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zeciex · 7 months

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A Vow of Blood - 21

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 21: Moon Flower

AO3 - Masterlist

The Kingswoods provided a much-needed respite, offering a breath of fresh air. Escaping the city’s stench, Daenera reveled in the crispness of the spring breeze. The fragrance of the trees and damp soil lingered in the air, and she inhaled deeply, embracing the contentment it brought. It was so quiet in the forest, a solitude one usually only found in the Godswood within the walls of the Keep.

Fenrick trailed behind her as they ventured further into the forest, their purpose being the search for mushrooms and plants–subjects of which he possessed little knowledge, but Daenera made up for his lack of interest.

“You seem strangely at home out here,” Fenrick remarked, breaking the silence.

Daenera responded with a cheeky smile. “So, you’re suggesting I fare well in the wilderness for a pampered princess, is that it?”

“Don’t misconstrue my words,” Fenrick chided, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “You’ve never shied away from getting your hands dirty, is what I'm saying.”

“Actually, I detest getting dirty,” Daenera corrected. “I am simply privileged enough to be able to change soiled clothes and request hot baths. Look at this!”

She hurried towards a fallen tree, its trunk overgrown with moss. Near its upturned roots, a small cluster of whitish mushrooms grew, their caps flattened and slightly turned upwards, creating a funnel. Ignoring the wet ground that seeped through the knees on her trousers as she knelt down in the dirt, she leaned down to get a proper look at them.

Fenrick leaned against a tree and observed, “Well, it is certainly not dirt that fails to impede you. You would crawl through the wilderness if it meant you’d get to whatever plant captures your attention.”

Daenera rolled her eyes and tossed a rock at him. It flew through the air and failed to hit him, missing him by a long shot.

“Maester Orwyle speaks highly of your healing abilities.”

Daenera made a snorting sound. “Please, Maester Orwyle despises my presence in the infirmary. He may be impressed, but that doesn’t mean he’s pleased with me invading his spaces. I’m certain he’d be delighted if I stopped showing up for lessons.”

“As if that would stop you,” Fenrick remarked.

Daenera unsheathed a small dagger and began using its blade to carefully free the mushrooms from the earth. Uncertain of their exact type, she intended to bring a specimen back to consult the more helpful Maesters. And if they proved unhelpful, she had a book dedicated solely to the study of mushrooms.

“I think these are woolly milkcap,” Daenera held up the mushroom, turning it over to look beneath the cap where among the veil of thin white hairs, a drop of ‘milk’ gathered along its gills. “And if they’re woolly milkcap then they’re poisonous, unless prepared correctly.”

“Why would you need such a thing?” Fenrick questioned with a skeptical expression, as if she had spouted something insane.

“Because, at times, poisons serve as a remedy,” Daenera answered, carefully wrapping the mushroom in a piece of cloth before putting it in her satchel.

“If you weren’t a princess, you’d be a woodswitch,” Fenrick muttered, shaking his head at her.

“Ah, the life of a woodswitch,” Daenera said with a grin on her face. “I would create potions and remedies for weary townsfolk who would curse my name the moment I turned my back on them. It’s such ungrateful work… And who’s to say I’m not a witch?”

Daenera used the edge of her trousers to wipe the dagger she had employed to extract the mushroom with, ensuring it was relatively clean before she sheathed it with a swift motion, returning it to her satchel.

“Isn’t it more likely that it would be you cursing them?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I must admit, I would relish having the power to curse others. But alas, I am no woodswitch.”

“Curses are not to be trifled with, Princess,” Fenrick warned, his arms folded over his chest. “Especially those made in blood, let alone royal blood.”

Daenera raised a brow at him. “Don’t tell me you believe in curses.”

“There was once people who did not believe dragons existed, and then House Targaryen came to our shores.”

“And you believe my royal blood holds the potential for more powerful curses?” Daenera questioned skeptically. A flicker settled deep within her, as if something stirred away in the darkness. She shook off the sensation, reminding herself that she had indulged in too many tales of Dragon Dreamers, Green Seers, the Children of the Forest, and the Fall of Valyria.

“With the blood of the dragon and royal lineage, who knows?” Fenrick replied, shrugging. A frown had settled upon his brow, as if he was uncomfortable with the idea of curses. “It is not something to be tested.”

“I don’t possess that much dragon blood in me,” Daenera noted. “It seems the magical aspects associated with Targaryen blood have skipped over me. Any curses I might attempt would be feeble at best.”

Daenera stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. Two dark spots emerged on her trousers where the fabric clung uncomfortably to her skin. She kicked her leg, attempting to alleviate the discomfort. It only offered temporary relief as when she put leg back down to shake the other, the fabric once again clung to her knee.

Fenrick observed her little performance with a gentle smile on his lips. “There are other ways to acquire a dragon besides hatching an egg.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” Daenera responded shortly, having heard countless times that she should claim a dragon. “I have come to terms with the fact that I will never have a dragon.”

Fenrick gave a short nod, acknowledging that he would not press the matter any further.

Memories flooded Daenera’s mind, harking back to her childhood when she clung to the hope of hatching her dragon egg by placing it by the hearth. The egg had possessed a deep blue hue, a similar color to her eyes. Her mother had chosen it for her, and its enchanting shade held a touch of wistfulness.

When Lucerys came into the world, she and Jace had joined together in selecting his egg. It bore the ethereal tones of morning mist, with a subtle gray-blue shade underneath and delicate red embellishments. It reminded Daenera of a tempestuous sea. She had felt joy for her brother when his egg eventually hatched, but there had also been a lingering sadness for herself. And so, she persisted, attempting to warm her own egg in the embers within the hearth until her mother had caught her in the act.

Her mother had sat down beside her, gazing into the flames that engulfed the shell of the egg. She had pulled Daenera onto her lap, pressing a kiss to her temple while enveloping her in a tender embrace. In that moment, Daenera had managed to muster up the courage to ask, “Why won’t it hatch?”

“It happens more often than not,” her mother had replied, nuzzling her head against her daughters.

Daenera pondered whether the whispers of Aegon held any truth–that her inability to hatch the egg was somehow a sign that she was not really a Targaryen. “Is it something I have done?”

Her mother’s arms tightened around her, seeking to provide comfort. “Oh, no, my love, it is not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes, these things just happen.”

“But Jace and Luke’s egg hatched. Why won’t mine?” Daenera’s voice quivered with disappointment.

“I don’t know, my love,” Rhaenyra responded, her voice heavy with sadness for her daughter.

“Does it mean that I’m not a Targaryen?” Daenera asked in a voice no higher than a whisper.

Her mother gently turned her in her lap, their eyes meeting. Concern and sadness was etched across her features as she brushed a lock of Daenera’s dark hair away, cradling her cheek. “Why would you think that?”

Daenera hesitated, reluctant to disclose the things she had overheard from the servants. Moreover, she harbored even greater apprehension about revealing the comments made by Aegon and Aemond. She did not want them to get in trouble, no matter how much their words stung. “I don’t look like a Targaryen.”

Her mother regarded her with an inscrutable expression. “You have the blood of the dragon in your veins. You are of my womb, and no one can deny that. I carried you. I gave birth to you. You are Targaryen, and you are Velaryon.”

“Aegon said that all true Targaryens have dragons, and those who do not are kraven,” Daenera muttered, eyes remaining on her own hands, unable to look her mother in the eye.

“Aegon didn’t hatch a dragon either. None of my siblings did. They claimed dragons–Aegon with Sunfyre and Helaena with Dreamfyre. Your aunt Laena did not hatch her egg either, she claimed Vhagar, the oldest and largest dragon of them all when she was only three and ten. You have time,” her mother explained, holding her tight.

“But what if I can’t claim a dragon?” Daenera’s worry spilled forth.

“You do not need a dragon, my love. Not all Targaryens are dragonriders. It does not make them any less Targaryen,” her mother assured her. “You are a force of nature in and of itself.”

Daenera buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck, listening to the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat and feeling cocooned within her loving embrace. In that moment, she beseeched the gods, begging them to hatch her egg. But the gods would not answer her prayers, and so they dissipated into nothingness.

“I have accepted my fate as the only Targaryen of this generation without a dragon,” Daenera declared, looking back at Fenrick.

As they made their way back through the forest toward their horses, they traversed a familiar cluster of trees that evoked a shiver of remembrance. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had walked through these woods with Ser Harwin by her side.

A lifetime ago when she first learned of the treacherous betrayals, of death and suffering.

You will be tested by fire and betrayal, as those around you seek to use you for your own gain… The whole of the prophecy ran through her mind.

“Princess?” Fenrick’s voice cut through her contemplation.

Daenera blinked, realizing she had come to a standstill, fixated on the spot where the witch had once greeted her. Memories of the witch's intense, kohl-lined eyes that seemed to strip her bare to the bone were burned into her mind.

“Sorry,” she muttered, snapping out of her daze. She flashed a smile at Fenrick, hoping to alleviate the tension etched on his face. He eyed her suspiciously but remained silent.

They found their horses where they had tethered them to the trees. Daenera effortlessly mounted her horse, grateful for the freedom trousers provided her compared to riding in a dress.

With Fenrick in the saddle of his own horse, they began their journey back through the forest towards King’s Landing.

As they emerged from the tree line, the sight of the city rising before them could not be ignored. Even from a distance, the columns of smoke billowing from within made it appear as though the city were aflame. The stench of filth wafted through the air. For a fleeting moment, Daenera contemplated turning back into the woods.

Instead, she urged her horse forward, traversing the grassy plains towards the road leading to the city.

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, accompanied by a fierce gust of wind that whipped at her hair and tunic, as the fabric billowed and fluttered like sails catching wind. The horse beneath her began stomping the ground and neighing, before abruptly bolting off in a wild frenzy. The wind lashed against her face, her hair a chaotic flurry, blurring her surroundings. Her grip tightened on the leather reins, desperately attempting to rein in and halt the horse, her thighs burning from the strain of which she held onto the horse. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Curses spilled from her mouth, her teeth clenched as tears welled in her eyes. The horse galloped over the hills, hooves tearing through the soul as it ran for its life. Daenera exerted all her might, pulling at the reins, but the horse remained unyielding in its panic.

Upon reaching the crest of a hill, the horse reared up on its hind legs. Daenera’s hold slipped, and she tumbled from the saddle, hitting the ground with a startled grunt, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Above her stretched the vast expanse of blue sky, while blades of grass tickled against her palms. She gasped, forcing air back into her lungs again. Amidst her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, she heard the sound of her horse galloping away, and for a fleeting moment, the sky darkened.

Groaning, Daenera sat up, attempting to brush her disheveled hair from her face. She scowled upon seeing Aemond land Vhagar a few paces away, the massive dragon casting an even larger shadow. Her blood roared within her veins as she rose to her feet, brushing off the dirt from her trousers, trying to collect herself. She watched Aemond from the corner of her eye as he descended from Vhagar, murmuring to the dragon in High Valyrian.

She was going to throttle him.

Fenrick and her horse were nowhere in sight. Grinding her teeth, Daenera tried to calm her raging blood. Vhagar fixed her with its distinctive serpent-like eyes, emitting a low rumble. Daenera paused her approach.

Aemond chided in High Valyrian before motioning for Daenera to come closer. She hesitated for a brief moment, gauging Vhagar’s reaction, before storming towards him, hissing out, “You could have killed me!”

“You should have held better onto your horse, then,” Aemond countered, his lips in that perpetual smirk. His cheeks bore a faint pink hue, his pale hair windblown yet somehow perfectly untangled, in stark contrast to Daenera’s own disheveled locks.

