Tumgik
#northern night fury
sundowncryptid · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Realised I haven’t drawn Sunny in a while so here’s some chonk content :)
She’s a subspecies of Night Fury called Northern Night Furies (species by @//nightfury2001)
167 notes · View notes
nightfury-2001 · 3 months
Text
Had a Chunkful doodle that I never posted that was just sitting in my drawing app - thought it was cute but missing something so I turned it into a low effort storyboard-ish thing......?
Tumblr media
The regular Night Fury is supposed to be Toothless, I imagine that maybe this is a moment from their first or second meeting but idk
28 notes · View notes
vincentsambershades · 7 months
Text
How not to tame a dragon
Cregan Stark x Targ!fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Summary: when Cregan Stark informs his Targaryen bride that she cannot bring her mount with her to Dorne, all hell breaks loose.
(I usually avoid writing since English is not my native language (be warned). I was, however, inspired by some hotd-fics from my favourite creators and wanted to write something fun, about our favourite northern man, mister cregan, which I'm actually pretty proud of. So here it goes.)
Word count: 2.5k-2.6k
Warnings: 18+, angst, smut, fingering, p in v, tiny bit of breeding kink, flufffffff
When Cregan Stark was first presented with the young Targaryen princess he didn't fail to notice the fire that erupted from within her. A fire caused by her close attachment to her dragon. Her Cannibal, albeit frightening, had served the both of them well enough after their wedding. And even though Cregan was hesitant to ride on dragonback, his wife had charmed him in doing so relatively early in their marriage. 
 In spite of how much Cregan admired the beast, as well as the bond between his bride and her mount, there were moments when he wished he hadn't been married to a Dragonrider. 
The princess was used to roaming Westeros with her loyal travel companion. Therefore, when the time had come for the newly wed couple to head to Dorne, in order to manage 'certain financial and commercial matters', as her husband had called them, Cregan prevented her from bringing her beloved dragon along. He insisted that a dragon, despite being a sign of force and power, would create an intimidating environment that would leave no room for impartial negotiation. He was right of course, as always, but the wrath of the dragon was easy to provoke.
"Cannibal is coming with us to Dorne! The cold of the North is no good for him! The heat will soothe him!" she was red in the face and as terrifying as the wild thing she had managed to tame. 
"My love, you know we cannot travel with a dragon to Dorne, bringing your beast along will only serve as provocation which we cannot afford!" said Cregan only fuelling his wife's fury.
"This is outrageous!" she looked almost as if she intended to feed him to the dragon.
No direwolf would ever be able to save him from that fate.
She didn't speak to him for at least two weeks after that. 
Around that time, their journey to Dorne began.
After long hours of travelling, as night was setting, time had come for them to rest and as Cregan helped his men set out camp for the night, his wife was taking a stroll near the frozen river. She was wrapped in more furs than he could count and looked as if she would tumble over from their weight any moment now.
She would appear comical had it not been for that sour expression on her face. 
Separating her from her dragon seemed to toll on her more and more as the days passed. Her denial to exchange more words with him, other than 'Good Morrow' and occasionally 'Good night', didn't seem to improve her mood either. 
It didn't matter to her that she missed him. The princess wanted for her husband to be the first, out of the two, to break. She wanted for him to seek her out, chase her and claim her all over again. 
Cregan needed her too. He had always known that half her heart belonged to her dragon. That was what happened with all Targaryens.
He had come to terms with that.
Yet, there were moments, like this when the mere view of his beautiful wife had him hoping that he owned at least some part of her heart. 
He felt silly. He knew that their marriage was a political arrangement. Her father had established that when the match was made. However, Cregan couldn't help but feel lucky to have found a match in the princess, their chemistry was undeniable and their times together were filled with all the passion other political marriages lacked. There was mutual understanding in their marriage. 
Cregan shook these thoughts and concentrated on the task ahead. So called traders from Dorne had been entering his borders and tormenting villages on his coastlines. Of course, the Lord had tried to diplomatically remove them from his land but when the situation became unbearable and his ambassadors came back empty handed, he knew it was time for a formal visit to the far South. He had been tempted to use his wife's creature in order to intimidate them, but the thought of causing further commotion, when the throne was so vulnerable, prevented him from doing so. For a Stark, Cregan's will to maintain the peace was greater than his thirst for battle. 
