#cross hatching is my enemy.
Text
a fact about me is that i LOVE to hatch art.
a related fact about me is that i fucking HATE cross hatching art.
#basil blabbers#LOVE to hatch. love how spacing and thickness work together in hatching.#cross hatching is my enemy.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]
Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…
Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!
Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.
Word count: 8.1k.
Link to chapter list: HERE.
Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚
In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.
“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.
“Are there really?”
Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”
“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”
“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”
“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.
“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.
“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”
You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”
“Where are they now?”
“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.
“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.
“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.
“What brought you here?”
You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”
“And he asked you to stay with us?”
He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”
Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”
“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”
Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.
“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.
“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”
“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.
Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”
Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”
She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”
Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”
“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”
“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”
Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.
“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.
“We won’t.” We can’t.
Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”
And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”
“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.
“I don’t know.”
“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”
“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”
“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”
You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”
Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”
“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”
“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”
That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”
Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”
It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”
“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”
“No. They love you.”
And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.
When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.
You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.
Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”
Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”
“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”
“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”
“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”
Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”
“Who? Borros Baratheon?”
Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”
After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”
“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”
“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”
Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.
But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.
“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”
Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”
“Good.”
Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.
You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”
“How long?”
“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”
“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”
“Four or five days now.”
“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.
“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”
His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”
“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.
“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”
“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.
You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.
Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.
Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.
You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.
You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.
~~~~~~~~~~
At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.
“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.
“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”
“They must think I’m a coward.”
“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”
Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.
Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.
“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.
Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”
Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”
“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.
“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”
“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.
“What? No, we have to hurry—”
“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”
Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”
Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”
“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”
“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”
You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.
Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”
No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.
“Listen, listen to me—”
“No—”
“Angel.”
“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”
“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”
“You would become a monster?”
“To protect you? I would become anything.”
He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.
Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.
You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”
He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”
Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”
“I know, Aegon.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”
You are petrified. “Why?”
He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”
You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.
“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”
You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.
Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”
“I can’t,” you choke out.
“You have to.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”
“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.
“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”
The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.
“Now go. Right now. Go.”
You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.
Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”
“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”
Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”
Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?
Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.
“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.
But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.
“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.
The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.
“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.
The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.
“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”
Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?
The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.
“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.
“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.
“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.
“He’s dead.”
This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”
“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”
He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”
“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”
“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.
You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”
The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”
“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”
“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”
“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”
“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.
All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.
But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?
And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader
349 notes
·
View notes
Text
Joyride
Summary: You and Hunter have been ignoring your feelings for each other for a year, but can't any longer when you're sent on a mission together.
Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Angst, Enemies to Lovers, SMUT, Sex on a speeder bike, unprotected p in v (wrap it up friends), Cid (lol)
WC: 3.2K
A/N: OKAY don't be mad at me for having Cid in this bc I started writing this way before that finale and before we knew that Cid was a traitorous asshole, so I'm sorry about that. BUT sex with Hunter on a speeder bike should make up for it, right?? (Also, if you saw me post this earlier on my main, no you didn't lol.)
TAGLIST FORM │Bad Batch Masterlist
“Dark and Broody, Mopey… You two will be going on this one alone.” Cid points at you and Hunter.
That’s what Cid calls you, Mopey. Even though she’s known you your whole life and absolutely knows your name. You moped about Hunter to her one time and now the name has stuck.
“What?” You and Hunter ask, simultaneously and then look at each other uncomfortably.
Crossing your arms, you glare. “We don’t do alone missions.”
“That’s not my problem. I need a couple who won’t stick out too much.” Cid starts to walk away toward her office, knowing you’ll follow. “It’s easy. In and out. Get the drive. Bam. You’re done.”
“A couple?” Hunter asks, still trying to catch up.
“Yeah, a couple. Ever heard of the word?” Cid sits at her desk, rummaging through her drawers. “Two people who are together.”
“We aren’t together, though.” Hunter glances at you as you lean in the doorway with crossed arms, looking at you as if you have some sway here.
You’ve known Cid your whole life. She apparently used to run with your mom back in the day and when your mom passed, Cid took you in. She looks up at you, knowingly and you shake your head, walking out so you can leave Hunter to argue with her. It was a lost cause arguing with her. You learned that long ago.
“Good luck.” Echo tells you, smirking from the bar.
You flip him off and then look to make sure Omega wasn’t watching. Thankfully, she and Wrecker are in a heated Dejarik game while Tech watches over Wrecker’s shoulder. You can’t help but be grateful for this little group that you and Cid found a year ago.
“You know, you’re pacing.” You tell Hunter from the co-pilot’s seat as the ship travels through hyperspace.
It’s quiet without the rest of the Batch, you notice. Too quiet. It occurs to you how little time you and Hunter have been around each other without any of the others around.
“Yeah. And?” He snips.
You prop your feet up in the seat in front of you, your dress slipping up to your thigh slightly. He looks down only for a second and walks off to the bunks to do something. With a roll of your eyes, you pull up your datapad and send off a message to Echo.
You: He’s impossible.
Echo: What do you want me to do about it?
You: Just complaining I guess?
Echo: You mean being mopey?
You: Fuck you.
Echo: LOL
You sigh and toss your datapad back into the seat, groaning in frustration.
“What is it?” Hunter stands in the doorway.
“Nothing.” You turn your seat around to look out at the blue hues of hyperspace.
“Right…” Hunter disappears again until right before you come up on Coruscant.
“So the plan-” Hunter stands in front of you when you land.
“I know the plan.” You stare up at him.
“Right. Okay then.” He sighs as he hands you your ear piece, giving you a curious look as he stares down at you.
“Okay.” You nod and open the hatch.
You leave the ship together, coming up on the speeder that one of Cid’s people left for you. He looks at the speeder bike.
“Don’t even think about it.” You grumble and point at your outfit. “Dress, remember?”
He chuckles. “Right.”
With a slight roll of your eyes, you get in the passenger side of the speeder. As he takes off, you try your hardest to not look at him in his nice outfit. He’s wearing a dark red collared shirt, the top two buttons undone, slightly revealing his tattooed chest, dress pants, and a gold chain you didn’t know he had.
You find yourself wanting to ask him about the chain and about the tattoo that was clearly a continuation of the half skull on his face. You’re tempted to question him if it goes all the way down…
“What?” Hunter picks up on your staring.
You go warm in the face instantly and look out your side of the speeder as he continues to drive. “Nothing.”
He chuckles. “If you say so.”
Arriving at the casino, Hunter starts to get out but you stop him, leaning on the edge of the door.
“What are you doing? Keep the speeder running in case I run into trouble. Thought you’ve done this before?” You smirk.
“I have.” He scowls at you. “You’re gonna go in alone, dressed like that?”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really? We’re gonna have this conversation?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Look… I know you can handle your own-”
“Great, then I’ll see you in a few minutes. Keep it running, I’ll be in and out.” You ignore him and walk away into the casino.
“Nothing wrong with backup, you know?” He grumbles in your ear as you walk up the steps to the second floor.
“Hush.” You tell him, smiling at the coat check person, politely.
You can feel some eyes on you as you walk onto the casino floor.
“You’re breathing heavily.” Hunter complains in your ear on the comm as you make your way through the casino full of people.
“No I’m not.” You roll your eyes. “You just have supersonic hearing.”
He chuckles. “I think you mean ultrasonic.”
“Maker, you’ve been hanging around Tech too much.” You shake your head to yourself.
Stars, why does his voice sound like that? It sounds like pure sex and it feels like he’s practically purring in your ear. And it’s going right to your-
“You good?” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
“Yep.” You take a wine glass off a waitresses tray and gulp it down in one go, trying not to think about what Hunter’s voice does to you.
“Please try not to get wasted.” He warns you.
“How did you know-” You put the empty glass on a passing tray and keep moving through the crowd of people who were clearly rich and well off.
“‘Supersonic’ hearing, remember?” He teases, lightly. “You… ahem… swallow loudly.”
He coughs and you try to not think about what he could be thinking of.
“Focus, Sarge.” You smirk, just trying not to argue with him for once.
It’s really not a secret that you two don’t really see eye to eye, but that’s not your problem. It’s his. He’s the one who always starts the arguments. Like now, complaining about your breathing and your swallowing. If anyone deserved to complain, it’s you. You’re in this ridiculously snug dress and stupid heels and you’re ready to peel them off.
“Miss?” You hear a man’s voice behind you.
When you turn around, you find a handsome, young gentleman with a blue scarf that you’d been looking for. He’s supposed to be the one who gives you the drive.
“Hi. Luc?” You smile.
Easy mission, thankfully. In and out just like you told Hunter, making him wait out in the speeder.
“That’s me.” He grins. “They didn’t tell me that a beautiful woman was supposed to be meeting me. Could I buy you a drink first?”
You try to not roll your eyes as you keep a fake smile plastered on your face.
“Wow. What a tool.” Hunter’s voice fills your ear.
“That’s alright, thank you. Just the drive please.” You start to hand out your hand.
“Pity… Well in that case, I’m supposed to tell you,” He suddenly pulls a blaster out, keeping it low. “Cad Bane sends his regards.”
Kriff. Of course.
Acting quickly, you shove his hand away at the same time that he releases the trigger, sending blaster fire up into the air. You elbow him in the throat, making him double over in pain, gasping for breath, as you try to knock the blaster out of his hand. Suddenly, more blaster fire starts coming your way and you realize you’ve been set up.
All around you people scream as they scramble for safety in the casino.
“What’s happening?” Hunter’s voice is in your ear, panicked.
“Don’t worry about it. Keep the speeder running.” You grunt as you make for the balcony across the room, just hoping your heels hold up, pulling one of your blasters out and shooting at the people that are shooting at you.
“Don’t worry about it, she says, as blaster fire is literally firing around her.” Hunter mutters.
“Will you please shut up?” You snap as you start to climb over the side of the balcony, shooting toward the top of the building.
You look down for Hunter in the speeder but see him on a speeder bike instead.
“Where’s the speeder?” You yell.
“This is quicker!” He calls back.
With an annoyed groan, you stick your blaster back into your thigh holster and slide down the rope landing in Hunter’s lap, straddling his thighs while facing him. He lets out an ‘oof’ and takes off as people come running out of the lobby, shooting at the two of you.
“You could have let me climb off to get behind you.” You glare.
“No time. Hold on.” He revs the bike and starts going even faster through the undercity of Coruscant, causing you to press yourself to his chest.
You roll your eyes. “We were set up.”
“Yeah, no kriff.” Hunter rests his chin on your shoulder so you can see.
It almost feels natural… having him against you. You quickly push that thought away as you go to argue with him again.
“You know what-” You’re cut off as you realize people in speeders are after you, still shooting at you.
“A little help here would be nice.” He grunts, taking a sharp turn, trying to buy you some time so you can grab your blasters.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” You pull your blasters out of both thigh holsters.
When you try to situate yourself so you can shoot better, you only realize you accidentally brush up against Hunter’s crotch when he lets out a soft groan.
“Sorry…” You try.
“Just shoot.” He says, through gritted teeth.
You immediately start to take out each shooter, precisely hitting each person so well that you can’t help but let out a chuckle.
“Crosshair would be so proud of me right now.” You compliment yourself.
“I’m sure.” Hunter grumbles as he shoots through an alley and then takes a hard right up into some sort of abandoned warehouse.