“It’s not easy to hold onto a frightened horse, especially one that wouldn’t have panicked if you hadn’t chased after me with your dragon!” She retorted, her frustration evident as her voice continued to rise.

“If we were truly chasing you, you wouldn’t have been alive,” Aemond assured her, as if offering some solace that he hadn’t intended for her to fall off and break her neck. “We simply flew over you.”

“You never do anything ‘simply’,” Daenera remarked, contemplating the opportunity to punch Aemond in the face, knowing there would be no witnesses other than his dragon. However, the prospect of being engulfed in Vhagar’s flames stayed her hand. She glanced begrudgingly at the imposing beast.

“Do you wish to come closer?” Aemond asked, his gaze shifting from the dragon to Daenera, a curious gleam in his eye.

“I’ve seen dragons up close before,” she replied, her narrowed eyes betraying her wariness.

“But you haven’t seen this one up close before,” Aemond noted, turning towards Vhagar and motioning for Daenera to follow. Tentatively, she complied.

The she-dragon observed them, allowing their approach. Vhagar possessed the color of a thunderstorm. At times, her hue appeared deep gray, only to shift to shades of green and gold. She was a colossal creature, marred by age. Sagging skin hung beneath her chin, and her body and wings bore the scars of The Conquest and the battles with the Dornish. She embodied years of war, a living testament to history.

“ Sagon gīda ,” Aemond cooed to the dragon, his hand brushing against the rough scales as if he were caressing a horse. Be calm .

“She is formidable,” Daenera admitted, awestruck by the magnificent dragon.

“You may touch her, if you wish,” Aemond said, observing her with an inscrutable expression, unable to discern her intentions.

Biting her lip, Daenera hesitantly reached out, allowing the tips of her fingers to brush over the scaly skin. It felt like weathered leather. Slowly, she pressed her palm against Vhagar’s side, patting the dragon as one would a horse.

“Why have you not claimed a dragon for yourself?” Aemond inquired, his curiosity apparent.

Daenera withdrew her hand. “I don’t need a dragon.”

She felt his eye search her face, attempting to decipher her expression. “Your brothers have dragons.”

“An astute observation,” Daenera answered dryly. “They were fortunate to hatch their eggs.”

“Claim one,” Aemond suggested.

“I will not steal a dragon,” Daenera stated firmly, locking eyes with him. A muscle twitched in Aemond’s jaw, a clear indicator that she had struck a nerve.

“I did not steal Vhagar. I claimed her,” Aemond defended himself, his voice reverberating with exasperation.

“Before Rhaena even had a chance.”

“She should have been quicker then,” Aemond retorted indignantly.

Daenera did not let it go. “She was in mourning. They had barely even laid her to rest.”

“I rightfully claimed Vhagar,” Aemond sneered, his blue eye shimmering with anger. All pretense was gone. He gestured towards his eyepatch. “And I paid for it.”

“A ‘fair exchange,’ as you put it. Yet, for a fair exchange, you seem rather bitter,” Daenera responded coolly, aware that she was getting under his skin.

“What would you give to claim a dragon?” Aemond asked, his voice hardened. “Or are you too afraid the dragons will reject you to even try?”

Daenera glared up at him, her eyes locked onto his face, his features sharp as cold steel. There was something dangerous within his gaze, something that ran deeper than his anger or the amusement that always seemed to play along the edges of his features.

Aemond continued in a smooth drawl. “Do you fear you don’t have enough Targaryen blood coursing through your veins to lay claim to one?”

“We share an equal amount of Targaryen blood,” Daenera bit back. “Maybe you harbored a sense of inadequacy as a Targaryen without Vhagar. Undoubtedly, Aegon would have reminded you of your weakness and inferiority, I am sure. And perhaps you believed him. But I do not need a dragon to feel powerful.”

Power manifested in various forms. While a dragon represented an overt display of power, a formidable weapon that instilled fear in others, Daenera discovered that a subtle knife could wield its own strength.

She braced herself for his retaliatory outburst, expecting a barrage of insults hurled back at her, along with the reminder that possessing a dragon equated to absolute power. Yet, contrary to her expectations, he remained silent. The charged atmosphere between them crackled like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“It’s a shame,” Aemond murmured, his eye softening ever so slightly. His head tilted, and Daenera felt a rush of heat creeping beneath her skin. “It would be quite a sight.”

Caught off guard, her cheeks flushed, and she gaped at him, uncertain of his intentions beyond wanting to cause a reaction.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Aemond continued with a remark. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t know what to do with a dragon.”

Daenera bristled, her voice laced with defensiveness. “I’ve received the same training as you.”

“If I remember correctly, you did everything you could to avoid spending time at the Dragonpit,” he countered smugly.

“I did not!” Daenera snapped indignantly, offended by the vaguely true accusation.

“You were far more interested in playing in the dirt,” Aemond stated, his words striking a chord of truth.

While she had indeed spent ample time in the gardens, she had also promised her father that she would attend the lessons at the Pit. However, attending and actively participating were two separate matters. She had lingered in the shadows, and distanced herself from the forefront. And then they moved to Dragonstone, where there were no Dragonpit but instead windy beaches and rocks.

“I learned the commands,” Daenera argued.

A smile played on his lips. “Have you ever flown a dragon?”

“My mother has Syrax and Daemon–Caraxes. Jace and Luke have Vermax and Arrax. I’ve been around dragons all my life. Do not presume to know more about them than I do.”

Aemond let out a breath that played along the edges of a chuckle. “I did not inquire about your knowledge of dragons. I asked if you had ever ridden one… Well, besides me.”

Daenera bit her tongue, looking away from him, her eyes searching the horizon as she tried to hold in the laugh that threatened to erupt from her. The whole situation felt absurd. When she looked back at him, she found his eye ticking across her features with a gleam in them she remained unfamiliar with.

“No,” she admitted.

“Would you like to?” Aemond inquired.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If I wanted to fly a dragon, I would ask to ride with my mother or Daemon.”

“Why haven't you?” Aemond asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle. It was disconcerting.

Daenera impatiently brushed her hair out of her face, nearly tangling her fingers in the tresses. She hesitated. “Because I fear I’d want to do it again.”

Her admission held more truth than she cared to admit. The temptation was ever-present, and she dreaded becoming reliant on it. She feared realizing what she had missed out on all these years. Deep down, she also feared rejection once more; and a dragon’s rejection spelled certain death.

She had buried the longing, the desire to fly among the clouds on a beast that should have been her birthright.

“I’ve witnessed the profound bond between my brothers and mother and their dragons,” Daenera continued, her voice filled with uncertainty as she searched for the right words. “Despite dragons having minds of their own, the connection between rider and dragon runs deep, like two souls intertwined. I fear if I were to experience flying, I would yearn for it relentlessly.”

Aemond studied her face, seeming to search for something. “Dragons are forces to be reckoned with, that much is true. But that shouldn’t prevent you from claiming what is rightfully yours.”

“I would think you, of all people, would prefer me to remain dragonless. It wouldn’t serve your interests if I were to gain one,” Daenera retorted, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

Aemond conceded with a wry smile. “You’re right. Managing you alone is already exhausting. Introducing a dragon into the equation… well, the realm might just find itself engulfed in flames.”

Daenera’s eyes flashed with amusement at the thought. “And you will be the first to feel its scorching heat.”

“I'm sure,” Aemond simply hummed, seemingly unfazed by her threat. “My offer still stands.”

“I have no intention of flying with you,” Daenera replied stubbornly.

Aemond’s smirk grew. “But it appears you’ve lost your horse.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “And who should I thank for that?”

“If you set out on foot now, you should reach the King’s Gate by evenfall… or you could choose to fly with me to the Dragonpit.”

Daenera’s voice dripped with defiance as she retorted, “I have far better odds on the road than risking my life flying with you. I cannot trust that you wouldn’t let me fall to my death.”

Aemond chuckled, the sound resonating through her body, warming her from within, though she hastily swallowed the feeling. He reached for her, tracing a long finger from her cheekbone down along her jaw, the touch making her skin tingle. “I would not let you fall, Daenera”

The sound of her name falling from his lips twisted something inside her, a mixture of agony and excitement. It felt like a dagger plunging into her heart, twisting and turning, bringing her closer to death and a heightened sense of being alive–like standing on the edge of a cliff with the crashing waves beneath, the wind swirling around, and the looming threat of doom intensifying every sensation.

“Why not? It would be a fitting end to this war you’ve initiated,” Daenera challenged.

“Well, for one, if you were to meet your demise at my hand, whether by accident or not, I would be branded a kinslayer, and the King would surely punish me severely. Your tragic death would eradicate any notion of ruin. If I desire your ruin, I would need you to remain alive,” Aemond explained with a smirk.

“How reassuring,” Daenera hummed, far from reassured. “You possess everything necessary to bring about my downfall. And yet, you haven't used it. Why is that?”

She had finally given voice to what had gnawed at her. The relentless waiting had become its own torment, with the lingering dread that everything would collapse in an instant should Aemond chose to expose her. Day by day, she grew increasingly perplexed by his silence. Why hadn’t he exposed her indiscretion?

“If I wanted your reputation destroyed, I would have done it already,” Aemond answered.

Daenera let out an exasperated huff, throwing up her arms and shifted on her feet with irritation. “So, what is your plan? To torment me? To threaten me?”

Aemond seemed pleased by her suggestions, and wildly entertained by her annoyance, his gaze searing into her skin, his touch growing even more intense as his hand braced the side of her face, cupping it.

Daenera swallowed, attempting to regain her composure. “You’ve gotten everything you wanted from me. What more could you possibly want?”

Aemond held an arrow aimed at her, ready to fly and hit its mark, yet he did not release it. At times, she wished he would. She could trust an arrow, trust its aim and where it would land, but only if he let it fly.

A voice cut between them, and Aemond withdrew his hand, leaving the heated area chilled without his touch. Her eyes snapped towards the owner of the voice.

Fenrick came into view, sliding off his horse and pulling it along with him by the reins. The world seemed to come into focus, and Daenera instinctively took a step back, creating some distance between herself and Aemond. “It appears I’ve found another way to get back to King’s Landing.”

Aemond couldn’t resist goading her further. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a coward.”

Anger flared in Daenera’s eyes. “I am not a coward. I simply possess the good sense not to entrust you with my life.”

He maintained his arrogant facade, that smug smirk etched on his face. He would never let her forget. “As opposed to entrusting me with more delicate matters?”

Aemond pushed further, testing the boundaries. “What’s improper about an uncle flying his niece back to the city?”

“What would your mother say when she hears?” Daenera shot back at him, knowing Alicent would disapprove.

“She would consider me a gentleman,” he claimed, and they both knew it was a lie. “Fly with me.”

“Princess,” Fenrick interjected in a warning tone, urging her to listen. “We should return to the Keep.”

The intensity in their gazes persisted, Aemond’s lips maintaining their taunting smirk. The challenge hung in the air, undeniable and tempting. Bitterly, Daenera came to the realization: she wanted it. Despite her better judgment, she desired to soar through the skies with him. It should have made her turn away, resist the temptation, but something inside her refused.

“Aemond will fly me back, Ser Fenrick. Meet me at the gates of the Keep,” Daenera declared, shooting Fenrick a fiery glare that warned him not to question her decision. Her loyal shield reluctantly nodded, his lips forming a tight line beneath his beard. She was aware of Fenrick’s lack of trust in the princes, but she needed him to respect her choice. With a bitter and disgruntled expression, the guard turned and mounted his horse, casting a final glance over his shoulder before riding off.

