slipping in and out until her juices nearly gushed out. It was so intense that her mind blanked out."
"This is mine, mine alone." He raised his head and said. Before flicking his tongue, and licking the drop of sweetness around her love hole. He sucked and fucked her hard with his fingers and tongue. She don't know why...the more Cillian became possessive of her, Sansa only felt more and more excited! Sansa now clearly understands what it feels like to have sex after a fight. It was a mix of hunger, yearning, and every forceful impact, filled with a desire to tear someone apart, not in pain but with hot passion and love. Cillian's intoxication escalated, and his sexual dominance grew fiercer. Sansa felt like he was arousing him the entire time he penetrated her.
Cillian gazed intently at the beautiful face before him. The woman lifted her face, her eyes meeting his. Her eyebrows arched slightly, puzzled by the intensity of his stare, unable to decipher his thoughts.
"You belong to me. You're my possession, and no one else can touch what's mine," he said as he putted his dick into her pussy. If it's during normal times Sansa probably doesn't like what Cillian treats like she's an object. But when he said it during sex like this, dammit! It was a whole other level. It's like she’s slipping into another dimension! Now her brain is racing far away while her pussy shakes wildly from within and the squeezing and twitching that make Cillian cum! Her pussy clenching Cillian dick so tight that he could feel his veins beating with his heart. Thump..thump.
“Fuck! I can't hold it anymore!”
After a moment of exhaustion, the two collapsed onto the bed, embracing tightly. Cillian caressed and stroked, his arms enveloping the person on his chest. He breathed in Sansa's scent, not wanting to let her even a centimeter away from him.
"This Sunday, you're coming to New York with me," Cillian whispered to Sansa while gently stroking her cheek.
"Are you talking about this upcoming Sunday?" she asked.
"Yes, I have a movie promotion there. I miss you and don’t want to be apart from you... Please come with me, Sansa," Cillian said, gazing down at the woman nestling against him, wanting her to accompany him earnestly.
"Hmm!" Sansa took a moment to think... It was quite sudden for her.
"I’d love to come with you, but I need to wrap up the exhibition. It’s the last day of my show," she said sadly.
"Let’s meet back here then. I’ll be with you for a long time," Sansa gently nudged his chin to console him.
"I’m afraid someone will steal you away from me!"
#cillian murphy x oc#cillian murphy#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian murphy imagine#cillian murphy fic
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if i had a heart | finan
author's note: this came to me in the span of a lunch hour. nothing supernatural this time, just regular finan during his kingdom era. lots of fighting and lots of angst. thank you to sweet angsti & @gemini-mama for being my betas! to whoever will read this, hoping you will enjoy! lots of love & stay safe 💕
Another day, another war.
Lost in the thickness of battle, in the midst of blood, dirt and agony, he fought primarily for survival and second for victory.
There was no space for the mind, the body having taken control of all his senses; he became a puppet, guided by the strings of his master as his movements were met with agility, ruthlessness and hunger.
The clashes of swords sang chaotically, the harmonies calling for Death with its mighty chorus articulating the choreography to its final spiral, tilt and jump.
He fought with all his might, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, tiredness etching itself onto every inch of him.
He had to go on - there was no choice in the matter.
He met every opponent with brutal force, his arms swaying as he gripped his sword and dagger tighter within his palms, the handles encrusting themselves onto his skin; he kept moving on, following the steps of Death’s dance, entranced by the motion, until he took a tumble of his own.
It was sudden, the harsh impact he met against the ground; he landed on his back, the air escaping his lungs at the sudden abrasion.
It took him a moment to regain himself, shaking off the heaviness of the blow while he tried to move.
He was stuck against the grass, unable to get to his feet.
Only then did he notice he was being stared at; cold eyes locked onto his, shocked as they took him in.
He mirrored the other’s expression, incapable of breathing as realization dawned onto him, the weight hitting him like bricks onto his head.
The warrior furrowed its brow, left in disbelief at what they were seeing.
To each other, the pull of their throats reached for one another, screaming amid the noise surrounding them within the short seconds they made contact.
“Finan?!”
“Áine?!”
Both names spoken in unison, both drudging up a past from dust, the woman’s features swayed swiftly to an amused look.
She smirked to his bewildered gaze, her lips letting out a soft scoff with a glint of the devil twinkling in her eyes.
“It’s Katla, actually.”
It was bloody, and dirty; the screams of men - of her friends - covered her ears in such torment, she could only drown the noise out with the vibration of her weapons, her sword in one hand, her shield in the other.
She was battered and bruised, just like the rest of them, her skin painted in mire and crimson, the war adding color to her disheveled braids.
She kept moving, refusing to slow down at any cost.
It was glory or it was Valhalla - the motto carved into her bones as she moved to the drums of footsteps, the quiver of swords.
Men were falling around her, a praying mantis devouring her opponents with starvation trembling at her core.
All went well, she stood taller by the growing ration until she met a worthy adversary - a man she had not thought about in a long time.
It was only when she pushed him to his back, only when was she using her weight to ground him, did she finally notice who she was fighting.
Her heart stopped.
For a split of a second, she was back in Ireland - in the throes of unmitigated foolery, in the middle of lies and deception, in the center of lust and carnal depravity - until she was pulled back to war with a blow to her body.
She met the ground, the mud staining her armor as he firmly held her, forcing her still though she did not listen.
She never did.
She started fighting him off, using her strength to push him off her.
He had questions, so many of them, they grew and grew until they took over him, phasing him out of the sudden pain she inflicted on him.
Unable to move her upper body, she used her legs; she used her knee and kicked him right between his legs inciting a wounded groan from his throat.
She pushed him away and took a breath as she jumped to her feet, the Irishman taking his own moment before following her as well.
Everything else surrounding them was gone; the cries of battles shut off as they stared at one another.
He was looking at a ghost he thought, his eyes never wavering away from the woman that stood in front of him.
He remembered her as an Irish maid working in his castle, a woman he had encountered many years ago when he was but a prince.
The woman he had fallen in love with - Áine.
But they were ripped apart by duplicity and illusion, and they never saw each other again.
Not until today.
He couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore, the blood running cold through his veins.
They were in a standstill, unable to speak as heavy breaths caught up to their lungs.
She quickly picked up her sword, her shield left at her feet.
She was about to take the first step and run away, to leave him without uttering another sound, when she saw Finan quickly glance behind her. It was almost unnoticeable.
Almost.
Katla turned around just in time to stop another man from hitting her.
She met him with her blade striking the other, the contact trembling through her wrists and arms as they hung closely against her cheek. She noticed the pendant hanging around his neck, Thor’s hammer standing out proudly. She huffed mockery under her breath and pushed through, forcing him away from her with no harm to her skin.
She engaged in a fight with the newcomer, the woman using her strength to defeat him; she was close to winning, the moment long duel was seeing its end just as she hit the other man, making him fall to his knees.
She was to strike, her weapon famished for blood when Finan ran to her, stopping her from killing his brother in arm. The Irishman pulled her away, the sudden movement causing her to stumble backwards until she was caged within the man’s embrace, her arms stuck by the sides of her body, her sword fallen on the ground.
She cursed at him while Sihtric stood at his feet, wiping the blood away from the corner of his mouth.
“Let me go!” She was trying to fight her way out of Finan’s arms, her body moving against the tightness of his grasp as she yelled for his demise.
She then saw Sihtric coming at her; once he was close enough, she used her legs and lifted them up high enough to kick the Dane in the face before she used the back of her head and knocked Finan, the impact violently echoing against her skull and his nose.
She fell to the floor as she was released from his hold. She went for her sword and her shield and ran away without looking back, getting herself back into the battle she had fallen out from for the short minutes.
Recuperating themselves from the aggressive blow they just met, Sihtric yelled at Finan while catching his breath.
“Who is that?!”
Finan couldn’t find an answer - he wasn’t able to conjure up the words as they died in the back of his throat, his gaze stuck to the woman disappearing within the mass of bloodied bodies.
His shoulders depleted, still processing what he had just witnessed, what he had just gone through.
He was lost in his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the mother land for just a moment; it was the hectic sound from the Dane that brought him back to the battlefield, the other man calling for him as he threw Finan’s abandoned weapon back at him.
The Irishman caught the sword, startled as the noise came back to cover his ears.
The second the handle nestled itself into the imprint of his palm, he fell back into the choreography, the dance steps swiftly coming to life at the motion of his body.
Time was lost amid the war that raged against the fields, its green decaying for ruby and clay.
The fight was over, and King Edward’s army was victorious.
Katla remained away from the crowd, not wanting to be found as she hid away within the woods.
She sat on the ground against the trunk of a tree, her body numb and weak as she bled, the darkening red marking her with disdain.
She attempted to steady her hands as she worked around her wound, which resided close to the right side of her abdomen; the Saxon sword that pierced her was unforgiving, unrelenting, determined to see her die.
She was refusing to listen, to give in when she wasn’t done with her fight.
She tried patching her bruise, tearing a piece of her clothes to cover and apply pressure in the hopes to calm the bleeding. She wrapped it around her and made a knot tight enough to occupy weight over the cut, freeing her hands.
She leaned her head back, resting it against the tree, and closed her eyes.
She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that seeped through her body, her skin sustaining several cuts and blues.
She could feel tears lining across her eyelids; she refused to let them escape. She forbade herself from tumbling further than she had already, not wanting to accept such weakness that befell her.
She had to get up to her feet, she had people to look for.
She had a fight to finish.
Her moment of silence then broke, shooting her eyes open in attention. She heard the soft crunches of branches break on the ground and stuck her back further against the trunk, carefully reaching for her sword while ignoring the tremors of her hand.
Adrenaline budding in the pit of her stomach, she tightened her grip against the handle, her head slightly tilted towards the noise.
She prepared herself for a duel - it was either the enemy or one of her own. The telling would be the appearance.
“O-oh-”
He froze in his steps, taken aback by the sight in front of him.
She furrowed her brows, not recognizing the intruder.
The young one examined her silently, noticing her state as he swallowed a shaken breath, holding his fear back. “Y-you’re hurt.”
Katla didn’t answer.
She remained calm, taking in the man’s stance. He had dirty blonde hair, light eyes and his armor only covered his upper body under his robe.
A monk, she thought.
She cursed under her breath, leaning her head backwards and looking away from him for a moment.
The man in question slowly backed away, glancing between Katla and the view to the edge of the forest behind him, where everyone else remained.
She heard his voice again, louder as he called for attention.
She turned her head back to him, alarmed, and used whatever strength she had left to get up to her feet, her sword acting as an anchor.
The adrenaline growing within her, she went after him.
Taken by surprise at the outburst, he felt weight blowing right into his stomach, bringing him to his knees as he coughed. She roughly pulled him from the back, gripping at the collar of his clothes as she heard rapid footsteps approaching them.
She then picked out her dagger and held it in front, the blade ghosting over the young monk’s neck. A slight fearful whimper escaped him, drowned by the upcoming noise that came for him.
Finan had started running, hearing panic coming from the woods.
His feet taking flight, he stopped suddenly when he saw Osferth with a sword hanging over him, ready for the kill.
He looked up to meet the predator; the color drained from his face, his eyes wide in horror, in shock.
Katla couldn’t move, the throbbing pain becoming the storm with heavy waves thrashing at her every particle. She pushed the discomfort aside the best she could, gripping at what she held, clenching her jaw and staring straight back at Finan with nothing but spite covering her irises.
“Stay away or I’ll kill the monk.”
Finan dropped his weapon, arms up in the air in surrender. He was cautious, careful not to provoke her. “Áine, be sensible. You don’t have to do this.”
“F-Finan, she’s wounded!” Osferth’s voice broke through, the young one attempting to dissuade the situation; he didn’t dare move, knowing that one inch could get him killed. And so, he remained on his knees, afraid.
Katla hit him in retaliation, making him groan at the impact while his head started pounding as a result.
He spoke again, the tremors reaching his tongue, not yet ready to give up. “W-e can h-help you-”
She hissed, speaking through her teeth as she leaned by his ear, tugging at his collar and slightly tightening it around his neck. “Shut it unless you want the knife in your throat, monk.”
Finan stared in fright, his body frozen, his heart erratic against his ribcage.
She had lost her accent - the sweetness of her Irish dying and dissipating from the illusion she had created so long ago.
It all came back to him like a flood in the middle of the desert, sand turning to mud and growing heavy at the weight of their past.
‘Katla, she said.’ Her real name resonated between his ears, his heart cracking with every letter. He still carried her after so long had passed - from the moment she had appeared when he was but a young prince, to the day they met across the Irish fields, his army against hers, to today - when they met again, years later.
She had infiltrated herself into his life, manipulated his heart like a pawn on a chess board; each movements intricately thought from the lingering stares, to the soft touches, to the gentle hush of words and to the aching pleasures of the flesh - all done to encage the king, falling in front of his queen, powerfully seducing him to defeat.
He had learned of her origins during battle - when his kingdom was in danger from Danes, from her, his treacherous beloved.
Though his heart broke at the sight, when their swords met, when the clashing of metals reverberated through his bones - he was changed man.
He needed to be, as he had his people to defend, his family to protect.
“The fallen prince of Irland!” She muttered a chuckle, mocking him almost while still holding onto the monk. “You were meant to be dead. How did you survive your ship?”
Rumors had spread of the prince’s liaison with his brother’s wife; how he fell in love, carried out a secret affair, ran away with the milk maid - and how he was disowned and sold to a slave ship.