When he thinks the coast is clear, he finally leans back, breathing heavily. You can’t even tease him about it, because your chest is heaving against his. With the deep glare that he’s giving you, his hate for you becomes evident.
“You know, you may hate me… and still not trust me… but I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for the long haul.” You shrug, tucking your blasters back into your holsters.
“I don’t hate you.” He rolls his eyes.
“Then why-” You start but he crushes his lips to yours, shutting you up.
Every nerve ending in your body stands straight up and you fight between the urge to shove him off of you and also wanting more of him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer and he grips your hips, grinding you against his hardened length, straining in his pants.
“You feel what you do to me?” He rasps against your lips, his voice full of need. “So, I don’t hate you, I’m-”
Without another word, your hands fall down to his zipper and pull his length free. His sentence is cut off as you rest your foreheads together, watching your hand expertly start to pump his cock. He’s thicker than you imagined he’d be. You’re definitely not complaining though.
“Fuck, mesh’la…” He groans, gripping your hips tighter.
The rumble of the speeder sends vibrations to your core and you can’t help the wetness that gathers in your panties, begging to coat Hunter’s perfect cock.
You raise up slightly, moving your panties to the side as you sink down on him and he lets out an incredibly loud groan while he grips you so tightly that you know you’re going to bruise. Maybe that’s what he’s going for. To remind you of today, no matter what happens when you get back to Ord Mantell.
You let out a soft gasp when his hands roam down to your ass and start to raise you up just to pull you back down onto his cock harshly. You’d been lying to yourself… You don’t hate him. You want Hunter just as bad, if not more.
He pulls your body flush against his, kissing your shoulder. “Been waiting for so long for this.”
You can’t help the needy whimpers that escape your lips for this man. The two of you had been fighting your urges for so long that you’d been convinced you hated each other. But now…
“Feels so fucking good… So perfect… made for me.” Hunter babbles incoherently and you grind against him as much as you can. You pull away to make sure you’re not slipping but he grips your chin and pulls your gaze back to his own. “Keep your eyes on me. I’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere.”
And fuck, if that isn’t the hottest thing a man’s ever said to you…
He takes your fingers and pulls them to his mouth, taking them in his mouth. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. He knows exactly what he’s doing because he smirks around your digits before guiding your fingers down to your clit.
“Fuck… Hunter.” You groan, keeping your eyes on him, lips parted as the sounds echo off the metal walls of the warehouse as you rub your clit for him.
“That’s it, mesh’la… need you to cum for me so I can fill this pretty little cunt up.” He whispers gruffly and you nearly come apart just at those words alone. “If… if that’s okay with you.”
“Please.” You gasp with a desperate nod.
You’d never known Hunter had this side to him. Sure you called him dark and broody as a joke, but this was something else entirely. He’s looking at you with such voracity, that you don’t think there’s any coming back from it. You want him to look at you this way forever.
Pulling Hunter back in for a kiss so vehement, while still rubbing your clit, you near your edge. Your mind goes back to what he was saying earlier about not hating you. He didn’t give you a reason for acting the way he did.
“Hunter…” You whimper.
“What?” He rests his forehead against yours, still fucking you amorously.
When he looks at you, it’s with such a softness that you can’t help but melt.
“What…” You groan as he pushes you back on the speeder, reaching deeper into you with his cock. “What were you going to say… you don’t hate me… and?”
“Right now?” He asks, looking down between you with a breathless chuckle.
You nod as that familiar heat pools toward your warmth. “As… good a time… as any, right?”
The way he’s fucking you is absolutely ethereal. You don’t think you could go back to how things were before even if you wanted to. And you definitely don’t want to, right?
“Maker…” He grits with a breathy chuckle as you clench around him. “I’m- fuck… I’m in love with you, okay?”
As if that’s all you needed to hear, you cum, making his name sound like an entire prayer. Because that’s what coming around Hunter’s cock feels like. Absolutely spiritual.
He grins down at you and pulls you back up into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, fucking into you mercilessly, overwhelming both of you.
When his hips falter as he grips your sides, digging his fingers into you as he fills you up so fully that you spill out over the both of you. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh and then he lets one out as well.
“If I knew you’d react like that when I declared my love for you, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks and you playfully slug him.
“You’re very lucky I don’t actually hate you.” You lean in closely and the breath in his throat hitches.
“I’ll say.” He agrees before crushing his lips to yours.
Neither of you are sure what’s next for you, but you’re already feeling more hopeful. Maybe it’ll help that you won’t be arguing for once when you break the news to Cid that the mission failed.
“I uh… actually wanted to show you something while we’re on Coruscant.” He coughs, awkwardly.
“Okay?” You look at him curiously.
He grins as he helps you off the bike to sit behind him again. You feel the slight run of cum start to drip down your thigh.
“Oh…” You look down and Hunter looks at your thighs as well, his grip on the handlebars tightening.
“Do you want to run by the ship and clean up before I show you the surprise?” He smirks.
“Please.” You nod, going warm in the face as you hop on the back of the bike. “I’d also like to change. These heels are the worst.”
He chuckles and relaxes into you when you wrap your arms around his waist and then takes off back toward the Marauder. It’s a strange feeling being so close to him after having so much distance between the two of you the past year.
“So, what is it with you and speeder bikes?” You ask him, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” You start to release his waist but he quickly grabs your arms and pulls them against him again.
“I’ve always wanted one. Since I saw one of the Alpha’s with one on Kamino when I was, you know, a “kid”.” He admits with a shrug.
“That’s sweet.” You kiss his shoulder. “We’ll get you one, one day.”
He pulls one of your hands up to his lips and kisses it and you can’t help but smile.
When you pull back up to the Marauder, Hunter helps you off the bike, like a gentleman.
“Didn’t know you had such a sweet side to you.” You tease as he pulls you against himself, looking down into your eyes with his own warm brown ones.
He smirks as he kisses you again. “Maybe we can shower… together… before I take you to that surprise.”
You find yourself desperate to have his mouth somewhere else.
“Yes please, Sarge.” You wrap your arms around him and he starts to lift you up but pauses as his ears perk up toward the Marauder and then pulls away to grab one of your blasters out of your holster, pointing it toward the hatch.
“Hunter, what is it?” You whisper.
All of a sudden, you hear a blaster shot come out from behind you and feel a bolt of electricity travel throughout your body. By the time you drop, you realize it’s too late and you’ve been stunned. The last thing you see before you pass out is Hunter going into attack mode.
TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @misogirl828 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @agenteliix @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @quigonswife8 @idlenesses @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @brownstalebread @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms
492 notes
·
View notes
Text
btw. i resent the assumption that adrigriffe ONLY liked toxinelle once he realized she was emonette. in fact i think he was actively attracted to her, but since they met after he fell for marinette, it was hard for him to comprehend that -> he’s a One Woman type of person! he’s a romantic!
so like. it made him lash out at her More as a coping mechanism. it Helps that toxinelle is rather abrasive towards him usually, so he can retaliate AND also convince himself that he Doesn’t Like Her At All, since they’re being Mean to each other
BUT a lot of the hater-core shit he does to her is either a) a direct mimicry of things she’s done to him -> stealing miraculous, blaming, shoving OR b) a bid for ATTENTION, which he likes obtaining. he pushes her buttons on purpose because he enjoys her responses. if he gets ignored, he gets bored and stops. he plays his ‘disdain’ for her in the most theatric, ostentatious manner BECAUSE it gets him the biggest reactions eg. pretending to catch her in a fake voice of concern only to side step at the last second when he could’ve Not Done All That
just like how chat noir would take ladybug’s lead regarding what romantic shit he could get away with -> griffe is doing the same with toxinelle, but he’s been learning what sort of behavior CAN ignite her WITHOUT actually separating from her
we see this in his hesitant attempt to take her miraculous -> the best thing would be to remove her earrings SWIFTLY, using both his hands to take Both earrings away at the same time. however, he does it cautiously, almost like he’s toeing the line, but doesn’t want to cross it. doesn’t want to rid her of her miraculous, because it would mean she wouldn’t be around him anymore. in contrast, when she removed his miraculous to attempt to make a wish, she did it very quickly before he could retaliate
furthermore! when he argues with her about miraculous theft, he doesn’t have his own nefarious motives for wanting to take toxinelle’s earrings aside from -> you started it!!!! she on the other hand, can come up with reasons why she would benefit, whereas he is just upset that she has those reasons
it’s like. when he wants to open the hatch in marinette’s room, and she tells him to stay and help. he decides to stick around and be a nuisance -> but that’s the thing. He Stays. he’d rather be in a room screaming his head off with her than alone in a pit of silence
tl;dr when they identity reveal he’s able to reconcile all his complicated feelings and realize all these intense emotions he’s felt are all for The Same Girl, not -> oh my enemy’s my crush! guess i like her now!
#text#miraculous ladybug#paris special#mlbposting#toxigriffe#TODAY AT DINNER MOUSSI ASKED ME WHY I HAVENT MADE THIS POST YET#-> i brought it up in the gc but Forgo#anyway WHO ELSE SUPPORTS TOXIC YURI!!!!!!
152 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reactions to Chaos Creator's Chapter 263
TL;DR - Letao and his daughter are unaware that they're sacrifices too. Cale meets Letao and dominates him with DA. Cale and Letao agree to work together.
The Chapter
Not much happened today. Cale was still angry, and even became angrier when he heard the old mage muttering that Letao and his daughter would be sacrifices too.
Letao had no idea about that, so Cale revealed himself and told him about it. Letao was initially wary of Cale, so Cale used his DA to subdue him. After some discussion, the two agreed to work together because "the enemy of my enemy is a friend."
Oh yeah, there's the part about dragons getting 'married' too. Letao's wife suddenly went missing, so he ended up raising his daughter. Which brings the question, is this specific to Aipotu dragons though? We never hear about the dragon dads of Raon and Dodori. And the Korean word used was "wife", so dragons get married to each other too? Or do they just call their mate as wife/husband? At least, with this information, we can now cross out that fan theory about dragons reproducing asexually... 😂
As for how Letao ended up here, his daughter just hatched from her egg when the great upheaval happened. He stayed neutral when the dragons split into factions, and lived in hiding. But he got caught when his daughter was captured by Ryan while she was playing with her beastkin friends.
Ending Remarks
There weren't any funny moments today, perhaps to reflect the graveness of the location. With his business with Ryan temporarily on hold (because he still had a week left before the last execution), Cale set off to meet the emperor (with King Dennis). Hehehe, I'm excited to know what the destructive trio had done to the temple. 🤣
108 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lilia Vanrouge x Reader
✿Briar's Secret [PART 1] ✿
Notes: Angst, slight fluff? Fae-human war era, Meleanor's little sister!reader, Chief strategist!reader.
Includes my twst OC Midnight. [Might post him soon]
Shallow sunlight streamed in through the enamoring quartz balcony of the throne room, which, draped in curtains of velvet and obsidian, failed not to pay worthwhile tribute to the dweller of the grey, marbled throne. The crown princess of the fae, her hair as raven as the night sky and eyes emerald as the sea- Meleanor was her name, tapped a clawed finger on the throne impatiently as the General of Briar Valley entered the hall.
