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hunny-beann · 5 months

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The Coming of Spring

Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

Synopsis: It is May Eve on Asgard, a Holiday that exists to celebrate love, fertility, and the coming of Spring…

Though, if your lover, Prince Loki has his say in the matter (and he usually does), Spring will not be the only thing to come, nor will it be the only worshiped aspect of this particular eve.

Note: Welcome to the smut fest! For some reason I've found myself up at six in the morning writing this, so please forgive any mistakes I've made while in my horrendously exhausted state. I hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: Pretty graphic NSFW, vulgarity, somewhat of a breeding kink, and pure unadulterated filth

Word Count: 2,419

There was a rather frantic energy pulsing throughout the room as the palace staff rushed about nervously, not a single set of idle hands to be found in the combined effort to finish the preparations for the afternoon's upcoming festivities in a timely manner.

You blew out a puff of air, already exhausted from the tasks you had completed thus far and silently cursing this day for daring to come at all.

And yet this year, as with every other, the springtime holiday still arrived, the augur of some great change, according to legend, though for you it always meant the same thing:

Waking up at five in the morning to prepare for the upcoming afternoon festival in whatever manner the queen deemed fit for the proper celebration of what had come to be well known Walpurgisnacht, or May Eve, the holiday that brought upon the loud and boisterous worship of love, fertility, and the coming of Spring.

And of course, a day so dedicated to such things was one of pleasant festivities to be certain, and thus you never failed to enjoy it, but even still, your chores weighed heavily upon you as your overworked fingers weaved petals and stems through glistening golden iron.

It had been four hours since you had gotten up to work, and somehow it had felt like an eternity, your hands cramping and begging for relief as the tips of your fingers rubbed themselves raw with duty.

You paused for a moment to yawn into the crook of your elbow, wishing for the one hundredth time within that hour alone that you had gotten more sleep the night before.

Still, it had been a worthy sacrifice, had it not? A little bit of exhaustion today in order to avoid the simmering desire of the realm's younger prince throughout the festivities, or, more accurately yet, throughout your abundant tasks that you had scheduled about your day?

Yes, almost assuredly. You had learned all too well from last year (and the other two before that), that it was rather hard to do such things as wash the finest of the palace's dinnerware with Loki's skilled fingers upon your chest or beneath your dress, after all.

So, if a bit of freedom from your concerns of being dragged off into some dark corner upon every available moment of your dear prince's day came at the cost of you being forced to wake up early while he slept away the previous evening's activities, then so be it.

At least this way, you could know for certain that you still had quite a few hours yet until someone urged the prince to rise, giving you plenty of time to complete at least the preparatory chores before he began his ever persistent search for you.

He seemed to enjoy the game of seeking you out each morning, or at whatever time it was that he rose or found himself at leave, though usually it was to do little more than tease or annoy you as you attempted to work through his ceaseless attempts at distraction.

But on a holiday like today, you found that he was typically all too content with taking his teasing quite a few steps further. That said, much to your (mostly feigned) chagrin, that did not mean that he never found himself seeking out far less innocent sounds than those of annoyance, laughter, or sheer disbelief from you on random days throughout the year.

No, Loki was incorrigible, and beyond even that, incomprehensible with his choices and behaviors, and you could normally never hope to know upon which day you might find yourself sandwiched between his chest and some palace wall, though with the arrival Walpurgisnacht, it was almost always a certainty.

Still, with something that was perhaps akin to a fool's ignorance, you dared to hope that maybe, after a night like the one this dawn had followed, your prince may have been just sated enough to make it through the holiday without torturing you so the way that he usually chose to.

Such a thought could not be so terribly remiss, could it? Not after the hours upon hours of groping, fleeting, and cradling touches that the two of you had offered one another the night before.

Not after an afternoon's worth of teasing at the hands of the god of mischief upon that very same day, or the longing glances that carried on well into the evening.

Not after he had cornered you in the garden after dinner had come to an end, speaking his long withheld and inconceivably filthy promises of what was to come clearly and casually into the cool night air as if the two of you were simply taking an evening stroll together, talking about the weather or your hobbies rather than the way he planned to have you upon his tongue within the hour, hands creating bruising imprints of obvious ownership in the soft flesh of your hips and thighs as he drove you to madness before pulling you right back toward sanity again with the blunt tip of his cock as it kissed up against your wet folds, smearing precum amongst the remnants of his saliva and the glistening drool of your already thoroughly abused cunt.

Not after you had given in a mere twenty minutes after hearing his whorish promises of what he intended to do to you once he laid his hands upon your bare flesh again, knocking quietly at his heavy chamber doors until he finally came to find you standing there, having made you wait in a manner that was no doubt intentional just so he could feel the exaggerated way that you melted against him when he finally pulled you near, kissing you deeply until his amused and teasing chuckles turned into low and rumbling groans that arose from deep within his chest, and he pulled away to order you to your knees before him, mouth open and waiting so he could see the way your eager tongue stuck out to taste him even before he was bare before you, and how your perfect thighs began to rub together in a fruitless attempt to ease the ache that the sight of him never ceased to cause.

Not after he had held you firm against his chest, arm looped around your middle as you'd laid beneath him on all fours while he'd thrust his strong and lithe hips against your trembling ones, not an ounce of mercy to be found as he hissed and moaned with reckless abandon beside your ear, the sounds of his pleasure easily matching and occasionally even drowning out your own as he reminded you of who you had been born to serve, to worship, and to cum for upon his very command.

And oh, did he command.

Eleven orgasms, if you had counted correctly, and you were fairly certain with as hazy as your mind had felt after the first four, that you had not.

Your cheeks burned red at the clear and persistent memories of the previous night, Loki's satisfied groans and sluttish moans playing over and over within your head as if he were right there with you, cock buried in whichever tight, wet hole was deemed worthy of his attentions within that particular moment.

You swallowed thickly, pressing your thighs together tightly as you continued your seemingly endless work, flower after flower coming to rest perfectly upon the third archway that had been granted your efforts for the morning thus far.

Though, in spite of how diligently you worked at your assigned chore, it seemed that the fates themselves had something against it being completed,

For what other reason could there be for such familiarly agile hands to suddenly rest upon your hips so early in the morn, in spite of the tiresome escapades that had occurred the night before?

It was so unlike the younger prince of Asgard to awaken so early after a night of passion, after which he tended to lounge upon his sheets, naked body blessing the very realm with its presence as sunlight danced upon his skin.

You had seen that many a time after all, hadn't you? So you would certainly know, better than most at that, if not better than all.

But then again, it was so very much like Loki to rise early not to seize this day, but rather to seize you upon it as he had done for the past three May Eves since he had claimed you as his own...

And maybe you had not considered that fact as diligently as you should have while working to tire him out the night before, though now you were embarrassed to admit that you scarcely knew why you would have wanted to do so in the first place.

It seemed that your rather vivid memories of the prior evening's festivities had brought about a familiar stirring betwixt your thighs, and you knew all too well that there was only one set of hands, one silver tongue, one long and devastatingly thick cock, and one god of mischief who could help you to ease your sudden discomfort.

"Good morning, my dear."

He purred against the shell of your ear, warm breaths causing your hair to flutter about delicately as his hands traveled over top your gown.

"It would seem that I require some additional support when it comes to selecting and befitting myself with the proper attire for this afternoon's festivities."

He all but purred, forcing you to bite back a shiver as you struggled not to make your already overwhelming need for him too obvious.

It was never fun to just give in, after all.

You knew all too well how much he liked the chase.

So, with that thought in mind, you steadied yourself to the best of your ability, giving your already racing imagination a few brief moments of peace before finally, you spoke,

"Is that so, my prince?"

You asked, feigning curiosity as you did your best to continue working on the task at hand, sore fingers working deftly at soft petals and slightly thorny stems as you weaved them continuously through metal.

"Well, I regret to inform you that your dear mother, our most respected queen, specifically requested that I myself create the flowered arches for the festival this year."

You began,

"She was kind enough to let me know how much she enjoyed my work upon them last eve in Lady Juniper's absence, and asked if I might be willing to work my magic for a second year running."

You heard an amused chuckle arise from behind you, and though you were certain that Loki had already planned something truly devious to drag you away from your duties with, you continued to feign innocence.

"And how could I dare say no to a request such as that, dear prince? It would seem that Lady Juniper's past maternity leave has provided me with quite the opportunity with which to rise into our lady's good graces, and who would I be to squander such a thing?"

There was a thoughtful hum from your lover as he reached beyond you to thumb at a few of the petals that decorated your current project with his left hand, though the right stayed firm upon your hip, the pads of his fingers pressing deftly into your flesh just as they had done the night before, mirroring the bruises he'd left there perfectly.

"An utter fool, to be sure."

He replied easily, voice low and smooth as he continued,

"Though, I can think of a far better way for you to rise into the All-Mother's good graces, sweetling."

He murmured, lips brushing against your neck just enough so that you could feel the smirk that rested so prominently upon them.

He had you exactly where he wanted you, though you could scarcely bring yourself to mind when there was such a tremendous desire building for him deep within your core.

"Oh?"

You asked curiously, nimble fingers still working on your once so heavily fixated on project,

"And what might that be, Prince Loki?"

At that, you felt the ever teasing god of mischief crowd your back, his hardness pressed against you as you desperately fought the urge to wriggle against his crotch just to hear the no doubt sluttish groan he would let out if you did.

Thankfully enough though, your lover seemed eager to get to the point, the reasoning for that fact somehow growing even harder at the touch of your warmth, even with it being so dulled beneath your clothing.

He chuckled,

"Well my dear, I think you would find her to be quite pleased if you were to request your own leave in the coming months."

He purred, and this time, you could not even hope to fight back the shiver that followed, your hands finding either side of the nearly completed archway with a gasp as Loki bent you over at the waist, pressing himself as close to your clothed core as he could manage with a low and eager groan, his words dripping with both amusement and thinly veiled arousal as he spoke up again,

"Would you like me to give you a reason to do so?"

He all but growled, offering you one tortuously slow gyration of his hips in order to ensure your understanding of his less than subtle connotations as the hand that had once gripped so tightly to your hip moved swiftly beneath your dress, rubbing firmly against your bundle of nerves through your undergarments as you gasped both out of humiliation for where he had you so plainly in need of him, as well as out of arousal at his confident and ever beseeching touch.

And then suddenly, you were giving fervent and almost pleading nods in response to his previous question, having given up entirely on any hope of completing your most important project of the day.

It was, after all, May Eve, and how else should one hope to properly celebrate the coming of the Spring if not by blossoming beneath the touch of the queen's beloved second son?

And, it was as Loki had so cleverly stated himself,

It was not as if you would not be arriving swiftly and permanently within Frigga's good graces soon.

No, not if the god of mischief had his way,

Not if the two of you celebrated Walpurgisnacht in the way that Freyja herself had intended.

Loki Tag List: @mischief2sarawr

Additional Tag: @lokisgoodgirl (thank you very much for so kindly answering my anonymous questions regarding the SAS earlier! I've found that I have yet to develop the courage necessary to directly message any (other) particular authors yet, but I figured I can at least step outside of my comfort zone and tag you as you oh so kindly gave me permission to in your reply. Thank you again for your encouragement! <3)

#loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki smut #lokismut #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader smut #loki x yn #loki x yn smut #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki marvel #loki x fem reader #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut #loki breeding kink #loki x you #loki oneshot

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why4anne · 3 months

Text

Daylight

Part: 7/?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Category: Social Media au

Summary: Follow the love story of a global pop icon and a monegasque F1 driver

Face claim: Taylor Swift (Singing) + others

Masterlist

2022

theathletesgala

liked by yourusername, ellenpompeo and 645 943 others

theathletesgala:

Musical guest and award presenter Y/N L/N is in the building. She's wearing a stunning Versace gown and a killer cat eye.

view comments:

yourusername: 🫶🫶

y/nenjoyer: she looks STUNNING!!

girlypopy/n: Dare I say... Revenge dress?

vintagel/n: Oh, definitely!

holyleclerc: It's giving Princess Diana

lonely4lifer: Charles, look at what you lost

havemyleclerc: She is the one who fumbled

summery/n: Y/N lost a second tier F1 driver, Charles lost global pop icon, highest streamed female artist, the woman, the myth, the legend Y/N L/N

leclerctingzz: He's not a second tier F1 driver, he's the future of Ferrari

ubery/n: How many WDC?

childofdivorce: Auntie Blake pick me up I'm scared

lewishamilton: @/donatella_versace you outdid yourself with this dress

donatella_versace: Donatella VERSACE💜

theathletesgala:

liked by lewishamilton, simonebiles and 426 392 others

theathletesgala:

It's a star-studded event here tonight. Multiple athletes have now made their way onto the red carpet including:

Formula 1 drivers Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, Footballers Neymar and Alex Morgan, Gymnast Simone Biles, Figure-skater Tessa Virtue and NFL Quarterback Joe Burrow

Keep your eyes open for your favorite athlete to arrive!

view comments:

joeyb_9: Such a well organized event!

lewishamilton: Blessed to be here🙏

charles_leclerc: Happy to be included❤️

alexmorgan13: This will be so much fun

moreleclerc: Putting Neymar and Charles beside each other is CRAZY

lilttley/n: Okay but can we talk about how both Lewis Hamilton AND Joe Burrow interacted on the post about Y/N earlier??

gemmal/n: Y/N now has the chance to do the funniest thing ever and get with Max Verstappen

home4l/n: STOP- that would be too iconic

justleclerc: The world is not ready for that sort of chaos

theathletesgala

liked by yourusername, badgalriri and 742 674 others

theathletesgala:

Miss Y/N L/N what a performance!🙌👏

view comments:

heavenlyy/n: Mother did not come to play tonight!

realy/nfan: fr! She saw that both of her exes were in attendance and said "hold my wine glass"

unifiedy/n: Singing ATW and you're loosing me back to back while STARING at table number 12 (Charles and Neymar's table) is absolutely FOUL!

justl/nthingz: She's so cunty, I love it!

l/ny/nfavorite: Okay but why is no one talking about how she literally sang silver springs by Fleetwood Mac and in true Stevie Nicks fashion was glaring daggers into Charles while doing so!!!!!???

bluey/n: next level balls frfr!

bobbiey/n: Okay but that outfit??? Mother ATE!🔥

holyl/n: Ass out and everything for Charles to see🤭

justy/nfans: I just know that that man will go home and cry himself to sleep tonight

celebritynews

Liked by 202 392 people

celebritynews:

After receiving an anonymous tip from a reliable source, it seems as if Y/N L/N left the athletes gala after party with one of the guests of the night. Who it was is still unclear but stay tuned on celebritynews for more information!

view comments:

summery/n: This girl is a wag at heart

flowersbyl/n: That's so true! She does love her athletes😭

y/nleftpinkynail: Honestly she's so real for that😍

l/nbyy/n: Just like me fr!

chad.larsen: She's such a slut!🙄

leclerc_l/n: Bro GTFO with your musty ass comments!!🤢

brianyoung: Watch out whoever it is. She's gonna write a song about you😵‍💫

littley/n: It's almost like THAT'S HER FUCKING JOB???🤯

greenflowers: misogyny☕️

l/nhouse: Okay but who was it???!!!!

justagirl: I think it was Joe Burrow, did you see how he was looking at her while she was performing??😍

godlyy/n: I hope with my entire being that it's Max Verstappen💀

slayvettel: That would be too iconic!!

icemanfan: Y'all tripping, it's gotta be Lewis!

heavenlyy/n: HOLD UP! What if it was Neymar??

yourusername

liked by blakelively, nicorosberg and 6 582 194 others

yourusername:

cellphone on silent📱❌

comments are disabled:

Tag-list: @mindflay3r @karmabyfernando @lightdragonrayne @ilove-tswizzle @sadg3 @sassyheroneckgiant @c-losur3 @spideybv28 @boiohboii @charizznorizz @amel1ee @loloekie @sunny44 @janeholt3 @berrnuu

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 social media au #f1 social media au #f1 fic #f1 imagine

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cienie-isengardu · 1 year

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Cienie's Star Wars sidenotes

While doing research and writing down the last pieces of Funeral Rites of the Clone Troopers, it became even more clear how The Clone Wars animated TV series did a great disservice to Jedi, especially in the context of medical care for clones.

TCW has clone medics, both as part of combat units (e.g. Kix from 501st Legion) and working apparently in the medcentre as sometimes was presented on the screen.

The role of doctors treating wounded troopers was given to Kaminoans (Nala Se) and droids and sure, those two groups were part of the whole GAR’s medical system in the Legends too. However Jedi Healers (doctors), as far as I remember, were seen treating mainly other Jedi like Yoda

and even then TCW barely paid attention to force healing as an important skill.

The research about medical care for clones gives a pretty drastic idea of what was happening during and after battle which is understandable why the show destined for younger viewers didn’t go into full details about triage of wounded but considering how many dark themes were put in the same show, I dare to say not showing medical care provided by Jedi or common Republic doctors and nurses (who btw are a rare example of republic citizens conscripted into army during the war) actually is unfair. The show reduced one very important aspect of Jedi - they weren’t just generals and commanders either sending or leading troops into battle, they also provided medical help, whether they were specifically trained at healing or not.

In Legends, we could see Jedi Healers assisting the army on various occassions, working in triage area like in Republic comics series:

The triage unit, where Jedi healers labor to save the lives of the wounded, was set up safely behind the line of battle. But as the fortunes of war shift, so do the battlelines.

and worrying first about wounded even in the face of serious danger

Master Saa! We’re cut off! There’s no way to get the wounded out!

and searching for survivors

Master Saa is hurt! She pulled the trees on top of us for protection...

and working in hospitals

Follow me Skywalker. We have much healing to do. The Jedi sickbay, where we treat the most severe injuries. And our own, of course. Master Offee has saved countless lives. She seldom leaves her post to rest. But we all work long hours.

Not to mention the whole Medstar duology dedicated to padawan Bariss Offee, doctors and nurses serving in Republic mobile hospitals close to frontine - and yes, forever I’m gonna be bitter about how TCW/New Canon treated the most iconic Jedi Healer.