Cregan was lost in his thoughts as the men sat around the fire, passing around carafes of ale to warm them during the cold night. It took his companions quite a bit of convincing, but he finally accepted to take a swing. 
"To keep you warm, Lord." insisted the man who was sitting on his right. Cregan took the carafe, offering the man a grateful smile, and drank generously. 
Instead of downing more, he wrapped his coat tighter around him and relaxed while watching the flames. Cregan managed to lose himself in the moment. He didn't know what it was, the easy atmosphere or his companions' laughter, but something warm bloomed in his chest. How he had missed travelling. Roaming the North with his friends as the moonlight illuminated them.
It felt even better this time. Because in this particular occasion, he had her to share it with. His stubborn little wife. His fierce dragon rider.
And that was when it hit him.
Cregan realised he hadn't seen her in more than an hour. The last time his eyes had fallen on her, she was wandering around, kicking the snow with her feet. He didn't think she had headed for the woods, he knew she wasn't that careless. Before they began their journey he had, after all, made sure to inform her of all the dangers they might come across, wolves, bears and other animals humans shouldn't meddle with. Therefore, she had to be in their shared tent. 
"What is it Lord?" the man turned to him again. Cregan attempted to hide the worry off his voice. 
"Have you seen my Lady around?" 
"I fear I haven't, Lord, she must be resting." offered the man with a toothy grin that did nothing to ease Cregan's worry. 
Cregan rose to his feet swiftly, turning on his heels and heading to the tent where he found nothing but an untouched bed and a trunk he himself had placed there. He exited the narrow space, searching for any sign of his wife. His vision, despite being acute, served him little in the moment and the full moon, albeit helpful, didn't shine enough light upon the heavy snow. His mind ran several miles an hour, considering all the possible paths the princess could've taken. He began his search without being in control of where his feet took him until he reached the river. He looked for footprints but found none. Even if she had taken that route, the fresh snow would've covered her tracks.
His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a crack on the ice that had gathered at the edges of the river. The sound of the rapture was followed by a splash in the cold water and a womanly scream, one that undoubtedly belonged to his wife.
He followed the direction of the sound only to be met with the sight of the princess' attempt at defying the coldness of the river and swimming to the surface. Without second thought, Cregan rid himself of his fur coat, keeping on his less warm leather attire. He placed the heavy coat to the side and got in the freezing water aiming for his wife. She was easy to identify, even in the dim moonlight, and so he reached for her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her out, letting her limp body rest against the snow covered ground but only long enough for him to pull his dry furs on top of her soaked ones. After she was securely wrapped in them, he carried her unconscious back to the untouched bed he had prepared for her. 
"You stupid girl..." he scolded her while peeling her clothes off and leaving them near the fire to dry. Despite being close to the fire and covered in all the blankets Cregan could find, she was still shivering. "The blood of the dragon is not enough to keep you warm after all..." she had awakened during this time and was aware of everything he threw at her. 
Had she been in her senses, she would've jumped at him for daring to question the fire in her veins. But she was weak and defeated as she watched him pull his own clothes off. 
He knew there was only one way to warm her up fast and that was body heat. And no matter how mad she had been at him for the past two weeks, she couldn't help but feel grateful as he covered himself in the blankets and pulled her to him. His arms found their place around her waist and she buried her face in the crook of his neck inhaling the manly scent of him. He started running his fingers up her back, all the way to her damp hair, and down again, just above her rear. He grabbed her thigh, hiking her leg over his hip and drawing her closer. His fingers found her front and caressed the skin below her bellybutton, tentatively delving lower. She heaved a sigh, her now hot breath hitting his neck as he let his urges overtake him. 
His hand found its place between her thighs. She was warm there. Warm and soft. He dipped his fingers in her delicate folds, finding her oversensitive bud and circling it. They hadn't coupled in a while and his desire for her was driving him crazy.  
"Cr-Cregan..." she whimpered and for a moment he thought she was hesitant. That thought, however, didn't plague him for long. When he pulled away to look at her face, to search for a negative reaction, he saw her pouty lips regaining their colour and her eyes reddened with unshed tears and clouded with want, pleading for him to finally touch her. 