Her younger sister [Y/N], who had eyes in a glistening shade of [e/c] and only a single horn wrested on her head, immediately wasted no time in absorbing the General's features and etching them into the depths of her essence. General Lilia Vanrouge. Her lifelong love. He took off his mask, which had met with many a worn out tear during the intensity of his numerous battles on the front lines, to reveal a set of precious ruby red eyes set under long eyelashes that fluttered open as if to endeavour the commemorative moment that marked the reveal of his beautiful irises. His dark lips were pressed in a thin line, his black hair messy from being on the front lines, yet to her, it was perfect from all angles, with those conspicuous red streaks that only accentuated his beauty further. Behind him, trailed his trusted aide, Baul Zigvolt.
"YOU'RE LATE, LILIA!" Meleanor roared, the echoing thud of her staff sounding in the room as she slammed it against the ground.
"My apologies, Princess." Lilia bowed courteously, remembering to be formal to the future queen of his nation. [Y/N] found it quite adorable, in all honesty. "There has been quite the miscalculation in our strategy." He glared at [Y/N], who only shrugged in response. Not even she had the ability to bring about prediction on every outcome. "The enemy has surrounded Ibara Castle. We must leave immediately."
"Leave? Due to those petty humans that squander on our land?" Meleanor scoffed as she crossed one leg over the other. "Never. I thought they were but mere pigs yapping outside. I shall not leave this castle."
"Quit being stubborn!" Lilia yelled, in his familiar tone. [Y/N] chuckled, remembering those days when she had endeavoured to put Lilia in dresses and play house with him as kids. He'd always raise his voice at her and she'd end up crying. Those were the days. Innocent ones, of fun and play. "We have to leave! We aren't kids anymore! When have I ever been wrong?!" Lilia yelled, his voice hoarse and desperate.
"Take my sister and my child. And leave." Meleanor commanded. [Y/N]'s eyes widened before a small smirk broke out on her lips. They were really alike, the two sisters. Always so self-sacrificing. Not that she would allow a sacrifice from Meleanor's end.
"The hell?! No way! All of you are coming with me! Thats you included, Meleanor!" Lilia protested, but Meleanor threw her egg at him. He managed to catch it in just the barest of timescales, a scowl etched on his face as he turned his nose up at her.
"What the hell are you thinking?! What if the egg broke?!" Lilia clutched the egg tightly, embracing the pitch black covering holding the future prince tightly to his torso.
"I entrust it to you, Lilia." Meleanor smirked. [Y/N] crossed her arms over her chest. In her mind, there was only one plan as the chief strategist of the royal court. One that certainly did not involve the sacrifice of the future queen of Briar Valley. Rather one that included the sacrifice of a singular, expendable pawn titled the 'second princess of Briar Valley'.
"Hell no, you don't. Besides, the egg won't hatch without its parents' love! I can't love anyone!" Lilia barked. How untrue his words were, how vile a thought that Lilia was not capable of loving. A mild ache spread in [Y/N]'s heart.
"You love me, though, don't you? Or was that all a lie when you proposed to me? Besides, you love Raven too. You guys spent more time together than married couples." Meleanor chuckled. [Y/N] forced a smile on her face. She knew Lilia loved her elder sister. She'd never be a choice. All she cared for most was the smile that decorated Lilia's face. So for him, she would . . .
"THAT WAS WHEN I WAS A KID, 200 YEARS AGO! It doesn't mean anything now!" Lilia shot back. Ah, but how difficult it was for [Y/N] to believe the raven haired General's words when he so clearly preferred the company of her elder sister. [Y/N] felt the leader of the Midnight Solstice, her personal assassin Midnight, tug at her sleeve. His pleading azure eyes bore into hers. He defied none of her orders, yet at this moment, he showed a single sliver of wavering hesitance. She gave a light pat to his short jet black hair before walking towards the General.
"I am telling you, take [Y/N] and my egg and leave-" Meleanor was interrupted when [Y/N] cleared her throat. Meleanor's brow rose in slight curiosity as she gazed at her little sister.
"You have it backwards. Big sis Meleanor, you are going with them. And I am staying here with Midnight to defend the castle." She announced with a slight wave of her hands to gesture her intentions.
"DON'T BE CRAZY! YOU'RE NOT EVEN STRONG, YOU'RE JUST THE GODDAMN STRATEGIST! You're a weakass princess who's never been on the front lines! You're not even half as strong as Meleanor is! No, not even a damn tenth of it!" Lilia scowled harshly at her, his crimson eyes glinting with a raging fury that rivaled the embers of fire. How his words dug daggers into her heart. His comparison of her wretched nature to that of the benevolent and strong image of her elder sister pained her to the core.
"Lilia is right. You can't stay here, [Y/N]. It would be much too dangerous." Meleanor frowned, with a look that only displayed concern for her younger sibling.
"I am the chief strategist. I have a plan." [Y/N] murmured as she tapped her foot in slight frustration on the ground.
"Oh yeah?! Most of those damn plans involve a low survival rate for you! Even your new strategy led to the enemies surrounding us! Explain that!" Lilia growled, his fists clenching as he tried hard to suppress his anger. [Y/N]'s heart further shattered, she knew deep down that every soldier's death on the front lines was only the result of her damned strategies. Lilia didn't need to say that out loud for the Sevens' sake.
"I plan to use my unique magic." She finally revealed. A look of shock crossed the looks of every person present in the room, save for Midnight.
"You don't have one!" Lilia scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at her icily.
"I do. But it can only be used once. I was saving it for a moment such as the one currently upon us." [Y/N] answered sternly, glaring back at the furious General. "It has power enough to take out every single troop out there."
"Then I shall permit you to use it. However, we shall remain in the castle." Meleanor offered gently with a smile painted upon her dark lips.
"No can do. It is too powerful a magic. You must escape or you will face the brunt of it as well. Only someone so capable of defense magic as Midnight could survive it. Hence why I plan on taking him with me." [Y/N] replied, a serious expression on her otherwise laid back face. The one horned princess was serious, which was not something out of the ordinary, yet at the same time, it was excruciatingly new.
"Then I shall permit it. I trust you to not lie to me. I shall escape with Lilia and the others." Meleanor nodded. Something was off, it was not that difficult to sense, yet the frustrating reality of the situation veiled Meleanor's eyes with a blindfold of hope.
"You're not telling us something." Lilia snarled. As always, the General was quick to pick up on things out of the mundane, his fists still clenched in an effort to rein in his anger.
"I will return alive. This, I promise. Please, Lilia. I beg you, trust me." [Y/N] implored as she looked at him pleadingly. Despise was all she felt on lying to her beloved General, yet it was all she could do to convince his stubborn intellect to run away to a place of safety where harm had little to no reach.
Lilia gazed at her, his crimson eyes scanning her expression for anything he could use against her. He took a moment to think before he finally relented. "And your chance of survival?"
"Guaranteed." Lie after lie exited [Y/N]'s mouth. "I'll regroup with you guys after I'm done with those nuisances outside. I promise. We will meet again." .
Lilia groaned before tousling his hair with his hand. "Fine. I'll leave it to you, Chief Strategist. Even Meleanor believes you, so I have no reason to doubt you." She knew why Lilia trusted her this much. She'd never once lied to him.
Her thoughts only raced thus:
Sorry, Lilia.
Please run away.
Please don't look back.
Please don't feel sad.
✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿
NOTE: DO NOT REPOST OR PLAGIARIZE MY WORK.
#malleus draconia#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#lilia x reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge x reader#diasomnia#diasomnia x reader
123 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi darling, can you make a very cute imagination where klaus is hatching a plot against an enemy, and he is making a plan with some witches and suddenly a witch sees klaus's phone and looks at his wallpaper which is a picture of y/n and the witch asks klaus who the girl in the photo is and klaus tells her that it's his girlfriend and starts talking about her non-stop, going completely from conspiring to talking about his beloved.
POUR YOUR HEART OUT — k.m
pairing klaus mikaelson x gf!reader
summary klaus is working with a certain coven of witches in new orleans in an attempt to protect you from esther. the leader of the coven wonders if helping him is worth it. to quiet her doubts, she takes matters into her own hands, and this causes klaus to gush over his girlfriend.
warnings new orleans!klaus but hope doesn't exist, fluff, slightly drugged!klaus (truth serum made by a witch), mentions of murder and violence (it's klaus, what'd you expect)
author's note kinda changed some of the details, i hope that's okay! this wasn't a fic i planned on posting today, but i had the inspiration for it sooo yeah
klaus masterlist
"i don't want any excuses. if we aren't prepared, esther will take any given opportunity to strike against me or my family."
"we are working as fast as we can, klaus. these things take time," calliope, the leader of the coven klaus had been plotting with, stated. it was clear from the tone of her voice that she was beginning to grow annoyed with klaus's constant pestering.
"well, we do not have time. there are people i must protect, even more so when the protection is against my vile mother," klaus replied, pacing around the room as he gesticulated impatiently. "you're forgetting i can kill all of you without blinking."
"and you're forgetting that all it takes is one word from me for my entire coven to turn on you and side with your mother and the ancestors. back off," calliope replied, standing her ground.
"just work faster," klaus grumbled in response, pulling out his phone from his pocket to find a text from you.
everything okay?
the corners of his lips turned up, his dimples threatening to peak through.
yes, love. everything is fine. i'll be home in an hour.
okay. just remember to be nice to the witches. the coven is risking a lot to help us. i love you.
klaus shook his head as he chuckled. it was almost ridiculous how well you knew him and his behaviour.
i'm always nice. and i love you too.
klaus was halfway to putting his phone back in the pocket of his jacket when calliope caught a glimpse of his lock screen.
"who's that?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed in inquiry.
"none of your business. stay focused on the task at hand," klaus responded.
"wow. why so cagey?"
klaus avoided her gaze. the longer he remained silent, the more clear it became to the young witch. klaus wasn't just fighting to protect his family. he was fighting to protect her.
he was doing it for love.
"ah, i get it now. you're in love. heh, who would've thought that the big, bad hybrid was capable of love?" calliope smirked, crossing her arms as she stepped closer to him.
"what makes you think i am?"
"oh, please," calliope scoffs, "it's so obvious. your face turned bright red at the mere sight of a text message. tell me about her."
"what is it to you?"
"she must be special if the klaus mikaelson is working like a dog — no pun intended — to protect her. i'm just curious to know what she's like," calliope explained.
"did i not tell you to mind your business? we're wasting precious time even talking about this. get to work. there are lives at stake, calliope," klaus ordered, traces of his slight grin long gone from his features.
"exactly. her life is at stake. that's the reason you're fighting so hard to get this done. i want to know why. what makes her so important that you'd risk waging a war between the covens of new orleans?"
klaus sighed begrudgingly, knowing full well that calliope would not drop the topic.
"tell me, or i'm shutting this whole thing down. you know i will," calliope said.
klaus rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. there really was no getting around calliope and her antics.
"you're right. she's special, calliope. that is why it is so dire for me to protect her, alright? now drop it," he grumbled once more. to tell you the truth, he was ready to get the hell out of there if it weren't for the plan he was putting in motion.
calliope, on the other hand, knew klaus was not going to make things easy for her. still, she needed to understand why klaus would go to extreme lengths for his girl because she wondered if helping him was worth it. picking a fight with one of the most diabolical witches known to mankind in the name of her hybrid offspring was one thing, but if she learned that she was working her coven tirelessly to help protect the female version of klaus...let's just say it would absolutely tank the plan.
so, calliope needed to take action. lucky for her, she knew just what to do.