(The cover art for Medstar: Jedi Healer by Dave Seeley)

When padawan Skywalker arrived at New Holstice with his troops, he was immedialy called to assist in the nearest sickbay

“Are you injured, master Jedi?”

“Not really, no.”

“Good. You can make yourself useful by heading to the nearest sickbay. We need all the Jedi healers we can get...”

and for context, this is Anakin two days after after Jabiim, one of the worst war campaigns Republic experienced so far, the solely survivor of Jedi Pack traumatized both by the loss of his comrades and what happened on the planet and forced to make a devastating choice is literally told to get at work ASAP because every Jedi in between assignment was working here hard to heal the most wounded..

Though no healer himself, Anakin even force-healed injured trooper on battlefield to stop him going into shock:

Supporting the commando trooper with his left arm, Anakin warded off blaster bolts on the run. The rest of Squad Seven supplied cover, blowing STAPs out the sky with uninterrupted fire. Cody motioned everyone into a shallow irrigation trench just short of the mound. By the time Obi-Wan arrived, the troopers were deployed in a circle, and continuing to pour fire into the sky. Anakin slid into the trench a moment later, lowering the commando gently to the muddy slope. Squad Seven’s medical specialist crawled over, removing the commando’s ravaged utility belt and deeply dented helmet. [...]

The harvester’s pincers had crushed the armor into the commando’s abdomen. His skin was intact, but the bruising was severe. With only half the original army of 1.2 million in fighting shape, the life of every clone was vital. Blood and replacement organs - - what the regular troopers referred to as “spare parts” - - were readily available - - “easily requisitioned” - - but with the war reaching a crescendo, battlefield casualties were on the rise and treated as high priority.

“Not much I can do for him here,” the medspec told Anakin. “Maybe if we can get an FX-Seven air-dropped - - ”

“We don’t need a droid,” Anakin interrupted. Kneeling, he placed his hands on the injured commando’s abdomen and used a Jedi healing technique to keep the clone from going into deep shock. [Labyrinth Of Evil]

(and included request for evacuation of the wounded trooper when Cody called for artillery support)

In Republic comics series alone we could see Jedi showing concern for the wounded troopers at various moments, putting their well-being as priority:

or helping (healing) wounded enemies:

And I won't lie, it is frustrating how Legends, especially Republic comics series that had around 40 issues put so much pressure on Jedi Force healing and how Jedi care for wounded troopers while The Clone Wars (New Canon) that lasted for decade or so kinda ignored the issue? Which is unfair to Jedi and clones alike. The first are presented as less caring, at times indifferent? the latter deserved to have all the available medical help, not just Kaminoans and droids.

#star wars #jedi #jedi healers #clone troopers #legends vs new canon #anakin skywalker #luminara unduli #bariss offee #aayla secura #mace windu #i wil be bitter forever for how tcw treated bariss offee #i demand new canon to bring back the jedi force healing their troopers and wounded in general

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aynavaano · 2 months

Text

Say my name

Part one of the Crosshair x you Series

Wordcount: 2.5 k

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

You work alongside Rex‘s team on their base on Teth to help them locate Tantiss, when Clone Force 99 arrives you can‘t take your eyes off their sharpshooter Crosshair. And when Rex asks you to question Crosshair about Tantiss and you two are left alone things get spicy.

Notes:

This started as a quickfire one shot taking place in Episode 6/7 of the BB season 3 I had to write after watching. It‘s doesn’t deviate from canon besides you are there. Fingering, blowjob, unprotected sex, season 3 made me fall for Crosshair, send help

—————————————-

The ancient stone walls of the monastery on Teth echo with the whispers of rebellion, a haven for those who dare to defy the grip of the Empire. In the heart of this bastion Rex has gather his allies and made a temporary commando central where you operate from. You got to know Howzer during the uprising on your home planet Ryloth and after he deserted you decided to join him and his brother in their fight for freedom. For the last weeks, you had stood by Captain Rex's side, aiding him in his quest to dismantle the Empire's grip on the galaxy and trying to locate Tantiss, an imperial base of which you knew little more than the name and that clones were held captive there. In the dimly lit commando room, you hunch over a datapad, the glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across your face. Your fingers fly across the keypad, deciphering the encrypted data from a device confiscated from an imperial assassin clone. The tension in the room is palpable as you wrestle with the complex encryption, each passing moment hopefully bringing you closer to unlocking the coordinates within.

Captain Rex's footsteps echo in the silence as he enters the room, his presence gentle yet commanding attention. "Any progress?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of anxiety.

You look up from your work, exhaustion etched into your features. "I don’t know if we’re going to get anything out of it, Rex. But I haven’t given up hope yet" you reply, your voice tinged with determination.

Rex nods, his expression understanding. "Alright, I'll let you work. Just wanted to give you a heads up—Clone Force 99 will be here soon. One of their own was on the target list of that assassin. I figured you might want to talk to them. Two of them escaped Tantiss, maybe they have some bits of information that will help" he informs you, his words carrying a weighty significance.

Moments later, the distinct sound of a shuttle's engines fills the air, signaling the arrival of the legendary Bad Batch. As the door slides open, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement mingled with trepidation. These were no ordinary clones; they were living legends, heroes of the republic turned renegades.

"Hey, Rex!" greets Hunter, the leader of the Bad Batch, with a nod of acknowledgment. Wrecker, the tallest, follows behind him, their presence exuding an aura of strength and camaraderie. And then there was Crosshair, his piercing gaze scanning the room with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. Beside him stands Omega with her hound, the young girl who had captured the hearts of the Bad Batch with her unwavering courage. You try to maintain your composure as you greet them, but the sight of Crosshair makes you tingle. He nods in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

As the group settled in, you find yourself stealing glances at Crosshair, unable to tear your gaze away from the enigmatic sharpshooter. There is something magnetic about him, a silent allure that draws you in despite your best efforts to resist. Over a simple meal of spicy stew, the conversation flows freely, filled with tales of daring escapades and narrow escapes. You listen intently, hanging on every word as the Bad Batch regaled you with stories of their adventures. But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, there is an underlying tension, a sense of unease that hangs heavy in the air.

After the meal, Captain Rex suggest that you have a conversation with Crosshair to glean any additional information about the Empire's base on Tantiss while he takes the rest of the batch to the captured assassin. You feel a flush of heat rise to your cheeks at the suggestion, but you nod in agreement, your pulse quickening with anticipation.

You lead Crosshair to a secluded chamber in the upper floor, you usually come here if you need a quiet moment to think and you find solace in its simplicity and the view over the jungle surrounding the fortress. You sit cross-legged on the floor amidst a sea of scattered pillows and you motion for him to join you. His presence is a potent mix of strength and arrogance, a contradiction that both intrigues and unnerves you. "So, what do you know about Tantiss?" you ask, intimated by his presence, your voice barely above a whisper. Crosshair's gaze meets yours, his expression unreadable. "More than I care to remember," he replies, „but nothing that will help you I’m afraid“ ,his voice tinged with bitterness. "The experiments they conducted there...they were beyond anything I could have imagined."

As he continues to speak and tell you all he knew, you can’t help but notice the tremor in his right hand, a subtle reminder of the horrors he had endured. Without thinking, you reach out to touch his hand, offering a silent gesture of comfort. But you quickly draw your hand back and apologize, you clearly overstepped his boundaries.

The tension between you is palpable and for a moment, neither of you speak, lost in the tangled web of emotions that envelope you. And then, without warning, Crosshair leans in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. It is a collision of passion and longing, a desperate plea for solace amidst the chaos of war. As the kiss deepens, you feel a wave of desire washing over you, igniting a firestorm of longing within. In that moment, all thoughts of duty and honor fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by a shared desire for redemption and salvation.

Crosshair's lips collide with yours again, igniting a wildfire of desire as he draws you closer, closing the space between you completely. His kisses hungrily trail down your neck, each one sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins. As his hands explore your body, you feel a surge of anticipation building within you. Before he removes your shirt, his eyes seek yours, silently asking for permission. You respond with a nod, your lip caught between your teeth in anticipation.

Your top vanishes under his touch, revealing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. Crosshair's lips find your breasts, kissing and biting gently, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. You reach for his armor, but he gently pushes you back, a silent command for you to yield to his control. He bends down to kiss you, his hand slipping into your trousers, finding you already wet and ready for him. Surprised by your lack of panties, he slides into your folds, eliciting a moan of pleasure from your lips and with a hunger in his eyes, he pulls down your trousers, his gaze fixated hungrily on your exposed body. Seated against the wall, your back pressed against the cool surface, Crosshair hovers over you, his lips trailing kisses along your neck. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles as he slowly slides two fingers into you. You moan with pleasure as he explores your depths, his touch sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. "Tell me what you want me to say," you whisper, your voice dripping with desire. "Say my name," he commands, sliding another finger into you. And as you moan his name, your climax already looms dangerously close, the tension building with every passing moment. "Come for me, baby," he murmurs, his grip tightening as he drives you over the edge. With his permission, you tip over into ecstasy, crying out his name as pleasure washes over you. Crosshair watches you with a smirk of satisfaction, enjoying the sight of you unraveling before him. "Such a good girl," he says, slowly pulling his fingers out of your wetness and licking them clean, savoring your taste.

As your orgasm subsides, you gently push him onto his back, whispering, "Please let me take care of you." and you begin to remove his armor, piece by piece, the sound of clanking metal echoing through the room. With each piece of armor that falls, his resistance weakens a little more, and as he finally gives in, his desire for you grows stronger with every passing moment. You want to give this man all the love and attention he deserves. Your arousal grows stronger with every piece you remove until he is down to his blacks and you can see the bulge that has already formed, his cock already so hard for you. When you finally remove the last piece of fabric you shiver. His cock already glancing with precum is so hard and so big, you already feel your pussy tingling again still sensitive from your first orgasm. You take a moment to admire him, his lean toned body is covered with scars but he is so beautiful and you feel proud that he lets you take care of him. With a tender touch, you trail kisses down his body, your fingertips tracing the scars that mark his skin, touching him with softness where he only experienced pain. With each caress, you feel him relax under your touch, his tension melting away in the warmth of your embrace. Leaning in close, you brush your lips teasingly against the tip of his cock, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Crosshair. With a satisfied grin, you swirl your tongue around the head, savoring the salty taste of his pre-cum. His fingers thread through your hair, urging you onward as you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching to accommodate his impressive girth. You moan around him, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure coursing through his body. With each bob of your head, you take him further into your mouth, your tongue dancing along his length in a sensual dance of passion. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips rocking rhythmically against your movements as he seeks release. Your tongue swirling around him as you tease him to the brink of ecstasy. You feel him growing harder beneath your touch, his desire for release building with every passing moment. A low growl escapes his lips, a primal sound of desire that sends a shiver down your spine. But you want to prolong his pleasure, to savor every moment of this intimate connection and with a sultry smile, you straddle him, rubbing your wet pussy against his cock, feeling him throb with anticipation. "Tell me what you want," you whisper, your voice husky with desire. "Fuck me," he groans, his voice thick with need. "Fuck me like there's no tomorrow." and with a slow, deliberate motion, you slide onto his cock, feeling him fill you completely. You moan his name as you begin to move, the pleasure building with every thrust. The sensation of being stretched around him is exquisite, every inch of him pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. You rock your hips against his, setting a rhythm that drives you both wild with desire. Crosshair's hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire deep within your core. You lean forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss as you grind against him, the heat between you building with every thrust. His tongue dances with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he's trying to memorize the taste of you. With a loud groan, he finds release, his warm cum filling you as you cry out his name in ecstasy. This was all you needed to tip you over the edge again and your orgasm washes over you once again. You sink down onto him and nestle your head into his neck, whispering his name softly. "Crosshair," you murmur, your voice filled with tenderness, content that you could give him some moments of ease.

As you both slowly come down from your climax, your fingertips trace over Crosshair's body “Whenever you need some ease, you know where to find m..” you whisper but before you can finish your sentence, a loud boom echoes through the room, shattering the tranquility. An explosion rocks the forecourt, and in an instant, Crosshair springs to his feet, pulling you close to him protectively. "Stay behind me," he commands, urgency lacing his tone as you both hastily dress. His movements are swift and efficient, his hands deftly securing his armor with practiced precision. You reach out to help him, but he's already finished, his skilled hands working with lightning speed. The comm in his helmet crackles to life, and you hear Hunter's voice, frantic with worry, asking about your safety. "Where are you, Cross? Are you safe? Is... the girl still with you?" Hunter's voice crackles over the comm, and in the background, you can hear Rex calling out your name to Hunter. Crosshair's response is swift and assured. "Yes, she's here. We're okay," he assures Hunter, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around you. "Our location has been compromised. We need to get out. Meet us in the back room she can lead you there. Rex has another way out." "Understood," Crosshair answers over the comm, and then the line goes silent. He turns to you, his eyes a mixture of determination and concern. "Listen, you have to follow my command now," he demands, his voice firm. "Stay close to me, no arguments. I won’t let anything happen to you. I'll get you out safe if you show me the way" he adds, a hint of affection in his tone. You nod in agreement as he reaches for the door, his hand trembling slightly. With a deep breath, he pushes it open, ready to face whatever lies beyond.

You and Crosshair navigate through the chaos of the main hall, debris and panicked voices filling the air. Crosshair keeps a protective arm around you, his protective presence a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil. Together, you manage to slip into the back room, your heart pounding with every step. Crosshair's keen eyes scan the surroundings, ensuring your safety before allowing himself a moment's respite. "You did good," he murmurs, his voice low but filled with gratitude. His brothers, along with Rex and a few others, are already gathered in the room, their expressions a mix of tension and relief at your arrival. Rex wastes no time, swiftly pushing aside a stack of crates to reveal another exit, a contingency plan for situations exactly like this. As you begin to move toward the newly revealed exit, Crosshair remains steadfast at your side, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Wrecker, unable to resist the opportunity for a bit of levity amidst the chaos, can't help but interject with a teasing remark. "You seemed to have a good talk, CROSSHAIR, heh?" Wrecker jests to his brother, a mischievous tone in his voice. You blush but Crosshair's response is swift and sharp, his tone laced with a hint of annoyance. "Jealous?" he snarls, his words clipped as he protectively guides you towards the emergency shuttle stationed further down the stairs and as you make your way down you feel his warm cum oozing from your still sensitive pussy leaving a sticky trail in your trousers.

#ao3 #fanfic #writing #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch #tbb season 3 #star wars #crying over clones

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aka-indulgence · 1 year

Text

Moonlight

Been thinking of an au where Sans is a banished moon god and you’re the daughter of The Sun, in the form of Sunlight. You’re one of many, but you’re the only one who dared to visit the moon god…

—————

A lone twinkling light floats over the night sky, like a space firefly. Your silken dress trails behind you, catching your light, like a flickering flame.

You left the earth at sundown, along with your many sisters. But this was unlike your usual travels- you weren’t with your sisters. It feels weird, the sky feels empty without them. You should’ve gone with them, to go home towards the sun, your mother. Instead… you were flying in the earth’s shadow, towards the darkened moon.

You don’t know how it happened, it just… did. Maybe because as the sun started to set and you looked up at the stars, they remembered about the moon, his myths and legends.

“They said he tried to destroy the earth, once.” Loni said. “He failed and fled to the moon.”

“They said he hates life… he hates the ring of gods, at the very least.”

“Do you think he’s even real…?” Thea wondered, prompting the rest of them to look at her.

“Thea!” One of them cried. “Of course he’s real!”

“How do you know?” She prompted. “Have you ever seen a depiction of The moon? I bet the humans don’t even know he exists.”

“But-”

“Have you ever seen him directly?”

“...”

No one has seen the moon in eons. Persumably since he was banished.

“No one can go to the moon… of course we’ve never seen him.”

“They said mother chained him thousands and thousands of years ago. If he could escape, I bet we’d have seen him.”

“... Would you go to the moon to see him?”

The rest of the girls get a giddy look on their faces when Thea’s expression sours a little. She doesn’t say anything.

You look up at the darkening sky as your other sisters leave earth.

“... I would.”

Everyone’s head snapped to look at you. You’d stayed quiet during the entire conversation, you bet most had forgotten you were there as well.

“(Y/n)?? Really?!”

They sounded scandalous.

“I want to know.” You said simply.

“You want to go there?” Loni grimaces. “No way… that’s so scary… and it’s forbidden... are you sure you want to?”

“Yeah. I’ll go alone.”

Their jaws collectively drop. As you ascend into the sky, the look on their faces tell you that they know they should stop you, but they don’t. Like children who’s seeing a big no-no but want to know what happens anyway.

You just wanted to know. It was a good question. Presumably the last being to see The Moon was your mother. The other gods literally wouldn’t touch it.

Just a little peek. Then you’ll leave.

The distant stars are your only company. You don’t think you’ve been without your mother’s light for a long time. Or alone, for the matter.

Before long, you’ve arrived on the moon.

The dust poofs away when your feet touch the ground. Almost immediately you realize that it’s… too quiet.

In the sky it was quiet but serene. Here, it felt… dead. The moon was gray, dull. Barren and devoid of life. It was nothing like earth (which was basically your second home), bustling and loud. Even when you stood alone in fields of grass, the wind was there to accompany you. There was just… nothing, here.

Your mother’s light doesn’t reach here, in the shadows. It was just you.

The only sound was your footsteps on the lunar surface. You didn’t really know where you were going, but you could see something that looked like a temple in the distance. You’ve seen plenty of temples on earth, mostly dedicated to your mother. You’ve seen temples for the other gods too, and even a shrine for the sun’s daughters. But… you’ve never seen this one. It looks, fittingly, like no one’s been here for centuries, thousands of years even. There’s a symbol on it… a sphere with an arc in it.

You’re very confident that’s where you’re heading.

Entering it, you have an unshakable feeling that you’re not supposed to be here. You know that already, but now it feels like your body is screaming at you to run out. It’s somehow even quieter in here than it was outside- like doors and windows were just shut on you, the air being sucked out.