"Please, please, please-" as much as he usually enjoyed her begging him to take her, he was quick to stop her whimpering by capturing her lips in a kiss. His lips felt hot against hers and as he replaced his index finger with his thumb on her pearl, reaching lower and teasing her entrance, she gasped offering him the perfect chance to deepen the kiss. His fingers felt heavenly inside her, pumping in and out of her always hitting the rough spot that Cregan knew made her see stars. 
Even with his fingers inside her and his length, brushing against her lower stomach, the kiss was his personal way of reclaiming her, swallowing her whole. 
She reached her smaller hand between their bodies, taking him in her hand and stroking him as he sat hot and heavy in her palm. 
She pulled away and her slack expression, lust filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips could have made him peak at that instant. 
"I want you inside of me, now." she stated and how could he refuse her. Especially when she looked so eager, practically begging him to fill her. 
He was quick to pull his fingers out of her, leaving her with an empty feeling. She didn't complain though, not when the sight of him getting on top of her and settling between her thighs had rendered her speechless.
He lowered his hips, reaching between his legs to tease her with his tip before entering her in one forceful thrust. She let out a yelp and choked out a moan.
The feeling of him long and thick, stretching her out after weeks of refusing him couldn't compare to anything. 
Except, perhaps, for the feeling of her, wet and warm and tight, around her husband. Cregan swore there was no other woman besides his wife that felt so perfect. 
Her tears, from how intense their lovemaking was, had Cregan remembering their first time together, right after their wedding feast when he had her lay on silk sheets, broken her maidenhead and molded her to him. 
"Cregan I need to-need to-" she tried to say while Cregan delivered licks and bites to the sensitive skin of her neck. 
"What do you need, my girl?" he thrust in her hard and fast, the way she liked it as his lips landed on her breast, sucking lovemarks and taking her nipple in his mouth, making her moan loud enough for everyone around to hear. 
"I n-need to peak, please!" she managed and who was he to deny her wishes. He led his fingers to her pearl, rubbing it while hitting her sweet spot. 
"Suck a good girl for me, begging me for her peak. Do it, I want to feel you come apart on my cock" he commanded her and not long after that her climax hit her. She held onto him, her nails digging into his biceps as he kept his unrelenting pace. His murmurs of 'that's it' and 'good girl' were muffled by her hair. Endless mantras of his name left her lips as she rode out her orgasm, her hips moving involuntarily against his own. 
"Do you want me to spill in you, uh, my love?" he asked almost mockingly as his thrusts grew uneven, a sign he was close.
"Sp-spill in me Cregan!" she yelped as he continued to abuse her insides. Her husband groaned at her lustful pleas, grabbing her face and forcing her to look him in the eye.
"I will, sweet girl. I will spill in you, make you round with my pup. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Cregan came apart with a satisfied moan, his warmth filling her and then running down her thighs as he grew soft and pulled out.
He didn't leave her side after that. He laid beside her, instead of on top of her, and pulled her to him. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain her breath and Cregan placed reassuring kisses to her forehead.
After a few moments of utter silence, he heard her sniffle and mutter something against his throat. He soon came to realise she was apologizing. He gave her a questioning look, wondering what she had to apologize for.
"I'm sorry for avoiding you for two weeks, it was stupid and immature of me and I'm so so-" he silenced her with a kiss to which she responded quickly.
"You have nothing to apologise for." Her expression was hopeful. "I understand what it is like to be parted from something or someone you've truly set your heart to. That's what staying away from you felt like" she gave him a nod before letting his words truly set in. Her confusion painted her face a scarlet red and her anticipation was later imprinted in her voice.
"What are you saying?" she questioned and he sighed softly, cupping her cheek and wholly giving into her.
"I love you infinitely, my fierce dragon princess. And you needn't say it back. Not unless it's your truth." a weak smile formed on her lips.
"I love you too, have loved since I married you, before that even." her cries ceased. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, inviting him to her. "I love you my wild man from the North, my wolf." he laughed at that, an honest heartfelt laugh, the vibrations of which she felt against her own chest, and proceeded to kiss her.
Cregan kissed his dragon princess like his life depended on it.