Aemond’s victorious smile widened as he grasped the net encircling Vhagar’s form. Extending his hand towards her, he expected her to take it. However, Daenera swatted his hand away and instead gripped the rope tightly, mustering a breath to steel herself for the climb.

Although she had grown up around dragons, the apprehension still lingered within her. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake, even now.

Daenera had always resisted her mother and father’s suggestions of flying with them. The same went for Daemon, who had wanted to show her the power that came with flying a dragon. She had staunchly declared that she was content with being rooted to the ground and had no need to experience it firsthand. It was easier to live without knowing exactly what she was missing out on.

The rope she clung to was coarse and matted from years of being wrapped around the dragon. As Daenera pulled herself up, she felt Aemond’s hand sliding up the back of her thighs, attempting to offer assistance. Once again, she slapped his hand away, the sound of his chuckle lingering in the air.

By the time she reached the top, her breath came in ragged gasps. It wasn’t solely due to the climb itself; it was the knowledge that she was now perched upon a living, breathing creature with the power to toss her off at any moment. It reminded her slightly of mounting a horse for the first time, if the horse possessed the power to level all of King’s Landing in a matter of hours it so desired. A horse couldn’t really compare to that.

With a firm grip, Daenera settled into the saddle, her knuckles turning white. The wind whipped at her more fiercely than it did closer to the ground. Aemond smoothly settled into the saddle behind her, guiding her forward so that he could swing his leg around to the other side. She had anticipated that she would have been the one at the back, but instead found herself enveloped in his embrace as he reached around her to grip the reins. Her back found his chest.

Daenera mustered her courage and swallowed her anxiety. “Let me fall, One-eye, and I shall haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Aemond’s laughter rumbled into her, stirring something deep within her. He didn’t give her much time to dwell on her words or change her mind as he exhaled, the breath tickling against the nape of her neck. “ Sōvegon Vhagar.”

Fly, Vhagar .

A startled yelp escaped Daenera as the dragon shifted beneath her, stretching its immense wings. Her stomach lurched with a mix of fear and excitement. Vhagar took one step, then another, and then another, her wings billowing as they caught the wind and propelled them into the air. Her breath caught in her throat, and her nails dug into the leather of the saddle. Her back pressed against Aemond, his presence a reassuring anchor as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Whether it was the howling wind or the rush of blood that roared in her years, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was the wind that wrapped around her, blowing wild and recklessly, as it did on Dragonstone. Her heart pounded fiercely, threatening to burst from her chest. She had never anticipated flying to be so chilling, but the warmth of Aemond’s body against hers provided some solace.

She felt his lips brush against the shell of her ear as he spoke softly. “ Lēda aōha laesi kesā ūndegon.”

See with your eyes, moon flower .

The term of endearment was lost on her as she cautiously willed her eyes to open. Instantly, her eyes began to water, unaccustomed to the force of the wind.

They soared high above King’s Landing, the capital city appearing a miniature below them, resembling a collection of dollhouses. Even the Red Keep seemed diminished in size. Waves crashed against the shore far beneath them, the expanse of the sea harrowing in its vastness.

Daenera released a breath, her eyes wandering to the sky that still remained above them, almost shocked to find that they could still rise higher. Each beat of Vhagar’s wings propelled them upward until they soared through the few clouds there were, emerging above them. The clouds rolled beneath them like a serene sea of white. It was a sight that took her breath away.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head towards the sun, relishing the warmth upon her skin and the exhilaration she felt with every breath she took. She felt liberated, empowered. This was what she had missed out on all her life.

The realization cut deep.

“It is thrilling, is it not?” Aemond whispered in her ear. “Do you feel the power inside of you, as if the whole world is in the palm of your hand?”

Daenera refused to let the tears fall, and she felt them strain painfully at the back of her throat. “Do not mock me.”

She felt his hand snake around her waist, pressing against her stomach, keeping her firmly against him. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, and a breath left her lips.

“I am not mocking you.”

She couldn’t fathom any other reason for his actions, except to mock and insult her. The urge to cry clawed at her insides. It would have been less painful if he had just thrown her from the saddle. Aemond was a cruel man, she reaffirmed.

If given wings, he would be quick to take them away again. He was showing her exactly what she lacked.

“What other reason could you possibly have?” She yelled above the wind as Vhagar soared above the clouds, her wings skimming their soft hills and stirring them into the air.

“You think me cruel,” Aemond stated.

“I do.”

“I suppose it is cruel to show you what you could have.”

Years of mocking and thinly veiled insults rang in her ears, and they were only emphasized by the sting of his words. “I don’t need a dragon to be formidable.”

Vhagar descended below the clouds, reentering the realm of men. The vast, never-ending ocean stretched out below them. Aemond pressed himself further into her, his breath hot against her ear as he taunted. “Formidable, you say–”

Daenera cut him off with a growl. “I wonder what they would say if I threw you from the saddle and claimed Vhagar as my own.”

A genuine laugh fell from his lips, the sound sending a shiver down her spine, and she felt her stomach flutter. “Daemon would be ever so proud. But I can assure you, hūra rūklon, that if you were to do such a thing, Vhagar would kill you in an instant. And if not, then I shall surely haunt you for the rest of your days.”

You’re already haunting me, Daenera thought.

The whirlwind of emotions and the exhilaration of flying coursed through her veins with a tingling sensation that threatened to erupt. A deranged laugh bubbled from deep within her chest, escaping her lips uncontrollably. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, matching the frenetic rhythm of her laughter. It was a strange mixture of joy, fear, and madness that consumed her in that moment, creating a wild, almost unhinged energy she couldn’t contain.

Vhagar descended lower and lower. The city began to grow larger, and before she knew it, Vhagar landed at the Dragonpit, creating a cloud of dust. The dragon shook her head, jolting both of her riders from side to side.

The dismount was embarrassingly slow. Her legs felt weak and wobbly, and she could hardly feel them at all. She nearly fell on her rear by the time her feet finally touched the ground. Had her mother ever felt this weak after a flight?

Aemond had an easier time dismounting, landing gracefully beside her. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed with color. He grinned at her, and despite everything, she found herself grinning back.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have a dragon. Your hair can’t handle the winds,” he teased, pulling at a strand of her hair.

Her hands instinctively went to her tangled mess of hair, realizing just how unruly it had become. It would take hours to comb through.

“It’s a wonder your eyepatch stays in place,” Daenera retorted, giving up on trying to untenable her hair with her fingers. It was a futile task anyway. “It makes me wonder if you’re able to remove it at all or if it has grown stuck to your face.”

They regarded one another for a moment, before Daenera broke the silence. “I thank you for the ride, One-eye. It was… eye-opening.”

Aemond let out a breath, shaking his head at the astonishingly bad joke.

Daenera turned and began to make her way towards the stables, her steps unsteady.

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd fandom #A Vow of Blood

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potofstewie · 1 year

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Stew's Fic Recs

Home to all the fics that I highly recommend, short, long or chaptered.

Yellow by @eiflawriting (Nanami x Black Reader, chaptered)

Stew's Thoughts: When it comes to chaptered romance, I usually have a hard time sitting through it but this fic grabbed me by the throat and sat my ass down. And I sat. I'm actually not in the jjk world like that (i stopped at chapter 20 for like two years now and haven't touched it since lmao) but you know a fic is absolutely amazing if it can bring you in with you not even knowing much about it's canon source material. I highly recommend this and I'll forever give Alfie her flowers for this because this was beautifully written.

Reverb by @chrollohearttags (Eren x Black Reader, chaptered)

Stew's Thoughts: This is another chaptered romance that grabbed me by my throat and I paid attention to its order. This is ongoing as I write this and I honestly enjoy every chapter and can't wait for future chapters because I know Cherry will go above and beyond every time. I'm a sucker for the exploration of characters that aren't the reader and their thoughts/motives on the things around them. Cherry's way of conveying that is inspiring to me. If you're one for music, and its industry then this is the on for you.

Rogue by @redcoaster (AOT, chaptered)

Stew's Thoughts: Oh my god where do I begin with this one. This fic has been by my side since Middle School and it is monumental and so important to me. (lmao if you look thru the comments you can find one that i left) This fic is actually what sparked my love for non self ship fic as well as influenced the way I write. I highly HIGHLY recommend this to anyone who wants a very immersive experience. This story is based on the idea of Eren never existing; only his titan. This is an ongoing fic btw! The author has also created fanart to accompany the fic and I totally suggest for you guys to check it out on her page!

Requiem of a Redemption by @mangalover4321 (KNY, chaptered)

Stew's Thoughts: Okay so, I just started reading this (I'm on chapter 13 as I write this dont spoil me yall) and when I say that this had me sucked in IMMEDIATELY???? Some of you may already know that I'm an absolute sucker for all things Shinjuro (horny and otherwise, he's an interesting fellow) and angst so when I come across a fic that has that and I get to witness him suffer and try to reconcile with his sons? Oh, I'm gonna swallow it whole. All jokes aside, this fic is really amazing and I truly enjoy reading how another person writes Shinjuro and how his mind works.

Mistake and Jealous by @comatosebunny09 (Rengoku x Reader, imagines)

Stew's Thoughts: These two are honestly in my top ten Kyojuro Rengoku fics and I love how Bunny easily pulls me in. The tender moment in Mistake is to absolute gush and die for while the heartfelt moment of saving in Jealous is enough to make one's heart skip a beat. I truly enjoy these works by bunny and I wish I could read them again like it was my first time.

If you wish to see any other fics I recommend, no matter the length, style or content, then check out my stew's recs🍲 tag below!

#stew’s pot of thoughts #stew's recs🍲

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 2 months

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Wanted

Y/N, a bounty hunter in the old west, finally captures her mark she’s been chasing for ten long years.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Cowboy!au, Fluff, Angst)

3.1k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, guns, enemies to lovers, stalking, injury description, alcohol, bondage, gun play

An: Thank you so much for your requests!! This fic was inspired by this message I received from my AMAZING friend @camariesintrusivethoughts!! They are so sweet, so please go give them some love!! I was so happy that they enjoyed my cowboy!au so much, and if anyone would be interested I would love to continue this series further! :D This is a sort of loose sequel to my first cowboy fic if you wanna understand it’s place in the serries lol anyways thank you so much for all your requests and messages and please keep sending them!!

TCK- POW! The ear splitting gunshot cracked loud through the dusty, Navajo sandstone canyons, and you knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Just your luck, to find yourself in town when a major crime was committed- made things real easy. Your ears perked up like a trained hunting dog at the telltale sound that echoed outside the saloon you were passing the time in, and quicker than you could think, you abandoned the drink you were nursing and dashed outside. Danger was pay dirt, and every foul deed thwarted was another dollar rolling in from the sheriff to line your pockets, those dollars becoming more and more vital given the dry spell you were going through. It seemed that, for the past two months, not one soul in the west felt the urge to do wrong. As you hurriedly approached the scene, you gathered that it was a bank robbery- a garden variety crime you debated whether or not was worth your time. Cautiously resting your gloved hand over where your .44 sat in its holster at your belt, another shot went off, turning a window into little shards that glittered gold in the late evening sunset as they shattered outward. Screams from frightened patrons flooded out the open window, accompanying a sound that made your fingers white knuckle against the grip of your piece and your blood run cold.