The temple would have been completely dark if it wasn’t for you. Where your light falls short, was a black void.

You couldn’t deny it, you were shaking. Your fingers trembled, your legs felt weak. You took in a slow, shuddering breath.

Even if he’s here… and the pit in your stomach is telling you that he is, he’s chained. Otherwise he’d already be running amok. Mother would know.

The temple itself wasn’t very large (and you wondered what it’d be used for if it wasn’t for the moon god’s rampage), and it didn’t take long before you’ve descended into a spacious room with some grim looking prison bars. You could hear your heart, it was so quiet.

Just a little bit ahead of you, on the far wall beyond the bars, you saw a hunched figure on the floor. You could barely see him, thanks to your light (which was dimmer, on account of the fear the moon struck).

You hold your breath- the figure moved. He wore a dark gray cloak that draped over him, keeping his face in the shadows. The shadows around your light cut deep. A chill runs over your spine when you see a skeletal hand extend out of the robe, touching your light.

It was like seeing a ghost.

He turned his hand over, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A hoarse voice, marred from years of being unused, calls out.

“... sun…?”

He sounds… slightly… irate.

You make a small gasp when two sharp, unkind glowing eyes looked at you from under the hood.

Then… you see a wide grin stretch out on his face, illuminated by your light.

“oooh….” He drawls, “what do we have here?”

His voice was dark and ancient. It somewhat resembled the voice of the ‘big’ gods- distorted. It sounds as if he’s whispering to you, yet you could feel the power in his voice hitting you like a hurricane wind.

You were stuck- frozen. Watching the moon god of myths turn to look at you better.

“hello there, child of sun.” He greets you with what you feel like is faux hospitality.

He was waiting for a response.

“H…. hello there, Moon,” you reply with as much respectful reverence as possible, bowing to him. He looks smugly pleased with your behavior.

“very good… what is your name, little light?”

You wanted nothing more than to flee. But you had a sneaking suspicion that doing so might give banished god a grudge on you.

“I-” your voice cracked. “I’m (Y/n).”

You sounded braver on the second try. You’re sure you look much braver than you are.

The god acknowledges you. “welcome, (y/n). let me introduce yourself- i’m sure i don’t need to tell you who i am… i hope?”

That was a rhetorical question if you ever heard one. Hastily, you shook your head.

“good… but i’m sure your dear mother wouldn’t want anyone to know my name. oh, she’s tried so hard to forget me…” he chuckles bitterly. “so let me introduce myself. my name is sans.

“so, (y/n).” Sans uttered. “what brings you here, to my lowly prison… one which was once my domain?”

“Uh…”

“did your mother send you? to check on this miserable joke of a god? shackled to his supposed land of power?”

His grin was becoming sharper and his voice started to get louder. You had to reassure- no, diffuse him.

“N-no, Moon Sans.”

He seems almost surprise to hear you say his name, enough that he temporarily forgets his anger.

“... i haven’t heard anyone use that name in years…”

His grin had fallen a little.

You look innocently at him. “That is what people call you, right..?”

His expression darkens. “that is my name, but… no.”

“they call me the ‘one cast in darkness’. ‘banished brother’. the ‘dark one’. … feh. the one’s in the light love to… throw shade. the ones i called my brethren. they can’t even look at me… they threw me in here and never looked back. ” He spits.

“so… what brought a sweet little drop of sunlight to the barren moon, hm?”

The way his voice switched from dripping with poison to dripping with honey unnerved you.

“did you come to see this hideous face?”

You almost reactively take a step back when the god leans forward, more of his face revealed in the light. Part of you were expecting it, but you’ve only heard of sparse descriptions of the moon god. When you saw his skeletal face, his eyelights set in midnight black sockets, it took everything in you to keep your face neutral, lest you offended the god.

You gulped. If his temper was as famous as his stories were (and you were sure you saw his fuse ignite), would he be upset with your answer?

“N… no.” You wouldn’t call him hideous. You’ve just never seen a god that looked like him before. “I… I wanted to see if you were real.”

A flash of red on his face.

“hahahahah!” He bellowed suddenly, harshly. “of course. i’m sure i’m just a forgotten myth by now, aren’t i? no one’s visited here since your wretched mother-” You flinched, “-chained me here, left me to rot. they all did. the joke is on them… i won’t fade away like they hoped- prayed i would. one day the light will die and i’ll be there to make them pay.”

A growl rips out of his throat at his last words- you couldn’t help it, you squeaked. The banished god’s eyes snapped to look at you, the snarl on his face turning back to a smile that was too soft after his burst if anger.

“oh…. you poor thing…” Sans coos. It was like his voice was caressing you in the worst ways. “i’m sorry, did i scare you? little light… you don’t deserve my ire, you had nothing to do with my entrapment.”

You’re clutching onto your scarf, enough so that you feel like it would rip. You’re quite surprised, actually- you were sure the moon god would have such a deep grudge for your mother that he’d hate her daughters just as much, but… no. You didn’t know how to feel about the moon god’s concern for you. Having his attention felt like a horribly bad thing.

The god brings a skeletal finger to his face, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “you’re a brave one, aren’t you?” he acknowledged, “bravery… or ignorance. not even the big gods have dared come near my moon. they know what i’m capable of.”

Instantly you find yourself looking down- you let out a quiet sigh. Your light illuminates his chains, glinting whenever you move. It must be your mother’s magic reacting to your sunlight, because it wasn’t just reflecting the light, it was glowing ever so softly. It looked ancient… old, but not rusted. You felt like you were looking at living history. Just like your sisters, to you, it felt like the story of the moon god was stuck in a fairytale. That he was the villain of a story that was just that- a story. Yet here you were, looking at him in his prison, the chains your mother put on him still brilliant for its age. Two were shackled to his wrists and two more went under his robe to his feet.

Despite that and the sturdy bars between you and him… it felt like you were the one who was cornered and trapped with him.

The moon was undoubtedly still his dominion.

His chains clink quietly as he shifted.

“come closer, starlight…” Sans beckoned, “i want to see you better. i haven’t felt sunlight in thousands of years. i may despise your mother but… oh, to see light…”

You hadn’t realized how far you’d gotten yourself from the bars, almost at the opposite wall to Sans’. You hd no desire to come close to this prison of doom but- you do.

You walk halfway towards the bars.

“closer, closer…”

You walk a little bit forwards.

“please, sunlight… i haven’t seen the light in so long. i want to see your brilliance…”

You’ve come as close as you could, just in front of the bars. The closer you got to the bars, the sharper the shadows looked. A chill fell over you- it felt like his prison was a dark hole that threatened to suck you in.

He smile was too wide-

A flash of movement, a roar. He was right in your face, four sets of claws outstretched before you, so close to your light you could see every detail in his horrifying expression, his bared fangs, the wild look in his eyes.

You screamed louder than you’ve ever screamed, your light flashing, staggering backwards. The chains shone- screeching and straining against the god- he falls short of touching you, collapsing to the ground.

“AHAHAHAHAH!” The moon god laughs cruelly, the sound the embodiment of evil. It’s depth shook the entire building- no, it was shaking the entire moon.

You’re on the floor, gasping greedily, looking like a fish that had just been unceremoniously dumped on land, your divine soul threatening to fly out of your chest. Your light flickers as you get dimmer than before, the darkness around Sans threatening to devour you.

You were about to cry.

Sans’ violent laughs started to quiet, eventually shifting into a satisfied sigh. This close, you could see him in more detail- his robe was gray, with the same symbol on his temple pinning it on his chest. You could see how your light flickered over his bones, his face.

He had four arms, two of which had been hidden under his robe. Unchained, they reached beyond the bars just shy of touching you.

“aw…. you’re adorable.” Sans growls. You watch in horror as a glowing silver tongue slithers out of his mouth, licking his fangs. He’s staring at you intently, a predator excited to see prey. “had you not stumble i would’ve had you against these bars…”

You look at his second set of hands. His claws reach out for you and you shuffle back, Sans following with another low laugh. It felt like those chains weren’t going to hold against him, that they were going to shatter any second now. That he’d bend the bars apart and bite you.

“oh…. lighten up, starlight.” He chuckles, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death. His sockets crinkled, eyelights shining with a dark ‘pupil’ in the middle. They shifted ever so slightly over you.

“you must know that it’s so boring here, all alone in this pitiful cell,” He groans, throwing his head back in dismay, “i’ve been desperate to have someone to play with… and you look like a sweet little treat.”

You use your scarf to cover yourself more, becoming more and more convinced that maybe the moon god actually wants to eat you from the way he’s staring.

“i’m impressed… you haven’t run away,” He props his head up with one of his unchained hands. “why haven’t you?”

It was a genuine question. You looked at his room from top to bottom.

“There’s bars… and chains.” You say, trying to convince yourself that you were perfectly safe here.

“hm…” his other unchained hand was tapping the floor as he thought for a moment. “are you sure they’ll hold?”

“...” You weren’t convinced.

“heh… smart girl.”

His second set of arms moved again, reaching for the bars-

Ok. It was time to leave, right now.

“Th-thank you for your time, Moon god Sans,” you say hastily, standing up and dusting yourself off. “It’s been an honor to meet you. I see you are much more powerful than you already seemed in the stories. I must go home now, so… goodbye.”

You ran your mouth. Usually you’d leave a god with a bow or at most a word of praise. But that was when you were there with your sisters and your mother, with a god that didn’t have such a terrifying reputation.

You bowed as lowly as you could, pulling your scarves to the side. You didn’t want to look at him, disguised as looking at the floor. You wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, so you turned around on your heel towards the stairs-

“wait.”

Oh mother’s storm.

“please, starlight… won’t you come back? i’m so lonely…”

You looked behind you. He was as close as he could be to the bars, in sitting position like when he was against the wall. His eyes shone brilliantly. This… powerful, dak god… was pleading to you.

You don’t know how to feel about it. You look back at him sparingly, biting your lip.

“... if you do…” Sans says after you’re silent for a little longer, “could you… bring me some snacks?”

That makes you go huh? softly.

“something sweet preferably. like a cake.”

You’re on the fence of responding. You couldn’t just say ‘I never want to come back here because I think I’d die of fright first before I could humor you.’

“I… I’ll think about it.” is what you instead settled on.

Finally, you allowed yourself to climb up the stairs, starting to run as soon as you’re out of his eyesight, flying as fast as you could home.

…

“... my. what a delicious little thing…”

#aka writing #sinister writing #???#calling this #moonlight #imagining this in myth format……

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ewanmitchelll · 4 months

Text

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (X): Long Live.

Imagine you are transported to the past… instants before the legendary battle between Aemond and his uncle Daemon Targaryen occurs. What will you do? Part I.

Warnings: drama, angst, smut—fluff; loosely based on “Outlander”.

Warnings 2: alternative universe concerning the end of “GOT”’s season 8 where Daenerys lives and Jon Snow never killed her, with a more modern take.

Warnings 3: long post.

***

• Current days.

With the war coming to an end and the recent coronation of Queen Daenerys, your life has finally returned to what it used to be… before the threat of the Others, when you were forced to flee from Winterfell to go down South and live with your uncle and aunt all the whilst the rest of your family decided to move to Sunspear, in Dorne.

You start a new life at King’s Landing, taking a course at the Westerosi University, making new friends and even finding a few dates for yourself.

“We should definitely head to Aegon’s Hill”, your friend Margaery says. “There’s a very mystical place, abandoned after the Usurper fell”, she adds in reference to Cersei Lannister’s death by treason.

You hesitate, but what’s there to lose? Security has been restored thanks to the joint efforts of Queen Daenerys and her King Consort, Jaehaerys II after years of civil war plus the madness coming from the north.

“We should celebrate there”, another friend named Lyna adds.

And that is how it all begins. But who could tell what was going to happen?

In the first hours of the morning next you, already dressed in red, black stripes pants and a white, winter like blouse, get your fundamental things in your backpack with an adventure feeling you cannot get rid off.

“And here we go”, you mumble to yourself after getting some coffee.

You hear the sound of a “beeeee”, and you know it’s Margery on the car. You wave a quick goodbye from your aunt and uncle before dropping into it.

“Don’t get yourself too late at home!”, you hear your aunt yelling over her shoulder.

You laugh quietly before yelling back:

“When have I ever failed you?”

And so you are driven all the way to Aegon’s hill, singing a random song seconded by your girl friends.

“I feel so excited about going there”, you, usually the quiet one, find yourself chatty this morning. Is the coffee the cause of it? Maybe. “I was reading about it and rumour has it there are a few enchantments surrounding the stone blocks that remain still.”

“You can’t honestly believe this shit”, Lyna reclines back the backseat and gives you a look. “It’s all mythical. Stories tell us that that hill received the Conqueror’s name because that was where he flew with the great Balerion.”

“But before his arrival there used to be the spot of ancient religions that turned such spot one very meaningful for their practices and all. Aegon himself kept it, aware of its importance”, you honestly don’t know what’s with you, but part of you likes the mysterious aura that place has.

“There is also a legend dated from the days of the Blackfyre rebellion that if you are not careful enough you can be tossed into the past”, says Margaery.

“How past that is, one wonders”, Lyna muses, eventually taking in the idea.

“That depends. The three eyed crow could tell… but it’s been said the man was killed by the Night King.”

You tilt your head as if pondering what the girls are talking about.

“I still can’t believe he died during the war”, you muse out loud.

“He sacrificed for the realm. Apparently he always knew that.”

No one dares to say anything. The Great War is still a sensitive topic to many and your group isn’t an exception to it. Eventually, however, you manage to get to the hill.

It’s large and surrounded by very ancient stones indeed. The beauty in its mysticism makes all the more alluring to you. Something so captivating calls you and, distracted, as if you have been hypnotized, you attend it.

In baby steps you walk, ignoring the bubbling of your friends. A soft hymn, as if played by a harp, is heard.

“Do you hear this, girls?”, you turn at them, missing the mist that rises from nowhere.

But they seem unable to hear you. You try to reach them, especially when the sound of an earthquake scares the hell out of you. You grip tightly the stone, or try to, but it’s when everything spins and you scream.

When your friends turn at you, you are no longer there.

***

• Days of War

I said remember this moment in the back of my mind. The time we stood with our shaking hands. The crowds in stands went wild…

A thunder scratches through the black clouds, roaring it violently. It only announces bad omens. Men paint the soil with their blood in red all the whilst dragons rip skies in cursed fighting.

As it starts to rain, Aemond Targaryen prepares to fight his bitter enemy, confident that he will bring victory to his side. Rhaenyra has been suffering with many losses, betrayals, no one believes her cause anymore.

Dressed in dark green leather, he doesn’t mind the rain that soaks his long silver hair. A twisted, evil smirk is seen as he rests his hand over his sword sheath.

“And here we go, Vhagar”, he mumbles when climbing Aegon’s hill where his dragon, the legendary beast that followed Balerion and Meraxes in the conquest of Westeros many moons ago, awaits.

But it’s precisely when seeing Vhagar agitated and spitting fire that has Aemond startled. What could be the cause of its state? He is ready to run to it when he sees… you.

A scared woman in what he judges to be in her mid 20’s has just tumbled before him. Dressing in strange clothes, your hair is soaked and you shake. You are bloody scared, he can tell, and in other circumstances he’d shoo you away.

However, you not only possess strange objects he’d never seen, but something else that captures his attention. And when you see who’s the man that stands right before you… you remember your history lessons.

And you scream.

Right before you pass out.

“What the fuck?”, Aemond breathes heavily, wide eyed gazing at you. Part of him tells to leave you there, but another cannot. Curiosity takes the best so he forgets the battle for now and carries you with him. “Vhagar, it appears we are delaying the freaking encounter this day. For now.”

Not in the best of the moods, he is, however, intrigued by you. As he flies with you to his secretive spot—away from Alys, he keeps it in mind—, he wonders about your whereabouts and why you dress such unusual clothing. And what’s this object you carry behind your back? A product of witchcraft perhaps?

He narrows his eyes, suspiciously so. But in the midst of this long term war, one thing is for sure: you have brought him back the inquisitiveness that he’s long lost…

***

When you open your eyes, it takes you a few minutes to realize where you are… and when realizing that your clothes are changed, you are forced to acknowledge that whatever happened the day before was not a dream.

You begin to panic when you see your surroundings. You are in a large, comfortable bed with lamb skin made blankets over your frame. The furniture is not as modern as the one your aunt has in her household.

You swallow hard, scanning still your eyes s modest desk, and a simple window. All of this makes you miss the discreet presence of Lord Aemond, who’d been watching you from the side of the chamber you haven’t noticed yet.

“I wonder the cause behind your astonishment”, his husky voice breaks the silence in such a powerful way that you nearly jump out of the bed, which makes the prince amused.

Never before had you stood a royal before, even if this man is not the kindest of his station. You force yourself to remember your history lessons and behave in the most natural way possible.

Therefore you stand and dip into what you judge a careful curtsy. Aemond’s eyebrows are raised, arms folded. But he is no fool.

“You are not from here”, he continues. “Who are you? A very weird spy sent by my dear sister to distract me?”

In other circumstances you’d have laughed out loud. But you are too frightened to do that. Aemond sees you are shaking, a clear sign of fear.

“Well? Has the cat eaten your tongue, my lady?”, he sighs heavily, not the most patient of men.

“I… No, lord. I am not”, never before you’ve been thankful for learning the ways of nobility, aware few of the etiquette has altered in the course of centuries. “I… I am not your sister’s partisan.”

Aemond can tell you speak the truth, but he approaches you, shortening the distance between you two. Then he shows you your backpack and all the things there are still inside.

“What are these then? Are you a witch, lady? Has my sister bought you so you could use such witchcraft against us, against me?”

Part of you finds ridiculous how this is going. Another is trying not to laugh at the face of danger. The reasonable self there is still in you prevails by masking your sentiments, reminding that you need to conquer this man’s trust if you want to go back home.

“If I tell you, lord, you will not believe me”, you opt for the truth. If the prince has long decided to burn you, then what does it matter?