"okay, then. do you want a drink? i can pour you a bourbon," calliope asked klaus. please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, she thought.
"if it'll get you to leave me be, then sure," klaus huffed in response.
calliope rolled her eyes at him, but internally, she was smiling like a fool.
she made her way over to the makeshift bar, taking out two glasses and pouring the whiskey into both of them. when she was sure klaus wasn't looking, she pulled out a small vile containing a truth serum of her own design and emptied it into klaus's glass. then, when she was finished, she made her way back to klaus and handed him his glass.
"cheers," calliope spoke, downing the contents in her glass. klaus raised his own, before doing the same.
about ten minutes passed, and calliope returned to klaus after checking on her witches.
"remember how you asked me about my girlfriend?" klaus asked, a slightly dopey grin now plastered on his face. "she really is remarkable."
"how so?" calliope questioned, pulling two chairs for them to sit on. she watched klaus slump onto the chair, his hands clasping in his lap as he threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. his expression was dazed, and calliope wanted to laugh. it was odd to see him act this way, but funny, nevertheless.
"she's beautiful, a kind of beauty that in all my years, i've never encountered even once. when i look at her, it's as if the entire world goes quiet. all i can focus on is the bright sparkle in her eyes and her gravitating smile. if angels really do exist, then she is one. without a doubt," he muses.
"is that why you're so enamoured by her? because of her beauty?" calliope questioned.
"do i seem that shallow to you?"
"do you really want me to answer that?"
"...right. well, anyway, the answer is no. yes, she's stunning beyond belief, but that's not why i feel so strongly for her."
"then what is it about her? what was it that forced the truly wicked klaus mikaelson to care about someone other than himself for once?"
klaus sat up, leaning forward to rest his arms on the tops of his thighs as he zoned in on calliope.
"she's never seen me as evil," klaus states. "she took a single look at me, and instantly knew in her heart that there was more to me than an immortal hybrid whose greed and thirst for power outweighed everything else. and that's not to say that she excused my actions because she didn't. she held me accountable, and she gave me grief. but she also cared enough to dig past the facade i'm so used to putting up in the face of my enemies. she cared enough to search for the real me."
calliope listened to him, truly taking in his words and letting them sink in. she'd been brought up with the stories of klaus mikaelson: the great evil. she'd heard about the never-ending list of the towns he'd slaughtered and the way he daggered his siblings when they did not please him. from the legends, he never seemed like the type of person to contain even one percent of goodness within him.
so for someone to see that in him, someone as good as the girl he was describing, it spoke volumes to her.
"i struggle to believe that she exists sometimes. that a girl with so much compassion could even take a chance on someone like me. she has the biggest heart i've ever known. she gives so much of herself to my family and our community. she's brave in the face of my enemies. she fights tirelessly for my family, who she treats as her own. she's not afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in...god, there are so many bloody things to love about her. she's perfect. much too perfect for me, but perfect all the same. i don't know what i did to deserve her, but i thank the stars every day that i found her."
calliope exhaled, still in awe of what she was hearing. she'd known that klaus was poetic, but she assumed that she just did that for dramatic flair in true klaus fashion.
"wow. i gotta say, i never thought i'd hear you talk about anyone in that manner. it's...weird," she said, chuckling slightly.
"yes, well, it's not every day you're given a truth serum by the very witches who are supposed to be on your side," klaus replies, giving her a knowing look.
"to be fair, i am on your side. especially now that i know i'm not helping you protect the female version of you."
"normally, i would be quick to retaliate given the circumstances, but she is the most precious thing to me. if you need to see how highly i regard her in order to provide protection for her, then that's all that matters. this is bigger than me," klaus responds. "she's not just good. she inspires goodness within me, and i need that. so i will do whatever it takes. but make no mistake, if you double cross me, you and your coven will cease to exist on this earth."
calliope chuckled in response to his threat, "i thought you said she inspires goodness in you?"
"she does, but that doesn't mean that i won't go to great lengths to make sure she's taken care of."
~
klaus tag list (join here!): @princess-charming-01 @maybankslover @trenchmaniac @techlipse @the-kaya-aa @catmikaelson20 @hopesdadswife @amournoir @skydisneylover @kittyqrt
#klaus mikaelson#klaus mikaelson x reader#klaus mikaelson fluff#klaus mikaelson one shot#klaus mikaleson imagine#the vampire diaries#the vampire diaries imagine#the vampire diaries x reader#the originals#the originals x reader#the originals imagine#tvdu x reader#tvdu
600 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ichiji can "fear" (or panic)?
A while back I said that something feels funny that Ichiji was visibly sweating when Sanji freed the Vinsmokes from the candy.
Another thing that caught my attention is that Ichiji's face was heavily shaded in that scene, and it's a scene didn't seem to warrant heavy shading for lighting effect.
So, I checked through the artwork for comparison. Here's my artwork related hyperthink.
I'm noticing that when characters are in panic/in distress/experiencing turbulent emotions, sensei draws them with cross hatching on their face. Sure, sometimes the hatching is just "lighting effect", but when there's no intense lighting that warranted that kind of shadow hatching, the hatching means strong emotional reaction.
There's also dark shading for intimidation/horror effect, but based on context that's not what this is either.
Usually the "distress shading" is on the eyes, but sometimes there's more shading on the other parts of the face too. Below are examples of that on characters when in distress, panicking, nervous, or tense:
Well, Ichiji's eyes can't be seen, so my guess here is that sensei chose to cross hatch a large portion of his face (maybe to make sure you can see it?). In these instances, he's the only one whose face has that kind of intense shading when nobody else does, so it's not because of "lighting".
Also, I want to point out again, in the left picture, it wasn't just one or two drops. It was drawn in a way that implies he was sweating very profusely (the drops were dripping off his face). That seems rather intense, if it's not meant to be anything.
Example of comparison:
The only other ones with "stressed out faces" in that scene are Sanji, Bege, and Judge, so Ichiji's oddly shaded face is not lighting. Those three people I specified are feeling emotional pressure/tension in that scene.
(Also, might there be a significance in choosing to also screentone-shade Yonji there? We know that Yonji is rather openly emotional, so this might be something to scrutinise as well)
And if you apply that reading to other scenes it feels appropriate. For example, this part here:
The distress lines being drawn there probably meant that he was also concerned, but he's gritting himself to not linger and stay on track.
He may say "leave her for being weak", but I think that's not what he meant. He's prioritising "the mission" (covering for Caesar and Bege, so the Straw Hat crew especially Sanji can escape) over their individual safety.
Even if it had been himself who was knocked down, I can bet that he'd say the same thing. Stop getting distracted, get going with the mission.
Once Caesar made it out safely with Bege, you can see him also having sweat droplets and sighing in relief.
In the scene when he commands the ship to go, my read of it is that he's feeling the tension of knowing they're going to fight a tough enemy:
He's probably not sure they'll come out of it unscathed, and he's concerned for their safety, but still determined to step in to help. Just like how he's making that same face when saying to leave Reiju and keep going.
The "proof" is that Niji and Yonji don't really do this. Yonji sort of made that face after he did Winch Danton, and he and Niji somewhat do it too when Big Mum screams. Both are contexts of "physical strain" stress, from pain and exerting energy.
Otherwise, they don't have that distressed shaded face even when clearly showing concern:
In that third picture, you can even see that Reiju has the "distressed hatching" on her forehead, in comparison to Niji and Yonji who both don't at all (in the second picture).
Ichiji was making those faces when not under any physical strain, and was actually not making that stress face when Big Mum screams (even though Reiju has that same distress hatching on her forehead then).
My tentative guess is that, while Ichiji might not have empathy/sympathy like Reiju or Sanji do, what he might have is the ability to feel "fear". Maybe adjacent feelings too, like panic or very intense worry that's beyond just concern (Niji and Yonji can still be "concerned" too, as shown above), as well as "relief" in response when the fear is alleviated.
It somewhat fits with what I had dissected in the "thug Ichiji" analysis. He seems angry despite what looks like a smile on his face (I argue it's a sneer, and not a smile like Niji and Yonji were doing). Sometimes, people lash out in anger when they are scared.
Edit: Just wanted to add, to be clear. Yonji has been given the "shaded face", but I meant that it's rather clearly the intimidation one, when he was telling the Straw Hat crew he doesn't want to help Luffy. And I said in the context, Ichiji's shaded face don't seem to suggest intimidation.
The only possible counter I could think of for Ichiji is that "Oh, it's not fear/other emotions, he's just really angry the whole time".
94 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 12
While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.
Relevant tags/content warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use
Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!
Read the full fic so far on AO3
Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11
Chapter 12 summary: The Batch make a plan for infiltrating the villa.
Hunter glanced up at Dara’s dozing form curled on top of the Marauder and shook his head. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he and Echo returned from their surveillance shift, and he could hear the chattering of the planet’s small woodland creatures all waking up at once. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know why Dara was sleeping outside. If it had been one of his squad, whose quirks were innumerable and often incomprehensible, he wouldn’t even bother to find out. As it was, he couldn’t be sure of the right approach to take with this temporary member about whom they knew so little.
Entering the ship to find the others wide awake, he thought maybe they’d have a better idea. “Any clue why Dara slept on top of the ship last night?” the Sergeant asked.
Tech and Wrecker looked pointedly at Crosshair. “She did not seem very pleased when they returned from town,” Tech observed.
Hunter crossed his arms. “What did you do now?” The sniper only shrugged, a smirk lurking dangerously at the corners of his mouth.
Wrecker elbowed him and grinned mischievously. “Hey! Be nice to her. Dinner was so good last night I think I might ask her to marry me.”
Crosshair’s expression quickly turned to a scowl. “The mission went fine. We got the intel. It’s not my fault if she wants to sleep on the roof.”
“Maybe she’s just sick of us,” Echo speculated. “Sounds like she spends a lot of time alone. It’s probably an adjustment to be cramped up in the Marauder with five men day in and day out.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Hunter muttered.
Tech looked at Crosshair curiously. “How did Dara do, by the way?”
The sniper met his gaze with shared understanding. His brother may not have been as hostile as he was, but he was smart enough to know that something was off with her. “A little too well.”
For once there was no bickering on the subject, only a thoughtful silence from the group of clones before Hunter sighed heavily. “We’ll keep a close eye on her tonight. Wrecker, go wake her up so we can make a plan.”
Wrecker popped out of the hatch and returned a short time later, followed by Dara, who was blinking blearily. She seemed out of it as she undertook the painstaking ritual of preparing her tea. Not for the first time, Crosshair’s eyes were drawn to her hands: the patient tap of her fingers against the pouch as she tipped the herb into her mug; the way she fiddled with the metal straw, arranging it just so; the curve of her grasp as she poured the water. He watched her mouth as she took her first sip, noticing the bags under her eyes and the way she rubbed, absentmindedly, at the purple and reddish blotch he’d left on her neck.
“Sleep well?” he taunted.