It was an all too familiar noise- the kind of cackle that you would expect to hear out of an animal, primal and triumphant in whatever cruelty it was inflicting. Steadying your breath, you convinced yourself that this was your mind playing tricks on you- that it couldn’t actually be him, but your suspicions were all confirmed when the very man you were dismissing kicked open the door of the bank, overfilled burlap sacks of cash tucked under each arm spilling onto the ground, followed by his posse who had equal or larger hauls than him. Instantly, you recognized him for who he was- the infamous bandit king of the west and his gang of followers, who were equally nefarious in their own right. Even the town sheriff was intimidated by these men as they ran off to their horses, laughing and cheering with their spoils. In all of the desert you called home, you were maybe the only person who was disappointed in the crime rate- well, you and the handful of other poor saps who patrolled the sand looking for criminals. The bounty on the head of the bandit king was pushing seven digits, enough to retire on and then some, and he had his back turned to you.

Frozen in place, the desperate yell that sprung out of your throat from where it was coiled up in your stomach was the only coherent action you could muster. “Brandon!” You didn’t call him Bam, which was the name most people, including his closest comrades addressed him as. Slowing down before he stilled on his feet, the bandit king’s head turned slightly toward you at the uttering of a name only his mother ever used to call for him and he looked at you with this glimmer in his eyes- those damn blue eyes that were burned into your vision by one too many whiskey fueled, angst saturated nights spent staring at his wanted poster. Meeting your gaze, he flashed you a crooked smile, just enough for you to get a look at a too sharp canine that made him look more like a rattlesnake than a man. Oh, but just as fast, he kicked up with one foot as if he were a desert hare and landed square on the back of his bay mustang, joining his men as they rode away with their riches to leave you standing there, speechless, furrious, and alone in a cloud of dust. At that moment, you decided it was time to leave town once again.

This woman was making it way too easy for him, Bam thought, grinning to himself as he rode off. Y/N was in love with him- she had to be, because he hadn’t met a lady who didn’t fall for his charms yet, and despite her little vendetta against him, he was currently very much alive and in one piece. It was as if, no matter what obnoxious crimes he pulled, she would always let him get away. However, his little ego trip was put to a halt as he grimaced, pain shooting through his shoulder and into his chest, a product of the bullet which still sat wedged inside his muscle: a souvenir of his last run in with the law, albeit a painful one. The kind of thing that reminds you that you're really alive. “Where d’ya suppose we head to next?” Bam’s closest confidant, Ryan, broke the silence after an hour or so of aimlessly riding away from the scene. Squinting into the now setting sun, the bandit king thought back to every burnt out town he stowed away in over the years, and there was a clear, authoritative tone in his voice as he reached in his pocket to shove a cigarette between his teeth, “I gotta place.”

Maybe you were getting a little obsessed, but who in their right mind wouldn’t be in this situation? Picture this, you had the chance to bag the most notorious criminal in the west, the guy you spent the better part of a decade following, and you fumble it. That fucker didn’t even need the money after so many years spent robbing banks and hustling- he had no reason to be tormenting the land the way he did. There was no way you would let a mark of this caliber slip through your fingers, especially after his recent crime spree following his big jailbreak outta some town in New Mexico. No law enforcement had made their bid for the bandit king’s hide yet, incompetent bastards, even after his crimes started growing grander and grander. He was doing it for the attention, and judging from how the newspapers printed bold headlines about his exploits and town preachers across the west gave colorful sermons about how there’s a special place in hell for criminal scum like him, he was surely receiving it. In fact, in an odd parallel of sorts, this whole ordeal of you going after him also started the same way any of your previous marks had- for the money, but after you began tracking him, this developed into something more. Never once had this man laid a finger on you nor your kin, but still you felt that he had wronged you, in some way- that vengeance must be delivered to right his crime of occupying your mind and time to such a degree.

He made his most recent appearance, after his big prison break outta some little village in New Mexico three weeks prior, in some dusty ghost town that frequently served as a hideout for bandits, situated along the beautiful Gila River- that shimmering ribbon that ran all the way up to Colorado Territory. It was a well needed oasis in the sandy hell that is Arizona, you thought, hopping off your saddle as your horse Adilaide stopped for a drink. Kneeling by her side, you held your hat in one hand as you eagerly sipped from the cool, crisp stream before righting yourself and wiping your mouth with your sleeve, savoring it as if it was the last drink you’d ever take, which it very well may be depending on how this went. Resolutely tying your girl to a post on one end of town in case things went south, you took a deep breath as you started off, scanning porches and peering into windows for any sign of that so-called bandit king. There were too many familiar faces in this town for your liking, you decided, meeting eyes with a few of your past marks who didn’t stray from their spots because they knew who you were looking for, and they didn’t take too kindly to flashy career criminals like him. The first place you decided to check was a deserted looking boarded up house across the street- a place you could see a man like him hiding out in. Gripping the handle of your gun protectively, you approached the dilapidated shack cautiously and crept up to a window- the one with a gap in between the boards just wide enough to shove your barrel into, peering with one eye through the gap.

“You lookin’ for someone?” His voice nearly made you jump, a nonchalant rumble from where he stood there, leaning against the wood siding with his revolver held low against the side of his hip and that wolf-like smile on his face as if he was happy to see you. It made you, a skilled bounty hunter worth your salt, fumble with your gun all wide eyed before hurriedly jamming it against his forehead. Bam didn’t even flinch. Stepping forward, he taunted you, standing mere inches away with his barrel digging into the flesh that rested right above your belt as he pressed his forehead against your muzzle teasingly. He was begging you. Bam’s eyes glimmered with confidence, these piercing blue things that sent chills through you as the air between you hummed with tension, all warm and wrapped around you, serpentine. The bandit king’s voice shifted, now no longer the growl of a predator but instead a low, sly purr that slithered into your ears, “C’mon. Do it.” You couldn’t bring yourself to. He knew you’d only get your money if you brought him back with all pieces intact, gray matter included, and as much as you wanted to lob a few of his bits off for the hell of it, you held yourself back. Everything was silent for a moment, save for the sounds of Bam’s breathing, shockingly gentle for a man with a loaded gun to his head. Even so, it was your hands that were shaking as he kept you busy while his gang had surrounded you over the course of your conversation. The metallic click of a hammer being pulled back alerted you to the fact that no matter where you looked, there was a muzzle in your face, leaving you outgunned fivefold. Breath hitched in your throat and there Bam stood, with that fucking smile he got when he knew he had you pinned. Withdrawing his revolver, he spun it around his index finger before shoving his peice back into his black leather holster across his body.

“It’s been fun, Y/N- Really.” The sun silhouetted Bam as he walked away with a flourish while speaking with words that oozed with amusement and something darker. Christ, you had your gun, loaded and at the ready in your hand and you still couldn't do it. Something in you urged you to just throw yourself forward, pin him to the sand with your body and grab a fist of his hair to yank his head back and tie his wrists. To make him pay for all those sleepless nights, those wasted years- to finally capture the prey that was rightfully yours after so many years, and to take in that look in his eyes as his world crumbled in front of him in a matter of seconds. To really see that image that you fantasized about so fervently play out would be enough. But something stopped you again, an emotion that you couldn’t easily identify. He was an outlaw, not loyal to anyone but the men he traveled with, who all shared in his lacking of even an ounce of charisma or intellect and who also only bathed on the occasion they came about a body of water (which was rare), and yet you found yourself, if you could call it this, admiring the audacity of this vermin. Any positive emotions towards your marks were dangerous, you thought, but still you couldn’t assuage the feelings that stirred deep within you as the weight of defeat sat heavy in your chest, adrenaline fading.

In his words, the inn Bam and his gang stopped in was a nice place to visit but a better place to hold up. Unfortunately, they had important things to take care of in the morning and needed a place to sleep for the night, so that plan had to wait. It was deemed far enough away from anywhere their name would be known, so it wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if they showed their faces. Walking up to the counter, the bandit king didn’t bother to count as he unceremoniously dropped a handful of dollar coins to the wooden counter with a clatter, more than enough to cover their bill. Glancing up from his newspaper, the owner of the inn’s eyes went wide, first at the fact he could buy a couple acres of farmland with the money on his counter, and second for the fact that Bam was currently reaching for the shiny piece of metal that sat on his belt in case the money he gave him wouldn’t be enough to cover it. His gang all stood around, grinning like wolves as the innkeeper handed them their keys with shaking fingers, before heading off to the tavern that sat on the lower level for a few drinks. It was the kind of sleazy, low brow place that these fellows really felt at home in, and they were warmly welcomed by the other nerdowells, especially after the bandit king got a few drinks in him and got to telling these sensationalized tales of thrilling adventures and conquest to distract as he and his men colluded to swindle the pot of the poker game they were sitting arround. But as the night wore on, Bam was growing increasingly more tired and decided to retire to his room ahead of his crew.

You got word that those bandits were on their way to California- something about a train they were planning to rob. Exhaustion clawed at the corners of your eyes as you tried your damndest to ride on after them through the night, but it was nearing midnight and judging from the way Adliaide was dragging her hooves, you weren't the only one who needed some shut-eye. Stopping for the night, you settled down at this little inn that looked like the kind of place bad things happen. Your suspicions were confirmed as you scanned the crowd when you stopped in at the bar downstairs for one last drink before you hit the sack. But as you were still on the clock, you felt obligated to ask around a little, which is why you stopped the barmaid after she handed you your whiskey, “Hey, have you, uh- have you gotten any word about some bandits comin’ through these parts?” She shrugged, pretending to be busy with something behind the counter- that is, until you dropped a quarter dollar onto it. “Well, I might know about ‘em.” You dropped a few more.

You left Maisie at the bar a sizable tip that night for dropping the room number of the elusive bandit king, and you could barely contain your emotions as you rushed up the stairs after him. Popping open with little resistance, the lock on the door of room seven was broken with one swift kick next to the handle, and there you stood in the doorway, chest heaving with breath as if you were a hunter about to capture his long tracked game. Startled by the loud bang, Bam went to sit up before he winced, a shallow gasp escaping him at that lightning bolt pain shooting up his wounded arm again. That delayed him enough that he didn’t have a chance to reach his gun that was resting on the bedside table before you threw yourself onto him, pinning his body down to the sheets. Your heart was beating out of your chest as your grip shook with anticipation around his wrists when you grabbed them, shoving his hands through the bars of the metal bed frame and tying them with the rope you kept on your belt. Bam didn’t even struggle as he stared up at you with a barely perceptible smile crossing his lips at the way you were straddling his hips, watching you. Reaching for your holster, you roughly jammed the muzzle against the bandit king’s royal temple, pinning his head to the pillow as you leaned down to growl into his ear through gritted teeth. “Ten years- ten long years, and I’ve finally gotcha’.” Bam looked up at you with half lidded eyes as you slowly ran the cold, hard, eager steel of your gun down his face, caressing down his cheekbone to his neck. Still, with a gun to his head, he found a way to be defiant, “Took’y long enough…” Jabbing your barrel against the bottom of your chin to put him back in his place, you could see his Adam’s apple bob as you murmured bitterly, “Time ain’t got nothin’ t’do with it. I dunno if you can tell, but I got’cha tied.” Inch by inch, your barrel trailed down Bam’s bare torso as he breathed in the adrenaline soaked air, his chest rising and falling shallowly under you. Wasn't that a sight.