She hadn’t let the news phase her, even ignoring the little speck of ache that twisted her heart.
She had done her duty, accepted the consequence and moved on.
Finan swallowed the lump in his throat, still careful. “And what about you? The last I saw of you-”
“I died?” She let out another rumble at the back of her throat. “Surprise.” She spoke in a light tone, antagonizing him.
The last he saw of her was the moment she had been carried away by a horse during their duel; the impact should’ve killed her, her body flying from the animal’s breast. She had been so close to killing him but was saved by the grace of the beast.
She had to be a ghost, he thought.
A nightmare.
He watched her, eyes wide, as she held onto her hostage, the poor monk fearful for his life.
Finan took a step, a small one. She tightened her hold around Osferth’s collar, making the young man groan from the discomfort.
“I told you not to move.”
He ignored her words, remaining still on his feet. “Am I really going to fight you again?”
She shrugged with no care. “You decide.”
“Áine-”
Feigning exasperation, she shook her head, displaying a farce of disapproval. “It’s Katla. Katla. Áine is dead. Your pretentious little maid is long gone.”
He exhaled a breath, a saddened sigh toppling over the depth of him. “Why?”
“Have the English waters dull your brain, Irishman?” She huffed, slightly bemused by his lack of thought.
“Katla.” He pressed onto the letters, her true name straining at the edge of his teeth.
She held her head higher, the taunting smirk carved into the right side of her lips. “Now, we’re learning.”
A soft torturous groan escaped Osferth once again, putting Finan on his toes. “Let him go, I beg of ya.”
“You’re begging now?” She shared a baffled chuckle, enjoying herself despite the tickling ache that bore into her. “Years apart and nothing has changed.” She slightly loosened her hold onto the boy’s throat, leaning on her good side as her eyes remained on Finan, dying for some entertainment.
“Do you remember when you used to plead to me, darling? Begging for pleasure, swearing with that tongue of yours, imploring me to give you what you desperately wanted.”
She was taunting him, the sound of her voice growing in degradation against the man standing in front of her.
And the more she spoke, she used her words as armor against the throbbing pain that emanated across her limbs, the blood of her open wound seeping through the fabric of her shirt.
She remained tall, firmly holding her knife against Osferth while she did not look away from Finan, ignoring the movements that slowly came to surround them. They were interrupted by a small crowd; other warriors having joined him in helping free one of their own from her grasp.
She took a sharp breath, swallowing the lump lodged at the back of her throat, and quickly glanced around the new bodies trapping her like an animal.
Terror filled her, submerging her under its weight as ache pricked like a needle, forcing her body to surrender.
She still decided to remain ignorant, refusing to listen to the pleas.
She was not going to let him win.
Some of the men slowly approached them, just as Finan did once again.
Though he remained alert to the situation, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hang on any longer; it was clear from the look in her eyes, from the growing uncertainty that tainted her pupils. She was hurt, her body at her mercy for rest.
She saw them move and yelled, her voice booming across the distorted circle. “Do not get any closer, Finan!”
One of the men dismissed the hostile words, noting that the injured Dane would not be able to hold her own.
At the sight of movement, Katla fought back, proceeding with her promise.
The tip of her blade grazed the boy’s neck, firmly enough to create a thin red line to appear against his dirty skin.
He winced at the burn, feeling blood slowly flowing from the bruise.
The contact agitated Finan as he yelled to the other men, his voice loud with authority and irritation. “Stop! Stop moving!” He looked around to make sure the men were following his orders before tilting back to Katla.
Determination at his feet, he stared her down. “Let him go. You don’t want him. It’s me you want, love.”
The words had slipped out unintentionally.
She chuckled, shrugging it off as it held no meaning to her; Finan had regretted it as soon as had come out, old habits gnawing at him from cracks under his bones.
“I don’t want you. I want my freedom.” She spoke through her teeth, her hand jerking the young man with one sharp wave, the fabric of his collar pulling at his throat.
Finan raised his arms in the air once again, speaking attentively as he eyed his friend before looking up to the woman. “Then you’ll have it. Just let him go. Please.”
A darkening smile reached her, almost stunned. “Again with the begging!”
The second violent motion she did against Osferth was not as strong as he had expected; Osferth had sensed the warrior was growing weaker, the hold of her knife against him trembling ever so gently.
The blood loss was apparent now that they were in a stalemate.
Finan was about to speak once again, trying to reason with her when a sudden strike caught them off guard.
She felt an abrupt searing sting on her left upper arm, forcing her to drop her weapon alongside her hostage; an arrow had been shot, the item penetrating through with its head sticking on the back of her arm.
To the loss of contact, Osferth set himself free as he got up to his feet and turned while backing himself away from her.
With Katla now defenceless, Sihtric ran and grabbed a hold of her, forcing her arms behind her back just as Finan followed, making sure Osferth was well.
She struggled within her caged trap, her lungs burning from the ruthlessness of her voice as she screamed from pain and from anger. She was forced to follow the Saxon men as they dragged her away from the trees, her steps leading her to the edge of the forest.
She met Finan in passing, the deadly glare sending shivers down his spine, his blood running cold once again. He saw red lining the inside of her dried lips, the color painting the inside of her mouth down her throat.
She coughed a blood clot and spit it right at his feet in pure distain.
Finan remained still, his heart shattered. Unable to look at her anymore, he turned away letting Sihtric take the lead as he pushed the woman forward.
He did not move, running a hand from his hair down his beard as he took a breath as gentle panic made him tremble.
This could not be real, he thought.
She was meant to be dead, to have succumbed to brutal force the last time they had fought.
He cursed, a short breath escaping him as his hands rested on his hips, taking in today’s events. She had stood in front of him, as alive as ever, as enraging as ever, as frustrating and as beautiful as ever.
He shouldn’t have been surprised anymore; he should’ve learned from his past lessons. She had deceived him before, hurt him - so why not again?
He found her sword a feet away, along with her dagger. He picked both of her weapons and trailed behind the others, his mind losing control within the traffic, his thoughts jammed one into the other.
She soon found herself forced to limp back to camp as the King ordered the death to the Dane survivors - including her.
She was forced to stand on her knees in front of the man in question. She spat at his feet, blood reaching his boots, and spoke as she stared straight into his eyes, with all the malice in the world.
She could tell he was close to snapping, her words irritating his ears; she found it amusing how easily it was to break him.
But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She smirked, brow arched as she harassed him, ready for the final blow.
Instead, he remained unmoving, simply looking at her with his temper simmering at the edge. “You should be thankful your death will be swift. I might as well leave you here to suffer your wounds.”
“Why don’t you?” She cussed at him once again, a spit of blood landing on the wet grass.
Edward ignored her words, turning his attention away as he called for one of his own.
Katla recognized the name, the letters having been cursed so many times, by so many people.
She was finally going to meet the one they called the Dane Slayer.
He walked towards them, his sword in hand and his back straight. She observed him as he spoke to the king, her focus placed on them without a care for what was going on around her.
She clenched her jaw when a sharp pain throbbed on her right side. She took in a deep breath, clenching her left fist with her fingers digging into her palm while her right hand went for the wound, pressing gently and ignoring the uselessness of the movement.
Her weapons were thrown by her side; she did not lift her head up to see the Irishman looking down at her.
She picked up her sword with tremor coursing through her veins, using the ground as a reliable surface before adjusting herself back on her knees. She lifted her sword so the point of the blade pierced the grass, the body standing proudly in front of her, dressed in the blood and cries of its victims.
She dismissed the ache that gnawed at her, from the bruised arm, the multiple cuts, the headache to the stab wound she had suffered from earlier on.
Resting her hands on the pommel, she let go of her stomach, the blood trailing down from her waist while the one on her arm mimicked the flow; now open and freely escaping. The attempt at bandaging overthrowing its usefulness.
She kept one knee on the ground, the other bent, and lifted her head to stare straight at her executioner, daring him with a glower, a sparkling of venom.
“Do it.” She arched her brow, not wavering away from the blue in his eyes, the words spitting out of her with red tainting her lips. “Glory or Valhalla.”
Finan stood on the sidelines, silently watching, completely disheartened.
She was the enemy, so why did he care for her predicament? Why was he praying for her survival when he knew deep down it would have still meant nothing to her?
Why hold a flame for the betrayal he suffered?
He was but a young man when they first met. She had become a breath of fresh air sweeping him away from the suffocating life of a prince - she had become his distraction, titillating him with such sin within his castle walls and beyond, it had created friction with his former life.
She was of the devil, they said - a danish spy that had infiltrated her way in as an Irish maid, seeking secrets from within.
The truth of it all was only divulged across the field, the day they had fought. She had become the snake in the garden, an illusion of blissfulness to the morose life of a royal.
She had torn him apart, deceived him, entrapped him in guilt and shame. Only when he met someone else had it all dissolved, dissipating from his mind as the warrior became but a ghost, death trapping her and pulling her away from his thoughts. Only when he met his brother’s wife had everything truly changed.
Katla tightened the grip on her sword, trying to push passed the physical affliction coursing through her body, the blood swimming down like a quiet river, running away from the confine of its old vessel.
Uhtred lifted his sword, ready to proceed with the King’s order in reluctance.
The end of the blade was hovering above her chest, right under her pendant.
She closed her eyes, took a breath as she finally welcomed Death, singing prayers to the gods for a seat at the table.
It was over. The growing weakness hovering around her deafened her hearing, making her finally give up.
She waited for the blow, the blade to push through and kill her.
She had waited, and waited but nothing came of it.
Too long seemed to have passed.
She frowned as she opened her eyes only to find Finan standing in front of her with Uhtred walking away. The Irishman had quietly pleaded his friend to stop and not go through with the prosecution.
She grew angry, she was annoyed.
She was pissed off. “Are you going to put me through the sword?”
Finan sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. You’re free to go.”
She was startled by his words but did not let it show, her eyes locking him in while trying to understand his surrender.
He had the opportunity of a lifetime. To kill her and avenge what had happened with him back in Ireland. To get revenge against her betrayal.
She could not comprehend why he was letting her go when a simple swift motion of his sword could give him everything he’s ever wanted.
“What are you doing? Is this a trick?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, taking a second before looking away from her. “No trick. Just go.”
She was unrelenting, struck with quiet disbelief. “You sparing my life doesn’t change anything. I’ll find you in the next battle and kill you if I ever come across your sword again.”
The bourgeoning anger boiling within the remains of her blood gave her strength, mitigating the pain within her weakening body.
She leaned against her sword, a dark chuckle escaping her dry throat as she swallowed the clot that wanted out.
Finan couldn’t stand this any longer. Mirroring her emotions, he became irritated. “What the hell is the matter with ya?!” His voice echoed with sudden acuity, catching her off guard for a split of a second, waiting for his loss of control. “It wasn’t enough you destroyed my life in Irland, you had to come after me again here?!”
“I’m sorry, love.” The mockery in her tone, as she spat her words, sent shivers down his spine, the unwelcoming strain of syllables raising his skin. “Did I step on your crown again?”
“Áine-”
“It’s Katla.”
He huffed, aggravated by the dissonance of her state. He was close to reaching his limits, standing right at the precipice of a cliff. “Who are you?”
The right side of her bloodied lips curved upwards, an amused smirk gracing him. “I’m the woman you loved, remember?” A low chuckle escaped her once again. “Sweet Áine, a simple maid for the impressionable Irish prince that needed distraction from his duties.”
Taking in her words, he dropped his head, his heart growing heavier.
“Did you ever love me?” He spoke softly, a strenuous task grabbing him by the throat.
He didn’t know why he asked when it had been ever so clear, but the words needed out, they needed to be spoken and thrown into the air for breath.
She pondered, in mockery. “No. I never had the heart for you, my dearest. You know this.”
“I do. Which is why I’ll sleep better knowing ya are about to die.”
A small laugh out, the devilish snark across her face sent daggers straight into his chest. “You’re just as much of a coward as you were in Irland. Pity you couldn’t hold your crown.”
He sighed at her words and gave her one last look of guilt before he turned his back on her, walking away and leaving her where she still sat on the ground.
Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pushed herself up to her feet, a groan from the back of her throat escaping her.
She knew her body was betraying her; she felt weaker by the minute, her heart straining to keep her alive, desperate for eternal sleep.
She coughed again, the strength of the disruption making her spit as a blood trail left her lips to reach the mud in front of her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she eyed her old lover while he was already a couple of feet away from her.
She was given mercy and she hated them for it.
“I-I’m not done with you!” She struggled to speak, her voice hoarse as she tried to call for him. “F-Finan-” She grabbed her waist, her hand pressed over her wound while stumbling, falling on one knee.
He ignored her, not having the heart to deal with her any longer; he had to give her up once and for all.
Back on her feet again, she groaned from the pain, the rumble shaking her to her core, her eyes never looking away from him.
She held her sword tightly and took a leap, running after him.
She wasn’t done with him just yet.
Warrior instinct gripped at him, like a moth to a flame.
He heard the rapid footsteps behind him, heavy and struggling. He made a quick turn without a second thought and grappled at the body that came to him.
It took him a moment to realize what he had done – he saw heartlessness coated in darkness; it was cold and harsh, it was grey and callous. He was staring right into her eyes, his own wailing aghast.
His left hand gripped her shoulder, the other one holding his dagger as the blade sunk right at the upper centre of her stomach.
They remained frozen, simply staring at each other in shock and horror.