She pursed her lips and passed the beverage along to Hunter. Finding the Sergeant also watching attentively for her answer, she shrugged.
“Was looking at the stars for a bit before bed and fell asleep by accident. Wasn’t too comfortable but I’ve slept on worse.”
Wrecker laughed heartily. “Us too. Remember that time with the leeches on Nal Hutta?”
“Don’t remind me,” Echo shuddered. “I still have nightmares about it.”
“Fortunately, I do not believe there are any leeches on this planet. Although it does appear that Dara may have been bitten by a large insect overnight,” Tech observed. Crosshair looked at him closely, finding a hint of amusement in his eyes; Tech could miss a lot of subtlety, but he certainly wasn’t naïve. He knew that what he was looking at on Dara’s neck wasn’t an insect bite.
And everybody thought Crosshair was the shit-stirrer.
By the way Dara’s jaw tightened nearly imperceptibly, she hadn’t missed his brother’s tease. “Got hit by a branch walking home in the dark, actually,” she countered, daring him to call her out on the lie.
Hunter turned a thoughtful gaze to her. “Are you alright? You seem…”
“I’m just a little concerned about the mission,” Dara interrupted, eagerly redirecting the conversation. “Something the director of the lab said last night made me think that Prium is developing a project for the Empire. And if that’s the case, the security protocols might be tougher to break through than we expected.”
“Not for us,” Wrecker asserted confidently.
“Hmm. We’ll keep it in mind,” Hunter mused. “Right. Let’s share intel and start making a plan.”
Dara gave them a rundown of what she had gleaned from her conversations in the market and the bar. In turn, the others reported their discoveries from the past day and night of surveillance, which had revealed plenty about the villa’s security protocols, the guards’ schedules and paths of their rounds, and possible entry points.
However, as Dara had voiced, breaking in wouldn’t be without its complications. “Unfortunately, it appears that I will be unable to replicate our trick for disabling the proximity sensors and outside cameras from our last job,” Tech admitted. “The security systems here cannot be accessed remotely. I will need to do so from the control room inside of the villa.”
“What are our chances of sneaking in undetected while those systems are still active?” Hunter mused.
“Very low,” Tech replied matter-of-factly.
Wrecker cracked his knuckles with enthusiasm. “So we rush the guards, stun them all, and break in by force!” he proclaimed.
Echo placed a stern hand on his largest brother’s shoulder. “Hate to burst your bubble, but if we do that and they send for reinforcements from town, we could wind up having a lot of trouble getting out of there. Not to mention how much harder it will be for Tech and I to break into the lab if they initiate a security lockdown. And if the Empire’s really invested in this guy’s work, we can’t rule out that we might draw Imperial attention before we can get off planet.”
A smile twitched at the corners of Dara’s still-weary mouth. “Tech, could you load everything you need to override their security systems on a datapad so that somebody else can just plug in and run it? Then only one person would have to make it in, get to the control room, and the others can sneak through an accessible entry point.”
Tech blinked owlishly behind his goggles. “Of course.”
Hunter furrowed his brow suspiciously. “Are you suggesting one of us poses as a guard to get in there? I thought you said all the guards are locals—we won’t be able to slip past, the others will know we’re not one of them.”
Dara shrugged. “All the guards and other villa workers are locals. But Raab said that a lot of the scientists at the lab come from off-world.”
Wrecker grinned. “Tech sure could pose as a scientist.”
In response, Dara dug into her pack, pulling out a white lab coat and a key card. “He could, but I don’t think this will fit him. Sorry.”
Crosshair’s eyes glittered almost admiringly before he remembered to scowl. “Now how did you manage to steal those, burk’yc?”
She glared back at him. “Some of us were actually doing our jobs last night. Obviously you weren’t paying very close attention.”
He leaned forward. “Is that what you were doing? Could’ve fooled me. Maybe I was too busy keeping an eye out for your sorry shebs during your pathetic flirting.”
“Whose keycard is that?” Tech interrupted. His nose was buried in his datapad, no doubt already preparing the programs necessary to dismantle the villa’s security.
Dara gave Crosshair one more angry squint before looking away. “Raab’s. I’ll say I work for him and that he sent me to get something important. I get in, get the rest of you in undetected, and then we rendezvous at the lab and take it from there.”
Everyone looked towards Hunter, waiting for his approval. Finally, the Sergeant nodded. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon
#the bad batch#star wars#bad batch#clone force 99#clone wars fanfiction#tbb crosshair#tbb hunter#tbb fanfiction#sw tbb fanfiction#the bad batch fanfiction#tbb fanfic
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Man in the Pearl Mask Masterlist
Summary
The Valryan gods foresee what destruction Lucerys Velaryon’s death will bring and decide to intervene. They cannot stop the dragons from dancing but they can change the tune.
Lucerys comes back from the dead thanks to Balerion’s intervention and decides that, since he failed to help his mother’s cause as himself, he should become someone different - the masked, mute, mystery dragonrider known only as Lord Velaryon.
The gods aren’t content with intervening in just one person’s fate, however. Other gods set their eyes on Aemond and work to set him on a different path.
One day, Lucerys and Aemond’s paths will cross again and, when they do, they will be very different people.
Main Fic Chapters:
Divine Intervention
Spectre at the Feast
Death Denied
Tessarion's Work
Brothers Reunited
Grounded by a Ghost
Death to the Greens
The Return
Becoming Indispensable
The First Battle
Blood and Cheese
The Bridge Again
Storm's End Again
The Papers
Syrax's Best Work
Chaos in King's Landing
The Morning After
The Road to Battle
The Miracle at Duskendale
Facing the Music
Many Councils
The Night Ghouls
The Red Fork
A Plot is Hatched
Madness and Mutiny
Rhaena Rises
The Mercies
The War Sept
Changing Course
The Trap and the Lance
Tumbleton
The Negotiations
A Secret Meeting
Larys Returns
A Debt Repaid
Shipbreaker Bay Again
The White Worm and the Woodswitch
A Letter from an Enemy
The Princess Returns
The Chase
Cloak of Gold and Cloak of Silver
The Search
The Awful Truth
The Punishment
The Valyrian Gods
Character Profiles
Syrax
Balerion
Tessarion
Vermax
Vhagar
Meleys
Family Tree and Creation Myth
Spin Offs, Deleted Scenes and More
The Blue Poppy Dreams
Vermax used the last of the blue death poppy to allow the dead to contact Aemond through dreams. This is the counsel they have to offer him.
Aemma
Laena
Harwin
Joffrey
Lyonel
Interlude - Aegon
Deleted Scenes
Stuff and nonsense too good not to write but not good enough to make the fic.
Two Weeks After Duskendale
Tyraxes and Vhagar
Bywater
Grave of the Bumblebees
Alternative Blue Poppy Dream - Luke
How Vermax Won His Wager
Alternative title: Valyrian Gods Behaving Badly
There's nothing more dangerous than a bored Valyrian god and Vermax is getting very bored in King's Landing indeed. So, when his friend, Gaelithox, offers up a friendly wager, he can't resist the opportunity to cause chaos among the greens.
Be prepared for a maiden made of clouds, a King getting turned into a horse for five minutes and all sorts of other godly hijinks.
The Wager
The Cloak
The Ring
The Sword
The Party
The Consequences Part 1
The Consequences Part 2
The Consequences Part 3
The Consequences Part 4
The Recompense
The Revenge
Playlist
This is an ever-growing playlist made up of my ideas and suggestions from my lovely commenters. I'll always open for more suggestions so please don't hesitate to comment with yours!
Fire and Ice by Nerdout (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)
Back from the Dead by Skillet (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)
The Dominoes Fall by Dario Marianelli
Mirage by OneRepublic (suggested by RoAKing0fShadows)
Firestarter by The Prodigy
(spoilers for Chapter 19 incoming) No Bullets Fly by Sabaton
Night Witches by Sabaton
Molossus by James Newton Howard
No Light, No Light by Florence and the Machine (suggested by cryptid_corvid)
Silly Tumblr posts
Just a collection of stuff and nonsense.
Chapter 16 in GIFs
My Snarkiest Author's Notes (without context)
Details
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Fandoms:
House of the Dragon (TV)
A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Relationships:
Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen
Characters:
Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) ; Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen ; Balerion the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire ; Syrax the Valyrian God (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Valyrian Gods (A Song of Ice and Fire) ; Aegon II Targaryen ; Alicent Hightower ; Helaena Targaryen; Daeron Targaryen (Son of Viserys I) ; Alys Rivers of House Strong ; Jacaerys Velaryon ; Cregan Stark ; Daemon Targaryen ; Otto Hightower ; Laenor Velaryon ; Rhaenyra Targaryen ; Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon ; Baela Targaryen ; Rhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon) ; Tyraxes the God (ASoIaF) ; Vermithor | Jaehaerys I Targaryen's Dragon ; Silverwing | Alysanne Targaryen's Dragon ; Corlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon ; Erryk Cargyll ; Floris Baratheon ; Borros Baratheon
Additional Tags:
Fix-It ; Secret Identity ; Ghosts ; Shakespeare References ; Slow Burn ; Eventual Romance ; Other Additional Tags to Be Added ; Body Horror ; Blood and Gore ; Vermax the Valyrian God ; Tessarion the Valyrian God ; Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) Lives ; Aged-Up Character(s) ; Not Beta Read ; Nightmares ; Minor Cregan Stark/Jacaerys Velaryon ; Sabaton References ; Minor Baela Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen
#my fanfiction#fanfiction#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond x lucerys#aemond targaryen#lucerys velaryon#luke lives#fix it fic#fanfiction masterlist#the man in the pearl mask#lucemond
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
Swallow Your Pride
**A Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack fanfic staring @the-spirit-of-adventure OC Missy and my personal OC Jillian! Please give Spammy a follow here and on Twitter/X @Spammykins**
Shouts and clashing metal filled the air as battle rang about the sea. Two long-time rival crews, the Screeching Sirens vs. the Bushy Beard Pirates.
“Stay still, you wench!” Captain Bushy barked, stabbing his sword at the woman in front of him. His personal arch-rival rival and not at all stand in on his feelings towards his mother, Captain Missy Benchir of the Screeching Sirens.
Dodging, the ginger cackled as she moved her waist from the jabs,
“Aye, what’s the matter, Bryle.” Missy mocked with a laugh, “Age finally catchin’’’ up to ye, old man?”
“I said stay still!” Bushy shouted, bringing down his sword only for it to be blocked by Missy’s sword.
“I know seals that fight better than ye!” She scoffed with a smirk, rolling out of dodge and leaping to strike.
Meanwhile, across the ship and on deck, was the cool of the ship also fighting for her dignity and crew.
With a throw of her arm, Jillian lassoed men left and right, however, there was one who grabbed the rope before the fall.
“Is that any way to treat a lover, lass?” The raven-haired man chuckled, pulling the rope towards him to reel the brunette before him.
“I wouldn’t call you a lover,” Jillian admitted as she dug her heels into the woods and haled the reeling, “More like a waste of three minutes.”
Pivoting, Jillian whipped the man over the railing and into the water.
Just as she watched the bearded pirate fly into the ocean, she took notice of a certain blue blob who was supposed to be below deck.
Before the ensuing battle, Captain Benchir had ordered her cabin monkey to stay below deck and away from battle.