Aemond is surprised by the moment you lift your eyes. Something about your gaze shakes his heart, as if bringing the tempest within. He ignores the shiver that now runs over his spine.

“Try me”, he commmands you to.

“I must have your word that you shall not burn me.”

The prince side smirks at you.

“Do I have the reputation of slaying ladies or sending them to death? Believe me, my lady, my mistress has been associated with dark magic and here I stand.”

Without thinking twice, though, the following words roll out of your tongue:

“But you are renowned as the kinslayer. That speaks for itself.” It’s only then you know you’ve angered the prince. Shit. “I’m sorry, lord.”

“You are my prisoner”, Aemond snaps back at you. “Bear in mind you need my favour if you have any love for your life.”

Your eyes are puddled with tears. Once too proud, you slide to your knees and beg him for your life.

“Lord, I’ve been a victim of witchcraft. I’ve been casted here, that is the truth and only truth. I come from the future and there is where I belong. I’ve never meant to stay in your way. I beg you to spare me, we have no cause for otherwise.”

Aemond’s good eye is slightly wide. He can tell, being a good observer, that you are not lying even if his reason cannot conceive it. On the other hand, what surprises him more is the way you are begging him. He’d taken you as a proud woman. The scene now disconcerts him.

“I must depart. I am needed and…”

You know you should not meddle in the past, aware of the consequences. This is a bad reputed prince, the chronicles helped making you dislike him greatly. However, you depend on him in going back to Aegon’s Hill. Therefore…

“Don’t go. You will die.”

Aemond’s eyebrows raise epically.

“What? Listen to me, young lady. Whomever you may be, sent by my sister or not, you shall better hold your tongue.”

Oh this couldn’t go any worse, could it? You sigh heavily.

“And then what? I need you, lord, to find my way back home. If you die today, I’ll be stuck in here for good.”

“Perhaps then I should have left you to Alys.”

“No!”, something about your cry scares the untamed prince. “Lord, please. I…”

A moment of silence. Neither could believe in what is going right before their eyes. You, stuck in the middle of another war; him, in the presence of what he judges to be a product of witchcraft.

“How should I address my lady?” Aemond opts to begin again.

And when you soften, so does he.

“Y/N, lord.”

“Y/N, I am Aemond Targaryen. Looks like there’s so much to catch on…”

To change the fate of Westeros, he stays.

***

The night you danced like you knew our lives would never be the same. You held your head like a hero on a history book page. It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age.

Aemond’s good eye studies you as you eat like you haven’t been fed for ages. Your hair is still hanging lose behind your back and you are still wearing a pair of delicate earrings he’d never seen before, but all else makes you look like a woman of his own times.

“So the enchantments of Aegon’s Hill are true”, he muses, breaking the silence as he takes a sip of his wine.

“They are, lord.”

“But never heard of a case where they had… succeeded, in fact.” He tilts his head. “What proof can you give me you are actually from there?”

“My objects aren’t proof enough?”

This silences the prince for now.

“I do not think wise to meddle in these events”, you say in turn. “Lord knows what that’d be like for my own days.”

Aemond is intrigued as he watches you pale. Then curiosity knocks his pride out.

“What’s like? The future?”

You wonder if you should tell him. As if he reads you, Aemond adds:

“Eventually I die. I am not asking you how. But your days, lady, I want to know. How better are they from mine?”

Sadness sparks behind your y/c eyes, a sight that inspires sympathy on him.

“Worse, I dare say. I was first raised in a long civil war. And then… another came, worse still. I really have no words to put it.”

“I cannot conceive a war worst than civil war”, says Aemond. “But another civil war bled Westeros?”

“Yes”, you try not to speak too much.

“Fuck”, Aemond grumbles under his breath. “All of this… for nothing?”

Not knowing what to say, you choose silence. And not knowing how to react, Aemond breathes in frustration. He decides to leave you.

And you end up that evening alone. But early next morning, Aemond, too intrigued with your presence to remember to fight his enemies, paces anxiously around the castle. He must know, he needs to know. And when waiting becomes unbearable, you show up.

Dressed in a blue velvet gown, you look properly like a lady of these times even though you cannot mask well your discomfort. Aemond’s own thoughts disappear before the sight of you, feeling so lost, so… out of place.

“My lady”, he doesn’t admit how taken aback he is by your beauty. “I pray you have slept better this night.”

“Not really, I’m afraid”, and your red eyes are a clear sign of how you actually spent your night. Aemond frowns at that, preoccupied. “I shall make my mission taking you home… after the battle that awaits me.”

You should not care, but you feel disconcerted by his presence. The way he looks at you says all.

“I cannot convince you otherwise”, you sigh. “Can you at least leave me at Aegon’s Hill, though?”

A request that defies your sanity, you know well. One that poses your boldly despair very clear. But you are now a survivor struggling to live in such a strange world.

However, Aemond is not willing to let go easily of you. Inspired by mixed feelings, he says:

“You are my prisoner now, remember? I shall keep your secret”, he approaches you slow, shortening the distance between the two of you. “Just tell me how to beat my uncle, how to win this war.”

“Oh Lords”, you find support in the wall. “What kind of question is that? In one moment you…”

“Just tell me!”, Aemond cuts you, rather impatiently.

“I cannot! Lord, if I do, the world I know my disappear.”

He realizes the dilemma you are. Confused by all of this mess, Aemond hesitates.

“Just stay here until I come back.”

Without waiting for any response, there he leaves you, but not to fight Daemon Targaryen. Not now. And you weep because this is all you can do for now.

***

You try to leave the castle, disguised as a peasant, but your plan comes to fail when Aemond comes back and from above, he spots a strange figure running through the woods.

Now here you are, a prisoner again. This time the prince is in a better mood.

“You are really trying to get away of me. In other circumstances, I’d be mad at you for this bluntness”, he muses, offering you wine as you sit in front of the fireplace.

You shoot him a glare, not saying anything.

“What am I to you but a toy so you can play?” Desperation hits a different tone and before you know you burst into tears, swiping away his mug smirk.

After a while, Aemond comes to his senses. He reluctantly takes your hand and when both of you see fingers intertwining, a different heat seems to rise.

“I lament profoundly to cause you pain, lady Y/N”, says he. “But this is who I am. Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I believed in other men’s judgement where you are concerned, but now…”

“Now what?”, he asks, somewhat anxious.

“Now I know in the hard way we should be better than be led by prejudices.”

Aemond leans back in his chair, thoughtful. You realize he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Wise words, lady Y/N.” And then he muses. “I died, didn’t I? We lost this war, didn’t we?”

You avoid his gaze, opting for silence. But your silence screams unspoken words that reach the Prince’s heart. And he sighs, in between melancholy and resignation.

***

The following days you are not entitled as the lord Aemond’s prisoner any longer. Showing some colours in the horizon, hope stands as he presents you as the illegitimate daughter of some nobleman loyal to the green house who’d been deceased in the previous battles.

With a more convincing background, you are better instructed by maids of his trust in the manners of the times. Soon, you are offered a place to serve Queen Helaena.

It’s when you remember that droll tragedy.

“Oh no!”

Aemond raises his eye at you.

“What makes you deny this privilege any lady would kill to earn?”

You blush.

“I mean to say…”, you struggle with words, “I am unfit for such a position.”

“Allow me to disagree with you”, Aemond smiles and suddenly the view pleases your heart very much. “There shall be a ball on behalf of my sister’s birthday this weekend.”

“Will we dance?”, you blurt it out before you realize.

Aemond’s cheeks go pink at your spontaneity.

“Dance, you say”, he muses thoughtfully. “I am no dancer, my lady.”

“We are performers in life. Therefore anyone can be a dancer.”

“Quite a wit you possess”, says he in reluctant admittance. “Very well. If it pleases my lady…”

One smile is enough to turn tables.

“It does.”

And a new fate is sealed.

***

“It doesn’t feel like you are an outsider”, so mumbles Aemond to you alone as you two dance amidst courtiers.

It’s a sweet melody, cheerful somewhat in its beat, certainly bringing many presents a smile on their faces. The Dowager Queen looks pleased and delighted, entertained by her twins. One look at them and you are remembered by the upcoming events.

Oh, the burden of knowing too much. You swallow the bitter thought as you dance with the rogue prince. Earlier the Queen, who had welcomed you in the merriest of the moods, had said no one but a traveler could bring a man as her brother to dance. Her remark, not taken seriously by many, did manage to leave you uncomfortable. After all, you forgot that she had the Targaryen ability of possessing dreams.

“How come?”, you inquire, and it doesn’t take long before your gaze meets his.

He doesn’t strike you as the villain.

“You fit here just fine”, Aemond whispers in response.

As you twirl, hands barely touching his, you feel you are about to fall right into the trap.

“Do you think so?” And then you flash him a mischievous smirk. “Who’d ever thought we could get along?”

“Who, indeed?”

And then the dance comes to an end. Aemond takes your hand and bows, as you curtsy. But when he presses his lips against your skin, your heart races.

It appears you found your hero, after all.

***

Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you. I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made” and bring on all the pretenders. One day we will be remembered…

It’s late night. Aemond’s thoughts are only on the strange woman who was tossed out of time and space to go straight to the core of the civil war that will be known in posterity as dance of dragons.

He’s been so captivated that he’s long forsaken Mistress Rivers and his obsession in defeating his sworn enemy, his own uncle Daemon Targaryen. Therefore he decides to go after you. Covered by the shadows of night with only the guidance of faint candlelights, he soon finds your bedchambers.

There is hesitation at first. His own thoughts are confused, his heart hammers in silent agony. There is half hope, half atonement in his heart beat.

Nevertheless, he came too far to stop now. So he knocks at long last.

There is no answer at first. And then…

“My lord Aemond”, you are surprised to find him on the other side of the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Despite the admonishment in your words, he can tell there is amusement in your eyes.

“Aye. But I couldn’t find myself able to sleep. And neither could you.”

A faint blush paints your cheeks, earning him his typical smirk.

“I wonder if the same thought has been the cause of our restless nights”, he begins, eyeing you up and down, much to your discomfort.

Dressed in your long white nightgown with your hair down in your back, you look as ethereal as your background. There is beauty, but there is also something unknown in your aura. There is a connection between you two.

And you, on the other hand, are more than familiar with the rules of those days you are now inserted. However, are you able to resist this man?

You wait, though. Maybe you’ve figured this out in the wrong way?

“Your silence mortifies me, lady”, Aemond sighs impatiently. “Is this not evidence enough of how I came to love you?”

Your eyes go wide and you almost drop the candle you’ve been holding.

“Aemond… I am hardly the most appropriate woman for you.”

“Titles and lands are nothing for me”, he responds anxiously.

It’s when he takes your free hand into his, locking fingers at last. To feel his warm skin against yours, colder by comparison, gives goosebumps and small shocks as a result. You fear that you are about to lose your control.

“Aemond…”

He steps forward, saying nothing until he closes the door behind him and puts the candle somewhere safe. Only then he holds you against him and finally kisses you like you’ve never been kissed.

And indeed you have never experienced the firm grasp of a man, the decisions of one confident who knows what he wants. You could have never imagined that one of the kind exists and could desire you this much.

Worse perhaps is to discover how long you’ve been dreaming about this. As his lips clash into yours, your morals die unheard. You let him reclaim you, shuddering under his intense grip, his burning touch.

Before you could do anything, though, Aemond lies you on your bed, lifting your skirts to your waist and then…

“Oh, Lord!”, you whimper out loud. “Aemond…!”

This is certainly the best experience you’ve had. And so easily your legs get heavy, that heat comes down your belly and you… burn.

You want to pull him over you, but the messy prince flashes you a side smirk, dropping by your side.

“Do you honestly believe I shall deflower my lady in a most ungallant manner?”, he chuckles as he watches you frown in frustration.

You raise your eyebrows. You hesitate in whether telling him about your previous experiences. Unwise it may be to be honest, but worse is to ignore your conscience’s voice.

“My prince, as much as I appreciate your kindness and respect to me…”

He furrows his eyebrows.

“In my days these matters have changed significantly”, and then you are quick to add. “It doesn’t mean I’ve had plenty of others, though.”

You give up justifying yourself when you watch Aemond struggle with comprehending your point. Eventually, however, he cedes the battle and says:

“I am not an example of morality, I suppose. Even so I stand what I said.”

Your face lightens up.

“You cannot honestly mean…”

“…that I intend to espouse you?”, Aemond scoffs. “Of course I do. It’s a better way to protect you, by the way. These are trying times, my lady.”

That being said, you cuddle onto him, forgetting completely there is a bloody civil war outside and that you are not studying the period anymore, but living it at its fullest.

***

It is often remarked how to achieve peace one must be prepared for war. And in war, few are familiar with good sense.

Whatever are your thoughts about it, your first taste of tragedy comes in the form of revenge. You are just going back from a stroll outdoors at the gardens when screams get at you.

As you rush to the indoors, you are prevented by Aemond.

“You should be better left out of this. Let me resolve it.”

“No”, you protest. “Aemond, I…”

But he isn’t listening. He leaves you there, as if you are a ghost haunting the castle. Your eyes start to get teary as you realize what part all of this is about.

You cover your ears as the screams continue endlessly, echoing in a kind of pain that you’ve been familiar once. The sounds awake old traumas, opening wounds long thought to be healed.

You can’t stay in there. Useless you feel, therefore you motion outdoors. All you do is walk. Perhaps this is the better time to go to Aegon’s Hill. You want to go home, you don’t want to spend any more time there…

However, once you do, you are prevented from doing so by Aemond. The rogue prince, paled with angst, is perplexed at the thought of you gone. Despaired, he comes after you, thankfully not needing to reach Vhagar for that purpose.

“I cannot stay here”, you tell him, body shaking in evident signs of trauma. “Please, take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please! I don’t belong here, Aemond!”

“Yes, you do. You belong with me”, he cups your cheeks and then reading your eyes, he denudes your soul, almost if by chance he has a glimpse of the future through you. “Whatever happened there… and whatever happened here are not who you are. Listen to me, Y/N. It’s you and I against the world. I am honestly sorry these are the circumstances we are now in, but we must be brave.”

There are so many words but none leaves your mouth. Aemond embraces you, rocking you in his arms.

“You already knew what was going to happen”, he is not asking a question. “But this is not the reaction one might’ve expected. You are also a survivor… of war. Bloody seven hells, Y/N. I’m very sorry, my lady.”

You melt in his embrace, sobbing as the nightmare of leaving everything behind in the midst of panic and fear strikes you again. You’ve never seen yourself as a survivor, until now.

“Come inside”, he asks you gently. “Don’t go now. Please.”

Never before he was seen vulnerable, but then again so are you. It had been a while since your wounds were so crudely open, left to bleed in such a painful manner. You’d think you overcame it, but not entirely as you’d like to believe.

Here you are, however, comforted by this character whom you were taught to hate all thanks to the chroniclers that registered his bad deeds. Although he may have done such, and you won’t find excuse for his bad reputation, he’s so much more than that, than words written by thirds.

He’s your prince. He’s your hero and you shall not think anymore of it.

***

After these dark days are gone, sun rises in paradise again. Aemond invites you to fly Vhagar with him.

The decision comes after Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon are put off the show for now. The greens hold victory for now, and even you forget the upcoming events.

“I cannot fly her!”, you shake at the thought. “Do you want to see me dead?”

Aemond laughs heartily and the sound of it melts your heart and soothes your mind. He twirls you around him before holding you against his chest.

“Do you trust in me so little that I’d let you slip so easily?”

You giggle.

“I am just not a brave woman you might expect me to be”, so you say, drowning in that good purple eye.

“Oh, dearest. You are a lot braver than you’d judge.”

Saying so, he kisses you on the lips, and you save his taste as you gladly return it.

I said remember this feeling. I passed the pictures around of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now. We are the kings and the queens. You traded your baseball cap for a crown

You cast him a long loving glance as the prince holds your hand, giving you side smirk before leading the way to Vhagar. This ancient beast, a companion to the Westerosi conquest two other Valyrian dragons, seems to read you the moment your gazes meet.

A sight too frightening to behold, one you’ve seen before the moment you were tossed in this time and space. You recollect the fear that shook your bones and froze your reason and this seems to happen again.

“Don’t be afraid. She knows you are with me”, says Aemond in a nonchalant manner.

You nod your head, but Aemond feels your body shaking. He gently pulls you against him and in a matter of seconds you are suddenly mounting that legendary creature.

“Holy cow!”, you scream.

The silver haired prince laughs quietly, before whispering the words in Valyrian to Vhagar start to fly.

“Calm down, love. Don’t be fearful, it’s worse if you do.”

“I am no dragon rider, Aemond”, you snap at him, eyes going wide as Vhagar begins to rise higher, flying in an incredible speed—fast enough according to your judgement and lack of experience where dragons are concerned, not entirely fast when comparing Vhagar to younger dragons like Caraxes, for example.

But all Aemond does is laugh away your fears. He takes your hands, holding them as he shows he’s commanding the situation. Despite your fears, the adrenaline comes at it and so suddenly you are flying higher than getting an airplane to Dorne.

“AEMOND!”

The silver haired finds adorable the way you trust him, holding onto him as if your life depends on him. But he knows you are overcoming a fear of heights and this only grows his admiration of you.

Eventually though, as if Vhagar is sensing your fear, she slows down and only then she settles in a pace that doesn’t fight you. It’s when you risk patting her back, stroking your delicate fingers over the asperity of the creature’s skin.

“Remember this feeling”, he whispers in your ear. “This is what freedom is like. This is what it means to never let anyone hold the reins of your life.”

“I see the lights of Westeros shining for us”, you don’t even know what you are thinking, but these words seem to make sense for you.

“They are”, Aemond spots the fire pits in towers where orange flames wipe away the fog that instaure that evening. “But you shine the brighter, my dear.”

You blush violently at his words. Never before you felt so loved and understood. Slightly turning your head, and locking gazes with him, you tell this silver haired prince open words regarding your heart.

“I love you, Aemond. Truthfully, I do. I only shine brighter because of you.”