Jolts of reality striking him, he slowly let go of the knife, catching her in his arms as she fell against him. He cursed to himself while rambling continuous apologies through his heavy breaths, his voice broken while whispering closely against her, lips to ears, his ‘I’m sorry’s’ with misery, the letters repeated over and over again like a prayer.
A guttural scream ricochet across the field as Katla was cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her as he fell to the ground; the voice from afar held anguish and terror, shaking the earth underneath them.
Tears in his eyes, he was succumbed under sorrow and regret, wondering why his heart wore him heavy when he should have felt lighter, content that she was finally meeting her end, hating her for what she had done to him.
Yet, he seemed incapable of complying.
She had died in Ireland. The woman in front of him was simply a ghost, a phantom. A shadow of the woman he had once deeply loved.
Hearing the shattered screams, he turned his head to find a young woman freeing herself forcefully from some Saxons’ grasp before she started running towards him.
Finan held tighter onto Katla, his gaze falling back to her as she was patiently waiting for her last breath.
She could only watch him, no words escaping as her mouth drowned under the weight of her blood. She was struggling to breathe, his heart squeezing itself under his chest as he stroked her hair away from her bruised face.
She found herself smirking at him, a light tug of her lips while she remained mute under his quivering touch. He was holding onto her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it to be a futile attempt at rescuing her.
“No!” The heavy pants from the runaway reached him. “Mother!”
It was spoken under her native tongue, but he still knew its meaning, the term evident to his eyes. The weight of the word shook him like a quake.
The intruder fell to her knees and pushed Finan away harshly, forcing him to relinquish his hold onto Katla.
The young woman held her mother in her arms, softly calling for her, soothing her as tears fell.
Katla smiled - it was warm and loving; it was a smile he had not seen for a very long time. She then softly muttered her daughter’s name under her breath. ‘Rúna’.
Finan was quiet, trying to approach them but the young one quickly grabbed her knife, holding it against him with the look of death in her eyes, coal painted around them. “You’ve done enough. Stay away.”
He surrendered, hands mid-air.
Rúna turned back, finding her mother’s sword next to her. She picked it up and gently wrapped the woman’s hands around the handle, making sure she was tightly grasping it.
He was paralyzed, studying both women until he could only look at the newcomer.
His gut screamed at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs.
He knew she was his - it was the way she looked that had given it away; she held a ghostly resemblance to his own mother. She had Katla’s eyes but yet looked like his own. It was in the nose, in the way she furrowed her brows, the texture of her hair, though the colour was his own, that made it look like he was staring at the shadow of his late mother.
Her soft sobs pierced through his thoughts. His daughter was leaning over her mother’s body unable to hold onto her tears any longer.
Katla had quietly gone, finally caving under the song of the Valkyries, forgetting the man who’s heart she broke, for the sight of her own child.
“May your journey be safe and swift... And may you find glory in the feast hall of Valhalla.” Rúna whispered under her breath, caressing her mother’s cheek, closing her eyes gently with her fingers.
Defeated, he stayed quiet and watched, silently letting his own tears fall.
The scent of smoke filled the air, the flames of death burning bright against the darkening sky.
Rúna stood in front of her mother’s funeral pyre, watching the flames burn her body.
Finan approached her carefully and stood next to her, his head straight and watching the fire as well.
She glanced towards him. “We thought you were dead…” She had spoken softly, a bitter aftertaste decorating the back of her throat. “You were taken to that ship-” She stood taller, looking away from him and back in front of her. “You are dead. You’re nothing to me.” She whispered her words under her breath, a mantra she tied around her heart.
His own broke, the pieces unknowingly desperate for salvation.
“Come back with me.” It was gentle, the tone of his voice carried to her ears in a cautious manner. “You don’t have to be alone.” Her shoulders tensed, her teeth stacked tightly within her jaw. “Come home with me.”
She snapped her head towards him, letting the embers of the fire caress her cheek as the pieces floated with the small wind. “Home?” She scoffed in disbelief. “You took that away from me, and now you expect me to forgive you and come back to wherever it is, with a stranger?” She held his gaze, her irises darkening the longer she stared at him. “You are nothing to me. I do not want you. I do not have the heart for you.” Her words hit him like boulders falling from a cliff.
He should’ve expected this.
“You will always be known as the man who killed my mother, so don’t expect anything from me.” She leaned in slightly closer towards him, her words just as menacing as the glare drenching the colour of her eyes. “Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”
He tried to push passed the remark, but the gaze was enough to make him stop. She meant her words - she could kill him right on the spot.
She had no love for him, nor for the ghost of him, nor for the part of her that was him.
She had no heart to give him as it had died with her mother, the entity burning along her body in front of them.
All over again, he could only mourn now, never thinking his past would have crossed the ocean to haunt him, let alone come to him in the form of a resentful daughter.
Rúna bid her final farewell, holding onto her mother’s pendant as she placed it around her neck, in unison with her own, before reluctantly walking away, the sun setting just behind them.
She turned her back on her father without even a word of goodbye, leaving the Irishman now to stare at the pyre burnt to a crisp.
He was left with the ashes and embers of his lost love as they hung around him, following the breeze that shifted across the field, the creatures dissipating into patterns that held no true meaning - simply dancing alongside Mother Nature’s breath.
She had broken his heart, the young maiden who had stolen it by the simple look in her eyes.
He should’ve known they were held by malevolence, by trickery.
She never loved him and he should’ve known this, but he was a foolish young man, stuck in a prison with a crown on his head.
She had given him freedom - the illusion of it, a tainted love, and he fell for it, like Adam to the apple.
He fell to his knees, the fire almost out as he succumbed to his grief, cheeks stained of tears and anger fueled in his fists as they rested on his lap, tackling the fabric of his pants.
His head fell back, looking up to the sky, the discoloration inviting night into its warm embrace.
Flashes of his past took over, pain striking him like lightening breaking into the skies, like a violent lashing strapping him into torment.
He wanted to convince himself, with every fiber of his being, that she could have loved him; he could almost imagine it. The softness of her being, so enthralling, engaging, mesmerizing. Like a siren calling for her sailor.
Had she not worked against him, tricking him, spied on him, she would’ve loved him the way he did for her.
If she had a heart, any smudge or speck of it at all, she could've loved him.
He was fooling himself, desperate to grasp onto strands of a lie to ease the pain of her perfidy that embedded itself deep into the marrow of his soul.
If she had a heart, she could have loved him, he kept thinking.
But even in death, she had no love for him - only depravity marinated her bones, her core yearning for simple primal desire.
The wondering haunted him, a shadow stuck at his feet, a lonely companion.
“Finan?” He turned at the sound of his name, the young monk calling from a few feet away with his gentle voice. “It’s time to go.”
Without a word, he looked back to the pyre, the fire now almost gone.
He wiped his tears and stood to his feet with great weight on his shoulders.
He gave one last look to the lost woman and eventually found strength to walk away, turning his back to his past once again.
God knows if he would ever see his daughter again.
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xoxo
#the last kingdom#finan#finan x oc#tlk fanfic#finan imagine#finan the agile#the last kingdom fanfic#finan fic#mywriting#mark rowley#finan fanfic#tlk
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Eventually I'll make another full hybrid post for multiple boys, but right now I specifically want to focus on the (actually kinda wholesome) idea I had for Tighnari... I rewatched one of the videos I watched for the profile and seeing them run around chasing each other is so adorable and I realized Tighnari deserves his soulmate Fennec Foxgirl
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It feels... perhaps ironic isn't the best word, he thinks. Surreal? No, that's too strong of a term. Likewise, 'humorous' is too weak to the describe the bizarre emotion this interaction brings him.
Just... Odd. A weird, uncanny feeling.
He stoops down further, crouching on his feet, tilting his head to get a better look at you. This is not what he expected to find when he set a cage trap. He would have figured it was just a normal animal eating his research plants and the communal trash away, but here you are. You're crouched in the back of the metallic crate, stiff and snarling. It feels so strange to look at you.
You are, all in all, the same creature. You just so happened to be a lineage that went down the path of separation from humanity and chose to be feral instead, it seems.
...is this what he would have been like, if his lineage had done the same? He can't help but wonder. You growl and snarl and snap your jaws at his fingers when he reaches out to try and pet you through the bars. So lowly and animalistic, lacking in human intellect. You feel worlds apart to him, as if there's no way you are the same, and yet he knows you are. Is it really possible that mere upbringing is truly the only thing that separates you from him? Could he just as easily have turned out to be this creature, naked and unspeaking, rummaging about through trash and gardens like a common pest?
Your ears, although a sandy golden color, mimic his own, comically large and twitching atop your head. Your tail swishes behind you. You snarl and show your pointed teeth. You really do share all the same traits.
...But you look so afraid. He now sees how badly you tremble, despite putting on a ferocious act to try and scare him away. After a moment, you seem to drop the facade of toughness as you start to curl in on yourself, eyes watering, whimpering and quivering.
Not only are you sickly-looking, you're far from home, too. You should be in the desert, but you ended up here... you must have gotten lost and ended up in an unfamiliar place, how unfortunate. And it seems you can't hunt anything here either, hence the need to steal food (primarily garbage from the bins, and from his own property mostly medicinal herbs at that, you wouldn't eat that unless you were really desperate).
Either way, he can't just release you into the forest, you'd most likely die out there, even if you didn't come back to disturb the research. Sigh... no choice but to take you in, at least until someone makes a trip to the deserts and can take you along then. Of course, it does strike him that this also makes an interesting source of observation, and he is admittedly curious to know more about you. But primarily, he can't just let you die.
It poses issues, though. First there's the matter of getting you to calm down and not attack. Once he first lets you out of the cage, you try to run away, and you have the audacity to bite him when he tries to grab you by the arm and hold you still. He still has a scar to this day where your teeth nicked his shoulder.
Eventually, the only way he could get you to calm yourself was throwing you back in the cage and forcing you to inhale some sedatives, keep you limp and loopy for a couple of days while feeding you and petting you to get you used to his presence. By the time you can be brought off of it, you're grumpy about the matter, but it seems that giving you food is a very quick fix to any bad moods you may have. More importantly, you don't try to bite him anymore, or even flinch at his touch. In fact, he learns you seem to appreciate some head pats, as well as ear rubs (of course, he knows how to give the best ear rubs and scratches, seeing as his are just like your own).
You're fairly compliant now, too, which is nice, it's not some huge struggle to tame you. You have now registered him in your mind as "the guy who feeds me and makes my wounds feel better," which means that you are very receptive to his touch and presence, and as soon as he goes back to his daily routine, you follow him around without him even needing to drag you along. You're always right there by his side... especially as you're still a bit afraid of others. Each day you follow him from place to place, entertaining yourself with... whatever it is you do, usually napping at his feet or chasing bugs around on the ground... well, you occupy yourself with that while he has important conversations and does his work.
Unfortunately, though, he can't risk taking you with him for patrols, even though he feels bad about leaving you there. He spends less and less time doing so, and tries to come back sooner, assigns other people to his usual roles unless it’s a genuine danger that needs to be dealt with. People are a bit surprised he would transfer that job to others, but it’s not as if he’s lazy, he just has something else to take care of... besides, they’re very grateful for it, because whenever he leaves he has to lock you in your crate, and you (how on earth it doesn’t bother your own ears, no one knows) decide to express your discomfort by screaming out that little high-pitched cry of yours over and over until he returns (to complaints of headaches, irritated glares, and being begged to never ever leave them alone with you again). He tries to make it better for you by making the crate softer, more padding, leaves in those dog toys he got someone to purchase from the city that you seem to like, but you have no interest in them when he’s gone, so the only way to pacify you is to be there.
Speaking of the cage, the first night after letting you out of it, he tried to put you back in so you could sleep... but you fought tooth and nail, yowling and whimpering and biting again dammit -- anyway, eventually he let you follow him to his own lodging, pulled out a cot for you to sleep on, lifted you up and sat you down on it. You spent about ten minutes there before he's pulled out of half-sleep by the sound of your feet on the floor as you shuffle your way over and promptly wriggle your way under his blankets and curl up beside of him. Of course, he stiffens at first, shifts backwards and stammers to say something, but... the way you open your eyes and look at him all hurt, let out a whimper, confused why he's trying to move away...
Well... he can't just hurt your feelings like that... so, although his face feels hot and he's fidgeting awkwardly, he still moves back towards you. Fine... just this one night. You'll be comfortable with sleeping on your own soon enough, and no one will have to know about this.
Much like him, you sort of pull your knees up, wrap your tail around yourself as is instinctive... your bodies sort of fit together, like how puzzle pieces align perfectly. Your tails overlap, your legs intertwine, your head presses against his chest. He just has to deal with the occasional ear twitching in his face.
One night turns into the next... and the next... on the third night, he tries to set you down on the cot again, but as soon as he sets you down, you swing your legs over the side, stand up, and sure enough, make your way over to what you seem to now consider your shared bed. He can't communicate to you to try and get you to understand, but... well, that's fine... it's not a big deal, he tells himself.
What's more important is that you aren't well-adjusted to human living, of course. For starters, getting you to wear clothing was a battle in and of itself, you hated it at first, tore the first shirt he gave you to shreds while trying to pull it off. He ended up having to go the route of conditioning -- giving you small morsels of treats for not tearing clothes off, and denying them when you did, until you got the message and now can consistently wear a single layer of oversized shirt that comes down to your knees. Anything more than that, though, and you start fighting it again. Additionally, you're okay with him and his presence, but you have to be slowly acclimated to other people, seeing as you growl at them... he had to grab you to stop you from biting yet another person several times. What is it with you and wanting to bite? Sigh...