While K’nuckles didn’t like it, he obeyed as it was the much safer and lazier option.
But give or take about two minutes and with his syrup gone, the blue man decided it wouldn’t hurt to sneak across the battle to get to the Syrup Vault in the kitchen.
So he tiptoed his way up the stairs, slithered out under the hatch, and began to crawl across the crowded battleground that was the main deck.
Men were shouting, women were letting out battle cries, cannons fired, and swords clashed.
It was pure chaos, and it was already spreading to him.
“Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice meeeeeeee!” He pleaded internally, hopping along on his belly like a seal.
Hiding behind a cannon, K’nuckles was spotted and charged at by a Bushy Beard pirate. In a desperate and stupid way to protect himself; he lit the cannon, leaving a wrecked hole just above the water.
“Oi! Crew, retreat to Stormalong, and prepare to make repairs!” Missy ordered, “We've got a hole as big as a treasure chest on the starboard side above the water, and I'll be blown if I'm lettin’ 'er sink!”
The crew scatters and retreats, making their way away from the enemy and to safe waters. As shipwrights began the repairs, the captain called for the rest of her crew to line up.
“Now, who did this!?” Missy spoke, arms crossed and eyes glaring, “Someone speak up! Otherwise, I'll have ye all walk the plank one by one!” She threatened.
A member speaks up, a thin young woman with straight black hair and sun-kissed skin.
“It was Skipper’s cannon!” She called out.
“Oh yeah!” Another woman chimed in.
“It was her cannon!” Said another.
“She posts pretty good headcannons.” Said a third.
“Oi!” Missy busted in with a sarcastic laugh, “Skipper left sickbay in three bloody days! The cannon just went off by itself, then?”
Stepping forward, Jillian met the gaze of her captain. Missy’s eyes burned into hers.
“I know who did it, Captain!” She spoke.
“Oh?” The ginger scoffed, “Then who?”
Turning her head, Jillian pointed at K’nuckles, causing him to freeze from obviously trying to sneak away.
“I saw canon boy over here shoot to save his own ass!”
“What!?” Missy roared, her eyes glowing red in anger, “That worthless piece of meat!”
“You have to punish him for this, Captain,” Jillian stated.
The captain clenched her fist, clearly upset and wanting to exact revenge; but also, wanting to protect the man she loved.
“K’nuckles,” Missy spoke.
“Ye-yeah, Riley?” K’nuckles stuttered, cowering from the ginger-haired woman.
“K’nuckles, ye can look forward to extra mopping and being on potato peeling duty for a month.”
“Are you kidding me!?” Jillian spat and without thinking, shivered her captain back by the shoulders.
“Are ye crazy??” Missy barked, the crew's attention snapping to her. “How dare ye suggest I have a soft spot for him!?”
The ginger then moved her attention from Jillian to the rest of the crew.
“The next one who opens their mouth gets an extra week of peeling potatoes! As for that no good scum-sucking pirate Knuckles, he may as well be a part of the crew cause we all know I ain't getting rid of him!”
She turned back to the curly-haired brunette,
“Now, cook, what's for supper??!”
Jillian fumed, her knuckles turning white in her fists as her neck flushed,
“I ain’t cookin’ nothin’ until that blue blob is gone!” She replied with a stomp.
A vein in Missy’s neck popped as her blood began to boil, never in her career has another woman disrespected her like this!
“I'll shove that blue blob up your arse if you don't shut it you miserable little bilge rat!” Missy threatened, approaching Jillian with her fists at her sides, “Knuckles ain't going nowhere and you know it, so get in the bloody kitchen you rat-faced bilge swiller, and get cookin'! I don't care what you make, just make it edible!”
The cook was visibly taken aback by this, her jaw dropping and tears pricking up in her eyes as she was now nose-to-nose with her captain.
Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Jillian met Missy’s gaze.
“It’s him or me, Missy.” She said softly.
The ginger-haired woman’s eyes darkened dangerously as her face now took on a scowl.
Suddenly, the spotter called for Stormalong.
An announcement that would change fate.
“So be it!” Captain Benchir ruled, pointing jaggedly at her now former cook, “You've been nothing but trouble since ye joined me crew. I think 'tis best that you leave and I have no doubt that me good buddy K'nuckles will take your spot with pleasure!”
All Jillian could do was hang her head in disappointment, whether it was towards herself or to Missy could be anyone’s guess.
“Fine.” The brunette muttered as she held back tears, “I’ll pack mah bag and be gone when we hit Stormalong.”
Soon enough, the Miss Fortune docked in Stormalong.
With her suitcase and cookbook in tow, Jillian descended the ramp and onto the dock.
“Good riddance!” The ginger-haired woman shouted, her fist in the air, “Go on, get off me ship! Don't let me see you hanging around waiting for me either!” She continued with a broken deep breath, “Ye scoundrel, I know you still have feelings for me! You're not nearly as good at hiding them as ye think!”
Wiping around with tearful eyes, Jillian exclaimed,
“I don’t hide my feelings! I let people know how I feel and that’s better than bottling up all yours!”
“You think you know me so well, don't ye?” Missy replied sarcastically, “You think your words are going to melt my heart do ye!?”
Scoffing, the cook marched away from the ship with nothing but a knapsack, the clothes on her back, a cookbook, and tears in her eyes.
Jillian didn’t know what would come of her life at the moment but she did know one thing.
She wouldn’t be setting sail anytime soon.
Missy watches on, biting her lip to keep her from crying. She couldn’t show the guilt and regret she felt. As the ship pulls away, she swears to herself that she is the last crew member to walk away from her.
‘Maybe it is time to take a good hard look at myself and become the captain I was meant to be,’ she thought to herself, ‘Who treats her crew properly and would never let feelings get in the way of running a tight ship.’
#the marvelous misadventures of flapjack#flapjack#cartoon network#fanfic#ocs#pirates#drama#captain k’nuckles#tmmof#bubbie#Stormalong
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
RUSSIAN ROULETTE ─ BUCKY BARNES
“See this cypress cross? By this one
That you know so well,
I swear: All will awaken — you just whistle
By my window there.”
― Marina Tsvetaeva, My Poems...:
Selected Poetry
SYNOPSIS
𝙷𝚈𝙳𝚁𝙰 𝙸𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳. Or, at least, that's what they want the world to believe.
Since S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fall and the leak of the centuries-old organization's targets, everyone thought that they would never have to worry with the perverse and manipulative tentacles above the society. However, the warning wasn't in vain. As Hercules, Steve Rogers cautiously cauterized the wound so a new head wouldn't be born, as myths tell. But what happened to the head that's described to be immortal?
𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚇 𝙸𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴. And wants Winter Soldier's head.
After he fights with Iron Man in the infamous civil war, James Barnes thought he would have peace since he was used to getting his hands dirty for then the kings of the world wouldn't need to. A dangerous deal made with the government of the United States allowed, even partially, him to have his freedom back, but he will have to put on CIA's hands the famous red book. Bucky just didn't count that, in the middle of his scarlet memories, an enemy look-out without him seeing it.
By Izis Kovalyova's side, James is sent to Russia with the mission of getting the keys of his prison and give them to the government. Yet, when the immortal head reveals more alive and persistent than ever, his past gets the chance to hatch and put an end to what he was yearning for so long, a chance to live no more like a weapon but as a human.
PROTAGONIST
isis valverde as IZIS KOVALYOVA.
PLAYLIST
1. Jealou$y, The Neighborhood, Casey Veggies & Kossisko
2. Wires, The Neighborhood
3. Wicked Game, Chris Isaak
4. Creep, Radiohead
5. Work song, Hozier
6. You Don't Own Me, SAYGRACE feat. G-Eazy
7. Still Don't Know My Name, Labrinth
8. I Put A Spell On You, Nina Simone
9. Seven Nation Army, The White Stripes
10. Closer, Nine Inch Nails
. . . more on spotify.
TRIGGER WARNING
This story may have some sensitive points that you have to know before reading; some of they are: graphic violence, explicit sex scenes influenced by BDSM, descriptive scenes about disorders (PTSD), criticism of the United States government and state power in general. This is a dark romance. If something described causes you any discomfort, I do not recommend reading it.
SUMMARY
PROLOGUE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
SOON... August / 2024.
#bucky barnes x oc#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes#winter soldier#the winter soldier#fatws#falcon and the winter soldier#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bloodlust - Part 7
Summary: While exploring a cave underneath the village, they come across a deadly fight and an interesting purple gem. Mean, careless comments are thrown around by Leeith, who will regret it after conversing with the vampire.
Word count: 4.2k
Read on Ao3
(I'm looking at this sketch after weeks and i want to make so many changes, but I'm not home with my graphic tablet >:( )
The morning after, it was the drow who awoke everyone and rounded them up in front of her. It was better to break the news now: control the narrative, rather than wait for people to ask questions and start forming little answers in their little heads about what might have happened.
“It is with great displeasure that I must inform you that the wizard, Gale, left us during the night.” Her companions were puzzled, but she continued to speak before they could ask any question. “I’m not sure if he ever spoke to any of you about his condition. Much like our friend Karlach, Gale also had something in his chest. But, unlike you, his heart held something much more potent, that would have levelled an entire city and more if left unchecked. He informed me yesterday that absorbing the Weave from artefacts wasn’t calming down his hunger and was at a loss of what to do. Travelling with us could have put everyone’s life in danger, so he decided to go and take care of the matter. He entrusted us with the question of the tadpoles and will return to us once the Absolute has been dealt with. Questions?" She crossed her arms behind her back, appearing like a general in front of her soldiers.
"What? I can't believe he just left, why didn't you stop him?" Wyll muscled his way to the front of the group.
"Because unlike Karlach's, his condition is not controllable in the slightest. Should I have endangered everyone in this camp? The druids and tieflings of the grove? All of Baldur's Gate if he was to last that long before being consumed?" She stopped, looking down and taking with what seemed like deep remorseful breath. "Sometimes, doing what's best means sacrificing oneself. He chose well and I'm sure even alone he will be able to come up with a solution. He was, in his words, a prodigy and Mystra's favourite. He will survive this."
There were a few more questions about him after that, which the drow answered by claiming she was trying to just protect everyone, like a leader should do. She couldn't tell if someone had seen behind the virtuous mask she was wearing, but if they did, they didn't care about informing the others.
The group of four, Karlach, Astarion Shadowheart and herself, left camp to explore more of the village, with the intention of moving towards the main goblin camp. The only thing left to check out was just the well. The cave they lowered themselves into was full of spider web and it smelled of the underdark. If it wasn't for the foreboding aura of the place, made worse by the tadpole conjuring images of future deaths, the drow would have probably felt at home.
They arrived in an open room, with large chasms that plunged into almost darkness. There were webs connecting the columns that constituted the upper floor, while below they could see a few egg sacks and blue spiders, not native to the underdark, recognised the drow. What really scared the drow was the large spider matriarch walking over the webs. She also had a blue tint, but darker. First thing first, she had to get rid of the egg sacks, before the little ones could surround them.