His wide gaze shows no emotion, perhaps skeptical about the genuine feeling you put in them. But Aemond knows you are sincere and this moves him more than he admits.

Locking his arms around you, he kisses you before saying:

“I love you.”

And this is enough for you.

***

You are married in secrecy to a man whom history despises being the kinslayed. His vices are listed perpetually in dust parchments, used as propaganda to disperse any honesty there might’ve colored the shades of the green party that ruled Westeros for a short period of time.

But you see his virtues that no chronicler bothered to see and those overcome the former in a colorful prism of human being.

Daeron Targaryen, his younger brother, is the only witness of the ceremony.

“Welcome to the family, my lady Y/N. In other circumstances, this would be a merry and most favorable occasion.”

“My brother, this matters little. I appreciate the warm wishes, though, and I bet better days are about to come.”

Aemond is pleased to see how well you and his family get along. When one lives history, easily it is to forget it. And so it goes.

When you are taken to his privy chambers, who’d think this was when history is about to change?

“You look so beautiful. Astonishingly so.”

“You make sparks fly”, you smile at him, taken by handsomeness, hands stroking his long silver hair before holding his face. “I adore you, my prince.”

It starts slowly. Your tongue pairs perfectly with his, in one same passionate rhythm. Only then impatience rises when the heat begins to burn.

Your hands start to undress him, automatically moving down to his leather pants.

“Let me show you my devotion”, you break the kiss to whisper in his ear.

Aemond hisses under his breath, eyes closed as he already reacts to your caresses. Your lips leave traces of warm kisses from his neck to his shoulders, going down to his belly and then… you kneel to say your prayers.

But he is now devouring you like a hungry man, starving for your soul. His lips on your nipples do wonderfulness. You roll your eyes, moaning softly as your hands play with his hair.

When his skillful fingers find way to your core, you know you are lost. Aemond smirks at how loud you can be, this arousing him further.

“Hmm, my darling”, he raises to meet your mouth, clashing it in a fervent kiss, therefore muffling your lustful cries.

And right as you come undone, he doesn’t wait any longer. Sliding right inside you, you open your eyes, somewhat pleasantly surprised by his intensity.

“Aemond!”

He could not tell whether you are moaning or complaining.

“Yes?”, he groans as starts to move inside you.

“You… are… so… fucking good!”

The prince laughs at your cursing.

“My lady, watch your tongue”, says he in such a malicious way that you feel you could come undone right now.

“Aemond, you devil”, you whimper, legs locked as you begin to move as one.

He smiles down at you, holding your hands above your head. As you kiss, you meet a heavenly bliss.

***

War, however, comes back in unsafe and soundly steps. You, merged in domestic happiness, allowed yourself to forget that in great delights await greater sorrows.

Thirty days after your marriage, to your surprise you find yourself conceived. You want to tell him in the ways your prince likes: flying Vhagar. By now you and this ancient beast have somehow gotten used to each other’s presence.

“May we fly together this evening, husband?”, you ask him, trying not to sound too eager.

Aemond somehow senses you are different. But he cannot tell what exactly is.

“For someone who feared Vhagar, you’ve become quite a dragonrider.”

This day you are breaking fast with your husband’s family, now pleasantly aware of your secret matrimony, notwithstanding Ser Otto’s initial disapproval.

You giggle quietly.

“That is what marrying to you means, is it not?”

Aemond laughs quietly.

“Why, my darling, I could never refuse you anything.”

“Just be mindful you two”, muses the Dowager Queen Alicent, distracted. “It’s cloudy today.”

***

May these memories break our fall. Will you take a moment? Promise me this. That you'll stand by me forever. But if, God forbid, fate should step in and force us into a goodbye, if you have children someday when they point to the pictures. Please tell them my name. Tell them how the crowds went wild. Tell them how I hope they shine…

How could you know what was about to happen then? You are excited to share the news, believing this is the best scenario you could’ve pictured.

Dressed in proper robes, you follow Aemond excitedly and when greeting Aemond with your characteristically sweetness, he snorts and says:

“Who could’ve known we’d come to this? You turned my dragon war in domesticated dog, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing.

“Don’t be silly, Aemond. She needs love and caring like every animal”, you smile. “As well as respect.”

“I wonder at times if you are real.”

You turn your head slightly at him as you two prepare to ride.

“Why wouldn’t I be, my love? You are my husband, or am I mistaken? Have you been with Mistress Rivers ag…”

He interrupts you by kissing you passionately. And right there Vhagar roars through the air. You feel as if you’ve been electrified. And the look in your face awakes the best of him.

“I love you, woman.”

But every happiness dies when skies grow darker and Vhagar’s roar sounds different. Aemond frowns his eyebrows.

“Shit. There’s something wrong”, he is quickly alert.

You, focused in telling him about your state, begin to grow afflicted when remembering that that battle between him and Daemon Targaryen didn’t happen the way it should.

You interfered.

Fuck.

“Aemond, honey…”

Wind blows colder, it announces storm. He begins to drive Vhagar lower, flying higher as darkness sweeps away the last rays of light. You try not to panic, but by the looks on your prince, you are promptly a victim to it.

“I’ve ruined everything. I shouldn’t be here. I messed all.”

“Don’t say that”, Aemond doesn’t have a clue of what you are trying to say, but he is already familiar with your background to prevent your insecurity to meddle in it. “You have been the best thing to happen to me…”

Before you have the time to answer him, a different roar echoes through the thundering clouds.

You know where it comes from. You know the one behind him.

And you are at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“Aemond!”

“Nothing will happen to you, this I swear”, but then he adds, without looking at you. “If, however, something happens to me…”

“Don’t!”

He continues as if you hadn’t protested.

“…never forget how you turned me into a better man. I am unworthy of the Seven Heavens, but I tasted a bit of sacred forgiveness when you loved me. You redeemed me of my sins, my lady, even when I was a miserable. Move on as you should. But never forget me. Or us.”

“Aemond!”, you cry because you remember the result of this battle, and worse is now the effect of his words. “I love you!”

There is so much to be said, but you cannot. Time steals you from him. As Aemond and Daemon faces each other, the prince tries to find a way to save you.

However, no dragon flees from battle. But because Caraxes is faster, it soon attacks Vhagar. It’s right here that, above Aegon’s hill, every shadow eclipses the sun.

It’s right here that in midst of it all, you fall. It happens too fast. Aemond is trying to fly away, but Vhagar doesn’t obey him again. It soon responds Daemon’s Caraxes offense with another.

But when Vhagar gets bitten in the neck, the ancient dragon loses balance for a moment and right here a storm wind knocks you out.

Aemond screams, trying to save you, but you refuse to be saved. You are still in tears, judging to see him attacked by Daemon when the spells of time engulf you.

‘These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die like fire and powder…’

To be continue…

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #prince Aemond Targaryen #lord Aemond Targaryen #lord Aemond #aemond targaryen smut #taylor swift #speak now (taylor’s version)#long live

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milkiangl · 2 years

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FEEDING ON THE INNOCENT.

pairing : vampire!eddie munson x innocent!fem!reader

summary : legends say that evil lurks just beneath the midnight veil of the forest, but you never expected the darkness to be so mesmerizing.

warning : SMUT, soft!dark!eddie, hints of mean!eddie, corruption kink, unprotected sex, taunting, semi-public forest sex, innocence kink, readers virginity being taken, praise kink, multiple orgasms, slight mocking and degradation, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, descriptions of blood, pet-names, mention of biting and fangs.

authors note : vampire!eddie has captured yet another victims mind this week, and that would be me! :0 i just couldn’t help but stretch my fingers and indulge in typing away about this fandoms most insane yet hopeful theory that the duffer brothers need to scribble away in their pink diaries about with their glitter pens for next season.

| stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist | gif credit |

Hawkins was customary to it’s endless enumerate of myths and legends. Devil Worshippers. Interdenominational Beings. The list only proceed from there; however, one infamous folk tale has succeeded in circulating the entirety of the small town’s people for years.

Haunting tales of an inhumane creature prowling the nearby woods at the dead of night is gossiped about amongst adolescents and solemnly superstitious adults.

The terrorizing horror of the unknown predator patiently waiting for the arrival of foolish humans to enter his territory leaves the woodlands vacant, apart from the vacuous and intoxicated teenagers intending to complete a dare made by their peers; never seeming to return to tell the tale.

The question truthfully remains unanswered as to why you established yourself surrounded by numerous soaring trees, encouraging darkness to retreat to every inch of Mother Nature’s forgotten land. You remained engulfed within the forest’s presence, a distant pattern of an Owl’s distinctive call echoing.

Deceased twigs snapped beneath your feet, heart skipping at least ten beats off normal course. The slightest perception of any unfamiliar sounds prompted an uncanny chill to travel down the length of your spine.

The unprovable theory you’ve come to the conclusion of that your every motion was being watched through ravening eyes made you endure anything but tranquility and serene. Yet, you ventured further under the vivid twilight of your obscure surroundings with curiosity radiating from your pores.

Gasping at an unexpected gust of wind encompassing you, your fingers fidgeted apprehensively with the ruffles of your dress; pondering what immense insanity prompted this reckless decision of yours.

“Now now, what’s an innocent thing like you doing out here all alone at night?” An unmistakably cavernous voice spoke from behind you, interrupting your train of thought as the blood coursing through your veins ran cold.

The mysterious figure circled around you steadily; clarified beneath the intense full moon, you were greeted with a pair of big brown irises and smug grin that revealed a sliver of the stranger’s sparkly white teeth; goosebumps coating your skin at the mere sight of how prominent his knines appeared to be; sharp enough to effortlessly pierce flesh.

His heavy combat boots shattered ancient pieces of fallen wood with every step he took, closing himself around your helpless figure. “S’not safe, y’know? The Big Bad Wolf loves to feed on sweet little things like you.”

Reaching forward, he began to softly trace the fragile skin below your jawline; a meek gasp escaping your parted lips at the frigid contact. His gentle touch was ice cold, enveloping you in an array of unexpected chills.

You were oblivious to how much he could truly sense in that moment: the sound of how rapidly your heart was beating, the feeling of your pulse point just beneath the pad of his middle finger, the scent of how sweet and tempting the blood flowing through your veins was, and the sight of evocative images flashing through your mind of what you envisioned your fate to be.

“M’not gonna harm you, sweetheart. How could I ever torment such a delicate creature?” He would and he could, but the naiveness dripping from your aura rendered him weakened. He listened closely to your inner monologue surveying his words.

The Angel on one shoulder pleaded with you to turn back now, beg the dangerous man you were in the presence of for mercy and approval to safely return home. Although, on the other, the Devil only challenged your natural instincts. This is what you were here for in the first place, isn’t it? You want your innocence tainted and the danger he’s able to provide you with.

The guard you had built was plummeting quickly, rendering you defenseless. You knew how much trouble you were in right then; yet, you searched for protection in his touch.

His tongue leisurely dragged across his bottom lip, line of vision trailing further down to where he could practically taste the seeping arousal between your thighs; veiled just beneath the fabric of your skirt, away from prying eyes.

His stare intimidated you exceedingly, your bare legs compressing around nothing but the heartbeat between them.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, honey?” He knew what you were thinking, knew what foreign anguish was hypnotizing your senses from the way you gazed up at him through widened eyes; a blend of fear, curiosity, and desire swimming in your irises. He just needed to hear you say it yourself.

“You don’t even know what to think, do you? So desperate and needy, clenching your thighs together ‘cause that baby brain of yours is just too dumb to ask for help.” He taunted, observing you thoroughly whilst tilting his head to the side in a mocking matter at how helpless you looked before him. “Want me to take care of your achy little pussy, baby? Been dreamin’ about that, huh? Someone to satisfy your drippy cunt?”

For once in your life, the Devil on your shoulder won.

Erotic whines decorated your pouting lips like a prayer, along with a string of ‘please’s as your blown out pupils searched his in desperation.

“Shh, I know, baby. I know.” He whispered, lowering himself to the ground at your feet; knees making contact with uneven patches of grass. He painted your inner thighs with open-mouthed kisses whilst massaging the debilitating muscles of your caves. “Such a polite little thing, aren’t you? Using your manners to get me to fuck this tight pussy.”

“Gonna let Eddie make you feel all better?” His words barley registered to you in that moment. His name was so soft, so delicate when it rolled off his tongue. You nodded swiftly, babbling incoherent ‘yes’s over and over.

Pleased, Eddie occupied his left hand with carelessly bunching up your skirt into his fist, his other gently ghosting over the wet spot on your cotton panties with the knuckle of his index finger; your body involuntarily bucking into his touch.

Hooking a finger under one side of the flimsy material, he slowly drew the fabric down the extent of your legs; stepping out of them entirely to allow Eddie to discreetly stuff them into the back pocket of his distressed jeans.

Your folds glistened from the moonlight and constellations of beaming stars, pathetically clenching around nothing. “Oh, honey, we gotta stretch your sloppy cunt out first or my cock won’t fit.” Eddie spoke in an artificial concerning tone, his middle finger tracing along your entrance; plunging the pad of his digit in ever so slightly before continuing his pattern—your body writhing under his strong hold from his miserable teasing.

Leaning your back up against the sturdy tree behind you, Eddie lifted one of your legs over his shoulder as he inserted both his middle and ring finger into your drenched hole; your fists immediately collecting his tangled mane of lengthy curls in your grasp.

An assembly of pornographic moans escaped the depths of your throat as his lips sealed around your sensitive bundle of nerves, Eddie groaning into your intimate anatomy as you tugged at his hair encouragingly; attempting to bring his mouth closer than humanly possible.

With your climax approaching briskly, your hips continued to grinde rhythmically against Eddie’s tongue; movements becoming sloppy as the pressure in your tummy grew tighter and tighter until it finally snapped—overcome with ecstasy as his large fingers persistently worked you through your first orgasm.

“So pretty f’me, coming ‘round my fingers.” Eddie cooed, removing them from inside you to stand to his feet once more. He shoved his fingers coated in your juices into your awaiting mouth, helplessly drooling all over his shiny rings. “Think you’re nice and ready for me, honey? Gonna let me strip this pretty pussy of it’s innocence?”

“S’nothing to be ‘fraid of, sweetheart. I’ll fill you up so good, ruin you so no mere mortal would ever be capable of satisfying you the way I can.” He continued, cock twitching from how your heartbeat stuttered at his words; your lewd whimpers muffled by his fingers that he removed from your mouth with a pop. “S’that what you want, me to ruin you?”

“M’yours.” You mewled, staring up at him with glazed over doe eyes that were so virtuous, he nearly came in his pants.

“Yeah, baby? Wanna be my obedient little fucktoy? All mine to corrupt and play with whenever I want?” Eddie panted heavily against your parted lips, unbuckling his belt that was secured at his waist, slipping both his boxers and jeans down instantly; painfully erected member slapping up against his happy trail.

Swallowing each other’s vulgar noises when Eddie slipped himself into your fluttering pussy, securing one of your legs around his torso and giving you very little time to adjust to his girth before pounding into you at a merciless speed. “Stranglin’ my dick so good, sweetheart. Fuck.”

“Such an innocent little angel, act so perfect and pure that no one would ever suspect she’s actually just a greedy cockslut who needs her messy cunt fucked.” His voice was rasping, vibrating through the extent of your body as he nipped at your earlobe.

“Shit, got me feeling like a teenager again. Best pussy I’ve ever had, s’like she was made for me.” His thrusts were becoming irregularly paced and sloppy, chasing your shared climax; his thumb lazily rubbing your clit that heartened firework sparks to set off in your cerebrum. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna let me cum ‘side this tight cunt?”

“Oh, Eddie!” Your second orgasm of the night crashed down on you like a title wave, head falling back against the bark of the tree trunk as you swore the Earth stopped orbiting for a few minutes. He finished shortly behind you, vision clouded in absolute euphoria as his load painted your walls.

“So good for me,” Eddie’s pale lips warped into a twisted smirk against the skin of your neck once you came back down to reality, your brain still foggy. The slight pressure of his razor-sharp teeth grazing your jugular unleashed a faint gasp from the depths of your throat, grasp tightening around his shoulders as he inhaled your enticing scent. “but m’not quite finished with you yet, sweetness.”

♥︎ — taglist. @mortensharket @desireav @moonlane @heavqn @sqpphos @blacksta4 @timmytime-hufflepuff09 @bear-bone-berries @gilgunizer @moonlitmeeks @heftbyjapanesebreakfast @alexxavicry @oncasette @n0agranger @blondedmuse

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thehistoriangirl · 2 months

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The Tides Have Veiled [Fifteen]

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---5K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You see the world beyond the veil, though something is lurking beneath...

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fifteen: Cold Embrace

There was a moment in the night when the world painted grey lead, almost transformed into a ghostly realm, blurry lines between the mist floating above the sea and the infinite sky. Barely the sketch of a world.

It was when the veil between worlds thinned enough for the spirits to crawl into ours, and for you to enter theirs.

If you so wished, of course. And you longed for it every night, thinking about what you would wish to say to the woman who gave up on life as soon as she created a little one. Why didn't she take you with her?

Why the sea refused, again and again, and again, to claim you. Too starving of revenge and the blood of this forgotten town, and yet, only those closer to you kept dying.

The image flashed, as quick as lightning. Cold sand pressed against your back, small pebbles trying to incrust inside your skin, the rotten stench of death as the sharp edge of a rusty knife pierced the surface at barely centimeters away from your cheek.

“If the water won’t claim you,” a voice said, face covered with thin, soaked blonde hair. The woman took the handle of the weapon with her broken fingers, nails black and long as she pulled the knife off the sand to raise it above her head. You gasped at the sight of half-eaten grey skin, barnacles, and moss growing on the hard edges of the bone. "Blood will. And how much blood I'm going to draw…"

The knife sang against the air, falling with mastery toward your heart.

By the time you tiptoed your way back to the beacon room, the rain had died down to a breeze; freezing wind sneaking its way through the boarded window. Such opposite of the warm embrace of your now not-so-fake husband—that if his gentle kisses were proof concrete enough.