Stopping right above his belt buckle which glinted in the light of the gas lamp that lit the room, you got up from where you were now sitting back on your haunches, and all the words and feelings that were festering inside of you poured out, “I’ve followed you t’hell ‘n back, and finally-“ You started monologuing, standing up as you continued your brooding rant, “I’m puttin’ an end to this little cat ‘n mouse game.” Just as you turned your back for a moment, you heard this clamoring, and when you whipped your head around, the only thing you saw was the window Bam leapt out of shattering out, flock of pigeons style into the night. While you weren't looking, he had wriggled out of the ropes you didn’t tie tight enough magical style to make his grand escape. Leaning out the window with wide eyes, you watched as he rolled down the slanted tin roof of the stables to land on his feet. Bam stood up from where he was kneeling, brushing the dust off of his trousers as he looked up to the illuminated window you were leaning out of to tip his hat towards you before the bandit king hopped on the back of his horse, riding off into the night.

#jackass #bam margera #ryan dunn #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #angst #cowboy!au #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader

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levi-supreme · 2 years

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A- Z Headcanons of Erwin Smith

Characters: Erwin Smith feat. small mentions of Mike and Levi.

Genre: Modern!au with tiny references to the snk canon if you can see it

Warnings: SFW, fluff. Some suggestive content.

A/N: Happy Birthday Commander (big tits) Erwin Smith!!!!! I wrote him a smutty fic for his birthday last year, so I shall give him something more family-friendly and relatable xD

Also, this one is dedicated to my bestie/sister-in-law Mrs Mia Smith @ack3rlady <333 these are highly inspired by our daily conversations about our husbands so I hope you'll like it 💖

Check out my other modern au!Erwin headcanons here!

A: Attention

Erwin is really attentive and pays a lot of attention to small details. He's the kind of person who remembers a lot of small details, and will hardly forget his schedules and plans.

However, due to his attention to detail, some people might find that Erwin is nitpicking too much. People might also think that Erwin is micromanaging too much as he wants everything to be perfect and in order.

B: Behaviour

Erwin is always calm and collected no matter the situation. He is always polite to people younger than him and respectful to those older than him as well.

Erwin is always the most grounded in his circle of friends, and people tend to depend on him due to how knowledgeable he is too. Erwin is very sensible and intelligent, and hardly does anything that would harm his image.

C: Career

With Erwin'a charisma and great leadership, he would do well in organisations that requires discipline and order, such as the military, the police, or the navy. He would be a very persuasive and charismatic leader who leads with knowledge and compassion.

I can also foresee Erwin doing really well in a political career. He is extremely persuasive and charming, and he can easily garner support from the general public and citizens as well. Likewise, he would also stand firm in his beliefs and work for the rights of the people.

Erwin would also do well in the corporate world, such as opening up his own business, working as a financial advisor, or a fund manager. He makes daring moves and investments, and even though they might be risky, Erwin's wit always bring the organisation he is working for to new heights.

D: Dating

I think Erwin would be someone who enjoys going on classic dates like in the good olden days; a dinner and dance, a late night movie at the outdoor cinema, a walk in the park. He loves spending quality and undisturbed time with his lover, and he loves diverting all his attention to them.

However! Erwin finds thrill and excitement in other kinds of dates too; arcade dates, shopping dates, beach dates, hiking dates just to name a few. As long as he's with his lover, anywhere would always be the perfect date.

E: Energy level

Erwin's mood is always calm and relaxed, so he doesn't have random bursts of energy. He's always on-the-go, and he is always doing something.

Erwin hardly has mood swings as well, unless he is too stressed up at work. Erwin does not really like surprises and impromptu occasions, and he prefers having a plan than to work on spontaneous bursts of energy. Therefore, Erwin would also behave as such, and he is always predictable and easy to go along with.

F: Fashion

I feel that Erwin would have a preference for long sleeve shirts, knitwear, and sweaters. He would like to wear light coloured clothing too. Colours like khaki, beige, ivory, and mother-of-pearl would look very nice on him. Baby blue and sky blue would complement his eyes too.

His wardrobe has a large variety of business suits, formal wear, and also more casual button-ups and tailored trousers. Erwin's wardrobe is more colourful during the spring and summer.

I also feel that Erwin is the kind of person who collects watches, and he has many watches for different suits and occasions.

G: Games

I don't think Erwin plays a lot of games, and he isn't interested in them as well. However, he might just give in to peer pressure and join Levi and Mike on games like Counter Strike and Call of Duty.

Erwin would probably enjoy playing card games like Blackjack and Poker, and somehow he manages to bluff really well. He would also enjoy strategy games like chess, shogi, go (wei qi), and reversi.

H: Hobbies

Other than reading and chess, I think Erwin would enjoy exercising a lot. He does a mix of aerobic and anaerobic activities, and running is his favourite. He usually goes to the gym with Mike and Levi where they would help to spot one another while at the weight machines.

I think Erwin would secretly enjoy crocheting too. It's hard to see Erwin sitting down for hours crocheting something, but Erwin is really good with his hands. He sometimes crochets gifts for his lover too.

I: Interior

I can foresee Erwin's house to be really wide and spacious, with not too many decorative items and furniture. Erwin would have paintings hung on the wall, and there would be bookshelves around the house too.

Erwin's bedroom is really simple, with a single bed, a small armchair by the window accompanied by a floor lamp. Erwin spends most of his time in his study/home office, where he would spend the most effort to maintain as well.

His home office would be bright and well-lit, with bookshelves by the wall too. Erwin has a preference for white lights and he loves opening his window during the day too.

J: Jealousy

Erwin would definitely not be a jealous lover, for he trusts his partner wholeheartedly. He doesn't worry if his partner is going out with friends of the opposite sex, as long as he knows where they're going.

However, Erwin can be a little possessive, especially if he sees someone hitting on his partner. He would switch from a calm demeanour and become a little stern, exerting dominance over the other party so that they know his partner's taken.

K: Kinks

You can't deny this, but Erwin definitely has a size kink. He finds his smaller-sized partner really desirable, and he loves how protective he can get over his partner.

Also, Erwin really loves holding his partner by their waist. The subtle act of putting his hand around their waist, or on the small of their back while walking makes him feel really 'manly', and he can be protective of his lover too.

During sex, Erwin would be a really gentle and sweet lover, always making sure his partner is feeling good. However, he definitely has his rougher moments too. Erwin would enjoy taking his partner from the rear, and he would get so turned on whenever he pulls his partner up by the hair or limbs so that he can take a good look at their blissful face.

L: Love language

Erwin is someone who wouldn't hesitate to spend his money on his lover. No, he doesn't necessarily splurge, but he loves pampering his lover with purchases. If his partner sees something they really like, Erwin would buy it. Erwin would also pay for meals and desserts, for the groceries, for dates, and anything that involves finances. Erwin wouldn't let his lover spend a single cent.

Erwin would also enjoy spending undisturbed time with his lover too. I feel that Erwin would sometimes be too engrossed in work that he forgets to separate work and personal time, so he would really appreciate spending quality time with his beloved. Even though it's activities like watching tv, cooking, or even doing chores, he appreciates all the little moments spent together with his lover.

Erwin would be so good at giving his lover words of affirmation! He loves singing praises of his lover, and he loves encouraging his lover with his words too.

M: Marriage

Erwin would look forward to married life so much. To him, it's more than being lawfully wedded under the law. Getting married means a commitment to spend their lives together, and a decision to be devoted to his lover for the rest of his life. It is also a promise to be by each other's side, supporting each other in everything in life.

Erwin would have an elaborate wedding proposal; he would enlist the help of his friends to make the occasion perfect. He would probably bring his lover to a place with sentimental value; like the place the went on their very first date.

N: Nicknames

Erwin would love nicknames such as 'sweetheart', 'dear', 'darling', and 'love'. They're simple, heartfelt, and not too cheesy as well.

Erwin would probably be embarrassed if you call him names with a slight tease, like 'babe', 'handsome', or 'hot stuff'.

Erwin probably got nasty nicknames in school because of his thick prominent eyebrows, but he definitely doesn't mind them. He even thinks they're funny (Mike called him Eyebrows, Levi called him Shitty Brows).

O: Outbursts

Erwin would be pretty well-natured and doesn't have much of a bad temper, but do not make him angry! He would flare up and shout at the top of his voice when he's angry, and his anger would last a long time as well.

Erwin also does not like to be challenged, therefore he does not appreciate being questioned about his choices and actions. He would be irritated if someone showed him any doubt towards his decisions and abilities.

P: Parenting style

Erwin would be the father who always tries to educate and be there for his children, just like how his father had been there for him when he was younger. Erwin would be the role model in his children's lives, showing them all the right examples and teaching them the right values and morals.

Erwin would also have his fair share of being a fun parent without forgetting about education. He loves bringing his children to the museum, science centre, planetarium etc for them to learn and expand their knowledge while also having fun.

Erwin wouldn't have preferences for a daughter or son as well, but I feel that he might be sliiiiiiightly biased to having an elder son and a younger daughter.

Q: Quirks

Erwin would unfortunately be a snorer, a very loud one too. He's constantly working and always busy, and he snores really loudly. Sometimes he even scares himself with how loud he sounds too.

I feel that Erwin would also tend to rub his eyes a lot too, because of how dry they always are. He knows it's a bad habit, but he can't help it. He carries eye drops around with him all the time.

For some reason I feel that Erwin prefers eating white meat opposed to red meat, so you'll see him enjoying chicken and fish more than others. However, he definitely wouldn't say no to a nice steak! Erwin's favourite fish is codfish, and he likes eating seafood like shrimps too.

R: Romance

Erwin is 10/10 a very romantic lover! He would remember the dates of anniversaries and birthdays at the tip of his finger, and he would plan for these celebrations way ahead too.

Erwin would pamper his lover just the way they love and want without asking for anything in return. He would be a very devoted and loving partner as well.

During sex, I feel that Erwin would pay a lot more attention on the foreplay and build up than the actual sex. He loves to pleasure and slowly prepare his partner, and he loves making his lover feel good as well. Erwin would prefer to be the dominant one in bed, but he wouldn't oppose to switching things up once in a while too.

S: Sweets

Erwin wouldn't enjoy sweet stuff too much, but he definitely enjoys eating baked goods like cupcakes, muffins, cookies, cakes, and doughnuts. Erwin loves taking his coffee black, and it goes well when he's eating a sweet treat as well.

He would probably avoid treats like caramel popcorn, candy floss, lollipops, hard candy, or anything that has too much sugar. Erwin would also dislike anything with whipped cream as well.

T: Television

Erwin probably doesn't watch much tv, but he enjoys watching shows like Breaking Bad, Prison Break, Sherlock, and The Crown. He would also enjoy shows that are educational, like the history channels and BBC.

Erwin would prefer DC to Marvel, and he probably has a secret collection of DVDs of DC movies that no one knows about.

U: Unwind

Erwin loves to read as a form of unwinding. Magazines, bibliographies, self-help books, fiction anything! Erwin also enjoys reading the newspaper, and prefers hard copies of them than digital copies.

He also likes exercising and sweating it out. Erwin prefers aerobic activities that gets his heart pumping, like running, swimming, and cycling. Erwin usually runs about 5km to 8km each time he's out for a run.

V: Vacation

I feel that Erwin would enjoy visiting somewhere warm and sunny even though he doesn't really like the heat. Erwin loves listening to the waves, and loves being near the sea too. He would enjoy visiting countries in South East Asia, such as the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, or Singapore.

Erwin probably grew up in the city, therefore he would love visiting countries that have a slower-paced of living as well. He would enjoy strolling around the city, visiting historical sites and learning about the country's history, study their architecture, and learn about the cultures of the people there.

W: Weather

Erwin loves the summer! He would enjoy getting a little tan, and he loves wearing thinner shirts during the hotter days as well. He does complain about the heat occasionally, but he loves the longer summer nights.