692 notes · View notes
lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months
Note
Pretty plz can we get dom!aegon wedding night breeding smut. They r definitely not attending breakfast (or lunch) the nxt day and no one can look them in the eye. Thx & love u
apologies for the wait nonnie, hope you enjoy this x
Union of the Dragon & the Wolf.
PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Stark!Reader
WORDS: 4,764.
WARNINGS: dom!Aegon, swearing, breeding kink to the maxxxx, mentions of dub-con.
A/N - please I keep getting carried away in the plot, and I rushed the ending a little with some time jumps, but I fully support and am in love with dom Aeg. he can dick me down anyday idc.
Tumblr media
Historically and in the lifetimes that would follow, unions had been forged between a man and woman, since the dawn of time. For a plethora of reasons, destined or compelled, such unions were established regardless of circumstance or consequence... For the most part, such marriages had been strategically arranged accordingly, the greed or pride of families whom endlessly sought political, financial, or hierarchical means, with the intention to gain some precedence, was unfavourably common. However for some rather fortunate souls, although in rarity, love would quintessentially blossom.
And yet, the latter could not yet be said upon your circumstance..
"Brother- brother, please-"
Hastily sprinting towards him, your meek body blocking his taller, cloaked mass from exiting the familiar door to your private chambers, latching yourself firmly onto his arm. You refused to dismiss nor allow him leave so suddenly without even an attempt to refute. Taking a stand against the laws of men.
“Please, I beg before you brother, before the merciful eyes of the Old Gods, d-do not ask this of me. I have done and will do anything you ask of me, anything except this.”
A mere, defeated sigh escapes your elder brother's agape mouth, bested against your pleas. There was no point in quarrelling with you, you'd presumed as he remained still in a neutral, stoic state. You’d never witnessed your elder brother bested: whatever the words that had been so methodically exchanged in King’s Landing, you would remain oblivious to, and yet it was your life that was destined to change.
"I-I am truly sorry, my sweet sister... We ride at the crack of dawn in the morrow, get some rest."
"Cregan!" You helplessly call out, although your arms with a mind of their own loosen their grip, as the older brunette flees your side. A haste betrothal in the midst, your King husband-to be awaits for your gracious hand...
****
The journey was tiresome and gruelling, yet the moment you'd stepped foot in King's Landing, the arrangements had been swift and thoughtless.
And as infuriated as Cregan had become, huffing and puffing as he disembarked from his trusted stead to your side. Failing to be discrete with his annoyance of the King's absence, you whisper calmly as to yield his fury, in return he reassuringly holds your smaller hand in his, aiding you out of the carriage. Your Northern party had been welcomed and greeted by the Dowager Queen, herself, and his royal Grandsire, the Hand, and a few other golden cloaks of the Kingsguard. No King in sight before you, your deviant, wandering eyes, having mindlessly grown deaf to the conversation at hand, you kept yourself busy, gazing over the strange, concrete monuments that would eventually bound to become your new "home". As your curious eyes scanned the stony scenery, it was only when you backtracked, catching a faint glimpse of someone, intently peering down from an above watchtower window: some man you could only make out, with the peculiar, moonlight tinged hair. Uncertain if it was Aegon himself, there was no crown bestowed on the stranger's head, not that you could definitively decipher from such a great distance, and yet with great certainty you knew they belonged to someone with the blood of Old Valyria coursing through their veins...
Much to your favour once more, the unsettling tension that had been churning in the pit of your stomach throughout the wearisome ride, had finally resided. Allowing yourself to breathe whatever 'fresh' air the city had to offer: unlike the crisp, chill air you'd grown to admire of the North, this foreign place held a pungent, damp smell you could only fathom time would ease your distaste for it. This had been your first venture to King's Landing, only having heard of its reputation, your expectations were not grand however, and based on the reason for your visit, you felt an even deeper reluctance to be here. You did not wish to see him so soon, hopeful in buying any ounce of precious time to acclimate to the changes, at the very least...