Those ears end up presenting a challenge too. Over the years, he's reached a point where he's learned to handle it well and even knows how to mentally tune out some noises, just try to ignore it, but you're not used to the usual level of noise in the area at all, and even more sensitive than he is. Early on, whenever there's a lot of activity going on in the village, you start to whimper and whine and grab at your ears, pulling them down to block the sounds. At least he learns to tell when you're uncomfortable, and takes you over to a quiet room whenever you're distressed and waits it out with you.
Other people take notice of your interactions too, of course. They snicker and make offhanded comments about how funny it is to watch the two of you go around everywhere together, how you look alike in some ways but are so different in others. They tease him about how he takes you with him everywhere, make him all flustered and red in the face when they comment about how sweet it is for him to care for you, and how attached you are to him. He just says it’s his responsibility.
But internally, he wonders if you, too, realize the similarity between you two. Do you understand that he's different from the other humans? What about yourself? And more importantly, do you understand that you two are the same? Do you see yourself as different from both him and the others and merely associate him as the same as the other humans, or do you recognize that the two of you are different from everyone else in the same way? He has no way of asking you, so he has to gauge by your actions.
You do seem to take notice of his features, even if he doesn't know if you've realized they're the same features as yours. Once, as you sit next to him while he works, you tilt your head in curiosity, eyes widening when your attention is captivating by his twitching ears. You reach a hand up to paw and swat at them. And on multiple occasions, you've tried to pounce on and wrangle his tail. Much to his irritation, that is. He's still embarrassed about how the first time you did so, he was mid-conversation with someone else, and yelped rather loudly at the sudden surprise, turning in circles in an attempt to grab you and detach your grip while the onlookers tried to hold back laughter.
So you do seem to recognize specific features, but do you possess the cognitive capacity to realize you're the same sort of creature? That is the question... but there's no way to know for sure.
He finally seems to get somewhat of an answer on one day like any other, just the normal routine of walking from one small building to the next, carrying out some daily tasks. And all of a sudden, for no discernable reason, you bolt. You turn on your heel and take off in the opposite direction, feet pattering the ground as you go.
At first, it sparks immediate concern as he goes running after you, calling out for you to stop, even though he knows you don't understand the words themselves. But you keep running. Every few seconds you dart in a different direction, drawing him out and away from the cluster of dwellings among the trees and out into the wilderness itself, the otherwise quiet and empty forest. After a few more minutes, you disappear behind a tree. He stops, panting, goes to walk up to you, but you then take off and get behind another. It repeats again and again.
He's starting to feel frustrated, but he sees you poke your head out from behind the tree... and can now see that you're smiling at him. Your eyes are wide and you're breathing heavily with excitement. He turns towards you, but you take off again, and he chases you from tree to tree until you slip behind the cover of one of the larger ones again, poking your head out to look at him again, tail visibly swishing in delight behind you. You make a high-pitched little sound, like a squeal. He starts to feel warm.
...Oh.
You're trying to... initiate...
It's an... appreciated gesture, but he can't allow himself to engage in such behavior. He would never do something so undignified as to indulge in animal desires, run all around in the woods and chase after you. What if someone sees? No, he can't.
No, no. He corrects himself in his head. It's not about the chasing part, not about appearing undignified, it's about what comes after that... it would be wrong to... do that, wouldn't it? You're not at the same coginitive level. You're just following your instincts, but he can't take advantage of that. It's his responsibility to abstain and control himself. Right?
Even if it sounds really really really nice. Even if he feels his heart start to beat faster.
But as you take off again, his resistance snaps. It becomes too tempting to resist.
He trails right behind you, matching your pace, frustration gone, replaced with an unmistakable excitement. There's no one out here. No one will see. So that makes it okay, the first part at least. No harm being done by playing like this. It feels exciting in a primal, innate sort of way, like his body moves on its own. Letting go of all inhibition.
When he finally catches up to you, leaping on you and tackling you to the ground, you make that same squealing sound. It makes a shudder run down his spine, but after a moment he shoves himself up off the ground and takes off as well, listening to you squeal and run after him as well. After a few minutes, you leap and land on his back, just enough to topple him over too, falling into the grass, wrestling around and rolling over a few times until you're looking down at him, propped up on your hands. You whine as you lay yourself down and nuzzle your head against his neck.
It's so warm. It's overwhelming. It's too much. You really smell nice. It's as if it intoxicates his brain to inhale. He finds himself laying staring up at the sky, heaving heavy breaths, every nerve in his body tingling, heart pumping hard and fast. You have his thigh locked between your legs, you whimper as you grind against it and he feels like his soul might leave his body just hearing and seeing you do it.
Is this really okay? It feels wrong, somehow. The last little bit of reason and sense prods the back of his mind. No, this has to be wrong. You can't realistically consent to it, can you?
And with the way your brains work, then if you do, then... for the rest of your lives... forever...?
But... But you're the same sort of thing, so it's okay, right? It's nature. You need one of your own kind. You're supposed to couple together like this. You're supposed to be together for your entire lives and never want anything else. Besides, isn't that better? After all, you're simply compatible. If it were a human, they might be bothered by him and his habits and nature, they might even leave him one day, and that would destroy him psychologically in a way humans could never understand.
This way he can have someone who will be okay with the things that would bother a person -- you'll want to stay inside all throughout mating season, you'll be just as needy as him, your body will be compatible for a knot and lots of kits, you both like the same quiet environments, he doesn't have to feel embarrassed about the ways of expressing affection that come naturally to him. You won't mind if he's overbearing, you'll want to be in his presence every waking moment just like he does yours. It would be perfect.
And you -- he can protect you. His mind flashes back to how he first found you, how you were emaciated and injured and afraid. He can make sure you're always happy and safe and never get hurt or go hungry ever again. Isn't that what's best for you, then? Is it really taking advantage of you when you're whining and grinding like this, when you're so desperate?
He says it to himself in his head, that if the others could see me right now, doing something so unseemly... well, he can't bring himself to care what they'd think for very long. His brain is too clouded.
Thus, he ends up giving in.
No one will see you two as he ruts into you, still laying sideways in the grass. He still has just enough awareness left to use his hand to cover your mouth, seeing as you have no concept of volume control and cry out so loudly they may just hear all the way on the other side of the forest. No one will know, at least not for now. Maybe they'll figure it out... but he can't bring himself to care in the moment. Even if they think badly of him, well, he can just deal with that when the time comes.
And surprisingly, even when it's over, even as the knot swells down and he slips out of you, turns you around and holds you close, he doesn't find himself feeling any regret. Maybe a bit of worry about the future and concerns about how things will work now, and perhaps maybe a bit of guilt, but... you're so warm, you fall asleep pressed up against him like that. It makes it all feel worth it.
A quick glance around confirms that, thankfully, there is no one around -- it briefly crossed his mind that he might look up and see someone standing there watching shocked and stunned, which would be horrific, but thankfully there isn't. He knows he needs to get you back home before people notice and come looking, though, seeing as this is an area not usually patrolled and he has no real reason to be here. It's better no one knows for now. Or so he decides as he sits straight up, shakes you awake and lets you sleepily crawl up onto his back, hooking your legs through and over his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Yes... better not tell anyone or anything... try and keep it a secret. He's still not sure what people will think of him for this. But right now, he's still riding the chemical high too much to be too concerned, he feels lightheaded and warm in the best possible way. Those concerns fade away as he makes his way back. All he can think of right now is how he can't wait for winter to come around.
#my hybrid posts are always the softest/least dark ones I notice...#I needed something soft to cope with my shaggy sumpter beast induced grief#yes Im still in pain about it#also! I have one more thing thats the last thing i promised myself id finish before reopening so ill open my inbox soon after posting it#and my summer work project ended so that clears up a lot of time thankfully#.tnr#yan.txt#.hybrid
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October 1st and Traditions Gone Wrong || Jay and Will Halstead x Halstead Sister
*re-posting this because I'm stupid and accidentaly delated my blog 🫠
Becca wants to follow the Halstead's tradition, but looks like everything is againt it.
👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️
"WAKE UP, YOU SNORER!"
Jay abruptly opned his eyes when a hand moved his shoulder with a shout of "HEY!".
"What the--"
"DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHAT DAY IS TODAY?" Becca was on top of his bed, jumping with excitement.
"Um, it's 5:00am on Sunday, that's all I know", her brother answered turning to his side, trying to go back to sleep.
"IT'S OCTOBER 1ST, SILLY! THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR HAS BEGUN!" She was smiling from ear to ear, extreme happiness could be heard in her voice.
Jay, feeling a bit defeated, reluctantly opened his eyes and gazed at his sister, who was dressed in a pajama adorned with little ghost designs. Despite his initial exhaustion, he couldn't help but break into a warm smile as he turned his eyes to her, feeling a surge of affection and happiness.
"Well, you certainly know how to wake someone up with a bang!" He rubbed his face with his hands. "What's the plan for today, Becca?"
The girl changed her tone to a more serious one. "You're joking, right? It's tradition: we watch 'The Night Before Christmas' while having a Halloween-themed breakfast, silly..."
Then, she switched back to her excited tone: "I ordered these Jack O' Lantern molds to make pancakes..."
"What? How did you order that? With what money?"
"I used your card, but that's not the point! I'll call Will, in case he forgot. He should be the one cooking today." And she hurriedly left the room.
"Sure, he'll be delighted to be woken up," Jay muttered to himself and chuckled.
After a tiring night call, Jay struggled to break free from his bed. He knew Becca wouldn't allow him to go back to sleep. Besides, she was brimming with energy; this date was significant to her, and he didn't want to disappoint her. They had followed this tradition since they were kids, but it had halted when Jay went to war and Will pursued his studies. Jay had resumed it when their mother passed away, primarily for Becca's sake. Will had rekindled his involvement in the tradition only a couple of years ago when he came back to Chicago.
Jay stepped out into the hallway, wearing his own ghost-themed shirt to match his little sister's. He made his way straight to the kitchen to brew some coffee. As he prepared the coffee, a smile crept onto his face when he spotted the box of Jack O'Lantern molds she had bought, fully aware of how much she had been anticipating this moment.
The room remained dimly lit, with most of the lights turned off, but Jay could discern Becca's silhouette on the sofa. She appeared deeply engrossed in a phone call, and Jay couldn't help but sense a tinge of concern. Was she crying? He continued to watch her intently while tending to his coffee, quietly trying to gauge her emotions from a distance.
"..sure, I understand. Yeah, no problem, I already told you I get it. See you later". she said into the phone before hanging up.
A few seconds of tense silence filled the air. Jay waited for her to say something, but she didn't budge from her spot.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Yes," she replied tersely.
"Is Will going to make it?" Jay inquired, though he already knew the answer.
Becca struggled to conceal her emotions, her voice quivering as she responded, "No."
Jay let out a deep sigh and sat down next to her. She was gazing into the abyss with her arms crossed.
"He just got back home from his shift; that's what he said," Becca explained, immitating her brother's voice. "He said he would be here later. I know. He's working, he's tired...but he forgot about it! And now everythingi s ruined! Just for the record, I'm not mad at him, I'm just...sad, I guess."
"Hey! Nothing is ruined, I'm still here!" Jay reassured her.
"But the tradition is with the three of us! We can't do it with minus one!"
"Well, sometimes traditions change, and that's all right, Becc. We used to do this without him, remember? Then he came back, and it evolved to what we have now..." Jay reassured her, understanding the sentimental value of their tradition, but also the way it had adapted over time.
"I guess you are right."
"What I'm trying to say it that if he said he'll come later, and his precense it's so important for you, maybe we can adapt to it. We'll watch 'The Night Before Christmas' in the evening, no big deal. Meanwhile, you and I can select another movie and savor those Jack O'Lantern pancakes. What do you say?"
"Yeah, I like that!" Becca replied with a hopeful smile.
The two Halstead siblings got to work. Together, they cooked the Jack O'Lantern pancakes and prepared hot chocolate for the special occasion. They shared hearty laughter, engaging in playful banter, and soon, Becca's spirits began to lift. Occasionally, Jay would stifle a yawn, and it was impossible for Becca not to notice the dark circles under his eyes; he appeared incredibly tired.
"Thank you for doing this with me," the girl said as they settled back on the sofa. "I know you're exhausted too."
"No problem," he replied sincerely. "There's nothing I'd rather do than celebrate October 1st with you," he winked. "Now, what are we watching?" Jay added, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
"Ghostbusters?" Becca suggested with a grin.
Will arrived at Jay's place around 5:00 pm, carrying two big bags filled with Halloween-themed treats and snacks. "This is my way to say I'm sorry," he explained.
"Apology accepted," Becca said, taking the bags.
Everyhting was going well, the Halstead siblings were now together, preparing everything to finally watch the movie. The initial credits appeared: "The Night Before Christmas" and Becca, Jay, and Will started to sing along: Boys and girls of every age. Wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see. This, our town of Halloween...
"Oh, geez! I'm so happy we made it!" The girl said and hugged her bothers.
But like a bad omen, Jay's phone began to ring. Becca turned to him, but he initially decided to ignore the call. It was probably nothing, as it was his day off, and he had explicitly asked not to be bothered, considering the Halstead's celebration. However, the phone rang again, three times in a row, and he couldn't ignore it any longer.
"Halstead", he sighed as he answered the call.
"Oh, God. I should have kept my mouth shout", Becca reproached herself as she paused the movie.