Erwin also likes it when its windy. He loves seeing the leaves sway with the breeze, and he loves the feeling of the wind through his hair as well.

X: XOXO

Kisses with Erwin are always deep and passionate. Erwin loves kissing his lover, and he always has to kiss his lover goodbye before leaving for work.

Erwin loves cupping his lover's cheeks with his hands while they kiss, and he definitely wouldn't object to a little more tongue too. However, he wouldn't be that affectionate in public!

Erwin's hugs are really warm and comforting given how big his build is. Erwin also loves enveloping his lover in a tight hug. Whenever his lover is in a bad mood, Erwin's hugs would definitely make everything better.

Y: Yearning

Erwin wouldn't be too affected if his lover had to leave him for a while, be it an overseas work trip, or a short getaway. Erwin would constantly be in contact with his lover, making sure they're having their meals and getting enough sleep. He would constantly send them messages, and video call each other every night too.

Erwin keeps the house neat and tidy during his lover's absence, and he would want them to returning to a clean and tidy home. Erwin would reach the airport early to wait for their return, and welcome them with a big hug.

Z: Zodiac

Erwin is born on 14 October, making him a Libra. Libras are known to be very charismatic individuals, and are always the spotlight in any occasion. Libra men are also extremely charming, and you would definitely find yourself become attracted to Erwin the first time you see him.

Libras, however, are rather vain, and pay a lot of attention to their appearance. Libras might also find it hard to settle down in a relationship, as they prefer to socialise and widen their circle.

Tagging: @cinnamonlevi @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein @hannie2kay @lilshades

#erwin #erwin smith #erwin headcanons #erwin smith headcanons #snk headcanons #aot headcanons #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi.supreme

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corinthianism · 2 years

Text

call it what you want | the corinthian

pairing: the corinthian (the sandman)/fem!reader tags: coffee shop au, hurt/comfort warnings: mentions of violence, murder, and obsessive behavior (all on behalf of the corinthian), implied sexual content

note: hi everyone! this is my first post on this account as i tried to post this on my main one which is @starksnoir, which might be shadowbanned or something. anyway, this is very, very self-indulgent and it’s kind of embarrassing but i noticed that not too many people write for this guy compared to morpheus so i’m throwing this out there: a cliché mess that will hopefully satiate your fantasies about this man, err, nightmare. some parts were inspired by other fics (all here on tumblr), namely “Bring me a dream” by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere, “Nightmare” by @dyns33, and “Protective” by @bi-bard. please check those out those fics if you’re a corinthian lover like me and show those authors some love!

highly recommend listening to "call it what you want" and "daylight" by taylor swift while you read

You never thought your life was particularly exciting. You had your hobbies, sure, but all-in-all the days just blended together in a blurb of organized chaos every human on the planet had gone through at some point in their lives. Your coffee shop was your rock and business was doing well enough to keep you alive and comfortable in New York. You never expected more.

So when a sharply-dressed man wearing thick black shades and a charming smile waltzed into the shop, you didn’t think much of it. You saw all kinds of people every day, why was he any different? It wasn’t until he spoke that you noticed all the little things about him with never-before-seen clarity. It seemed like you were lucky you happened to be manning the counter that day.

“Hey darlin’,” his voice drawled out, elbow resting on the counter. “Been thinkin’ of trying something new. Any recommendations for me, doll?”

He leaned in slightly on the last sentence. It wasn’t the first time a customer came in with flowery nicknames for you, but no one ever quite executed it as this stranger did. Maybe it was some sort of Southern charm he possessed, or maybe it was the smile but he definitely had something a lot of people didn’t.

You raised a brow at him and smiled, “Maybe a caramel macchiato? It’s one of our bestsellers.”

He nodded and hummed, seemingly pleased with the suggestion, “Gimme a large.”

“That would be four dollars, please. Oh and… your name, sir?”

“Just put… Corinthian.”

You wrote it down on the cup, not even bothering to ask. You’ve experienced your fair share of weirdos and pranksters coming in and asking you to write down all sorts of ungodly things on their cups, so it was no big deal.

Five minutes passed and you looked for the man, ready to give him his order. You found him in a corner booth with an arm draped lazily over his seat, one leg rested on top of another, and his other hand tapping on the table. Still, the man was intriguing enough that you decided to add a free muffin to his drink.

“Here’s your order, sir.”

He eyed the muffin and shook his head, “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house.”

The mystery man simply smirked. Then he kept coming back every week.

-----

He didn’t know what made him keep coming back to that tiny little coffee shop in New York, but hunting down Ethel Cripps had proved to be a difficult task, even for him, and he needed a break. The coffee was good, but you were better. Cute enough for him to keep visiting.

If he had to describe you he would say you were… interesting. You sat down with him during your break several times over the past two months. The two of you chatted about anything and everything and it had been the highlight of your day. And his, though he would never admit it. Before then, he frequently entertained the idea of eating your eyes. He'd savor every bit of sweetness your humanity had to offer and he'd have a piece of you everywhere he went but that all went down the drain when one day you brought him some cupcakes you baked yourself.

He just finished going over the list of people that might lead him to Ethel for what seemed like the twentieth time. The memory played in the back of his mind over and over again as he leaned back on his chair.

“Oh! I almost forgot. I made these for you! Sorry, they’re not the prettiest but I think they’re pretty good." You pushed a warm paper bag to his side of the table.

He reached for one cupcake, took a bite, and hummed.

When he turned to look at you, you stared at him, eagerly waiting for his reaction. For his approval. It was an odd feeling.

“So…?” you inquired meekly.

“It’s good,” was all he said.

He could never seem to erase the image of your smile from his mind, even weeks after.

In all honesty, he often wondered if he was capable of emotions. Positive ones. He felt bitterness and rage towards his creator, and a sick satisfaction with every new kill, but nothing compared to the sheer fulfillment that came with eating eyes. It made him feel oh-so-human. So much more than a Nightmare, and in a way, that's all he could really hope for: to be more than what Morpheus intended him to be. He never really bothered to make connections with humans for any reason besides his own gain, so now, whenever he thinks of you, he wonders if you were the answer to all his questions all along.

The Corinthian knew he would have to leave when he finally found what he came to New York for, but he did secretly hope he could squeeze in a visit every now and then. You were… good company. He knew about that reality TV show you watched every Friday night, your childhood dog whose ashes and photos you kept around in a special corner of your room, the humble beginnings of your coffee shop, and that old university sweater you brought sometimes because it was, quote-unquote, “the only damn thing that could keep me warm these days.”

Maybe he could keep you warm. Best not to entertain that thought. He had only ever been good at making humans cold. You spoke to him with so much enthusiasm, blissfully unaware of who and what he was. You made him feel so free. Ironically, it's what also made him want to stay. The first time you called him by his name had solidified that.

It was raining and one of your employees caught the flu. Polly was a good kid, so you offered to cover her shift for the day. Maybe you could get her some soup after you were done with your work.

It was a slow day, too. Not many customers came, and even less stayed for longer than ten minutes. Just when you thought it would be good to close the shop early, in walked the man you saw every week: all in his handsome blond glory.

"Oh hey cowboy," you greeted cheekily before getting a mop to continue your work. "I thought you weren't gonna come today."

You got in the habit of calling him nicknames as well. You didn't really know his name, and he never bothered to ask yours since you had a tag. He left his umbrella by the door and walked over to you.

He tilted his head and smiled: a soft smile you rarely saw on him in the two months you've known him, "And what makes you say that?"

"Dunno"—you led him to a seat before you began mopping—"not everyone would bother since there's a storm raging outside."

You could feel him watching you.

"For you, sweetheart? I'd do anything."

"Those are some mighty big words from a guy whose name I don't even know," you giggled. "Also, are you gonna order something or what? I might close up shop early since I don't think anybody else is coming in."

He ignored your question.

"Oh, but you do know my name," he leaned back in his seat. "You've known since the day we met, doll."

He could see the gears turning in your head before you laughed in disbelief, "What? Corinthian? No offense but either your parents hated you or you're weird. But if that's what you want me to call you, then… hey, Corinthian."

He laughed. A real, genuine laugh, and it shocked him. He didn't remember the last time he did that, or if he did at all. All he knew was that his name sounded so sweet coming from your lips.

-----

The Corinthian was, for the lack of a better word, an enigma to you. You knew he was dangerous and yet he was beautiful. It was like being a moth that can't help but be drawn to a flame. He gave your days some much-needed substance and you couldn't help but want to know more about him. Was it risky? Maybe. You weren't sure if his name really was just "Corinthian" or if he was hiding some big secret. Maybe one was true. Maybe both were. Maybe neither were. It didn't really matter when he looked at you like you were telling him the secrets of the world.

You've never seen him without his thoroughly opaque shades. Whenever you asked, he often reasoned that he had a condition that made him sensitive to the light. Sometimes he was in a smooth-talking mood.

"Well, I have to keep them on or else you'll blind me with your beauty, sugar."

His words ranged from the kind that would make you swoon to the kind that made you laugh with how cheesy they were. There were three things about him that you knew for sure: one, he was a massive flirt. This aspect of his personality was found in every word he’s ever said to you. In recent meetings, he's gone as far as bringing you little trinkets from his "work trips". He never told you much about them but he never failed to bring back some sort of souvenir. Among these souvenirs was a wooden carving of a dog that resembled your childhood dog you told him about before. You even asked him if this was the intention and for the first time, the man had been taken aback as if he was caught doing a crime.

"It's as cute as you; thought you'd like it," he teased, leaning close enough that you could smell his cologne.

The second thing you knew about him was that he was definitely well-off. He dressed and acted like it, too. You realized this when his gifts started becoming more and more extravagant: a gold bracelet there, a simple diamond necklace here.

The third thing you knew about him was that… well, he was lonely. Or at least he seemed like it. Perhaps it was a harsh assumption to make, but of all the fantastical stories he told you of canoe rides in Venice and dinners in Singapore, not once did he mention another person. Not one friend, family member, or significant other.

Significant other. The thought made you uncomfortable. You enjoyed this odd friendship you had with him and yet the boundaries seemed so blurry that you began to wonder about things friends would never do.

-----

The first time you saw him outside of your coffee shop was at a park nearby. At that point, you’ve been seeing each other regularly at the shop for about three months. The park had lots of dogs during the weekends and it was always nice to see them play and be pups. You had just been enjoying a gentle breeze when that beloved Kentucky accent echoed behind you.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here, doll."

You turned around and there he was. Corinthian. The man who was single-handedly making your days (and your nights).

"Oh, hey!" you greeted him heartily. "Didn't take you for the stroll-in-the-park type."

"And what would my type be?" he asked, sitting down next to you on the bench.

"I dunno, me, probably, since you somehow always manage to find your way back to me," you giggled. And then you realized what you said. "Oh. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He laughed and took your hand in his. You couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together, "Relax, sweetheart. You know you can do that around me"—he squeezed ever so slightly—"hmm?"

You could only nod slowly.

"And for the record, you're right. You are my type."

He kissed the back of your hand, leaving you breathless, "Now, I think I want some ice cream, don't you?"

You would never forget how he licked his lips, and how much you wanted to kiss him right then and there.

-----

The first time he kissed you was at a carnival. Since that fateful day at the park, you started seeing him more outside of the coffee shop, and you loved every second of it.

He allowed himself to have this. To enjoy this. He knew that Morpheus has escaped and would be coming for him soon, and so he allowed himself the pleasure of being with you while his creator was busy looking for his tools.