****
Not a single person had asked for your input in the elaborate plans for your wedding, for all the details had been discussed and devised accordingly, before your anticipated arrival. Including your wedding gown: it was beautiful needless to say, immediately catching your eye as you'd been led to enter the compartment of your private, royal chamber. [Separate from Aegon for the night undoubtedly, as Alicent decreed in tradition of the Seven.] Adorned with brilliant, clear crystals from what you could only presume had been sourced from far away lands, the fine details of the profiles of a dragon sigil and that of your own house, entwined artistically together on the bust of the gown, embodying the royal union to follow. Despite the vanquished feeling that swallowed you whole since departing home, there was relief in not having to shed a single thought in such plans. You had much doubt that Aegon had taken part in such arrangements either, for his reputation much like his Kingdom, was notorious.
The young King although struck with sorrow of the great losses incurred during the war between himself and his past elder sister, Rhaenyra Targaryen, for the rightful claim to the throne, he had mounted victorious, nonetheless. And although the North had initially and solemnly declared to side with the elder Princess, it seemed whatever transgressions had been spoken and seemingly forgiven between Cregan and Aegon, you, the younger sister of a former traitor house, was chosen fit to be Queen, by the King himself. And although Cregan was adamant that you remain home governing and supporting those left behind in the North during the war, you'd heard from the honest mouths of returning Northmen soldiers of exploits of the battles. Earnestly you would listen to the drunk and somber whispers that the King was left charred and scarred, wounded from active battle, yet had miraculously survived to return to his throne. Some had exaggerated their words, exclaiming that the King was left brutally disfigured, that only the copious supply of whores he had sought and so generously paid, would bid him a night full of pleasure, since his sister-wife has passed.
Lonesomely left to ponder over endless, fretful thoughts, of how this union came to be and what would become of it, you felt that perhaps there were some potential grounds that Aegon and yourself were not so unalike. Both stricken with the concept of grief, perhaps something could be salvaged of this ransom union.
****
After a slight quarrel with your elder brother, begging to be excused from the dinner tonight, Dowager Queen Alicent, surprisingly had granted you leave. You did not refute her dismissal, nor did Cregan wish to contend with her. She knew the strains such arrangements could bear it seemed, although guaranteed you "commit to the bedding ceremony thoroughly."
"My eldest and only living son, he requires an heir. Jaehaera, although his blood, is much to timid and grief stricken, let alone, a girl... It would not be wise for her to be heir, Aegon knows this. Prove yourself to be a good wife, and bear him many children, preferably sons, if the Gods are good."
Her final, daunting words, leaving you no seconds to spare to muster a response: although regardless, no words came to your mind. Perhaps the weight of the crown, needed to be dispersed, and Aegon deemed you fit to sovereign with him. Nonetheless, the expectations from the Crown and his council of you were made clear. Children, heirs... That was all that was required of you in principal. That familiar, perturbed feeling began to toss and churn in your stomach once more, gaining little sleep before the monumental day.
****
The preparation, carriage ride and the haunting walk down the aisle leading into the decorative, grand Dragonpit, upon the watchful, eager eyes of the realm, was nothing but a blur. Your disconsolate eyes remained fixated, anxiously fleeting between the cheerful crowd and the guarded path before you, you did not sight your awaiting husband before you. Attentively watching you from the podium above, as he did the day you had arrived [or so you had convinced yourself it was him to be]. Your mind solely occupied with controlling your breath and its pace, soothing the pounding beat of your thudding heart, you swore would at any moment it would simply tear through your chest, ending it all right then and there. Although, the feelings had ceased to numbness, the moment you'd reached the stony steps to the stage. A black gloved hand stretched over towards you from above, signalling you to take, which you instinctively took, unaware of whose hand you held. Careful of each step, it was only when you'd come to a sudden halt beside the King himself, that you'd noticed Aegon moment Aegon unveiled your face to his. For a few moments his stunning, lilac eyes remained transfixed onto your own. Your breath hitched in your throat, as you took in his face: as you'd suspected the words of your fellow banner-men were greatly false. The King, although, his stern face partially scarred, burns somewhat healed, he remained handsome nonetheless, and looking upon you, you'd momentarily noticed his gaze soften before your eyes flashed to the ground before you. Feeling your cheeks grow scarlet, and a flustering heat trailing through you, you felt clueless as to why.
Sacred vows had been said and made, your hands binded by a precious cloth of the faith, signatures signed on lawful papers, and finally, custom rings exchanged sealed with a simple yet passionate kiss: Aegon did not protest against the proceedings of the ceremony, and nor did you find yourself tempted to run either.