"I'll be there in 15", the detective brother finished the call with an agry tone.
"It's your day off!" Becca stood up, "This is not fair!"
"I know, I know, Beccs. I'm really sorry, but I gotta go to this crime scene".
"Ugh, this day is cursed. It's a stupid tradition, anyway. Who cares?" She stormed off to her room and slammed the door shut.
Becca's heart sank, but not as much as Jay's. He called out, "I'll try my best to be back soon, Becca! I promise!" as he hurried away, his voice filled with regret and determination.
"I'll take care of this, don't worry," Will reassured his brother with a comforting pat on the shoulder before Jay left the place.
Becca's door was opened and when Will peeked his head in, she was sitting at the edge of the bed, weeping the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.
"Hey, munchkin", he slowly approached to her "You know this is not Jay's foult..."
"I know," she turned to face him, her expression troubled. Her voice quivered with a hint of sadness. "But it doesn't make me feel better. I... I always wait for this day because it brings us together. We used to do this with Mom and Dad, and... I don't know." Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued, her voice choked with emotion. "Things started going wrong since this morning. I should have listened to the signs. You two are adults now, with your own lives and jobs, so, of course, you wouldn't have time for these things."
Her words carried a deep sense of disappointment and longing, and her eyes glistened with the memories of cherished family moments that seemed to slip further away with each passing year.
"It's not nonsense," Will assured her, his tone gentle. "You're right. We're not kids anymore, and we have other things to attend to, but nothing, not even work, will ever be more important than you, Becca. You are our priority, and if this tradition is important to you, it's important to us too." He sighed and reached out to hug her by the shoulder. "I apologize for forgetting it; I wanted to make amends by coming in the afternoon. I didn't think it would cause so many problems."
"No, it's not your fault. It is what it is, that's all."
"You waited for me the whole day," Will observed. "May I ask why it's so important that the three of us watch it together?" He inquired, genuinely curious about the significance of their tradition for her.
Becca frowned for a moment, lost in thought, and then she smiled warmly. "It was Mom's favorite spooky movie," she explained. "Somehow, it feels like she's still around when it's the three of us." Her eyes held a mixture of nostalgia and comfort as she shared her toughts.
Will and Becca spent the evening playing board games until they decided to watch another film while waiting for Jay.
"You haven't seen 'Gremlins'?" Will asked incredulously. "How come? Geez, that's it! That's what we're watching now!"
Hours passed by, and Becca's eyes were beginning to close. After all, she had woken up very early to start the day. She realized Jay was not coming back on time, but she still wanted to wait until the very end.
"You should rest," her brother encouraged her.
"It's 10:00 pm. If he gets home, we can still honor the tradition."
"Tell you what: close your eyes and sleep; you look tired. If Jay comes back, I'll wake you up."
"Hmm, will you really wake me up?" She asked, sounding suspicious.
"It's a promise!" he assured her.
As soon as she place her head on her brother's shoulder, she fall asleep.
👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️
"We shouldn't," murmurs echoed in the distance, almost as if they were part of her dream. "I promised her," another voice chimed in. "Give it a try," someone suggested. "If she doesn't wake up at first, we let her rest."
"Hey, Becc!" Will's voice was now clear and bright. Becca opened her eyes to see her red-haired brother's face in front of her. "Jay's back."
She turned her head and spotted him standing right next to the couch. Her smile was bright, and suddenly, a rush of energy filled her tiny body as she stood up quickly.
"OK, WHAT TIME IS IT?"
"Um, 11:30."
"IT WORKS FOR ME; WE'RE STILL ON TIME TO COMMEMORATE THE TRADITION!" Becca exclaimed with enthusiasm. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? MOVE! MOVE! GET EVERYTHING READY!"
Becca couldn't contain her happiness. It was true; the tradition hadn't gone as usual, but at this very moment, surrounded by her brothers, she felt a warmth that overshadowed any disappointment.
It was true what Jay had said: traditions change with time, and that's perfectly okay. In this case, they had even added two more movies to the celebration. Her brothers had made the effort to be with her on this important day, and she couldn't have been more grateful for their presence. She hugged both of them tightly, cherishing this moment of togetherness and the bonds that meant the world to her.
"I'm glad you both made it".
By the time the movie finished, the clock struck 1:00 am. Becca couldn't stifle a tired yawn, feeling the exhaustion wash over her. She turned to her brothers and was surprised to see both of them fast asleep, their peaceful expressions illuminated by the soft glow of the TV.
A warm, fond smile crept across Becca's face. She stretched her tired limbs, feeling a sense of contentment in this moment. With a gentle sigh, she snuggled up between the two Halstead brothers, her heart filled with love for her family. It had been an unconventional but truly special day, and now, as she closed her eyes, she was ready to join them in a well-deserved slumber, cherishing the bonds that meant the world to her.
👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️
Thanks for reading. If you liked it, it would help my soul if you give it a like, comment or share 😌♡
#one chicago#chicago med#chicago pd#halstead sister#jay halstead#will halstead#chicagopd#jay halstead x sister#jay halstead imagine#jay halstead fanfic#Jay Halstead x Halstead sister#Will halstead x sister#Will Halstead x Halstead sister#Spooky Season#The nightmare before christmas#Halloween#One chicago
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My Thoughts: Young Sheldon 7x02 A Roulette Wheel and a Piano Playing Dog
Look how cute he is! Cute as a button! 😙
Awwww! Baby! It is so difficult for me to watch Sheldon struggling. Imagine being a fish out of water your entire life where your one socially acceptable trait is your intellect, which surpasses everyone’s, only to be thrown into A WHOLE OTHER COUNTRY, taking the fish metaphor to a whole other level, only to discover THE one quiver in your arsenal is utterly moot.
Damn. My poor baby string bean! But he handled it so well. He pushed through! I am proud of my Shelly! It is the aspect of why YS is better than TBBT because they allow for Sheldon to be a more complex individual and don’t treat him like a child, even though he is literally a child. The show allows circumstances to push against him, to make him stronger, and the narrative isn’t constantly belittling him as if he can’t handle life at all. It is actually quite a big deal that Sheldon was able to keep his mouth shut and humbled himself under an authority in order to learn what he needed to. And he did this by HIS choice! He listened to what those around him where telling him, and chose the wiser path. He didn’t have to be coerced, manipulated, or browbeaten into it, which was often the route TBBT took.
Well, his tutor DID use physical reinforcement, but a wrap on the hand is good for the boy. 😁
Which brings me into my next thought, I don’t think this moving back and forth from Texas and Germany is going to work really well for the storytelling. I want to see how the whole Cooper family is doing, of course, but I am primarily watching this show for Sheldon! I don’t feel like they are able to spend the amount of time necessary to really explore this experience he is having. It feels so rushed. I don’t like it. I want more time to process Sheldon’s life lessons here and how he is feeling about it. It is the same old story! This is literally one of the biggest problems with American media.
They. never. give. enough. time. to. the. story. EVER. !!!!!
🤦♀️ Why are you the way that you are, American Media. I hate so much everything that you choose to be.
Anyway, I did love the heart to heart chat between Missy and Georgie this episode! That was so sweet! They are learning what it means to have responsibilities and that growing up requires so much thankless sacrifice. I love the bond that Missy and Georgie have, and I am glad we got to see them process this experience together. And way to go Missy for not only stepping up, growing up, and being so mature and on top of things, but she also is learning about boundaries! Damn girl! 🔥 I know Mary Cooper loves serving her family so I love that aspect about her, but the boys definitely shouldn’t leave all the house stuff to the women folk, as if they have to be served and waited on. Missy is killing it! 💪
Missy and Sheldon, two sides of the same coin!
I hope to talk more about that later! 😉
Now it’s time for...
My Favorite Sheldon Cooper Quotes:
Sheldon: "And they laughed at me for not knowing something they knew! Who does that?!"
Mary: ". . . you do."
Sheldon: "This is no time for a teachable moment! Your child is hurting."
Mary: "Sorry." *pats him on the arm* "There there."
Sheldon: "I guess that'll do. Now how about a hot beverage?"
Mary: 😑
Sheldon: “Oh! I see the problem! This is stupid! You can’t just invent dimensions. There is this one, this one, and this one.”
Mei-Tung: “You forgot the dimension of time.”
Sheldon: . . .
Sheldon: *holds out his hand*
Mei-Tung: *slaps it with a pencil*
Sheldon: “Ow! . . . Thank you."
Sheldon Prime: "I wanted to give up and runaway. But I had read enough comic books to know that heroes don't quit. Instead of running I decided to stay and face the biggest challenge I've ever had: keeping my mouth shut. This turned out to be a pivotal moment in my life. By being open to people smarter than me, I grew as both a man and a scientist. Humble. Brilliant. I really am the whole package!"
#and the boy's not wrong#sheldon cooper#young sheldon#my thoughts#my sheldon cooper thoughts#I loved the piano playing dog reference#although the dog reference is unfortunate#I hated when TBBT compared him to a dog#but this is more contextually relevant#iain armitage#missy cooper#the cooper family#7x02#A Roulette Wheel and a Piano Playing Dog#yes I used an office reference in a young sheldon review
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Good god, as a fanfic author that writes primarily whump and hurt/comfort (both emotional and physical), watching Renfield had me fucking quivering with need!
My whole fanfic career is about making convoluted reasons for critters (characters) being in pain and being cared for. But good lord, I don't even need to work! This movie practically hand-feeds situations to you!
Anyway, my brain keeps rattling around with little fic ideas.
A few quick fic ideas below.
Note: All the scenarios below can, in this state of being, be read platonically or romantically depending on your particular views. Personally, I don't ship Dracula and Renfield around the time of the movie but I honestly felt they've always had a romantic pull more towards the beginning of their relationship. Still super toxic/concerning but believable.
1 ) Robert is struggling to adjust to human life, mainly in the small ways. Now that he has his freedom for sure, he's trying to discover what to do with his time. He's not the brightest and each decade he's only had limited in any given culture so he's not really sure what activities/jobs are open to him. His therapy friends and Rebecca have helped him start over but he's still finding adjustment difficult. Because of the murdered cops, he's unable to get back to his apartment currently until the complex can be cleaned up and cleared for people to go back home. Meanwhile, he's living with Rebecca. The problem is that she is an incredibly strong presence and Robert is living in her "territory". It doesn't take long for Rebecca and Mark to recognize that Robert is starting to imprint on Rebecca as his new master. A reality they have to quickly work to reverse.
2 ) The setting is the past, shortly after Renfield has fallen to Dracula's alluring words. Things happen and they have to leave Dracula's current lair. On their travels, Renfield is injured during the day while he is moving Dracula's coffin. Renfield is still getting used to his new powers, the call of insects do not yet catch his cravings like they will in the future. As the sun sinks, Renfield feels himself starting to fade to wounds that were worse than he realized. Dracula is awakened and finds his familiar in a bad state. The vampire is struck by an unfamiliar feeling of concern. He has grown attached to his new servant. The relationship is new and delicate. An affection that has not yet turned smothering and abusive fills Dracula. He teaches Renfield the rewards of being a loyal servant by healing his wounds for the first time.
3 ) Robert's time as a familiar has made him more than a little strange by human standards. It's things beyond the cravings to eat insects. His skin is pale, his heartbeat is slower than a human's, his body runs cooler than a normal human. He's still able to get sick but it hasn't been something that has come up since work for Dracula. Now that his supply of Dracula blood is limited to a few jugs (I'm taking liberties, shush), he refuses to take any unless he is fatally wounded. When he catches the flu from someone at therapy, it hits him hard. He has no vaccines and his body hasn't had to make antibodies in a very long time. When the fever hits, it hits him. Rebecca is busy trying to juggle her life, keeping secrets from her sister, and helping Robert get his place back. She is struck with guilt when she finally realizes Robert is sick. His fever bumped his body heat up to that of a normal human being and Rebecca hadn't noticed right away. Despite the very real fact that people from Robert's time don't handle flu well, he's still refusing to take the blood. Rebecca does her best to help and the two snuggle up since Robert can't remember what it's like to be comforted while sick. While holding him, Rebecca decides she'll have to feed him some blood when he loses consciousness if this fever doesn't break soon.
4 ) (In the past) Vampire appetites are fickle things. When in an isolated area and there's no food in the nearby seasonal village, choices have to be made. Renfield is the human nearby. Though slight changes have set in for him, he still has the power to provide a meal. He's skittish and frightened by the idea. He has seen his master eat, it makes the bugs squirm in his belly. But despite his hunger, Dracula is being strangely patient with him. Renfield knows it is his duty and agrees to let his master feed before Renfield can cower away and need to be forced. It's a horrific experience!! Renfield feels even colder than usual but is important. He is left alive. And his master's gratitude is paid forward. Renfield is allowed to curl close to his master while fighting off the quivering torment and dizziness of blood-loss. Renfield smiles while he recovers, because surely this privilege means he really is important to Master!
5 ) also, any fuckin' excuse for broken ribs and stab wounds.
--
Okay, those weren't short but whatever.
This movie also really leans itself to being extremely easy to crossover with lots of stuff. I wish I was still caught up with NCIS: New Orleans. that'd be perfect!
#renfield#renfield 2023#robert montague renfield#rebecca quincy#dracula#renfield scenarios#tw: blood#tw: bugs#hurt/comfort#[It's 2:40 AM. the fuck am I doing?!