You led him by the hand to a game of darts, your eyes wide and sparkling at the giant teddy bear displayed at the front of the small booth. With what he could only describe as the determination of a massive toddler, you walked up to the booth and handed in ten bucks.

The guy behind the booth looked up from his phone and looked at the two of you, before scoffing and taking the money, "Knock yourself out."

The Corinthian watched you hopelessly try to hit the bullseye, but none of the darts were sticking.

"Wha- This is rigged!" you exclaimed. The boy laughed mockingly at you.

"No, but a couple more tries might do the trick."

Your date rubbed circles on your back to calm you down before stepping forward and handing his own ten bucks. The guy greedily took it and gave him a new set of darts.

The Corinthian winked at you before throwing the dart.

You knew it was gonna land dead center, but what you didn't expect was the force of his throw being so great that it split the board.

You could barely contain your excited squeals before grabbing both of his cheeks and kissing him. Needless to say, he was left speechless.

"She tastes like vanilla and soda," he thought.

-----

The first time you saw his "eyes" was just a couple of days later. He had settled wonderfully in your life, and while the two of you never made anything official, you were happy.

He made a dinner reservation at a fancy restaurant you've never been to so naturally, you got all dolled up for him. The dress you wore was the classiest one you could find in your wardrobe. It was plain red: a color he expressed a fondness for on several occasions.

But the taxi driver dropped you off just a little bit earlier than he should've, and you still had to walk for a minute or two to get to your destination. Unfortunately for you, New York was never the safest of places.

"Look what we have here," a man stepped out from an alleyway you passed.

You froze up. Catcalling was not unfamiliar to you, and yet you still couldn't bring yourself to stay calm when it happened. Your heart was racing.

"Come on, sweetcheeks, don't get so shy around us," another man stepped closer to you and you could smell the cigarette smoke and a pungent something emanating from him. "The jacket needs to go, I think, show us that slutty little dress you're wearing."

"No, I don't think she'll be doing any of that, fellas," a familiar voice intervened. "Not unless you want to lose your eyes."

You could almost cry with the amount of relief that washed over you. The two men who were harassing you, however, not so much. If anything, they got even more hostile.

"Ah, this your girl?" one man taunted, tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. The Corinthian hummed and grinned. It was the kind of grin you found to be very menacing at the moment; nothing at all like the cheeky one he would don during your weekly meetings. "After we're done with her, she won't be."

The other man charged at him, a pocket knife ready to stab into the Corinthian's jugular, but nothing happened. You blinked and all you could see was your date, your partner, standing tall as his attacker slowly fell to his knees with heaving breaths. In his hand was his own knife, now bloody.

The first man took a step back, and tried to make a run for it. He pushed you to the side, thinking it would buy him time but the Corinthian placed an arm on his shoulder, and suddenly all hopes of an escape were thrown out the window. Your date helped you up with his other hand and guided you to get behind him.

"Y'know, I don't appreciate filthy fucking bastards like you messing with my girl," he snarled, stepping you closer to the man who was now shaking. The Corinthian brandished his knife once again, ready to strike when you grabbed his wrist. He turned to you with a look of surprise and lowered his weapon when the other man used it as an opportunity to land a weak blow to the Corinthian’s face and run off.

The strike had removed his sunglasses… and then you saw it: the teeth.

You didn’t run, you didn’t scream, but you sure as hell didn’t get any closer to him. What kind of person had TEETH for EYES? Meanwhile, as you stood there in shock, the man in front of you, if you could call him that, calmly picked up his shades from the floor, wiped them with his handkerchief, and removed your grip from his wrist.

“Well, the jig’s up,” he laughed, but it was empty and unlike anything you’d heard from him before. You could only stare at him. The first man to make you feel something in ages was definitely not human. “What? Were you expecting baby blues?” he asked bitterly, almost accusingly. Almost as if he had hoped you wouldn’t react the way you did.

The only thing you could bring yourself to ask was a weak “why?”

He wasn’t expecting that. You had genuinely looked so confused once your fear had somewhat dissipated.

“Why. Why?” he repeated, seemingly in disbelief. He quickly got angrier by the second, “I’m like this because I was made by some heartless fuck who didn’t give two shits about what I wanted! HE ONLY EVER CARED ABOUT THE FACT THAT I DID WHAT HE MADE ME DO!”

“And… and what did he make you do?”

“I’m a NIGHTMARE!” he bellowed out, the harsh truth of his existence finally out in the open. “He made me like THIS,”—he pointed to his eyes—”because he wanted me to scare the living daylights out of people whenever they slept because a-fucking-pparenly, I’m only capable of being a MONSTER. ”

You could barely follow what he was saying, but you saw his brows furrowed in anguish and how his lips quivered ever so slightly at his admission. You pulled him in for a hug then and touched his cheek; a gesture that was enough for him to freeze up. You gently put his shades back on and held his hand. You always knew deep down that there was something about him that was different, but you also knew that he deserved to be heard. It was hard to push him away in that moment when all you could think about were the late night calls, the ice cream dates, and all the little sacred moments in between. He saved you, and the least you could do was take his cold hands in yours and do your best to help.

“Let’s go to my house, and then you can tell me everything,” you murmured. “This isn’t the best place for me to find out about all of this.”

His breathing was slowly going back to normal again, no longer heaving from rage. He didn’t know if he deserved your kindness. Or your love. He wasn’t even sure if he could call what he was feeling “love”, but this… if this wasn’t love, then he would never want to find love with anyone else. You looked into his eyes, two voids behind the teeth, and touched him like he was fragile. His instinct would be to never let you go; it would keep you with him for as long as he wanted, whether you wanted to or not but he knew that the conscious part of himself would do anything you asked him to do at the drop of a hat. And he would still revere you. You were not Dream and so the Corinthian would follow you to the ends of the Earth, of every realm: he would follow you even into the Sunless Lands. He would worship you, knowing that it was the sweetest, greatest act of defiance against his former master.

So he let you lead him into a taxi back to your home, occasionally squeezing his hand all while you leaned into him and breathed in his cologne. He could feel your heart race. If he had one, it might’ve been doing that too. In your house, where in every corner he found a piece of you, he knew this was most authentic feeling of humanity he could ever get. He probably wouldn’t cease his activities, but he would settle for this, whatever this is, if it meant he could stay with you.

In the comfort of your home, he told you about his past and he explained how much there was beyond the waking world: things humans could seldom wrap their head around. He told you of the Endless, of his own creation courtesy of one of said Endless, but he was careful to omit his own involvement in trapping Dream and keeping him under the Burgess Mansion for over a century. He painted a picture for you: a Nightmare seeking fulfillment and purpose beyond his intended function, silenced by his oppressive all-powerful master. He told you how once he realized that his master wouldn’t be coming after him anymore, he finally felt free. It was the perfect sob story, and it was mostly true. You will never know the things he’s done, nor will you know the things he will do. He didn’t say anything about Dream’s escape. He would deal with it.

Now, as he lies in your bed with your head resting on his bare chest, two naked bodies intertwined, he thinks he could keep you here forever. He’s already got a new lead anyway: Rose Walker. A dream vortex. He was certain, if anybody was going to solve all of his problems, it would be her. He turned to you, stroking your hair, and pressed a chaste kiss to your head. You smiled in your sleep and nuzzled closer to him.

-----

He took you to London, and then Cape Kennedy in Florida. The former you could understand, and as for the latter, not so much.

“Just a treat for my angel for working so hard,” he proclaimed with a kiss on your lips when you asked. You would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It was a nice change of pace, and you were guaranteed to be spoiled practically every day. You left the coffee shop to Polly and your friends. They encouraged you to go along with your now-boyfriend.

“Oooooh, oh my god, Miss, you should totally go!” she squealed. “I love you but, you need a break. And you need that very hunky boyfriend of yours to help with that.”

You may have pinched her arm for that.

So here you were, a hotel away from the convention your boyfriend had been invited to as a guest speaker. All you knew was that he worked as a consultant, which would explain all the work trips he went to. Perhaps he had been exceptional in his field and was conducting some sort of seminar. Your phone rang while you were getting ready to do some solo exploring.

You picked it up and saw the contact name: cowboy <3

“Hey honey,” you spoke. “What’s up?”

“Uh, nothing much to be honest. Just a bunch of people here who appreciate my work,” he responded nonchalantly.

“Oh, okay. You think they’d give me a ticket or something if I said I was your girlfriend?” you joked. He went silent.

“Baby, I don’t think this is a good place for you to be,” he paused. “Lots of misogynists and cryptocurrency nerds here. But if you insist, make sure you call me beforehand, hmm? I’ll be sure to give you some real… VIP treatment.”

On the other side of the phone, he was confident that once he got into Rose Walker’s head, there would be no problems, but oh, was he very, very wrong. Deep down, he knew Dream would be coming, and it was only a matter of time until one of them managed to sway Rose to their own side. His thoughts were racing as he stepped up on stage and settled for a dignified stance behind the podium. There, in front of him were dozens of “collectors”, humans who adored him and what he did. He… dreamed of a world in his image. These people were just the beginning. One day, he would start everything anew.

Before you, fulfillment came in the form of murder. Of eating their eyes and witnessing everything so unique to humanity. Experiences he’s been robbed of because of Dream.

“I don’t usually speak in public,” he began. “But the opportunity to talk to so many people who share the same passion, the same dream, well it was just too good to pass up… because you are special people; very special people.”

Your plans to take a tour around Cape Kennedy had been cut short by your own need to see your boyfriend. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the convention was being held, given that there was only one other hotel that could serve as a venue.

To your surprise, it was completely unguarded. The guards, nor any of the staff, were nowhere to be found. You saw some of the posters and cards that decorated the lobby, which then gave you the location of the main stage. Oddly enough, you started feeling fatigued with every step you took. In a few moments, you were in front of the big doors that separated you and your lover, given how his speech was scheduled to take place at this time of day. Instead, you could hear him talking, but not in a way someone would when talking to a crowd.

It was muffled, but you could still make out what he was saying, “If you think I’m going back to the Dreaming with you—”

“You’re not going back,” another person replied. You felt shivers run down your spine. You knew that voice. Why did you know that voice?

“I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“Do you know why I do it?” your lover asked in response. You heard nothing from the other man. “So I can taste what’s it like to be human. And you don’t care about humanity. You only care about yourself, and your realm, and your rules.”

You decide to enter as quietly as you possibly could so that you wouldn’t inadvertently make things worse and so you could be at your partner’s aid if need be.

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.”

“Or you might actually feel something,” you watched the Corinthian, now without his shades, staring down the other man. They couldn’t look more different but you knew your boyfriend was the one in danger. “I am not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you… but I created you poorly then, so I must uncreate you now,” the man, who you now knew as Dream, replied with a sense of finality,

Your breath hitched at “uncreate”. The two men finally looked at you, unaware of your presence before then, and watched with wildly different expressions as you walked closer to the stage they were standing on. Dream looked at you with mild surprise and curiosity though he remained mostly indifferent to you. As if there was nothing about you that would change the outcome of this story. The Corinthian, on the other hand, was near his breaking point. All his emotions were bubbling up to the surface, threatening to tear down all his walls at the sight of you. He looked so defeated and scared, but you could see his love. You could see his desperation. His fears and hopes fighting in the name of your safety.

“What- what is going on?” you breathed out.

“What are you doing here, sugar?” he asked you softly, trying to hide his panic. “I thought I told you to call.”