Though tearing yourself away from the warm embrace of the couch and the sweater Viktor thrown over you was almost a herculean task, but you didn’t wish for him to cover your duty, though by now your rest had been disturbed by the recurrent nightmare, better said, the recurrent memory.

Your weeks as the keeper had turned you nocturnal, another spirit keeping watch by the cliff—a chill running down your spine when you realized you weren't that different from the other ghosts roaming the coast, wailing at the foot of the cliff.

Except today, it seemed. Just as everything seemed different with him around.

Viktor was posted by the uncovered section of the glass, his cane leaned against the wall, a figure so still you thought you were still dreaming, that he had become a new prop of your foolishness at imagining that last night had been real.

A mask melting into the disgusting face of the bloated woman. Another knife was hidden inside the handle of his cane.

"Viktor?" Your voice broke the stillness of the early morning, the fuzzy edges of the world becoming solid once his golden gaze broke between the foggy morning like a victorious sun.

Your steps were annoyingly noisy against the creaky wooden floor of the beacon room, the cold, salty air filtering through the boards as the roaring of the sea dwindled to a simple, constant growl.

“You should’ve woken me,” you said, eyeing the disarray on the table; with open journals and yellowish pages scattered everywhere, tiny, and hurried calligraphy strangely familiar. “Keeping watch isn’t your job.”

His cane tapped against the floor when he turned toward you, a sheepish smile on his face. "It's been a while since I got to see this view." Long, sinewy fingers traced the length of the boards, as if the view he was referring to had been now carved into the wood instead of appearing in the wild. "Accompany me. We need to retrieve some tools from the house today.”

Why he had been by the window all night? If certainly the seascape was stunning during dawn, by night everything was just a world of mist and darkness.

"Did you see her?" you muttered once out of the lighthouse tower; fingers still freezing over the door bolt before pulling out the lock. Part of you hoped you didn't have to say who—not only because of the uncertainty, but also the dread of voicing it, such action pushing the memory of it not like a dream coated in guilt and frenzy, but a real affliction.

Viktor called your name, metal shrieking with accumulated rust once he pulled the gate open. "There's a legend," he trod with caution, words stumbling against each other once the house's façade started looming on the horizon. "About her."

“Well, what is it?”

He smiled at your interest, opening the door of the house that always remained unlocked while he beckoned you inside a spotless foyer. Almost eclipsing the scene, you saw upon your return to the city. If it weren’t…

Everything could be done with step following another, and another; as easy as that, as you’ve done all your life—as you got near your uncle’s funeral.

But then, the pull.

You stood like an alien on the threshold, noticing the elongated shadows seeming to devour any trace of sunlight that could enter through the open door. The silence was broken only by the waves down the beach.

“Miss, we ought not to talk about it here, unless we wish to summon them,” Viktor said, leaning closer to you to whisper such words that left goosebump flesh to crawl up your arms. “That’s what all ghost stories say, does it not?”

No, it wasn’t a pull. It was a gaze.

Old and unmerciful and unwavering, coming from the empty corner down the first floor’s hall. There where only the amorph shadow of the dissected mermaid had been once.

Was it her? Was hers the cave you discovered yesterday? Was she—

"Then, when do we talk about what's happening in here?" you whispered, hoping your front of bravery would be enough for the house to stop staring at you with the feeling of inferiority blooming out of your chest. "I’m tired of thinking I’m out of my mind. I don’t want to run anymore. Because ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Just like you pretended those muddy footsteps were a result of your vivid imagination. Barely daring to remember there here, where the horror had taken place—though you had to admit it hadn’t been the worst.

His eyes darkened, from sunny to burned honey. Viktor passed next to you, side-gazing the staircase up to the first set of stairs toward where his underground office was located. His fingers surrounded one of your wrists, pulling you away from the entrance and into the depths of the house.

His back and open coat brought you protection as he guided you toward the kitchen, covered from the gaze you were sure was still piercing his back.

“In open waters, where nobody else but ourselves can hear,” he whispered, pulling back in such a swift move you were almost convinced his words had been a delusion. “Alright. I'll bring the notebooks to my bedroom desk. Can you bring the books on the table down to my office?” He pointed toward the first-floor hallway. “I need to pack lightly for this excursion.” Viktor chuckled. “The boat isn’t that big, and now I’ll have company…”

Now was the cave, but before had been those damned footsteps, mocking outlines of a presence that shouldn't be there—and you weren't sure if you preferred it to be a simple joke from Viktor or an intruder from town.

Why had Viktor decided to make you company in the lighthouse? It went further than empathy, or even, the craving of being closer to each other when the whole world faded. But the starlight sphere hadn’t been built yet. And while shadows rested for their hauntings, you could wander freely.

You remembered the stagnant air filling your nose as you hoped your uncle to pass by after their break inside Viktor’s house, fearing the vivid memory would materialize into his ghost again.

Or whoever would be wearing his face this time.

“I—I would prefer to go for the books on the second floor, so you won’t climb too many stairs,” you said, your face hot once you met Viktor’s attentive gaze, an eyebrow elegantly arched. “Not to be meddlesome, of course.”

Viktor nodded, a half-smirk pulling his lips. “If you say so." He hummed, taking some keys out of his pockets; between all the golden, the one to open the underground office was big and heavy, silver, and with a slight tint of green from rust. “I’ll see you by the office, then.”

His steps quickly disappeared, your curiosity peaking as you climbed the stairs, almost picturing the rainy night you had met him, so many weeks ago.

Perhaps you’d be more familiar with the house if this marriage were conventional—if this house were conventional, too, without charged silences and acute shadows looming around the corners.

Without muddy footsteps guiding the way toward Viktor’s room.

He didn’t have any servants employed on the daily, with dusty corners and spiderwebs growing from the small crevices between the wall lamps and the roof. Excepting the quiet cook who came once a week to deliver food, Viktor lived all alone.

Until you, perhaps.

You would never know how he could stand it, the endless, empty hallways, still corners as if waiting for something to break such consistency with a humanoid shadow suspended above the ground. Such a big house, so lonesome.

Many corners watching your every move, so many shadows lurking nearby. It was maddening, as if you were a prey expecting to be hunted at every turning corner.

And then, it was your shabby cabin, too small for five people and yet, just as solitary.

Cursed or not, the walls are always whispering, bleeding the time it has seeped into them when the wallpaper isn’t changed regularly. The dark spots of humidity, creaky floors, and shrieking doors.

This house was alive, just like a guardian for its secrets, and right now, you were an intruder.

Would there be a place where you weren’t one?

Viktor’s door was unlocked when you entered, the familiar, cold handle quickly turning. Inside, everything was untouched, as you would expect a hostel’s room to look. So… abandoned.

The morning sun painted the white walls light yellow, staining your vision that was now so used to the dim orangey hues from the oil lamps lined up along the hallway. His bed was kept, blankets tucked neatly under the pillows that you know smelled like him; old pages of books, coffee beans, and the marine breeze filtering through the window.

With careful strides, wishing not to disturb the quietness of the place that was cut only by your slow breaths.

There it was his desk, the pile of papers and notebooks with wrinkly edges covering the wooden surface. Absentminded, your fingers passed through the pages, observing ink stains seeping through the reverse of its surface, crossed-out words gone unreadable. Diagrams of different sea creatures signaling with arrows are parts you couldn't make sense of.

Except… these… some of these drawings were familiar, or illustrations you'd found in the tales' books your grandparents kept by the side of your cot. Mermaids—all kinds of creatures with human heads, arms, and torsos, yet infinite classes of lower half.

Click. You heard, the hairs in your nape raising once the door in front of his bedroom started creaking.

Wood wept as the darkness spilled into the hallway, acute shadows seeming to lurk closer. His notebooks crackled when you pressed them against your chest in a stupid attempt to soothe your frenetic heartbeat.

Curtains were drawn, windows boarded; the inside of the adjacent room looked like a dark maw. You wished to tear your gaze away from the void, but curiosity prickled your brain, wishing to guess which amorph figures you could peek from the shadows.

Which one was the cause of your horrors?

You got closer to the hallway—you didn’t have another way to walk toward the exit, taking steps backward steps in an attempt not to turn your back to the darkness.

From the poor illumination from the oil lamp next to the door, you observed the outlines of a four-poster bed, a thin veil covering the mattress to protect it from the dust that permeated the forgotten, locked-away room.

It was then when your gaze flashed down, gaze focused on the large, solid mass of shadows sitting at the edge of the bed, half-body tucked inside the veil.

Your feet stumbled, almost tripping by the wrinkled edge of the carpet; knees converted into molten wax.

A trail of mud looked like drying blood inside the room, ending at the foot of the bed.

The sketch of a humanoid figure—the ghost bared its teeth in a lazy grin. Human teeth.

The air got stuck on its way out of your lips.

But no, you have pledged enough mercy that night at the cave, and you knew ghosts would be restless anyhow, as unmerciful as the heartbroken wails from the cliff.

You felt the heavy weight of the shell in the depths of your pocket, a somewhat comforting presence when your hands slid along the wallpaper wall, cold and rugged by time, to touch the level of the sconce.

Light filled the room like a yellowish afternoon, showing you a bedroom that was probably decorated by and for a young woman. With its tall closet and books collecting dust, discolored bedsheets covering what appeared to be a lounging couch posted by the window. A vanity whose mirror had been missed.

Covered with a soft-looking cotton blanket decorated with a knitted pattern of flowers laid the mattress, ruffles of lavender fabric covering the rest until it grazed slightly against the wooden floor. And yet despite all the details, no matter how hard your eyes tried to scan the surface, the bed remained empty.

Though a mark was half hidden beneath the ruffles, like a mocking gesture.

The outline of a footprint, still wet and muddy staining the fabric’s edge.

Newly made.

Swallowing a lump down your throat, which could be both panic and nausea, you held your breath while taking the door’s knob, cold and solid and grounding.

I won’t fear anymore. You thought, knuckles white from your forceful grasp. I won’t fear anymore.

Accommodating Viktor’s notebooks under your arm, you ran your finger to meet with the light’s flick, the movement more unconscious than you'd imagined as your finger simply ran down the button's surface to fill the room with shadows once again.

Instinct called you to look at the bed once again, which remained empty.

Yet still, while you closed the door with a slam, the hairs around your face moved by the breeze, accompanied by a distinctive human sigh.

It smelled like stagnant air, like the rotten stench of death.

When you tore your hand away from the knob, your fingers were stained with mud and traces of coagulated blood. An ominous mark, and an open challenge, perhaps.

It hadn’t been disgust. It wasn't a lack of bravery that made you dash down the stairs either, but the feeling that preceded closely behind after the sound dragged too long and with an impossible origin in this solitary hallway. Chills covered your skin with goosebumps, the heavy feeling of your nausea climbing up your empty stomach, the sick sensation of someone—something—watching you close.

Mid-way to the first landing, you started humming, a coping mechanism you developed since your uncles loved to tell you horror stories. To let your mind wander, filled with a long-forgotten song you tried to resurrect. Hum the same song in a loop until your brain tired itself out, forcing you to slumber.

This time, an echo answered your unconscious call for a duet once you stepped onto the ground floor, the sound floating along the wood, originating from under the door next to Viktor’s office.

“Viktor?” you muttered, though the voice wasn’t the same. It was a childish attempt to conceal the fear that this house enjoyed tied into your ankles and arms, like a puppet.

And right now, the house wanted you to play, prickling your curiosity enough to open the door. The locked door whose key remained inside the breast pocket of Viktor’s coat, the closed door that upon your intense gaze wasn’t locket at all, lock rusty and empty, yet not sealed.

Perhaps this one would also open unexpectedly if you hovered nearby long enough.

If you want to know, open this door, the house told you, making its walls loom closer, to trap you inside this moment when the sun hid behind a cloud, perhaps fearful of what your decision would be.

Open it. Open it. Open it.

You stood in front of it, torn between going down the known path, where Viktor’s door pooled light under the door, safe company, or following this one where the cold breeze came from. The door looked back at your indecision, impassive and old. All-knowing.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Don’t you want to know if you’re crazy? If you’re both crazy?

With your jaw clenched, you hugged Viktor’s notes closer to your chest, a sharp inhale as if you were about to dive underwater.

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

The iron was freezing to the touch; the slight creak between the floor and the door filtered cool air toward your legs, around your ankles like a lasso—which made you aware that this wasn’t a sealed room.

What was on the other side?

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

THUNK.

“Miss, what are you doing?” Viktor said when he saw you running down the steps of his office, hands pressed against the door as if a monster were trying to enter. “Are you alright?”

“Viktor,” you breathed, feeling your legs shake from the strain and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “Viktor, what is this?” you said, tumbling down the stairs and pushing the mermaid’s diagrams on top of the desk.

Viktor looked at you with wide eyes, some hairs prickling his forehead when he shook his head. “Pardon? Were you looking into my things?”

“Of course not,” your rebuttal was sharp and dry, humorless. “These are the notes you wanted to retrieve for the expedition. Why?”

He started by calling your name, but this wasn’t time to play with niceties. It wasn’t the first time you were haunted in this house—much less in this damned town; your old shell as a scared person had slowly been replaced by a harder, boldest one.

Viktor sighed, rubbing his right temple. “It’s… complicated,” he ventured. Words died in his mouth when he looked away in shame. "I don't think you'd believe me."

You extended your left hand, showing him the rest of the mud and blood starting to peel off. "If you believed me, why shouldn't I believe you?"

His eyes traveled toward your fingers extended toward him, his hand swiftly enveloping your stained digits with his own, dismissed the idea of caring about getting his hand dirty. You saw his expression shift; knitted eyebrows and a slightly clenched jaw, lips pressed on a line.

“Come with me,” Viktor said, standing from the desk and grabbing a valise that looked both full and heavy. “Let’s get out of this house.”

The afternoon was fading away when you helped Viktor push a fishing boat toward the shallow waters of the beach, almost not feeling the freezing weight of the water lapping at your ankles for the tall boots you decided to wear.

Your tummy was full of an extensive meal, arms burning from the effort of a whole day full of duties, feeling the rattling of the wooden boat scrapping the rocks in your bones.

“It’s ready,” Viktor grunted, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I’ll help you up first.” He extended his hand toward you, using it as leverage for you to step into the wobbling surface of the vessel. “There you go.” He used his upper body strength to sit against the edge of the boat, using your arms to rotate himself inside it, only putting down his legs over what would be his seat for the rest of the expedition.

The lighthouse waved you goodbye when you started paddling, wanting to keep the motor in case of emergency—besides, Viktor had said that the rain would come only after sundown.

"This is the fishing boat of Mr. Calis," you told him, passing your hands over the half-scrapped-down painting of its name Norina. It was, better put since Mr. Calis had died years ago.

“Yes. I bought it from his son when Mr. Calis moved with him to the city,” Viktor said. “It’s said to be the only fishing boat that didn’t suffer losses even during the fishing shortage years ago.”

You remembered, around ten years ago when your grandma told you that story while you promised you wouldn't repeat it.

It happened when she was still young, blessed with a reliable memory. Like all the other families from Piltover the Old, they must carry the familiar tradition of fishing as the only job people from this town could have—they were favored by the mermaids, or so the legends said.

And yet, all that terrible winter brought were merciless storms, destructive floods, and blobs of rotten fish washed ashore. All unconsumable, all unsellable.

It went for all winter, using the arrival of spring as an excuse to offer tribute to the sea, a custom you could still appreciate from the elders' survivors of the town leaving offerings at the foot of the cliff, washed away by the sea.

"People said he cut half the catch of each day and dumped it overboard in open waters," you hummed, just like your grandma did when she reached that part of the tale. "To feed the mermaids that helped him fill his nets."

“This town had always been tied to mermaids," Viktor said, enjoying the view of the lighthouse making itself smaller and smaller, a thin veil of fog starting to cover the sea as the sky turned dark blue. "Its designation as the largest, richest fishing zone all along this coast; it's downfall, and now even its remains are still tied to it."

“That’s why you’re interested in mermaids?”

"Yes," Viktor said, his body leaning backward and onwards with each forceful paddle, the tides growing impatient by the calling of the full moon that could barely peek down at you from between the thick clouds. "Many scientists still don't understand what phenomenon occurs in these waters. How there are so many flashing floodings, uneven patterns of raining seasons, and, well, this." Viktor signaled around you, the world becoming blurry and grey in the middle of the mist. "Look over there, where the sun dipped down."

With his cold hand, he guided your chin toward the west, where the continuous path of mist broke with a blue patch of sky.

“Is that…?” But it couldn’t be.

Viktor nodded. "The night sky. Nobody knows why only this part of the beach fills with fog and storms at night. There are dozens of papers theorizing about it, but alas, nothing is concrete yet."

“And do you think this is the product of mermaids?”

“There was a brutal hunting episode near this shore,” Viktor gestured to where the lighthouse was observing them like a gargantuan cyclops with its unwavering gaze, golden like its owner. “Folklore says that the fishermen killed mermaids once their revenues plummeted at the sudden shortage of fish—their pact with the mermaids already broken. But scientists say they killed large mammals instead, perhaps manatees. Such massacre would've created an unbalance in the ecosystem that still affects us today."

You paddled quicker once the night sky grazed you with its twinkling stars, a clean fabric of navy blue where the moon looked so big and full you could almost extend your hand and cup it, letting her tint you with its silver hues, to make you all moonlight. Perhaps that way you could float away from the dreary coast, always grisly and hopeless with its freezing rain that had seeped your bones with the same disillusion.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain the meteorological phenomena surrounding the town, either why there are people who refuse to leave it despite its conditions,” Viktor continued, stretching the sore muscles of his back once you broke over the unfoggy, calm open waters.

“Maybe they can’t,” you replied, your mind lost in the memories of your trip to the city.

Viktor gazed at you, seemingly thinking the same in the way he nodded, lips ajar as if trying to say something else.

“Perhaps they can’t,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper. “His name was Gavin. Gavin Stell. He built the house—and many say, he haunts the house.”

You felt cold despite the layers of clothes you had wrapped yourself into, the marine breeze making you believe the ghost was still behind you, whispering things into your ear.