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eighthcest prompt <3 enthusiastic snogging? :3
You know that it is the day of rest when you wake up, before you know almost anything else. Before you remember where you are—foot of the bed in your cot, as usual—or what your name is—Colum Asht, obviously, it’s not like it changes—you know that it is the day of rest. And you know this because instead of Silas waking your weary body with a lecture on diligence and the listing out of the day’s agenda, his hand is on your drowsy head, almost gentle as he pushes your hair from your eyes.
It’s time for a trim, you think blearily, before he even says anything. He doesn’t like it when your hair gets this long, and neither do you—it gets in your eyes when you spar.
“Get up, Brother Colum. It’s time for morning prayer.”
“It can wait; I want to sleep more.”
He must tire already of standing bent at the awkward angle, because he sits down at the edge of your cot. Yours is bigger than a standard cavalier’s cot, on account of your rooms being built for a Master Templar with an enormously large cavalier primary, and so he settles comfortably. You open one eye and turn to peer over your shoulder at him.
His flaxen hair is down in a single braid, currently pulled over one shoulder. He looks soft and innocent, though you know he is not always so.
“The Lord calls us to be diligent, and unwavering and grateful in the face of strictures that bind our lives.”
“Mhmm,” you respond, though you would have had something more intelligent had you not woken up less than a minute ago. Your hip aches a little; you must have slept on it wrong. “But it’s the day of rest, Si.”
Even the Master Templar is relieved from most duties on this glorious day. It comes monthly, and there is only one single service in the evening, which is one and a half times as long as the usual twice-daily fare, and primarily made up of raising your voices to and for the Lord.
“So—Colum!”
As he gears up to scold you frivolously again, you wrap one arm around his middle and unceremoniously heave him across your own body. You protect his head as he hits your mattress, and you roll up over him. He stares at you for only a moment before his eyes flutter closed and you press forward and put your lips on his, holding him close in your arms.
“Oh, Colum,” he murmurs between kisses, low and solemn and steady like he’s not kissing you back just as much as you kiss him, like he’s not trying to squirm his way further beneath you despite the tangle of sheets and nightgowns and legs, “your behavior is indecorous, and unbefitting my cavalier primary. I’d nearly call it brutish, the way you’ve captured me so. Are you not—aren’t you ashamed?”
“Morning prayers, and yet you’re still in your nightclothes,” you point out, teasing, huffing out through your nose a bit. “You wished my indecorousness. Look inwards, Brother Silas, and see your own heart.”
He nips you for your cheek, but you take the opportunity while he’s distracted to move your hand so it’s holding his hip, stroking and caressing just where he is most sensitive. His voice quivers when he speaks again, and you consider it a job well done.
“My heart is—it’s never anything but pure as I am guided by the Kindly Master, and I don’t like your—your tone.”
You hold his face in your left hand, and you stroke against the hard line of his cheekbone before tangling the four fingers in his silky hair. “Well, get me to stop talking then.”
And then, instead of ordering you to shut your impertinent mouth, he opens yours instead and fills you with his very own tongue. It’s a much more pleasant way of quieting you, you find.
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Yandere(?) Shinnok x Reader (3/3)
Click here for Part 1 / Click here for Part 2
A/N: The word count of this is more than triple of part one. At this point I'm just posting full-on novels. Anyways, I'm taking a slight break from writing about Shinnok. I have two stories I want to post involving a certain two MK characters. I'm not spoiling who they are ;).
TW: Kidnapping, torture, heavy abuse, thoughts of death, Stockholm Syndrome, master/slave dynamic, impregnation, dark story, horror/thriller, noncon, NSFW, AFAB reader
18+ to interact.
You wake up back in your cell. Shinnok, after having his fun with your body, seems content with carrying on his treatment of you as usual. He inflicts the same amount of pain as before while occasionally using you to satisfy his lust. The only times you're taken out of that cell is when he’s feeling frisky. You could almost laugh at how he's above fucking you in the dungeon. Almost. But the reality you're in is too depressing.
Your fragile mind snaps after Shinnok rapes you. You were teetering on the brink of insanity long ago, but this pulled your mind into an inescapable chasm. Your emotions are sucked into the abyss never to resurface. Numbness replaces them, like a fog in your mind it clouds your perception. Every interaction with him from then on becomes a hazy experience. One where you're left unsure of if it ever happened in the first place.
You dutifully follow each and every one of his wishes from there on. If he wants a kiss you'll give it to him. If he wants his cock sucked you'll do it. He could order you to die for him and you'd do it without hesitation. He has full control over your mind, body, and soul.
Shinnok seems more than pleased with your change in personality. He shows his approval primarily in his actions rather than his words. The torture sessions get shorter and shorter. His touches become more gentle, softer and more considerate of your weak points. His kisses linger too, trailing all over your body. You're so much like death now that he can't help but treat you better.
And so, your “life” continues on in this pointless servitude. Not changing in routine all until a certain day.
Shinnok brought you to that murky-colored bedroom again. You knew what he was in the mood for. With merely a gesture you're naked and down on your knees. He sits on the edge of the bed. You crawl towards him, placing your hands on his hips. You pull down his pants just enough for his cock to flop out. Without hesitation you work on making him hard. Licking, stroking, and sucking, you thoroughly tease him to arousal. Once he's hard you start blowing him.
Your gaze is locked upwards as you give him a blowjob. He always seemed addicted to your stare, wanting you to look into his eyes whenever he humiliated you. But this time seems not to be the case. Your master is distracted, gazing at an amulet he has in his hand. You've seen him wearing it on his belt once before today, and last time he also seemed fixated on it rather than you. You're quite curious about the artifact.
A sudden thrust from Shinnok catches you by surprise. “Focus, pet.” He says as you sputter and choke. “You wouldn't want to disappoint me.” He doesn't even glance down at you. With your lord's reminder you fixate on making him cum. You purse your lips forming a perfect ‘o’ around his cock. Bobbing your head up and down his shaft, you lick all his most sensitive spots. All the way from his tip to his scrotum, you treat him like a good lover should.
You know you're doing a good job when Shinnok lets out a low hum. You know you're doing a very good job when his unoccupied hand lands to rest on your head. “Very good.” He purrs. You trill in excitement at his words, motivated by his praise and touch of approval. He remains silent after this as you continue to orally pleasure him. You don't mind. The sound of flesh on flesh is more than pleasing. The rhythm of it all brings you to a hypnotic state.
Your master's hips start to quiver ever so slightly. It's his telltale sign of an approaching orgasm. His hand clenches your scalp, your mental conditioning causing you to freeze. He pulls his cock back just enough for the tip to rest on your tongue. He wants you to taste it, to taste the cum he's blessing you with. You want to as well, fervently letting him fuck your mouth.
He doesn't last for much longer. He sighs as he orgasms, covering your waiting tongue in sticky seed. The bitter taste floods your senses, but you rejoice at finally receiving your lord's semen. The thick liquid drips from your tongue to pool towards the back of your throat. You resist the urge to swallow. You haven't been given permission yet.
A few seconds after cumming Shinnok pulls out of your mouth. “Swallow.” He orders. You follow his command without hesitation, letting the seed fill your tummy.
Now here is where if your master was a normal man you'd be done servicing him. But the fallen god seems to have limitless stamina, holding a hard cock in his hand as if he didn't just cum. He motions for you to get on the bed. You crawl on top of the bed and lay on your back. “The other way.” He demands. Oh, it's the position you hate. He knew that your arms barely had the strength to support you. But you get on your hands and knees, presenting your ass and pussy for him. Sucking him off did make you a little wet. But only a little. As long as you ignore the slick leaving trails down your legs.
His dick slaps against your thighs before he drags it up to your pussy. In the past you would clench your eyes shut whenever his cock touched you. You would tense up and want to wriggle away from him. Not anymore. This time your hips push towards him. You rub your lips against him, enticing him to enter you. He obliges, but only because he's too aroused to wait.
He slowly enters you, your soaked pussy letting him slip inside with ease. He reaches all the way inside you, kissing your cervix with the head of his cock. Your silky walls wrap tightly around Shinnok, not wanting his dick to leave your entrance. He does as he pleases though, pulling his cock back to just the tip before thrusting back into you.
Shinnok sets a merciless pace. He fucks into you rapidly, making your little hole swallow all of his cock in quick succession. Your clit is slapped by his balls which sends tingles of pleasure that you mistake for love. But, he isn't playing with your clit this time it seems. You're saddened by that, but know that your desires always come second to your master's.
You bury your face into the mattress, making sure your hips remain raised for him. You sniff the sheets, noticing that they smell surprisingly of detergent. You're so distracted by this that you almost don't notice the heat. No, not the heat you feel building up in your womb before an orgasm. Nor did it feel like the result of exertion during sex. No, it felt like a burning rod was being stuffed inside you.
You squirm at the pain of being scalded from the inside. Your head lifts up to protest. “Ah, Lord S-Shinnok tha-” You don't get to finish your sentence as your head is pushed down by a clawed hand of scorching temperature. The hand grips your scalp tightly, digging curved talons that you know don't belong to Shinnok. The entity pushing your face into the mattress speaks.
“BE STILL. BE QUIET.” The entity booms out, his voice deep and corrupted. You tremble in terror but otherwise obey, remaining perfectly still as the monster pounds into you. Your entire body feels on fire as the room rises to a sweltering temperature. You have no idea what's going on or if you’ll survive. You don't think you will, as the monster’s cock is just one degree away from cauterizing your pussy.
You moan in agony as your cunt is roughly used. His cock fucks your pussy like a cheap toy, entering in and out of you with no regard for your pleasure. You're sure he's trying to break you. Trying to break you more than you already are. The girth and length of his penis stretches you thin. You swear he's aiming to fuck your womb directly. He might actually achieve it, judging by the way his tip keeps knocking against your cervix.
“Eiiiiiii~” You squeal out. You can't help it. The experience is uniquely excruciating and unexpected. His hand leaves your head to join with its mate pressing on your back. The entity wraps his arms around your waist, leaning forward so his head hovers above yours. You feel hot breathing on your neck. It both tickles and burns. As tempting as it is to look up you don't, fearful that he might just tear off your head.
The bed squeaks and your cunt squelches as he fucks. You hope he's close as you can't tell through the pain. You just wanted it to be over. For everything to be all over. No more pain, no more sorrow -nothing. You thought you had spent your last tears ages ago. Today proves you wrong, as your eyes paint a river down your cheeks.
You hear the entity above you moan. The sound is unfitting for his corrupted voice, like pleasure is something he shouldn't be able to experience. It's all the warning you get before he cums. Your pussy is flooded with semen, filled to the brim with the white liquid. His cum is too hot inside you. You squirm beneath him due to the warmth. His seed spills out onto your shaky thighs. There's so much of it, so much more cum than what you're used to.
After giving you a creampie the monster pulls out, bringing his weight off of you. You lay there catching your breath. You hear a noise behind you, like crackling electricity. It stops as suddenly as it started. A pair of hands land on your waist. They're familiar -cold and somewhat rough. You're rolled onto your back by Shinnok whose face bears a self-satisfied smirk. He's normal in appearance, not at all like whatever just raped you. But, you have an inkling of what just happened.
“Did you enjoy it, pet?” He asks. You nod your head, ignoring the throbbing ache in your pussy. Your pain is the price you pay for his pleasure. His hand raises towards your face to cup your cheek. You lean into his touch, the gentleness you crave peaking out for once. “Good.” He praises. That one word lights up all of your neurons.
He leans forward for a kiss. You accept him, closing your eyes and opening your mouth. His tongue slithers in to meet with yours. He tastes like nothing. A taste the perfect embodiment of his nature. You two entwine your tongues together with you suckling on his shortly after. You immerse yourself completely into the kiss. Shamelessly, you make out with your master. You haven't been satisfied sexually, so all of this tongue touching just arouses you more.
By the time you two part you're ready to beg him to fuck you again. But he speaks before you can. “Today is a very special day.” He starts, fingering the amulet snugly located on his belt. “I will wash and clothe you. Then, we shall go outside.” Your eyes widen at his words. Outside? You haven't seen the outside world since he's brought you here. However many ages ago that may have been.
Your mind is still processing his words even as you're cleaned up and dressed. You're not even able to appreciate the luxury you're offered as you wonder why this is happening now. With you as ready as you'll ever be, you're trapped in Shinnok's embrace as he summons a portal. You're blind as to what's on the other side as you're carried through it.
Once your senses return from going through the portal, you take in the sight of the world around you. Or what's left of it at least. You both stand on a cracked road, littered with the remains of traffic and people. You're surrounded by the rubble of long since collapsed buildings, the glass and stone of their composition scattered in a pile around them. You look up and see that the sky is scarlet. It's covered in thick plumes of a gas unknown to you. You swear you can see creatures flying between the crimson clouds. The world smells of smoke and burnt asphalt. It's eerily silent. Not even the screams of the dying pierce the air. The whole world looks dead to you, as if you had just missed the apocalypse.
“Gaze upon the magnificent sight around you. This is the visage of Earthrealm at its finest.” He boasts as he releases you from his grasp. You gaze at the world only because you're unable to look away. You return to Earth after so long only for it to be in ruins. Why? Why show you this at all? Does his sadism truly have no limits? You would rather die in captivity in ignorance than behold this sight.
Shinnok approaches you from behind. He lays a clammy and cold hand on your shoulder. “Isn't it beautiful?” He coos into your ear. You tell him the right answer. “Yes, it's beautiful.” You don't need to look behind you to know he's smiling. He hums. Proof that he's pleased with your response. He strides in front you, walking a few paces forward then turning to face you. You look into his eyes. You stare into those soulless eyes.