Although, he recited deeply and firmly of said vows, no words had been exchanged between either of you, on the return carriage to the castle, nor during the feast. Sat meekly beside your newly appointed husband, you remained quiet as did Aegon, unless his fellow guests and subjects approach to wish the King and his new wife well wishes. Most of the time, Aegon occupied his mouth with swirls of wine and ale, and the platefuls served to him. With your elder brother by your opposing side, with whom you refused to engage in conversation with throughout the entirety of the day.
Look at the position he had forced you into, how hopeless you had become, and how they belittled you. Was Cregan so blind to the intentions of such a brutal institution, or was he simply being cowardice for his past grievances?
Regardless, the plans that had been lucratively discussed were now executed accordingly, and the thing you'd been dreading the most was finally upon you. Alicent had granted you approval to leave once more, planting a tender kiss on your forehead, bidding you farewell and "best wishes."
"Do us proud, and please... Make it easier for yourself and do as you are told, dearest. If anything I've learnt in my years or wished to have been told, is the only man you need to sate is that of your husband. No one else matters."
Chaperoned with a few, entrusted maids, and Cregan himself, you reluctantly turn to look back at Aegon, who still remained seated at the dining table. Much to your astonishment, however, you'd been met with his own stern pair of eyes, fixated on you solely once more, you could've sworn, you'd caught a haste glimpse of a slight smirk strewn across his face. That unsettling feeling grew more intense by the thought, had he found this amusing? Only the Gods, would know what ill thoughts and intentions he had with you for the night, yet you would soon find out.
****
Swiftly changed out of your wedding garments, and into a white silk bedding gown instead, you were left in an unfamiliar room, grander than the one you'd previously slept in. Aegon's you'd presumed.
A sudden, booming knock on the door had startled you with fright, although followed by the familiar tone of Cregan's voice, naturally you felt a warm reassurance wash over you, placing a robe over you in modesty, before opening the door to his friendly, lean face.
"My dearest sister, I did not wish to interrupt you-"
"Have you come to save me from this wretched night then?"
You firmly interrupt, although you teased, Cregan could not bear to look at you, defeatedly turning his guilty gaze towards his shuffling feet.
"I-I had yet to apologise, Y/N. F-for all of this. I truly am sorry, little sister but I-I had no choice. H-He would've sent us all to the Wall, or worse to death, and you-you would've been all alone-"
"Cregan, it is alright. I-I may struggle to understand it now, but I know you did what was best for us. You always do."
No other words had been exchanged, except for a nod and a final goodbye for the night. Like the Queen before you, Cregan planted a final, loving kiss to your forehead, before bidding you well. He knew what was to come, what was expected between a man and woman on the night of their union, and he refused to venture. Closing the door before him, you were left once more alone, the muffled music of the feast beyond the bedroom walls could be heard, and the congenial celebrations of the rest of the realm below the castle walls echoed across.
It seemed everyone was pleased with this union, expect yourself... And Aegon, perhaps. That you had yet to decipher. Enraptured in your deep thoughts, you had not realised Aegon's entrance into the room, before the sound of the wooden door closing once more, jolted you back to reality, snapping towards his direction. The room had been romantically set, candles spread and lit across the room, with an open fire stoking at the fire pit to provide some warmth in the chill night air. A slight, cool breeze blew from the window, blowing the satin, white fabric against the curves of your body.
"Lay on the bed."
The silence was tense, although cut with his command, Alicent's words echoed in your mind relentlessly, however your body moved and did as it was told. Aegon remained at some distance, heading to a table where a flagon [full of more arbour wine as you suspected] and cup was placed prior to his arrival and yours.
"So did my dearly beloved mother tell you what to expect? What is to be expected of you?"
"Y-Yes."
"Hmm, I am, however, curious as to hear your thoughts. Truthfully or else, what do you think of our arrangement?"
Caught by surprise to his direct enquiry, you felt perplexed as to whether he was seeking to relish in amusement of taunting your vulnerable position, or simply seeking some vain type of validation only a King could provoke.