She looked at Astarion and motioned her hand towards the eggs hatching on one of the pillars, past a web bridge. There was a rock he could hide behind while smashing them, but he was going to be the closest to the mother, so he had to be careful. Next she sent Karlach, who had to climb some roots to reach the eggs on the floor below. There were other enemies there, so she had to be quick and careful. The drow, well, she was going to feel bad about smashing spiders that weren't even born yet and pray to her Quarvalsharess for forgiveness. Astarion destroyed the first few eggs and so did the barbarian, stomping on them. Leeith didn't spontaneously combust, so either Lolth wasn't watching, or she didn't care about these spiders.
The vampire returned safely, cleaning webs from his daggers and ankles.
“Yuck. Remind me, why do you worship these foul creatures again?” He shook his hand, trying to throw away a piece of sticky web. “I hope this is worth it.”
“The ones in the underdark are all fuzzy and can give you big hugs. Want to try some time?” Said the drow, earning a face of pure disgust from Astarion. He couldn't respond, before they heard the tiefling scream.
“This shit teleported in front of me!” Followed by the sound of a steel hitting the ground and a fiery roar. The matriarch spider and two smaller ones ran towards Karlach, allerted by all the noise. Astarion was the first to sprint into action, hitting the matriarch with his crossbow. Even if the bolt was sticking out of her carapace, she didn't seem bothered. The vampire cursed and stepped back into the shadow, looking for a weak spot.
The cleric stood up and rushed into action at the side of Karlach, shield up and ready to defend herself. Leeith didn't jump down to the tiefling, where all the beasts were, but remained at the edge of the pillar; spiders ran down her arm, growing on her palm to be pushed away in a forceful blast. The matriarch looked towards her: its figure vanished from that spot and reappeared a few metres away from the drow, launching an attack with her mandibles. From up close, the beast was more than enormous, casting its shadow over her. She gritted her teeth and stepped backwards as fast as she could, trying to get away from the onslaught; the terrain was so uneven, full of rocks and slippery sand, it was a miracle she didn’t fall over. In retaliation she pointed at the matriarch, who ignited and burnt thanks to her fire spell. The beast screamed in pain and the smaller spiders teleported to her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see another set of eggs breaking open. She was surrounded by them and wondered if it just wasn’t Lolth’s punishment.
“Karlach, Shadowheart, group up!” She screamed. Another arrow hit the mother, as Astarion came out of the shadows from behind her.
Whilst Shadowheart ran to the vines and began climbing them back up, the barbarian leaped in the air, clearing the massive height with unnatural ease. Her sword was already up over her shoulder and she swung it down on one of the spiders, smashing it. She roared victorious, ready to face the matriarch.
Now that they were all together, the drow was slightly less worried, but they were still more than outnumbered. They concentrated on the beast, who by far posed the greatest threat, but all of her children were wearing them down, nipping and biting to spill blood. Even Shadowheart couldn’t do much to help, since she had way too many spiders around her to be at people’s side and cure them properly. Astarion was trying to dart in and out of cover, but it was hard to remain unseen with all of these beasts.
The matriarch too was looking worse for wear, especially after Karlach had chopped off one or two of its legs. Its attacks became more violent and less precise: Leeith didn’t know if spiders could experience fear, but that’s what seemed to be happening. It was Shadowheart who put the mother out of its misery, burning it from the inside with a bolt of radiant light. It was easy to take care of everything else, especially now that their hearts burst with confidence.
The tiefling dropped face first on the ground, panting like she had run a marathon, huffing up small clouds of dust; she didn’t look that hurt, she was just being dramatic. They all took a few minutes to lick their wounds. The drow especially got some weird looks when she started to suck on her wounds on the arms and ankles, spitting bitter blood on the ground.
“What?” She asked, her teeth painted in red and a raised eyebrow.
“Darling… are you playing vampire now? You know I won’t turn you, right?” There was slight disgust in his voice.
“Thanks to the Weaver for that.” She rolled her eyes at Astarion. “If anything even slightly insect shaped bites you in the underdark, the first thing you do is suck up your blood and spit it out, in case there’s venom.”
“You could just have an antidote or use a spell. Besides, that's an old myth: you can't suck venom from a wound.” The cleric crossed her arms, already standing up and ready to go.
“I still don’t want poison in my veins.” The drow put her boots back on, feeling embarrassed.
“Aw, look Astarion, she’s trying to keep her blood clean for you.” Teased the cleric, earning a chuckle from the vampire. Leeith mumbled in undercommon, mimicking both of them, but kept her head low to hide her face. She knew she was right and besides, they were all surface dwellers, what could they know?
Once she got up, still grumpy, they went to explore the lower floor of the cavern, finding mostly just skeletons picked clean of meat. The chasm below kept them on the edge, afraid of falling down, especially Karlach, who dared not look down and always walked with her back attached to solid rock. They found an old robe on one of the corpses and, a few steps away from it, a purple gem that glowed lightly.
“Bet this could fetch some gold.” commented Leeith, showing it off to the group and promptly opening her back pack to stuff it in there, among the mess of scrolls, papers, potions and trinkets. And the Necromancy of Thay. The tome trembled when the gem hit it, reacting to it.
“Is that the key?” Said Shadowheart, leaning to take a better look at whatever was happening.
“I would assume. How did it end up here though?” The drow took out the book and gem: the two did seem to fit together.
“Please, we’re already in the dark spider cave, don’t unlock the creepy book her-” Before the tiefling could finish, Leeith stuffed the mouth of the tome with the purple gem. Its eyes started glowing a bright purple and something called her in, a profane whisper that promised everlasting powers. Her thumb lingered on the edge of the lock, ready to push on it, but she hesitated: she scoured through her mind, trying to remember something, anything about the book. She tried to decipher what those dark voices were saying, anything that could cast away the doubts of these pages being cursed. Nothing came. She turned the book, avoiding its gaze in an effort to flee from that presence.
The looks on Shadowheart and Karlach were ones of worry. She expected the same when she glanced at the vampire, but he just seemed eager and waiting on something. She handed the tome to him without saying a word: he smiled and raised his eyebrows in approval, mixed with a tad of surprise. It was a calculated risk: if hidden powers truly resided within that book, then she could have used them through Astarion, granting his aid in battle; if only a curse was hiding beneath the pages, then it would have been easier to let him deal with it and, at worse, put him down. It wouldn’t be the first time she turned on a friend, she would be able to cope with losing another.
“If you get cursed, don’t come crying to me.” Warned Leeith, before letting go.
“Oh, of course, I’ll be extremely careful with the evil-looking, skin-bound book. Trust me.” He smirked arrogantly. She nodded in approval, dismissing his cockyness. “Shall we return to camp for today? My hair is full of cobwebs and I can't stand it a moment more here.” He didn't wait for an answer before walking past everyone, leading the way forward.
The camp set up in the village was fairly unusual. No one had set up their tent, preferring to throw their bed rolls inside the less ruined houses. Most chose to be inside the old smith shop, a large well covered area, pretty cosy as long as one minded the large hole in the ground. Shadowheart and Leeith preferred instead to stay in the apothecary, to make use of the ingredients and alchemy sets. Astarion had claimed the bedroom in that same building for himself, content to lay on the giant mattress, even if most of the wall was gone.
Before bed, they grouped up in front of the fireplace in the smith’s house, sharing a meal of fire roasted meat and red wine. The only one missing was Astarion, who had to go hunt now that the drow wasn't supplying her own blood. She kept glancing outside for signs of his return, but for the whole night, she didn't see anything. There was a slight worry, but he was capable enough to survive on his own. At least she hoped. City dwellers of high social status like the vampire weren't known for their survival skills.
They played a few games of cards, with Lae’zel losing her temper whenever she was confused by the rules, resorting to asking for a duel to set who was victorious. No one really took her on the offer and Wyll decided to stop playing, to guide the gith through the rules. Shadowheart, on the opposite end of the spectrum, kept teasing her about it, so much that the drow had to ask her to stop before the Githyanki would actually attack her. It was harder for Karlach to play, considering whenever she touched the cards, they would get gently singed by her hot fingertips. Scratch was comfortably sitting by Leeith’s side, occasionally placing his head on her lap to ask for pets.
They retired to their bedrolls fairly late, the drow having to drag a drunk Shadowheart across the street to their refuge. She didn't bother with finding a nightgown and the cleric seemed pretty happy with sleeping in her camp clothes.
It was still too early to trance for the drow and she wasn't tipsy enough to need to lay down. Everything in the night was quiet and dark, even the moon was covered by thick clouds. She could see yellow and gold shimmers, torchlight and fires from the goblin camp in the distance, but around her it was all a shade of grey and blue. She was resting her elbows on a guardrail, the stairs connecting with the old apothecary's bedroom. She kept hearing murmurs from somewhere behind her, but the doors at her back were swung open and the room was empty and cold. The wall was destroyed, so she could see behind the house, in a small square, and even there was nothing. The forest was near, so it could have been some weird animal or goblins who had strayed too far from the pack - hardly anything to be bothered about. The drow sighed and went to give a better look to the square, but still nothing. Except the murmur, which seemed closer, but coming from the roof.
“Come on, Come on. What are you hiding?” It seemed to say, between gritted teeth. Was it a thief, maybe looking for easy prey in an abandoned village?
She looked above her, trying to find a way to get up on the roof. In a flash, she remembered the ladder on the wall by the guardrail. She ran there, trying to keep quiet, and began climbing. The ladder was pretty old and creaky, but still got her to the top.
“Can you summon the dead? Bring them back? Can you - Ugh, can you shut up and let me read?” The drow crouched down, recognising the voice of the vampire. What was he doing up here? She kept spying on him, getting closer: a faint purple light came from what he was holding. She recognised it as the necromancy tome they had found. He mumbled to himself, struggling to even turn the pages. His mind was so captured by the book, that he didn’t notice the drow standing right beside him. Did he come all the way up here not to be disturbed?
“No, I won’t kill them. Well, maybe Shadowheart… I can’t. I won’t. Now - stop! Let. Me. Go! Ah… Hello!” He snapped the book close and his face was dark again, illuminated only by the moon. He looked up to Leeith, slightly surprised.
“Good Book?” She sat down, crossing her legs, a bit weary of whatever was happening. He took a moment to respond, weighing his words.
“A unique read, certainly. A tome of necromancy, guarded by spirits. I almost reached the end before they drove me out. And drove me all but mad.” He clicked his tongue and his voice pitched up in frustration. “Now everytime i open it, the voices surge back into my mind. I can’t reason with them; they exist to protect that book.” He sighed, looking defeated.
“Is there anything we can do? Maybe we’re missing some other piece?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to know what’s lurking in here. Someone went through a lot of trouble to protect this tome. It has to be more than a book of cantrips.” He lifted it up, staring at it, the purple haze reflecting off his hair and skin again. “Still, I doubt this will help us with our parasites. Maybe it’s better to put it away for now.” He placed it down, but he didn’t look fully convinced. It seemed more that he just wanted to hide it away from her.
“What were you hoping to find in there?” She pressured him.
“It’s a book of necromancy, full of secrets about controlling the dead, returning the dead to life and who knows what else.” He sounded like he was explaining the obvious, but with a smile on his face. “Whatever’s in here, it might give me an edge over my old master Cazador. Or free me from him entirely. Although I can’t make any progress as long as those spirits remember their mission. It seems to be all they know. Still, if nothing else, maybe I can beat Cazador to death with it.” His eyes gleed at the thought.