“For eons I have sought control over this realm. I have fought with your realm's gods -Raiden-” He spits out the name, vitriol laced on his tongue. “And I have conquered this place once and for all. There is no one left to oppose me.” His fists clench on the final word. “But none of that should concern your petty mind. What should occupy your thoughts is ‘where do we go from here?’” He pauses to gesture in the air.
“The final hour is upon all beings. Mortals, Gods, and Elder Gods alike. But for you, I offer a different fate.” He grabs the amulet off his waist. He points the face of it at you. The green jewel glimmers in the light. “I will seal you inside of my amulet.” He states matter-of-factly, his face lacking any expression as he speaks. He continues on. “Don't worry. You will not die while inside. You'll spend an eternity in there -an eternity with me- safe and alive.”
Despite this being an “offer” you aren't given much time to decide. A purple vortex shoots out from his hands. The amulet glows a bright orange, which matches the color of the energy wrapping around you. You feel constricted, like the bindings you wore so often have manifested across your body. You're paralyzed as you're dragged towards the medallion, feet skidding along the grit of the asphalt road. In your last seconds of “freedom” you experience only two emotions: grief and relief. Grief over what you've lost and could never obtain again. But relief at the fact you'd be with your master for a long, long, time.
Being trapped inside Shinnok's amulet isn't all that bad. You float in a black void doing nothing the majority of the time. But, you have plenty of experience doing nothing back in your cell. Also, you're actually able to observe the outside world here. A part of the void is taken up by a large, green, and crystalline “screen”. The gemstone of the amulet functions like a camera lens, letting you see an albeit tinted outside world. You could even hear external voices, though they were muffled unless holding the talisman.
Too bad Shinnok seems intent on killing any entertainment you have. Literally. You didn't know what he did all day when he wasn't bothering you, but apparently it was commanding the armies of hell along with committing an ample amount of murder. He also had a hobby collecting trinkets, namely baubles that he would sometimes get from his followers. You couldn't really hear what they were saying as they brought it to him, but you did manage to distinguish one word: Kamidogu.
You learn that these “Kamidogu” were Shinnok's end game. Once he had collected 6 he fused them together. All you remember is chanting then… Then you saw reality itself unravel, in a way you're sure mortal eyes were never meant to see. You saw a powerful being emerge from the scraps of existence. It pained you to even look upon its face, fear consuming your mind each second you gazed at it. Your body shaked just from its presence. A sensation that you could only describe as being unraveled like thread spreaded through you. Whatever this being was, your existence did not like it. Even if you were safely sealed in an artifact.
You gasped when you saw the being eat, yes EAT, the Elder Gods. It did so with absolute ease. Your mind just couldn't process it and you gape at the sight like a fish. How? And why? Shinnok watches from afar, but you wonder if he's next on the plate for this thing. It seems like the being spares him though, content in letting him float around in the heavens. Maybe it's the being’s show of gratitude for being reawakened.
A presence manifests behind you. You're not sure how you can sense it. You turn around knowing it can only be one person. Shinnok. Or probably just an apparition of him. A projection of his mind into the amulet. How strange it is for you to see him approach you. The last time you saw him in the flesh was right before this became your new home.
His arms wrap around you. You experience touch for what must be the first time in decades. You melt into his embrace. He knows just how to manipulate you. He knows what makes you weak in the knees. After being deprived of him for so long you could've stayed in that hug for forever. You whine as he pulls away, your training to be quiet having waned over the years. But he's far too happy to punish you today.
“I've won.” He coos, cupping the sides of your face with his hands. “The Elder Gods are no more. My long-time enemies are vanquished and the realms they worked so hard on destroyed.” You've never heard this level of excitement in his voice or seen his eyes dilate to such a degree. He laughs after he speaks, cackling as though it was a hilarious joke. He truly is insane. His dry lips press against your forehead. He gives you such a tender, honest kiss causing the fuzzies to rise up in you. Where was such intimacy before? You don't care to ponder on it though, simply wallowing in the sudden affection.
He pulls back to speak. “We have so much time ahead of us.” His palm leaves your face to trail down your body. “So much time for me to do whatever I want.” You shiver at his words. His hands land on your hips a moment before you're wrapped up in a deep kiss.
Shinnok creates a replica of the world he just destroyed inside the amulet. It's not a perfect recreation, lacking any life aside from you and occasionally him. The “world” is a desolate and silent place. Sometimes you wander the artificial cities looking for the slightest semblance of anyone else, but you only find empty houses with the mirage of someone living there. You're not sure if you like this more than being in the void.
Shinnok visits you more frequently than he did back in the realms. He doesn't have much to do now that reality has ended. Well, aside from creating a new one. But that'll take time, as he crafts and perfects a world to his ideal vision. It's nothing you should concern your head with though. Your duty is to entertain him. To sate his addiction to your mind and body. You serve him just as you did in your cell, exchanging your pain for his pleasure.
He's more than satisfied at how much he's corrupted you. You were just a normal and insignificant mortal, destined to live a mediocre life. But now you're his toy and isn't that a special honor? You work so hard to please him now -especially with your body. You undoubtedly love him by now while he feels something similar. No, it's not quite love, but he wouldn't let anything take you away from him.
After a while passes -whatever that means at the end of time- he breeds you. There's a pantheon of gods needing to be replaced after all. He doesn't even tell you he's planning to get you pregnant, simply removing the sterilization enchantment you didn't know was placed on you. His seed takes root quickly. Before you know it your womb is swelling with new life. How ironic it is that new life is brought forth from the lord of death.
Your children grow up to aid him in the outside world. The new reality Shinnok creates outside of the amulet. It's a reality you can only glimpse at though, as Shinnok doesn't let you out of the amulet. You're not sure why. The one time you gathered the courage to ask he firmly reminded you of why you don't question him. The mere thought of your freedom seemed to anger him. Never again did you want to feel that wrath from him.
You spend the rest of existence trapped. Living only for the sake of an obsessed Elder God. You're used to it though. You like it even. You aren't alone as long as Shinnok is here with you. Commanding you, using you, and pleasuring you. You're just an object of desire. Not at all much different than the amulet he carries you in.
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no bc noya is literally the whole package like the CONFIDENCE in that man has me dizzy and opening my legs he worships you you’re his religion he’s going on his knees for you
also like the DUALITY PLSSS a total doting bf he never once stops flirting with you in ur relationship he’s so corny. suuuper attentive has extra hair ties and pads in his bag for you. always surprising you with shiny rocks (bc u shine the brightest<3) or jewelry (an - .. an anklet with a little Y charm) or random things that reminds him of you. he makes you laugh so hard you snort your drink out your nose pls also a total cuddle bug who begs you for piggy back rides :((( </333
and then he takes you to his bed and rocks your entire world:( spreads you out and laps at your sensitive nub and fluttering hole for hours until you’re a babbling mess and he comes untouched in his pants:( gives your overstimulated folds a pussyjob until he’s rock hard again from how you whine his name:( makes you ride his cock until your legs quiver and give out only to grab at your ass and slam you down on his thick girth:( to show you how strong he is, how he can handle all of you, how much you can both take from each other with pleasure:( he sucks on your pretty tits until your keening GOD and he’s so vocal too:( filthy groans and moans and unabashed confessions right onto your slick skin of how good you make him feel how tight and perfect your pussy is for him:(( sobbing crying wailing i want him in my guts rn
the way i had to sleep w it before posting cause when i tell you i SCREAAAMEEEDDDD 😵💫 sooo foul for this river that is unfair !!
nishinoya, who’s such a good boyfriend that you’re astonished as to why he’s not w anyone already when u first meet. falling in love with him feels like the first warm rays of sun on a summer morning, comforting and making you shudder with excitement for what’s to come. he sweeps u off your feet with his charisma and bright smiles and passion. it’s not long at all until you go out w him and end up going official after just two dates or so. he just makes everything feel so right, like that’s how things should always have been, and you wish you’d met him sooner.
noya, who’s so attentive and thinks about you always. he showers u with lil presents daily because wherever he goes, something reminds him of u and he has to show you </3. most of his days he goes for a lil run first thing in the morning, and he always comes back w pastries from your favorite place down the street to make sure you get a nice morning too. he brings you coffee to bed but it runs lukewarm by the time he’s done kissing you awake. but you don’t mind at all, cause in the end he’s the only thing u rly need to start your day right.
NOYA……. getting u a little anklet.. with a little dainty Y charm … river you are sooooooo right for that. he def does. primarily to hear it tinkle by his ear when he has you folded over and fucks you silly </3 he’s sooooooo fun in bed and ALWAYS at your service. treats you like a queen fr he just wants to make sure you know how dear u are to him !! how glad he is to have found you !! takes sm pleasure from giving it to you, he could cum untouched just from watching you melt under his touch :( absolutely makes sure you know all abt it. you’re so good to me. lemme give you another, i wanna watch you again.
noya who doesn’t mind giving away control and gets absolutely rock hard whenever you take the lead 🫣 esp after a night out when you’re wearing your heels and you’re a bit tipsy and you straddle him and forget to take off your stilettos. he doesn’t last long but he’s got stamina and bounces right back. he has so much to give you </3 INSANE. but he knows that the way you love feeling him most is when he’s the one manhandling you with ease. he’s got absolutely no issue with it even given his shorter frame. he uses you however he pleases and you let him and it’s the single most arousing thing he does to you. he just wants to make the both of you feel good and he knows exactly how to do it, so you let him. confidence is almost substantial on him but it couldn’t be any different, not with the way you’re moaning so sweetly in his ear and give him the most fucked out look. </3
#✧.* lovelies (ﾉ´ з `) / (river)#nishinoya <3#oh gawd i am down SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO bad this isn’t even funny#laying in bed just staring at the ceiling after rambling abt this#that man has me in such a grip#and river .. you are to blame for this too !!!!!!!!! uwah >////////////<#haikyuu!!#nishinoya x reader
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Prequel day:
A oneshot window into life before the fowlstars sinking.
CW: drugs, implied murder, broken bones, parental issues, mafia
September 18th, The young Artemis Fowl the second, who had just freshly turned five years of age, yet was only ~80% the size of his peers, now sat in his mothers lap, weeping in the back of his father’s bentley, as it sped furiously towards St. James Hospital in central Dublin.
Artemis, despite his brilliance in many areas, wasn't very coordinated yet. However, that didn't worry his parents, afterall, their son was already reading at 4,000 words per minute, and he hadn't even graduated the first grade yet, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, they'd certainly trade a mediocre footballer for a child prodigy.
At his age, it was customary for Fowls to be informed on tamer matters of business, and his father was desperate to use his son’s talents to the advantage of their family, he had an ace in his pocket and his fingers were itching to pull it out, he knew that his competition would quiver at the things his freakishly bright child could deduce within minutes of exposure.
Thats how the young boy found himself in a room with his father adjacent to him, Butler and the Major standing protectively behind them, close enough that artemis would feel his bodyguards breath if he were taller, and Kolzak Bogdanov sitting at the other end of a 3 metre long table.
Mr. Bogdanov had assumed it was mahogany, and commented on it as an ice-breaker at the beginning of the meeting, only to flush nearly as red as the table when he’d been corrected by a five year old. It was bloodwood, a very dark bloodwood, but bloodwood nonetheless. The chairs matched the table, with their low backs, black leather held to the crimson wood by brass tacks.
It wasn't easy to see the grain of the wood in the dim lighting of the room, but artemis had good vision and it was certainly easier than trying to follow the thinly veiled threats being traded between his father and Kolzak. So thats what he elected to do, staring at the twisting lines and knots, some straight as ribbons down the length of the table, ending only when the went out of sight under Bogdanov’s elbows. Some swayed like rivers, bending and bowing, twisting and turning, ending spiralled around wine coloured knots.
“You know, I’ve been studying you closely Fowl.” Bogdanov smirked.
“Should I be flattered to have caught your attention?” Despite his teasing words, Artemis Fowl Senior demeanour was all but Jovial, cold and domineering as ever.
“You think this is funny? I’ve got connections, I have an eye inside your banks and I don't think the Bratva would be happy to know you’ve been skimming more than your share off their Coke profits.” He pause a beat, directing his eyes to Artemis Juniour, then he picked back up in a mocking tone adding: “or do you not want me talking about nose candy in front of your baby” He cooed the last word with a sickening grin, giving Arty an unwanted look at his plaque coated teeth, he couldn't help but recoil as the man leaned forward at him and Butler put a hand on the arm of his charge’s chair, reminding both Bogdanov and Artemis that he was still there, to differing reactions.
Artemis senior appeared unfazed.
“Artemis, you know what cocaine is, yes?” He said, never taking his eyes off Kolzak
He looked between Kolzak and his father for a second, before speaking “cocaine, known by many slang names, is an addictive drug derived from coca or prepared synthetically. It is a tropane alkaloid that acts as a central nervous system stimulant primarily recreationally and illegally, cocaine is metabolised in the liver and it’s metabolites are Norcocaine, benzoylecgonine, cocaethylene, and ecgoninemethylester, Cocaine is-” “Thats Enough.” his father cut him off sharply
Bogdanov appeared to search for words for a bit before he opened his mouth to speak again. “I am not any old fool Fowl.” he spat the name, as though it left a bitter taste on his tongue and bile in his throat. “Your boy doesn’t intimidate me, I’m not gonna forget that I have leverage just because he can recite some fancy words in your englishman language.”