"I-I confess I was taken aback by your choice in me, my King. For there are plenty of other maidens in the realm. However if this is the King's command, then House Stark remains loyal to the word of their sovereign."
"I said the truth, Y/N. Mayhaps, you should, however, lecture your older brother about loyalty to the rightful sovereign, next time one dares to usurp me."
A painful gulp tore through your throat, quivering to his words. You shouldn't have responded that way, Cregan would be livid if he had heard Aegon's stinging words.
"Forgive me, my King. I did not mean to antagonise you. I-I simply have just been struggling to come to terms with your choice in me a-as y-your-"
The final word was a tough one to say aloud, and yet the final ounce of courage you had left, you'd managed to blurt it out.
"... Wife."
"Hmm, wife."
He tauntingly mimics, granting himself a deep, low chuckle, as he carefully poured himself a cup of the liquor that filled the flagon, skulling it before forcefully placing it back down against the hard, wooden surface.
Despite his continuous drinking during the night, Aegon seemed sober and sharp-witted.
"Steadfast, my liege council kept pestering me to wed, for I apparently require more heirs. Your brother, although his past transgressions would prove him disloyal, I had heard that the wolf himself, of having a pup sister... The Baratheon girls, although plentiful are far too eager, and ugly. Those in the Vale, said to have amazing tits, often I find are far too disciplined and boring for my liking...But now the Northern girls, I've heard... Can be fierce and yet-"
Finally, turning to face you directly, you remained steadily quiet, your grip on the bedsheets tightened in anticipation, for his mouth remained agape almost as though a word lingered on his plump lips.
"Beautiful."
Again, a scarlet blush flustered across your softened face, and you felt yourself yearning for more, tender words from him.
"Alas, I took my chances."
Aegon heartedly exclaimed, before unbuttoning his garments, losing his gaze once more, you felt a desire for him to simply look at you. You felt somewhat ashamed of this sudden lust you'd begin to sense in these intimate moments, and could not bring yourself to discourage such emotions.
"Spread your legs."
As obedient as a septa in the making, you obeyed. The gown remained hovering in between your thighs, modestly covering your bare entrance. Aegon now completely shirtless, his pants unbuttoned yet remained on. He had this menacingly hungry look in his eye, an appetite that the feast it seemed, did not quash, as it lingered between your thighs. Licking his lips, he slowly crawled atop, one arm stretching beside your hip, whereas the other began to lift the garment above, exposing your naked cunt [the maids had not provided you to wear any undergarments beneath, as per the Dowager Queen's orders].
"Already wet for me, my wife. Deny it all you want, although it seems you are not entirely against this unity, after all."
Your breaths now shaky, as his fingers lightly traced over your folds. A natural tease he was, it seemed. Your eyes nervously flicking from his hand beneath to his hardened face, you could just make out the outlines of faded burn marks saturated across the left side of his face. You felt an ounce of pity favouring towards him, as you knew these were remnants of the war that would forever remain with him, a constant, agonising reminder of what he had endured.
He noticed you glaring, although did not question it as you fixed your gaze directly unto his eyes: now growing a sense of familiarity to those lilac orbs.
"A good wife you will be. Dutiful, you will do as I say, when I ask of you. I need not to remind you I am your husband, but foremost I am your King. Disobey me and I will see fit to punish you... Accordingly."
Just as you were about to address your Grace in humble agreement, Aegon impatiently shoved two thick, long digits roughly into your folds. Causing you to jolt upright, earning a loud, sensual moan to harshly escape your lips. Pumping his hand in slow, sloppy motions, before gaining some speed to his pace, your head remained lunged back, as your back arched, your pelvis slightly thrusting forward, yearning for more.
"Look at you, look at how you clench and ache at my fingers. Hells, I can feel you throbbing-"
He deeply chuckles in between, a growling sound: you could feel the burning gaze of his eyes prowling on you, as though you were the fresh prey captured by the eager predator. Dragons no doubt would feast on the likes of wolves. Mesmerised by the sight before him, seeing you helplessly squirm and breathless, vulnerable to his touch. You'd never been with a man like this before, hoping to save yourself for the one, and it seemed, like his historical ancestors, Aegon had conquered that too.
"The Gods have finally granted me favourable, securing me a wife I know will take me well. Will take my seed and give me as many heirs as necessary."