“A man covered in mud…”

Viktor nodded. "He died inside his house during the devastating first flooding. Thinking his house was high enough that nothing would happen to him, he boarded the windows and sealed the doors to prevent the water from entering; and yet, she still found him and claimed him and the house. They had been the highest tides ever recorded; around sixty feet tall and seventy feet in range—of course, many say folklore exaggerated them. There’s no way to know for sure.” Viktor took the anchor and let it sink overboard once you were all surrounded by inky waters. “His spirit is locked inside the house, wanting his revenge from the mermaids that made his most precious project go to waste.”

You bit your lip, tasting the copper stench of your blood. The words were too scary to let out. This is real. That night was real. “Then the woman on the beach is a mermaid, perhaps? The one he’s trying to take revenge on?”

“No. Mermaids can’t be ghosts because they have no soul, no real body that remains after death.”

“But… the one in the museum—”

“It’s a fake. A wonder of mythical taxonomy, but it’s made up with human rests and other marine animals to match. It was discovered years after the flooding and after Gavin’s death. I suppose it was the last reason to abandon any hope to recover Piltover the Old’s once splendor.”

“That’s why you say you’re cursed?” you mumbled now that his attentive gaze was drawn away from yours, his fingers expertly aligning bottles to collect the bioluminescence algae and the water. “Because if so—and I know this may not help at all—but we’re all a bit cursed, too. But maybe together we can find a way to get out of the mist for good.” Shyly, you took the small tests he handed you, scribbling down what he instructed you to label them correctly and put them inside the box made of wood and leather.

Viktor tried to smile, observing the calm water that started to form foam with bioluminescent blue and green, ready to scoop part of it into his sterile bottle. "I've lost count of how many times I've tried, that I'm trying not to get my hopes high, Miss. The sea is unforgiven, and it seems that I still owe too much for her to let me go."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, not knowing how to feel, or what to say. You felt it, too. The tug at the bottom of your heart that called to look out the window, even now, challenged your best senses to look directly down into the abyss. To watch and tell her, I’m here.

"Mermaids may have no soul, but where do you think all those people killed by the sea went?" Viktor's question surprised you, his profile bathed in moonlight while his eyes squinted in focus toward the coast that had been left behind. "Sometimes, I think that they're, perhaps, in the mist that surrounds the town at night."

That she had taken too much from you, to confront her; sinking into the green-blue waters and glaring into its unbounded limits.

I’m here. What more do you want from me? You thought, settling another sample of bioluminescence inside the chest and dipping your hand into the water to erase a blotch of ink from staining your sweater.

"But then, why do they haunt us?" you whispered, the ghost wearing your uncle's face appearing in your mind. Your eyes locked into the water to try erase such happening from your memory.

What more do you want to take to let me be free?

From the infinite black of the ocean's waters, you saw a glimpse of white move below the boat, pale and quick and giant like lightning.

The boat rippled, with Viktor almost lost balance while trying to catch his cane about to fall overboard.

“Vikt—" you started, looking at him with eyes wide with terror, your grasp on his shoulders forceful and your breathing so quick it was creating clouds of steam from the lower temperature creeping into the night. “There’s something under the boat…”

From under the boat, you saw the flash again, a large, massive eye peeking from under the ocean surface directly at you.

A scream bubbled up its way out your throat, drowned by the sudden movement of the water below swaying violently to the side, toppling the boat upside down.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! And what do YOU think is lurking beneath! 🤗💙🤍

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor fanfic #viktor x you #arcane viktor x f! reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #arcane x female reader

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wild-dagon · 8 months

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Been loving all your posts about this au! Was wondering if you had any thoughts about how the chain reacts to fake Wild/Phantom Ganon running around? When I played the game it was really obvious that it wasn't actually Zelda. Do they pick up on that?

I’m so glad you’re enjoying this.

I haven’t thought to much about puppet!wild.

But there are three ways you could play it.

The first is them seeing puppet!wild once they arrive in totk. If the see puppet!wild first before making it to Lookout Landing they could be tricked into an ambushed leading to a lot of questions about what is going on with Wild and them looking for Flora for answers. I think it would be easy to trick them as they have just arrived in this timeline and are excited to see Wild again. This is the only way I can see them getting tricked.

Or you can have them encounter puppet!wild after the find out about Dragon!Wild. As they travel around they here these wild stories about Wild. How people have seen him recently and he’s doing all of these crazy things. They know it can’t be Wild. They’ve seen his dragon form. But there are some members of the group who think that maybe Wild is projecting his Spirit to try and help the people but because he’s a spirit he just can’t communicate right.

They argue the idea around. Wind is a big believer of spirit Wild. Twilight, Hyrule and Sky hope that’s true but don’t want to put their hopes to high. After all it’s better then any other alternative. Time, Legend, Four, and Warrior can smell a rat. They don’t know what these visions of Wild are but they don’t trust them.

Their first real encounter with puppet!wild would be when they are trying to help the Goron. Tulin says he saw Wild when they are searching for the Arc but none of the chain saw him. No it’s not until Goron city that they see the puppet and they all agree that it can’t be Wild. He would never behave in that manner. So that lead to the question. What is it?

They hear a rumor about Wild being captured and go to check it out. They know it’s not really Wild but they want to know what that thing is. When they find it, it hurts way more then they thought it would. The person in the cage is obviously not Wild. He doesn’t stand like that, he doesn’t talk that. And he would defiantly recognize them. So just who is this? They open the cage only for the yiga to reveal themselves. The fight is over before it began. There’s a lot of pent up rage in the group over what has happened to Wild. And to have the yiga mockingly use his face to try and trick Flora. Ya the the Yiga didn’t stand a chance.

So mystery solved it’s the yiga trying to help Ganondorf. Except why is his outfit different. The Yiga had him in his champion tunic. But the version they saw up on death mountain was wearing something completely different. Different members of the group hold different levels of suspicion.

Then after they find four of the sage, they know there’s more. There’s always six to seven sages, Wild appears at the castle. The boys are super upset. They know it’s not Wild. But why are the yiga taunting them like this. Legend wants to end this and rushes up to the castle. Warriors and Twilight are hot in his tail along with the others.

Once they’re up there puppet!wild leads them into trap after trap. Until the throne room. When they find out that it’s not a yiga in a costume but Ganondorf himself using Wild’s image to cause chaos across hyrule. The boys are furious. How dare he. He’s the reason Wild’s a dragon and now he’s slandering Wild’s name and memory in his timeline. It won’t stand.

The third idea can be tacked onto the front of the prior idea. But it depends on how much power Ganondorf had when trapped. I think the boys have caught glimpses of dragon!Wild ever since they separated from him. They’ve seen him in multiple timelines before making it to totk. If Ganondorf has enough power maybe he sent his puppet!wild up sooner. Maybe the puppet has been working with dark to try and kill off the chain. Maybe the boys have been chasing Wild’s shadow ever since he left. He’s been moving around like a ghost. The catch him in the corner of their eyes but when they turn to look he’s not there. Everyone just thinks they are missing Wild and hallucinating him being around but in actuality puppet!Wild is following them.

I personally think idea two is the best but we have options to mix and match

#dragon link #ask #linked universe #lu four #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu sky #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu wind #lu wild #lu totk role reversal au

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 months

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Hi!

I’m writing a fanfic in which the characters go to various mythical places. I want to have them go to Alomkik, a place in Abernaki mythology. However, information online seems to be scarce about it, and I’m well aware that Native and First Nation mythology has historically been butchered for entertainment. Not asking you to do research for me (obviously not! That’s my job!) but do you have any advice? I really want to do this respectfully or not at all.

Characters Visits Place from First Nations Myth

Here's the bottom line: unless you are yourself First Nations, I would not even attempt this. Not only do you risk cultural appropriation, but the fact that there is so little information available about this location... and the fact that it's associated with a legendary bird spirit, concerns me that Alomkik may have spiritual and/or deep cultural significance and firmly off the table for use by people who are not First Nations. Additionally, the lack of information available would force you to have to fill in the gaps, and I'm sure you can see the issue with someone who is not First Nations, and who is not rooted in Abenaki culture, filling in the gaps of Abenaki spiritual mythology.

Other things to consider: since you mention this is fan-fiction, if the source material has used or commonly uses places from Indigenous cultures, it's possible there are people from those cultures on the writing staff. It's also possible they just don't care and are blatantly appropriating from those cultures, but that doesn't mean you should or that it's okay for you to do it, too. Instead, if you need a mythical location in that same general area (what is now Central Maine), you could make up a fictional colonial settlement that disappeared (like the Roanoke Colony in what is now North Carolina) and give it some interesting mythical legend. Alternatively, you could create a myth around a fictional Viking settlement... Vikings are known to have settled an area 700 miles away (L'Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland and Labrador) and some scholars believe it's possible the Vikings could have explored what is now inland Quebec via the St. Lawrence River, and as far south as Manhattan Island. That gives you plenty of realistic leeway to have a Viking settlement in inland Maine... though, you may need to look at the viability of available rivers for conveying boats far enough inland for your needs. Or, you could maybe create a legend where a particular member of a Viking exploratory group splinters with the main group and takes a small number of people as far up river as they can go, then further inland on foot until they arrive at the necessary destination. Another option would be the... dare I say it... Knights Templar... who are popularly believed to have traveled to North America to hide treasures taken from the Holy Land. My point is, there are lots of opportunities to crate an interesting mythological location using European folktales, myths, and legends rather than appropriating from Indigenous culture.

Happy writing!

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soinspiredbyyou · 20 days

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Argylle Master File List: soinspiredbyyou

I Want You To Be There for Me | In the aftermath of Greece, Aidan knows they still work best as a team, but wonders how he can prove it to Rachel. Dare I say, "Fix-it" fic? | TBC

Unknown Legend | Aidan Wilde visits the diner where Elly Conway worked before she made it big with the Argylle book series. | TBC

Mid-movie Character Studies on Aidan Wilde:

Everything I Own | Aidan takes a mid-morning train going anywhere (Chicago. It's going to Chicago).

Couldn't Get it Right | Our pair pay a visit to Bakunin’s empty hideout. Aidan’s got a bad feeling about this.

You Worry Me | Our hero discovers his leading lady gone from the fleabag motel room in London.

It's All Because of You | Once you know to look for it, Aidan's face once he and Elly arrive at the vineyard is worth 808 words.

The Air That I Breathe | Poor Aidan can't win. He was kidnapped by the Division and taken to a secondary location right after Rachel’s hidden past was revealed. What does he discover once he wakes?

Right Down the Line | Aidan and Elly are back in the field together at last. New and old enemies await in the wings.

Not Dead Yet | Just when Aidan thought they were ready to leave the Division in the dust, Vogler has one last terrible trick up her sleeve.

#argylle #argylle (2024)#Aidan Wilde #Elly Conway | Rachel Kylle #spoilers #fanfiction

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bloody-teared-angel · 7 months

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As promised, here's the post - a lot if it will be taken out of comics, movies and visual dictionary and me speculating. I'm open to civil discussion about this since Neytiri is fan favorite and a lot of people can find excuses for everything she does.

Neytiri is very stubborn individual and who also hates change - reason for it being her trauma - it explains her behavior but does not excuse it.

For Neytiri, change always meant something bad, arrival of RDA, death of Sylwanin and her father, destruction of hometree and death of Tsu'tey.

And yet, it also brought her positives, Jake, Grace and her children. It gave her a new family.

But due to her stubbornness and refusal to accept change, Neytiri can't accept Spider and to some extent, the scientists - Jake talked to Mo'at to let Norm and Grace in and she accepted, perhaps also due to the fact she and Grace were friends and is more willing to accept change (perhaps a separate post about Mo'at later) - she associates humans with only the bad things, which leads to Jake and Neytiri having arguments and not seeing eye to eye, which Neytiri loses due to Mo'at siding with Jake.

Neytiri refuses to look past the trauma - no, she buried it along with Jake's human body and refuses to talk about it - my reasoning for this is that I haven't seen any evidence of the kids knowing something about Earth or the past of what happened, Lo'ak only saying that his father came from a star and that's it. (Grace's video logs do not count, since she's a scientist and talks about her discoveries on Pandora)

I have a bad time explaining things and the best thing for me is to give examples.

First things first, Spider. Spider is the son of Quaritch and Paz, Quaritch being the main bad guy and the source of all the destruction and grief and he has a son who was born on Pandora and grew up there - adapting to the Na'Vi way of life and learning their traditions and respecting them, something Quaritch didn't do.

This would be a positive change but no. Neytiri does not see it that way - in the comics, when Jake talks about 'Sins of the father' regarding Spider and Neytiri answers 'So we wait until he does something.' And she does. She waits and waits, watching Spider like a hawk and at the first moment she can, she leaves him to the wolves. And Jake doesn't try to talk to her either, more or less, he lets her drown in hatred.

(Her letting her children play with Spider doesn't count, since Lo'ak and Kiri are stubborn enough to sneak out and Kiri loves Spider more for her to risk her life to save him, so Neytiri saying 'No', wouldn't do much)

Then there's the arrival at the Metkayina. When Ronal points out that Kiri and Lo'ak are not even true Na'Vi, Neytiri seems more shocked than offended that someone would or even dared to bring it up that her children are mixed. And what brings me to my speculation is what she says next: 'My husband was Toruk Makto.'

Now, I understand that Neytiri wanted to remind them that Jake was a legend and a great warrior, she could've used different tactic. When Jake brings up the fact that he also has five fingers, Neytiri could back him along the lines of: 'Yes, they have demon blood. But my husband came to us blind, like a child not knowing anything and he was taught. Adapted. He learned the ways of Eywa and the Omatikaya, which made him a great warrior and a leader.' Perhaps then she could bring up the fact he was chosen by Toruk.

For Neytiri, nothing before Jake becoming Toruk Makto exists because she refuses to face it, that's how she copes. Throw everything behind you and don't speak of it. Ignore it.

Now I want to come to the first movie.

When Neytiri and Jake become mated for life (I'll also be using a deleted scene). Jake was an escape for her. She didn't want to be mated to Tsu'tey nor did she wanted to become a tsakarem, so her being mated to Jake was an escape for her - and she didn't care who was being hurt in the process by defying tradition. Tsu'tey talks about how ever since Jake came in, everything was falling apart and it was true.

Neytiri, as someone who talks about tradition and staying true to her people, she's the one who defying it the most when it suits her.

'Out! You have done nothing!' I understand Neytiri was being worried about Kiri but she also showed that she has no trust in Norm and Max. She could have said: 'Out! Let Ronal work!'

Speculation and perhaps spoilers for A3:

Neytiri's resolution to everything is to, fight, kill, bury it, do not talk about it.

And with the leaked image for A3, what if Neytiri joined the Ash clan for a short while because they would convince her that they would rid Pandora of humans completely. Make them pay.

And perhaps, later, she sees that not all humans are bad, that they are helping other Na'Vi and Pandora or perhaps her children when they are held captive.

If I missed anything or something is not clear, feel free to hit me up, I'm thinking as I'm writing.

#angel speaks #avatar #avatar twow #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #neytiri #jake sully #kiri #neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite #avatar 2009 #james cameron avatar #very long post #long post #i love Neytiri #i really do #but this is her biggest weakness

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rose-tinted-vision · 1 month

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Fic: 只为他袖手天下 | For him, I can renounce the world

Fandom: White Cat Legend (大理寺少聊游）

Relationship: Qiu Qingzhi/Li Bing, Qiu Qingzhi & Yi Zhi Hua

Summary:

“I wonder what happened to you, for you to become like this?” You. Qiu Qingzhi thinks. You.

In which Qiu Qingzhi would do anything to keep the one he loves safe, even if it means ruining himself.

[read it on ao3] | also why isn't QQZ/LB a tag on ao3...

“Li Bing’s funeral procession got attacked on its way out of the city,” his men hurriedly reports, and Qiu Qingzhi’s blood runs cold. He needs to make sure that Li Bing is okay, he needs to know who it is who dared to attack the one he loves, he needs vengeance, he needs—

He digs his nails into his palms to center himself, forcing his mind to focus instead of jumping to conclusions. He is now a General, he has dozens of men at his disposal– but that would only put Li Bing in danger, if he mobilised so many men for him– it would only turn the attention of the Yong’an Elders onto him.

A pair of wild green eyes flashes across his memory, those words thrown around so confidently, “my blood can extend your life, so that you’ll never die!”

Yi Zhi Hua can help, he desperately thinks. He does not know what that demon finds so interesting in him, does not know if he would even answer the call, but it is the only idea he can think of.

Qiu Qingzhi drags his palm across his blade, ignoring the sting as he waits for what feels like eternity in the few seconds it takes for the demon to arrive.

His blood sings with the need to destroy, to crush whoever dared to insult Mr Li’s name.

“No,” he snatches his hand back as Yi Zhi Hua reaches for it, “help me to find someone. Kill the people attacking him, revive him, if he’s dead.”

“Why would I do that?” the damned cat says, though his eyes sharpen with interest, Qiu Qingzhi notes. He would be, it is the first time he has reached out to the other, instead of waiting for the demon to approach him out of boredom.

“Help me, and I'll play your game. I'll help you to find what you are looking for, or catch you again, whatever it is you wanted.”

“Qiu Qingzhi, begging for help! I’ll remember this day!” Yi Zhi Hua sneers, “Alright, since you asked so nicely, who is it?”

—

Please be okay, Qiu Qingzhi begs, spurring his horse to go as fast as she could– he would spoil her rotten later in apology– he can only pin his hopes on a flighty demon now, hope that his bargain was alluring enough for him to uphold his end of the deal.

He has not felt so afraid before. Qiu Qingzhi, who has been on multiple battlefields, who had to learn how to survive on the streets, who had fought and captured a feral demon cat, has never felt such all-encompassing fear before.

Fear that he would arrive to see Li Bing already dead, killed alongside the rest of the procession, or Li Bing with his neck slit open by the damn cat. It was a damn near suffocating fear, choking him from the inside out.