“Its latin…” Arty mumbled, but it didn't seem that anyone had heard him.
“I admire your confidence, if not your intelligence Kolzak. I assume your plot is to have me buy your silence?”
“Da, I want a place in your network, enough cash to start my own branch of the Bratva, and your backing when mikhail inevitably comes after my ass.”
“You want to distance yourself from the rest of the russian mafia?”
“No. I want a shortcut to the top.”
“You're a gambler Kolzak, we’ve played many a game head to head, you know how dangerous it is to try and force my hand.”
“And you know that I do not bluff.”
They stared at each other, the silence was palpable and the air felt thick.
“Artemis-” Two large blue eyes shot from the table to his father “-Go downstairs to your mother, Butler, stay here.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, Butler Helped him up and out of the chair, his little legs were much too small to reach the ground alone. Once he was set with two feet on the floor, he fixed his tiny tie and walked out of the room silently, remembering to hold his head high and push his shoulders back.
He walked down the hall to the nearest study, his father’s, to grab the book he was currently reading, crime and punishment.
He made his way further down the hall, past walnut floors and hickory doors. The clicks of his tiny black loafers being muffled by the woven red rug that ran down the centre of the corridor. He walked forward to the edge of the stairs, where walnut floors turned to lacquered oak steps. He put a tentative hand on the gilded marble bannister and slid it forward to match his position as he moved down the stairs.
Each step he tested then made, he wasn't used to walking down the stairs without Bulter or his mother at his shoulder at barely a metre tall, the height of the steps was quite daunting and he was a clumsy child who easily lost his footing.
Perhaps it was his own mind getting in the way, maybe he was nervous, but everything around was so big and it was easy to be nervous when you were alone, Butler wasn’t with him, those moments were so rare…
A few more steps down the imposing staircase and he was a quarter of the way down, then a third, then one half. Maybe when he was with his mother, he would present her with his new violin concerto. He’d been working on it for about a week and was eager for an outside opinion two thirds of the way down when an all too familiar BANG ripped him out of his thoughts.
It was a noise he’d heard before. While Butler and the Major trained in the dojo, occasionally from his fathers meetings, in movies. A pistol with a silencer is still very very loud ~120 decibels. But the young Artemis didn't want to think about that, he was too busy falling.
He’d heard the bang, his foot had slipped, and he’d been sent careening forward, down the staircase. His chest was light, as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. He held out his arms in front of him bracing for impact.
There was a light thud when he hit the carpet. Pain exploded in his Right arm, his palms ached from the force of catching himself, and all the breath hand been knocked forcefully from his lungs.
His heart was racing with adrenaline and he was left laying on the carpet, cradling his arm close to his chest and gasping for air. He heard the voices of his father and the major nearing as the talked about something he was too distracted to hear, the second he was in sight, sniffling at the bottom of the stairs, Butler was by his side, asking him questions he couldn’t answer, all he could focus on was that he couldn't seem to get oxygen into his lungs.
The second he managed to catch a breath, he wailed. Tears ran down his cheeks and everything around him was too loud, too big, too bright, too much. He was terrified.
Butler managed to pry his delicate fingers off of his arm and pull it gently away from his chest. It was already starting to swell, and from Arty’s incomprehensible babbling interspersed with whimpers and sobs, he guessed it hurt.
Angeline had heard her baby’s cry from the west drawing room and had now appeared, worried with bits of hair strewn out of place, she looked like she’d ran, a theory only further confirmed by her lack of shoes, heels left behind somewhere in the manor.
“What happened?” she asked, frantic.
“I sent him out of the room while we finished things up with Kolzak, we found him like this.” even Fowl senior seemed worried, his brow furrowed in concern as his son sat bawling on the floor.
Angeline and the major stepped forward and artemis continued to gasp and blubber. Angeline got their first kneeling next to him and holding him tight, he clung to her, chubby little hands taking fistfuls of her blouse, pressing his face into her chest as she pet his hair and whispered sweet comforts. The major kneeled next to Butler, wordlessly taking Artemis’ arm from the younger bodyguard’s grip. With large calloused fingers, he gently pressed different spots. His elbow and forearm were starting to bruise already.
“broken?” The major asked Butler, seeing if he shared the opinion. Butler nodded, and thus it was decided. To the hospital they went.
Butler convinced angeline to let artemis go, and he picked him up as gently as he could, as though he were a porcelain doll, bundling him in his arms protectively and heading towards the garage.
Slowly the adrenaline wore off and artemis’ choked wailing turned to exhausted snivelling. The major drove, artemis curled in his mothers lap, hiding his face in her blouse, while Fowl senior called ahead to his doctor friend, assuring they wouldn't have to wait too long for service.
And true to the friend’s word, less than 30 minutes passed between the arriving and Artemis being wheeled on a tiny gurney to a room.
They gave him a mask, which probably had some medication mixed with the oxygen, because it seemed to calm him unnaturally fast.
He left with a blue cast, which stretched from his thumb to his armpit, a short list of prescription pills, and a heavy disappointment that he wouldn’t be able to work on his concerto.
#artemis fowl#artemis fowl ii#domovoi butler#artemis fowl angst#artemis fowl books#angst#af#fowldom#artemis fowl senior#tw violence#tw injury#tw drugs#tw guns#fanfic#tw parents#angeline fowl#butler#the major#the major artemis fowl#fowlfest#fowlfest2023
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Hiya! Ascension au sounds veryyyyy interesting……..can I ask what wwx’s design as a god looks like? (For possible fanart purposes………..)
alskdjf omg alright okay yeah!
So Wei Wuxian's godly design is very much a sort of fusion of his Yiling Laozu looks (primarily black with red and grey/silver) and some elements of TGCF's general godly character design (mostly the manhua and the in-book art. I love the donghua's character design but they're very much made for simplicity and I think the gods are ostentatious enough to want a bit More to their looks, usually.) with just a splash of Jiang aesthetics because he's got a fondness for lotus.
WHICH IS TO SAY.
I imagine his robes are a deep black with silver embroidery on the outside. His inner robes are, of course, red, and the inner robe sleeves are narrow and long enough to tuck into his bracers. The black outer robes, with as many layers as you like, are long, but the sleeves are typically only half-sleeves because at the start of the story his main thing is archery. (Similar to donghua Pei Ming's sleeves). (He has a black mulberry bow with silver inlay, red leather around the handle, and a string made partially out of his own hair aslkdjf. Quiver is a black and silver back quiver of some sort and the arrows are fletched with black, with red and silver strings. They're very fancy and come back to him, so he made them look good (literally made them, he spent two years making this spiritual weapon).)
Black trousers and boots, and silver armor with smoke designs on his chest, bracers, and pauldrons (shoulder covers). The armor's not overly elaborate or bulky, and fits his form well.
Wide belt. Silver and/or red accents, black if there's leather.
He has. Dark red eyes, because gods and funky eye colors are my jam, and they glow red when he's really using big power. He also has long hair he wears half-up (A topknot like cql!Wei Ying, but better and also longer, maybe a little wavy. I'm fond of his having bangs, too, so it's not ALL pulled back), and on his head is a silver lotus crown on fire. Very tall flames. Pointy at the top.
Because I like being extra and therefore he does, too, he's taken a few aesthetic tips from Hua Cheng and participates in a bit of hair-braiding up top, nail-painting, and some makeup around the eyes, and he's got some sort of dangly silver earrings I think.
When he's really going for dramatics, he has a whole-ass black cloak on that swishes Very Nicely.
All of this sounds very specific, but it's really more about the Vibes. He has multiple outfits, so if you do end up creating something and have a Different Idea, then by all means roll with it! The Palace of Yiling's colors are black, red, and silver primarily (as he's still the Yiling Laozu) and he does keep his goth kid tendencies, even in the Celestial Court.
His magic is red and gold uwu until he re-learns how to manage using guidao when his body is literally made of divinity, in which case it's red and black when he's using that.
alsdkflsdkjf
Thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about god!Xian uwu.
I love him so much and he's been cooking for so long in my brain. Of course he wears simpler clothing than this in the mortal realm, but his Godly Look is definitely something I've had a lot of fun coming up with.
#responses#fic: imit#ascension au#wei wuxian's godly form#is so fun to describe#he has many forms in this fic#and i love how much he switches between things sometimes
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Hows about from that ask game: glance, arms, and change for uhh... lets see.... how about... Yera?
glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?
I would think that the first thing people would notice out of Yera is her white hair. Not the strangest hair color to be honest, but it is eye catching enough to draw someones attention. The next would be the war paint she has constantly on her face. It's one of the default war paints in vanilla Skyrim, but it is so ingrained into the image I have of her that without it she looks incomplete in a way.
And just before I finished this post I realized that others would take note of her eyes, white and clouded over. Yera has gotten used and accepted them ages ago after they were injured and so she (and myself I guess!) forget that they would be unique looking. It's just part of who she is, surely there are other parts of her more interesting than that.
arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?
Oh, it's better to ask what weapons she doesn't have. Primarily, Yera carries with her a collection of knives and her bow and arrow. As she progresses more and more into her adventures she starts carrying a sword as well.
The knives are places wherever convenient. In her boot, on her belt, attached to her quiver, on the side of her backpack, etc.
The sword typically on the hip, though she isn't as versed in it and defaults to the knife over the sword.
The bow and quiver location depend on what her needs are. Backpack carrying? Put those things on her hip belt to keep out of the way. Just personally hunting by herself? Probably bow in hand and quivers on her back. Hard core cross country traveling with a high likely hood of dragon attack? Better pull out the travel supplies and have the bow case and extra extra quivers just in case.
If you haven't noticed yet, Yera is still primarily an archer and is very serious about equipment and functionality. It's why she has at least 5 different quivers, no no she promises they all have a use. Yes, that pretty blue one sounded nice but it has extra pockets on it it has nothing to do with vanity!
change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?
I would say that the most drastic change was in her youth when she was injured in an invasion by the Thalmor into her home city of Silvenar where she got her injuries. It was slow, but her hair slowly turned to white after this event.
She does have markings on her arms that were supposed to be tattoos, but I'm trying to workshop it to see if scarification is a possible thing. Just don't want to pull things from real life cultures at this moment without understanding it's significance and if I could do that. The logic with this is that Yera always wanted arm tattoos, but if she would slowly lose her vision and then never be able to see them in her future she wanted a different way to enjoy them. So scarification, but this is not a canon thing at the moment.
But maybe a wardrobe change would be the best indication of her change from Valenwood to Skyrim. She did it mostly to be inconspicuous from seeking eyes, but the more she stayed in Skyrim the more she adopted the available armor and her role in this land. Less dark and sneaky clothes, more precious metals in armor or even dragon bones after awhile.
The secret is that although Yera does feel big and powerful with all these nice armors and weapons and powers, she still feels so small at times and compensates it with the armor to feel big. But don't tell anyone that ;)
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[id: screencap from the video game neverwinter nights original campaign featuring a male half-elf archer holding a longbow, wearing a chain shirt and a dark green cloak, standing with his henchman the elven cleric linu in a dimly lit cell in the lower levels of the prison in the peninsula district. he has shoulder-length dark brown hair and a five o'clock shadow as in his portrait in the character sheet inset which is shown to the left, superimposed over the scene. the portrait also resembles the avatar in other ways, being clad in medium armour and a dark green cloak, as well as wearing a longbow on his back, along with a quiver of arrows. unlike the avatar, he is also holding a lute, and according to the character sheet he is a second level ranger and a first level bard. /end id]
Introducing Earendel, my latest attempt to play an arcane archer in this game. Yes, I named him after Tolkien's Eärendil (using the original Anglo-Saxon spelling from his source) because I suck at coming up with original names, and even gave him the surname "Mariner" as a nod to the character. But that's not his profession, he just inherited the name from his mother Elwith, a human bard. His father was an elf who died in battle when he was an infant, but even though he never knew him he was brought up on stories about his adventures by his mother. Hence he is obsessed with his elven roots.
As part of this backstory I cheated a little by starting him off in the Prelude with a Cloak of Elvenkind (Hide +10). Another fun little thing I'm doing is giving him progressively better magic lutes from the Shadows of Undrentide campaign module as he progresses as a bard (which he will be doing very slowly). At the moment he possesses the Fochluchan Bandore which he can use to cast Light once per day. His voiceset is the Archer which is one of the funnier ones and a joy to hear.
I made a rookie mistake with this character because I don't often play rangers. No biggie, just been having him fight with both a longsword and the Dagger +1 because I didn't realise Dual Wield is disabled by medium armour. From now on I'll be having him use a longsword single-handedly, but eventually I'll give him Weapon FInesse because I want his main weapon to be the Feyduster short sword. He's primarily an archer anyway.
He'll also eventually obtain Linu's Pendant of the Elf and Tomi's Ring of the Rogue, giving him a much-needed boost to dexterity, and of course, Sharwynn's Belt of the Performer to enhance his bard song. I'm really looking forward to him obtaining the Elven Court Bow at the end of this chapter because it's the perfect reward for him RP-wise. Also with the Mighty +3 property he'll be able to add his paltry +1 Strength modifier to the damage roll (and the full amount under the effect of something like Bull's Strength).
Anyway, I'm enjoying playing this character so much that I might even finish the game with him. But then, I say that about almost every new player character I create and I still haven't gotten past Chapter Two. ;)
#neverwinter nights#nwn#nwn screenshot#player character#half-elves#rangers#bards#arcane archer#nwn oc#nwn spoilers#earendel#my posts
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