“Please don’t do anything to him, sir,” you approached Dream. “I- I don’t know what’s happening but please, please, don’t do anything to him.”

You wished you were strong enough to stop the tears welling up in your eyes and to not look pathetic in front of this cosmic entity, but you would endure if it meant you could save your partner, or at least buy him enough time to get away. Your hands shook so you clasped them together, hoping you could maintain some sort of dignity. You could hear the Corinthian start begging you to stop what you were doing; to have some common sense. How it wasn’t worth it. You tried to block him out. He jumped off the stage and grabbed your shoulders. To hell with Dream. He would touch you one last time if this was to be his end.

“(Y/n),” he gasped out. That finally got your attention. You looked at him, brows furrowed. He never called you by your name. “You… don’t have to do this. You have a whole life ahead of you, doll. Don’t throw it all away for me.”

“But you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to die, but I don’t want you to go where I can’t follow.”

“The Darkness isn’t so bad, I'm a Nightmare, remember? I'll be okay,” he tried to reassure you, though you could see that even he couldn't believe his own words. “I’d just miss you too much.”

You let your tears flow freely onto his suit jacket as you pulled him into a hug. He kissed you. It was so different from all the other kisses you shared. It was desperate. It was full of longing. It was sacred. If anyone else could see you right now, eyes closed and holding each other in a tight embrace, they would think you were just a normal couple. The version of you from six months ago would’ve never thought of dreaming of that monotonous normality she couldn’t escape, but now it was your greatest wish: that you and he could walk out of that room alive and well with no worries besides what you were going to have for dinner and how your coffee shop was doing. You felt him freeze up, just like when you saw his eyes for the first time all those weeks ago.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” he whispered. As he turned to sand your arms, you could do nothing but watch and feel him wither away. You fell to your knees in anguish, looking up at Dream and you knew there was nothing you could give that would bring your lover back.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but this was for the best,” the Endless spoke softly, as if trying to protect you from the grief he caused. “He killed many people over the past century that I was gone, and while he had a true reason for doing so, I cannot let him continue lest I fail my duties. Surely you have wondered what he did for a living?”

You didn’t answer, so he continued, “I know this will not fix the pain I have caused you, but I have his memories. I know his love for you was, no, is true. As is yours. You were the one good thing that happened to him in all those years he wandered this world alone, and I thank you for taking care of him.”

Everything faded to black.

-----

In the Dreaming, Lucienne cautiously approached Dream. Unity Kincaid sacrificed her life for her granddaughter, and Rose Walker lived to see another day, now with her brother and her friends who loved her as much as she loved them. The royal librarian, however, could not get over the fact that the Corinthian, of all people, had fallen in love with a human. She then tried to find an answer in the only way she knew how: books, but even that didn’t give her a clear answer. You were an average person.

“My lord, how… how is it possible that the Corinthian found love? I read the story of her life and there’s nothing of significance in there, at least nothing in particular that would draw him to her,” she inquired, exasperated.

“My creations are as much a part of me as I of them, Lucienne. All Nightmares and Dreams have the capacity to feel as I do, perhaps I should’ve seen it coming,” he answered truthfully. “What is most surprising is that when I… unmade him, I saw his memories. I saw his devotion. I saw a lot of myself in him in those moments but unlike me, they may have had a chance at a happy ending if I had not intervened. I do not regret taking him away, I’m only sad to be the reason two lovers were torn apart.”

“Do you intend on remaking him, sir?”

“Yes, but not now, the world does not need him yet.”

“But she needs him. You know she does. And while we can hope for the best and expect her to move on, even without her memories of him, she will feel an emptiness. She has been dreaming, my lord. Of him! She shouldn’t be able to do that!”

“What?”

“You know what this means. It’s not often the Fates let soulmates meet,” Lucienne insisted hopefully. "You can erase him from her mind, but her heart will never forget. God forbid you separate the first bonded soulmates to appear in the last thousand years."

-----

You never thought your life was particularly exciting. You had your hobbies, sure, but all-in-all the days just blended together in a blurb of organized chaos every human on the planet had gone through at some point in their lives. Maybe one thing about you was that you had recurring dreams of blond hair, and woody cologne... and being called different petnames? Maybe it was your dating status screaming at you to get laid. Oh well. Your coffee shop was your rock and business was doing well enough to keep you alive and comfortable in New York. You never expected more.

So when a sharply-dressed man wearing thick black shades and a charming smile waltzed into the shop, you didn’t think much of it. You saw all kinds of people every day, why was he any different? Except he was. You couldn’t help but stare and try to remember where you saw him.

Then he spoke, “Did you miss me, sugar?”

He looked up at you from behind his shades, revealing the most beautiful pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

-----

note (again): hi! you made it to the end. i hope you liked it and the enjoyed the surprise soulmate au at the end. please let me know what you think as i'm considering moving to this blog and perhaps posting more corinthian (or dream)

#the corinthian #the corinthian/reader #the corinthian x reader #the sandman #the sandman spoilers #the sandman fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fic #f!reader #boyd holbrook

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a-very-tired-raven · 10 months

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Okay, since ive been getting a lot of love for my ary lately, id like to give you guys some top ary blogs ive followed for years, that i feel they dont get enough love.

Keep in mind that these are not in order from best to least, just in numbered order to make things easy.

(Another thing! While i may have found the majority of these blogs from undertale content, i need you to understand that a lot of these either dont do undertale art as frequently as they used to, or not at all. So please dont go in expecting that these are all undertale blogs based on MY intrests. Thank you.)

1. @springbon-t-art /@thecoolerspringbon-t has WONDERFUL roundhouse like style, and her fanart and characters range from all over(cuphead and bendy and the ink machine are just two examples, she has so much more unrecognized works and animatics on youtube that i think deserves much more love)

2. @twitchydoodle i havent visted this wonderful blog in a while, but i have followed for a good time(lets just say for a few years lol) so i cant say for sure what art is posted there at this moment, HOWEVER, i CAN say that twitchy has a Breathtaking art style, and has some of the most interesting and fleshed out ocs!!! Definitely check em out!

3. @calcium-cat i know cals been gettin a little bit more attention over the last year or so, but i still think she deserves much more recognition for her art. She has wonderful and thought out fanfics, not to mention the funny and well drawn fanart she posts for them!

4. @glitchysquidd I dont pop in as often as i used to, but glitchy's blog is one ive looked up to for a while. Here you can find very well written fnaf fics and fanart, chill energ(not to mention hilarious shenanigans),and a very unique and distinct artstyle.(seriously broski ive used your art for reference so many time 😭🤚🏽-). I suggest you guys head down to the basement and enjoy the tour.

5. @meatygutsy oh gee where do i even start- this blog has some of the most unique and well thought out ocs i think ive seen in a very long time. The artstyle here and style of coloring and shading is like nothing else. All of the colors pop and go together just right, not to mention the well fleshed out backstorys of each character.

6.@glaucus22 while this blog certainly isnt as active as it used to be, this is yet another artist that ive used as reference for countless times. They have a very distinct artstyle, and put much thought into their characters and their lore. I highly recommend going through the art tags here and taking a peek, along with a reblog or two!!!

7. @ijustwannahavefunn another blog with VERY well thought out and styled ocs, and a to die for artstyle. I also recommend checkjng out their youtube channel, which has VERY smooth animations and animatics. Definitely a hidden gem.

8. @vrnicky is a very good friend of mine that is WAY WAY WAY too unrecognized. They dont get NEARLY enough love for the anount of love and hard work they out into their characters and art. Please show em some love for me!!!

9. @loupy-mongoose is a favorite pokemon ary blog of mine. While you might find mostly mewtwo and mew stuff, please know that this is because of this creators mewtwo comic. You may know what im takling about if you know about similar more popular blogs (@/xxtc-96xx @/mewtwoandme and more ) but what separates this blog from many others is their very very different story, and an artstyle that'll put you at ease. Not to mention unique and well thought out mew and mewtwo designs.

And lastly, for now at least ,10. @whiteartblood an art blog that i havent visted in a couple months. This creator has some of the best undertale art i swear. One of my favorite styles!! A very lovely and instantly recognizable artstyle(that again, i have used for reference...i dont even know how many times), and even better ocs.

Now i know there are so many more blogs that are deserving of recognition, but its late and i cant look up 50 usernames at the moment.

However, while you are not obligated to, I sincerely hope you go show these guys some love(and reblogs!!!!!!!) For me. These guys have been a very big influence on my art, artists ive looked up to for YEARS now, and luckly for me some of them even being friends of mine, which im so very thankful for.

Ill definitely be making another post like this, with more writing inclusion and even more deeply hidden gems that require some digging.

I apologize for any typos that are unfortunately guaranteed as thats kind've what im known for lmao <- has made a fool of herself countless times) and i cant help but feel nervous that these talented people will see them, but know ive done the best ive can.

Thank you, and have a great time everyone!

#jeep.jeep #covencalls

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starksnoirtwo · 2 years

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call it what you want | the corinthian

pairing: the corinthian (sandman)/fem!reader

tags: coffee shop au, hurt/comfort

warnings: mentions of violence, murder, and obsessive behavior (all on behalf of the corinthian), implied sexual content

note: this is very, very self-indulgent and it’s kind of embarrassing. i noticed that not too many people write for this guy compared to morpheus so i’m throwing this out there: a cliché mess that will hopefully satiate your wildest dreams. some parts were inspired by other fics, namely “Bring me a dream” by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere, “Nightmare” by @dyns33, and “Protective” by @bi-bard. please check those fics out if you’re a corinthian lover like me.

also i highly recommend listening to “call it what you want” then “wildest dreams” by the taylor swift while reading!

You never thought your life was particularly exciting. You had your hobbies, sure, but all-in-all the days just blended together in a blurb of organized chaos every human on the planet had gone through at some point in their lives. Your coffee shop was your rock and business was doing well enough to keep you alive and comfortable in New York. You never expected more.

“Hey darlin’,” his voice drawled out, elbow resting on the counter. “Been thinkin’ of trying something new. Any recommendations for me, doll?”

You raised a brow at him and smiled, “Maybe a caramel macchiato? It’s one of our bestsellers.”

He nodded and hummed, seemingly pleased with the suggestion, “Gimme a large.”

“That would be four dollars, please. Oh and… your name, sir?” “Just put… Corinthian.”

“Here’s your order, sir.” He eyed the muffin and shook his head,

“I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house.” The mystery man simply smirked. Then he kept coming back every week.

“Oh! I almost forgot. I made these for you! Sorry, they’re not the prettiest but I think they’re pretty good." You pushed a warm paper bag to his side of the table.

He reached for one cupcake, took a bite, and hummed.

When he turned to look at you, you stared at him, eagerly waiting for his reaction. For his approval. It was an odd feeling.

“So…?” you inquired meekly.

“It’s good,” was all he said.

He could never seem to erase the image of your smile from his mind, even weeks after.

It was raining and one of your employees caught the flu. Polly was a good kid, so you offered to cover her shift for the day. Maybe you could get her some soup after you were done with your work.

"Oh hey cowboy," you greeted cheekily before getting a mop to continue your work. "I thought you weren't gonna come today."

He tilted his head and smiled: a soft smile you rarely saw on him in the two months you've known him, "And what makes you say that?"

"Dunno"—you led him to a seat before you began mopping—"not everyone would bother since there's a storm raging outside."

You could feel him watching you.

"For you, sweetheart? I'd do anything."

"Those are some mighty big words from a guy whose name I don't even know," you giggled.

"Also, are you gonna order something or what? I might close up shop early since I don't think anybody else is coming in."