“Truly, you’ve discovered how to really use this heavy, heavy knowledge. Attach it to a stick for better reach.” She joked. “But next time don’t do it on a roof in the dead of night, I beg you: I was about to blast you thinking you were a thief.” She held his gaze: his expression was subtle, a little smirk, but his eyebrows were gritted, studying her more than anything. Was he annoyed about the blasting comment? She would have just tried to defend their belongings. It wasn’t her fault if he went around camp like a burglar.
“I’ll keep that in mind, my sweet. I know how much you enjoy talking about blasting people.” His expression returned pompous, masquerading whatever thoughts his mind gears were conjuring. It was fine, he was allowed his little secrets. Furthermore, she was too tired to have a squabble. Better to be friendly for now.
“And blasting them too. It’s so fun!” She smiled innocently, calm like the night. The air itself seemed to relax around them because of her influence. “I should teach you. Mh. Well I don’t know if you can learn how to do it without a pact with another being. And I don’t think I’m quite powerful enough to lend you my power.”
“Ugh, I’m trying to get rid of my master, not switch it for another. Delicious as you are, I don’t think that’s worth giving up what’s left of my soul.” The vampire pointed at his chest, still like water, no heart beating inside nor air flowing through his lungs.
“My soul is already Lolth’s to take. When I bound myself to my mortal valsharess, I swore only unconditional loyalty and servitude.”
“Being a slave to a drow matriarch is only good in the confines of a bedchamber. Yet that’s hardly what I long for, darling.” The drow raised an eyebrow, suggestively, but decided that conversation path was to be saved for another night.
“I’m not a slave. I could refuse to do her bidding, I would just lose my powers and never be able to return home again. To me, that's death. I would be cast away like a traitor-” She stopped herself from oversharing, letting out a heavy breath. “All that I mean is that not every pact needs a soul in exchange, silly. I would rather have your trust… and your fealty.” She added the last part with absolute seriousness, furrowing her brow and hardening her face. He nodded and looked away, thinking.
“Trust and drow are more than an oxymoron. It’s only a matter of time before the matriarch turns on you or you on her, especially if your strength grows. I know who to bet on if that sort of battle might happen - and to be clear, not on you.” He stressed his last words by flicking his index left and right.
“I would be offended, but you aren’t wrong on me losing. At least you can make a fortune on my skin.” She smirked and leaned just a bit closer to him, looking from under her brow. “Yet you are one to talk of loyalty, blood-sucker. You can’t tell me with a straight face that you aren’t just as prone to backstabbing and deceit as me: I recognise my people.” Her voice was lower, seductive, an intimate secret whispered in the dark, inviting the vampire to her world of shadows and blades hidden in velvet.
“How could you think such a thing?” He hummed, chuckling. “You said you trusted me when I had your blood the first time; You trusted me yesterday in that pretty clearing. Have you suddenly changed your mind, Leeith? Did what we share not count for anything?” The drow looked for any hidden meaning in his words, but she only found a handsome pale face.
“Oh, of course I trust you, Astarion. I wouldn’t be up here discussing loyalty otherwise. I trust everyone in fact. We’re social creatures: we wouldn’t be able to build cities and traverse mountains if we didn’t trust one another.” She stopped, distancing herself again. “I just believe one should always be vigilant and prepare for betrayal. If you’re scared of me just taking the necessary precautions, then, maybe… you do have something to hide?”
“Guilty as charged.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It might shock you, but I am a vampire, ha-ha.” Leeith gasped and covered her mouth. If he just wanted to play, fine, she was mostly sure she didn’t have anything to worry about around him.
“Oh dear, how could you hide such a thing from me?” She dried a fake tear. “You know I only sleep with werewolves.”
“For some reason I’m not entirely surprised you would like to lay with half animals, darling.” He remarked with a foul grimace that looked a bit too genuine.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You know I’m joking, right?” She was puzzled and a bit offended that he could think such a thing of her.
“Oh? Oh dear, terribly sorry. I would reassure you I never doubted that, but it would be a lie, wouldn’t it?” Now, sarcasm was slipping through his lips like an everflowing wine goblet. The drow raised her head snobbishly and got up, dusting off her clothes.
“I think I’m going to go to bed now. Being called an animal fucker was a horrible way to end the day. ‘Night, Darthiir.” With a wave of her hand, she stepped away from the edge. Astarion said his goodbyes swiftly, with no intention of getting down from the roof, maybe in an effort to delve deeper in the hexed pages. Leeith stopped midway between him and her destination, turning around again.
“Give it some time before you try and read that book again: mental fatigue won’t help you fend off whatever those spirits are doing.” Her voice was made sweeter by a slight hint of worry for her friend.
“Yes, yes, I know. If I get cursed I’m on my own and you won’t help me.” He dismissed the drow with a wave of his hand. She stood there for a few moments more: she kind of regretted telling the elf not to cry to her if he got cursed.
“Well, what I meant is that if you do get cursed, depending how strong it is, I won’t be able to really do much to help. But I can try and help you avoid getting cursed; I have studied magic unlike you, I might be able to give you some… reading tips, let’s say.” He got up as well, elegant like water.
“A generous offer, darling, but not one I’ll make use of in a long while for now. You can rest easy. Shall we go? This roof is awfully unfit as a seating place.”
#baldurs gate astarion#astarion#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate fanfiction#astarion romance#character illustration#baldurs gate fanart#baldur's gate oc#astarion x mc#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion fanart#digital art#character art#sketch
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sin Separates Us from God
1 Behold, the LORD'S hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear:
2 But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.
3 For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath uttered perverseness.
4 None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity, and speak lies; they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity.
5 They hatch cockatrice eggs, and weave the spider's web: he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and that which is crushed breaketh out into a viper.
6 Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover themselves with their works: their works are works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands.
7 Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood: their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity; wasting and destruction are in their paths.
8 The way of peace they know not; and there is no judgment in their goings: they have made them crooked paths: whoever goeth therein shall not know peace.
9 Therefore is judgment far from us, neither doth justice overtake us: we wait for light, but behold obscurity; for brightness, but we walk in darkness.
10 We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no eyes: we stumble at noon day as in the night; we are in desolate places as dead men.
11 We all roar like bears, and mourn bitterly like doves: we look for judgment, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far from us.
12 For our transgressions are multiplied before thee, and our sins testify against us: for our transgressions are with us; and as for our iniquities, we know them;
13 In transgressing and lying against the LORD, and departing away from our God, speaking oppression and revolt, conceiving and uttering from the heart words of falsehood.
14 And judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.
15 Yes, truth faileth; and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey: and the LORD saw it, and it displeased him that there was no judgment.
Salvation is Only of God
16 And he saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no intercessor: therefore his arm brought salvation to him; and his righteousness, it sustained him.
17 For he put on righteousness as a breast-plate, and a helmet of salvation upon his head; and he put on the garments of vengeance for clothing, and was clad with zeal as a cloke.
18 According to their deeds, accordingly he will repay, fury to his adversaries, recompense to his enemies; to the isles he will repay recompense.
19 So shall they fear the name of the LORD from the west, and his glory from the rising of the sun. When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD will lift up a standard against him.
The Covenant of the Redeemer
20 And the Redeemer will come to Zion, and to them that turn from transgression in Jacob, saith the LORD.
21 As for me, this is my covenant with them, saith the LORD; My spirit that is upon thee, and my words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the LORD, from henceforth and for ever.
— Isaiah 59 | Webster's Bible Translation (WBT)
The Webster Bible is in the public domain.
Cross References: Exodus 4:15; Leviticus 26:28; Numbers 11:23; Numbers 32:23; Deuteronomy 7:10; Deuteronomy 28:29; Ezra 9:6; Job 5:14; Job 8:14; Job 16:17; Psalm 55:2; Psalm 61:5; Psalm 82:5; Psalm 98:1; Psalm 125:5; Proverbs 4:19; Isaiah 1:15; Isaiah 1:21; Isaiah 3:8; Isaiah 5:7; Isaiah 5:23; Isaiah 10:2; Isaiah 28:20; Isaiah 33:2-3; Isaiah 34:15; Isaiah 38:14; Isaiah 46:12; Isaiah 50:1-2; Jeremiah 7:28; Matthew 2:16; Matthew 8:11; Matthew 10:33; Mark 7:21-22; Luke 1:79; Acts 2:38-39; Romans 11:26-27; Ephesians 6:14; Ephesians 6:17; Titus 1:16; James 1:15
#sin#separation#God#man#covenant of the Redeemer#Isaiah 59#Book of Isaiah#Old Testament#WBT#Webster's Bible Translation
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wrathion Journal Day 1
My previous journal I left for posterity; for the world, or, perhaps the one person if they followed my directions, to know that I have changed, or at least am attempting to change.
This journal I keep for myself. I am at a turning point; a monstrous enemy looms ahead of me, and despite feeling somewhat prepared to face it, I find myself dealing with thoughts and emotions I felt I would never face.
Perhaps in writing I can understand what on Azeroth they mean.
It's Kale. Seeing him in the throne room sent a shiver of terror running through me. His gloating face, his form wreathed in shadow and absolute power; he simultenously disgusted and attracted me.
Writing it down, I feel a fool, but it's true. The feelings only grown stronger the more I've learned about the man. His time away from the spotlight, the things he's done. He's incredible; he's bold, he's ridiculous and asinine, and he's immensely powerful. Even without this "borrowed power" from N'Zoth, he managed to convince a Void Lord to take the plague from Lordearon, effectively cleansing it, after months in meditative stasis. He won't tell me what this entailed; I wonder if he even remembers it.
He escaped the Legion's clutches and lived through excruciating pain for years. His control over the Void is...I have no word that strikes my fancy.
He is dizzying. I crave being near him. He could saunter through the encampment, instead he walks around it. He still walks with that hunch that many Planore have, and he's so...meek in most of his communication. Meek may not be the right word. Humble.
I can see frustration building in him; his inability to enter the heart chamber upsets him, more than he'll ever let on. That handsome face of his...
(The parchment is stained with ink here, as if the writer attempted to cross out the paragraph, thought better of it, and walked away from their musings.)
Reading Dracula has gotten me in the mood to write in first person, and Wrathion is fascinating. I've been trying hard to put into words his exact feelings for Kale at the beginning. He's weak for him, he phines for him and yet he hates that he feels this way. He's utterly submissive but when he consciously realizes this, he throws that away. He's devoted despite his wishes, and it's agony to him.
Wrathion is touch starved. A lot of his desire comes from that facet that he was never loved as a baby. Some people HC that Fahrad took care of him but Wrathion, being what he was, was not a normal whelpling and didn't need care taking. I reckon he hatched and was left alone on damp straw until he could muster the strength to climb through the house and craft a visage.
So a lot of his feelings for Kale are simple, and they blossom into something more complex as their relationship progresses. Eventually, he realizes he loves and adores him, and to his very great and utter surprise, Kale loves him back.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
CROSS HATCHING MY ENEMY
6 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
lucky-mayfly
not propaganda i prommy
naganatsu-kagaya
Gabriel Sounds
spiderp0nk22
Huskel0ver12
great-and-small
All Creatures Great and Small
onyxvv
local artist