(Never did he imagine that he would see a white cat).

Qiu Qingzhi feels like throwing up.

He had asked for Yi Zhi Hua to save Li Bing, had not questioned his methods in his desperation for Li Bing to just be alive.

“Oh? How interesting, that’s a new expression, I haven’t seen that one before!”

Distantly, his alarm bells are going off– warning him that he is revealing too much in front of this demon, that this would one day come back to bite him– but he finds his composure slipping away until he is grasping at nothing, too distraught at the sight of the unconscious cat in front of him.

What has he done to his friend?

He had been so desperate to cling onto the silver of light in his life that he essentially ruined Li Bing. The only person who ever saw him as anything other than a slave, the only person who has shown him unfaltering kindness, who provided him with a shelter over his head.

He hears the demon scurrying off, crowing in delight at the discoveries he has made tonight, and still Qiu Qingzhi can only stare at the vulnerable state of his friend, whose fur was as white as his hair. So white that he nearly blends in with the snow falling around them.

Hair that had turned white prematurely– all because Qiu Qingzhi had been too late, too weak, too slow to protect Mr Li.

But because he is General Qiu, commander of the Jinwu guards and currently the fixation of a wild demon cat, Qiu Qingzhi composes himself with a shaky breath. He would have preferred to sit here and wait until Li Bing woke up and explain himself to the other, but he had summons that could not be ignored, and men to command.

(He had already revealed too much by running off at first sight of the news).

Qiu Qingzhi allows himself one last glance at Li Bing, and turns to leave.

His stomach churns with guilt as he makes his way back. Guilt that he was leaving Li Bing all alone in that state, guilt that he was all alone in this world now, guilt at his selfish relief that Li Bing was still alive, despite it all.

The urge to turn back and scoop the white cat into his arms and bring him back with him was overpowering. But he was under heavy scrutiny from Yong’an, and there were many who coveted his position, others who would stop at nothing to bring him down. He could not allow that, not with the Li family in ruins and Li Bing so vulnerable. Qiu Qingzhi would get to the bottom of this– the Zixu war, Yi Zhi Hua’s origins, and the extermination of the Li family– he owed as much to Li Bing and his father.

(He needed more power, if he wanted to be able to protect Li Bing).

---

@randomingoftherandomness - thank you for introducing me to this show and this ship haha

@wuxia-vanlifer - I finished the show!!! :>

#thoughts were being thunk about the entire...#how yzh turned lb into a cat thing #could be platonic if you close one eye #ok im too tired to write anything else in the tags #no thoughts head empty #white cat legend #rose writes #大理寺少聊游

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 23: "It's gonna get me by the end of the night" + Shadows

Continuation of Day 22

Read it on Ao3

- Legend & Sky

- Summary: Held captive and helpless in the Shadow's grip, Legend and Sky try to find a way to escape

CW for blood and injury; broken bones; electrocution; torture; brief mentions of vomit, possession, and death; and captivity

---------------------------------------------------

“Vet. Vet! Wake up!”

Legend blinks his eyes open with a groan. His body protests its journey back into consciousness rather loudly and he can’t help but swat at the hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“‘M up, ‘m up,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand roughly over his face. By Hylia, why does he feel like he jumped into a lightning storm?

He blinks a few more times, trying to bring his blurry surroundings into focus. But his pounding head makes that rather difficult and it takes a couple of good, hard tries.

It’s dark in the room where he sits, slumped against Sky’s shoulder. Lanterns lend some light along the far wall, casting shadows everywhere else. They illuminate a deadly sheen of crimson splotched sporadically along the stone floors. A heavy door blocks the exit. No windows are anywhere Legend can see.

They’re all but locked in. A cell that was never truly meant to be.

“Where…” He swallows, grimacing at the harsh bite of it. “Where are we?”

Faint memories are stirring now as consciousness slowly regains a full grip on him. But they are still hazy at best. It’s hard to focus on anything with the phantom pain of electricity in his veins. And of course the telltale ache of using too much magic. Whatever happened, he had practically bled himself dry trying to stop it.

“You don’t remember?” Sky asks. Something in the way he says it makes Legend turn to look at him. The Skyloftian is unnaturally pale, even in the near darkness. Blood darkens his tunic in multiple spots and dribbles down from his nose and mouth. A gash runs along his forehead, dipping down to hide along his left eyebrow. And on his cheek there is a cluster of angry, red lines branching upward and out almost like…

Legend draws in a breath. It all comes rushing back now, bringing the incessant ache of his body and mind to a nauseating fever pitch. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“No…no I remember,” he grits out. “Not-you lured me here and shot balls of electricity at my face.”

Sky chuckles, hoarse and breathless. “Yeah. That’s the…that’s the gist of it.”

Legend shifts and immediately regrets it. The room tilts and his stomach lurches as pain spikes up like shards of glass through his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting not to vomit.

“Are you alright, vet?”

He nods. “Yup. Great.”

Focus on breathing. In and out, in and out.

After a moment, he dares open his eyes again. This time, the room stays level and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Okay, so maybe no sudden movements for a bit.

“I’m guessing the Shadow isn’t here yet,” he says. “Otherwise this experience would probably be a whole lot worse.”

Sky is quiet for a moment. When he speaks his voice is even more hushed and broken than before.

“No, he hasn’t arrived yet, as far as I can tell. But that monster…it said it was going to bring the others here too.” Legend looks up at him, but Sky doesn’t meet his gaze. He is staring at the door as though through will alone he can move it. “If we don’t get out of here soon they’ll have to fight it same as we did.”

“And just like us they’ll likely lose,” Legend finishes, bitterly. “Yeah, okay, so we’ve got to figure out how to escape this place before the Shadow arrives, probably kill the monster that took us both out, plus whatever else has revived in the meantime…while wounded and weaponless. Should be a cinch.”

Sky opens his mouth to reply but before he can voices filter through the walls, harsh and echoing. Both heroes tense.

“Two. You caught two heroes out of the nine that I tasked you with bringing me. Tell me, what makes you think that that is a worthy haul to summon me to see?”

Legend swallows down his rising fear. The Shadow. The Shadow is right outside and they don’t even have some half-baked plan started yet.

“But Master, they aren’t just any two heroes.” It’s the blind now, sounding almost groveling in comparison to the Shadow’s sneering growl. “These ones wield the Master Sword. As you said, they are capable of…”

“Don’t!” The shout is sharp and commanding, like a slap across the face. Beside him, Sky flinches slightly. “Don’t speak the words. They will not defeat me, no matter the weapons they wield. I will make certain of that.”

The voice grows louder, closer. Legend tenses further, steeling himself for what is to come.

“You will remain here. I have work to do and have no wish for you to interfere.”

“What of the other heroes? Do you not want…”

“Leave them for now. These two will suffice.” Legend doesn’t need to see the Shadow’s face to know he is grinning. “Perhaps, once they see their mutilated corpses, the others will simply give themselves up.”

“You know magic, right?”

Legend startles slightly, glancing at Sky. The knight’s soft voice is so different from the domineering, sinister tones just outside.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, muddled thoughts struggling to catch up with everything, “but I used it all up while trying to fight that stupid monster.”

Sky’s eyes narrow and he gnaws his lip. “Can you get it back?”

“I mean…it replenishes itself eventually.”

“How long does it take?”

Legend thinks for a moment. “Without the help of a potion? Ten minutes at the least.”

The darkness in the room begins to bend and twist, heralding the approach of their captor. Legend’s heart climbs into his throat.

“Okay,” Sky murmurs. When Legend spares him another glance he can see the fire burning in his eyes, determination in his stance. “I’ll buy you all the time you need.”

Legend’s mouth falls open, an indignant squawk escaping. “What? Sky…no!”

They both know what the Shadow wants, they both know what his entrance means. And ten minutes is more than enough time for him to accomplish his purpose here, even with his preferred method of a slow, agonizing demise.

But crimson eyes are gleaming in the shadows now and his chance to argue is gone. A wide mouth stretches into a grin, soft footsteps bring the monster closer. He is in his Hylian form this time and even with his charcoal flesh and demonic gaze, Legend is struck by how similar he looks to Time.

It’s strange staring into a twisted, mirrored image of his brother. Sickening.

“The Chosen Hero” – His eyes find Sky and hold there for a moment, then flit to Legend, pinning him like a bug on a stick – “and the Hero of Legend. How wonderful to have you both here.”

“Your accommodations are definitely not wonderful,” Legend snaps, ignoring the uncharacteristically sharp look Sky sends his way.

The Shadow merely chuckles. “Well, prisoners cannot afford to be picky, unfortunately. Not to worry, though. You won’t be here for too long.” His grin widens, teeth glinting stark white against a backdrop of gray and black. “I would say your prayers to that precious little goddess of yours. Otherwise, your future accommodations may not be too inviting either.”

“So, that’s what you’re here to do,” Sky says before Legend manages to spew another dry comment. “Kill us.”

The Shadow quirks an eyebrow. “You sound displeased with that. Would you rather that I did something else? Possessed you perhaps? Used your body as an unwilling puppet to torment your brothers with? Or perhaps merely toyed with you, causing immense pain but never enough to allow for sweet release? Would that please you more?”

Sky clenches his jaw, eyes flashing. But Legend doesn’t miss the way his face pales further.

“Do whatever you want,” he retorts, tone as sharp as the weapon he wields. “It won’t work. Light always triumphs, no matter how long it takes. Hylia ordained it so.”

“Hylia is dead.” The Shadow spits the word. Sky flinches, noticeably, garnering another harsh chuckle from the monster. “Whatever I inflict upon you, keep that knowledge in your mind. Your beloved goddess is gone. She is nothing more than a girl now, helpless and useless and utterly incapable of coming to your aid.”

Sky’s eyes suddenly blaze with a dangerous light. Legend has never seen that look on his face before. Honestly, it makes him a bit uneasy.

“How dare you!” He growls, leaning forward, heedless of his proximity to the monster. “You don’t know Zelda and you have no right to speak of her in such a way, you pathetic–”

Legend has a feeling the Skyloftian was about to rattle off enough insults to make even him impressed. But he never gets the chance. His words break off into an agonized scream instead, so sharp and terrible that the veteran jumps back from him, vision going spotty from the quick movement.

It only lasts a moment, but it’s long enough to ring in his ears and leave Sky breathless. The Skyflotian sags forward, blood dripping from his lips.

“What was it that you were saying, Chosen One?” the Shadow purrs. “That I shouldn’t insult your little Zelda so? That I was pathetic?”

Sky drags in a trembling breath and lifts his head. That fire is still there, turning the sky blue of his irises dark.

“That’s right,” he grits out, “you’re pathetic. If Zelda were here you would already be long gone.”

The Shadow’s eyes glint. “Is that so?”

He doesn’t move a muscle, not even a twitch of a fingertip. Yet, Sky reels back as though hit, back arching, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. He screams again and blindingly white lines begin to snake up his neck, crawling toward his face. Legend can see them beneath his tunic too, their unnatural light crackling and bending along his body. Heat emanates from him.

Legend’s eyes widen and his stomach drops. It’s…it’s almost like the Shadow is pouring lightning into his body.

Another moment and it’s over again. Sky slumps, coughing up more blood. His bent form trembles and twitches.

“If you recall, you sustained quite a few injuries while fighting for the girl you now so bravely defend.” The Shadow walks forward. With one, delicate finger he lifts Sky’s chin. “Do they still ache – these wounds Demise bestowed upon you? I am certain that they do now.”

Sky drags his gaze up to the Shadow’s. “You…you plan to kill me by reopening ol-old wounds? Get more creative.”

The Shadow smirks. “I underestimated you, Chosen One. No wonder you were the one who faced the Demon God himself. Your heart is strong.”

For a split second the very air reverberates with tension. Then, Sky’s eyes blow wide as his skin lights up again. His scream is more hoarse this time, cracking and broken. His body trembles and jerks of its own accord as though trying to escape the agony inside of it.

And it’s too much, too much.

Damn buying time. Damn his slowly rejuvenating magic. Legend can’t take this any more.

(He hates himself for enduring it this long. For allowing fear and pain to constrict his throat and paralyze his body while his brother suffers.)

“Stop!”

He scrambles between Sky and the Shadow as though that will do anything at all. Behind him Sky continues to cry out.

“Stop hurting him you sick bastard!”

“Do you wish to die first?” The Shadow asks, a bit of sadistic humor in his tone. “Because that can be arranged.”

“N-no!” Sky heaves a breath. He is shaking more than ever now from the effort it takes not to scream. “D-don’t you dare t-touch him!”

The Shadow looks between them both, a smirk playing upon his lips.

“I will do whatever I please. But since this is such a wonderful show, I will grant your wish just this once, Chosen One. You will have the privilege of dying first.”

Legend gasps. Tears are welling in his eyes now despite his efforts to hold them back. His hands fall, trembling onto his lap. Useless.

No.

He lunges, a cry on his lips, fist outstretched to collide with the Shadow’s face. Agony explodes in every part of him, taking his very breath away. But when his blow hits, he no longer cares. It’s worth it to see the Shadow’s head snap back, blood spurting from his nose.

Then, a smile stretches his lips. He catches Legend’s wrist as he tries for another punch and twists. A loud crack echoes through the room. Legend chokes on a cry.

“Though, I suppose that is a mercy, really,” he purrs, deadly and sweet. “You will be gone long before I begin torturing your little friend. The Hero of Legend, however, has no choice but to watch me tear you apart.”

His grin grows as blood dribbles down to his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he has a good seat.”

A blast of energy slams into Legend’s chest, sending him hurtling sideways. He hits the ground with a shout, pain exploding up his arm. Seconds later the floor itself lifts, wrapping around him and pinning him there. He thrashes, desperately, but the cold stone merely constricts further, snapping his bones like twigs. Blood fills his mouth and he gags on it.

Sky’s screams echo through the space once more, bouncing around in his aching skull. Laughter mingles with it. The air stinks of bile and blood and desperation. Dark magic blankets everything. The flickering lights of phantom lightning illuminate the room.

He is suffocating in it all. And still, his magic crawls upward, lazily filling his veins. He curses it for its slowness.

Horror and bitter regret creep into his chest as his ears ring with the sounds of his brother’s agony and blinding light blurs before his eyes.

Sky had never talked much about his adventure. They knew he hadn’t fought Ganondorf like the rest of them and they knew he had plummeted to the Surface to save Zelda. They knew he had known the spirit within the sword. But that was the extent of it.

Battling a Demon God with the power of lightning, gaining painful scars from it…Legend could never have guessed.

They all have their secrets – that is an accepted thing amongst them all. Some will never be told. But Legend had always thought Sky had held the least of all of them. Besides, Wind, that is. And now that that assumption is shattered, now that he is forced to watch the repercussions of the horrors his brother hadn’t seen fit to share…he feels an odd sort of remorse.

He should have done more. He should have at least asked.

To hold knowledge like that is torture in and of itself. He knows that more than anyone.

Well, it’s too late to change that now, he chastises himself, harshly. So, stop moping and figure out how to get the both of you out of here before it’s too late.

It’s nearly impossible to focus with the pain coursing through him and Sky’s yells still splitting his skull (though they are growing weaker now…dangerously so; in fact, he would say they’re more akin to whimpered sobs). Legend squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe past it all. He needs to think, he needs to clear his mind enough to do something, anything to make this all stop.

Sky’s cries may be dwindling, but they are still sounds. They are still evidence that the knight is fighting and alive.

Legend intends to keep it that way.

That cursed blind took his pouch and his sword and shield with it. Hylia only knows where they are now. He has other items at his disposal, however.

The medallions he obtained so long ago are stowed away in his pouch. But the spells that power them are safe in his mind. Using any of them is a gamble with his magic as low as it still is and at least four floors of stone above him…one he’s willing to take.

He has no other choice.

Legend takes a deep breath and begins to whisper the incantation.

Magic gathers at his fingertips, tearing at his body as it drags him to past the limit. Blood bubbles in his throat and his ears fill with an excruciating ring. Consciousness threatens to slip away but he grasps ahold of it, wrestles it down.

He can’t let go now. He refuses to.

The last words leave his lips on the tail end of a pained whine. There’s a second in which he is lost within the drifting waves of agony and exhaustion, unable to hear or feel or see anything. And then, the world explodes.

Crackling, white streaks of electricity zip across the room, bringing with them the sound of thunder and pouring rain. They charge toward their target and in an eruption of light and darkness, collide head-on. The Shadow lets out an agonized screech.

Legend’s own scream joins his as the spell drags the rest of the magic from his aching body, lighting his very veins on fire. His vision blacks out and the back of his neck prickles dangerously, body threatening to give up and drop into the oblivion it craves. But then he’s back, gasping like a fish on land as the spell sputters and dies out.

He can only lie there for a few moments after the room goes quiet, shuddering and trying to breathe through the pain. It takes all of his strength and then some to push himself upright. The room dips and dives beneath him as he crawls to where Sky lies. Every breath is gravelly and hoarse, every movement agony.

But he makes it. Somehow, miraculously, he makes it.

…and with a pitiful groan, collapses right beside the Skyloftian.

Sky’s hand finds his, still trembling and twitching slightly, but comforting and warm. Legend gives it a weak squeeze.

“Some…some escape plan, huh?” he slurs, blinking up at the ceiling. “We’re both…both over here half-dead.”

Sky huffs a shaky chuckle.

“He’s gone though,” he whispers, every word drenched in pain. “It…it worked well e-enough.”

Legend hums. He’s right. The Shadow is gone, likely fled to some far corner of the earth to escape injury, and the blind with him. So, though neither of them have the strength to drag themselves out of this place at least, for now, they are safe.

And…now that he listens a bit more carefully, Legend swears he can hear a wolf howl.

A small smile lifts his lips. Maybe, they’re even safer than he thought.

“Hey, Sky,” he manages, even as he begins to drift away to the sound of salvation.

Sky makes a small, tired sound. His breath hitches slightly and Legend tightens his hold on his hand.

“S-sacrifice yourself like that again and I-I’ll take out your kneecaps.”

Sky only laughs.

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