"A-Aeg. My-My King-"
His pudgy fingers stretching and encircling your folds, grazing over your clit, attempting to assert some pressure to your sides as if to 'open' you up. Feeling your wetness pool all across, lathering his fingers and clenched fist, you felt bashful, for he knew his way around a woman's body, your body, more than you did your own. Back in Winterfell, in the privacy of your confinements, you had occasionally exerted some pleasures unto yourself, although frightened or lazy to finish, you could not say. It was not at all the same to this precise moment, however.
"Fuck, when you call me that. I am certain you were destined for me, my sweet, sweet pup. I heard Stark women bear children well. To see you swell with my child in a few months time, Gods be good, I'll fuck another one in you as soon as you birth the first."
Although you rocked gently back and forth mindlessly, muffled moans escaping your tender lips, you were attentive to his words. There was truth to his words, however: Stark women were notorious amongst the realm to bear and carry children to full term, birthing healthy, thriving babes.
"Argh-I will waste no more needless time-"
Aegon hastily removing his soaked fingers away from your clenching walls, shoved his larger mass between your thighs, adjusting himself at your entrance, as he unbuckled his pants down. For the few spare seconds granted that you regained full consciousness, you managed to sneak a glimpse of his member, and you anticipated that it would hurt: as you'd been informed it always would the first time.
"Is the whore ready?"
He teasingly growled, his cock just etching and gliding over your moist entrance. You could feel his hardness, how rigid it felt against your soft, sensitive skin, as he toyed with your cunt. He felt big to say the least, feeling his pulsating veins across his cock, the tip beginning to push in.
"Be a good wife and scream for me. I want to see you beg for me, for my cock."
Without notice as before, Aegon hastily shoved his cock deep into your cunt, burying his hard mass into you, adjusting and asserting himself into a more comfortable position before he began to slowly pace his thrusts. Just as he earnestly wished, you painfully yelled out his name in the dead of the night, hopeful your cries remained mute to whomever stood guard outside [yet you doubt it would]. Aegon himself let out a breathless "fuck" and low groans, feeling your tight walls tensing against his cock, as he continued to stretch you out even more. He knew you a virgin, no doubt, for you began to bled onto the clean, white sheets below. The deed done and consummated, it was now only a matter of time that he would spill his seed inside.
"F-Fuck, Y/N. Gods you feel so tight for me. Suffocating my cock, you needy little thing. Are you that desperate for me to fuck a child into you, little one?"
Aegon now laid atop of you, breathless, huffing and puffing in between each sloppy attempt of a thrust, feeling his hot, alcohol scented breath on your dampened skin. His plump lips hovered above the crook of your neck, only to gently lap at your skin, suckling on the concoction of sweet, floral fragrances you'd dabbed yourself with and sweat your body naturally exude. His teeth often bit at the soft flesh, certain he'd left tender, red bite marks and bruises in the morrow to come.
"Your pretty little cunt was made just for me. You will definitely take my dragon seed well, no doubt. Fuck-"
His cock remained still deeply buried inside, you'd tried to spread your legs out even more, yet, the painful, striking feeling remained coursing through your body. Aegon's arms rested against each side of your body, lifting himself up, onto his knees, lifting you from the hips up with him as he rested you on his lap, he eagerly ripped the sheer, light fabric off you. Exposing your tender, bouncy breasts the cool night air striking your skin, caused your nipples to react viscerally perking them right.
"And these- These will swell greatly and pour tremendously with sweet, sweet milk, for the babe and perhaps some for me. Seven Hells, Stark, you were fit to be a mother of heirs."
"T-Tell me more, my King. Tell me how bad you want it. Ask and I shall give you a whole litter of pups and dragons."
His eager mouth now nibbled at the flesh of your tender, soft breast, the other free hand flicking at your sensitive nipple, causing you to arch your spine instinctively, pushing your chest further against his head. Endless moans escaped your sinful mouth, words and swears, pleaing for Aegon, begging for more.
"Careful wife, I'll take your word for it. I will fuck you from this night and all the nights to come, until I see your stomach grow lavishly with my child. Even then, I shall fuck you s'more."
Now handled and positioned atop of his lap, Aegon's sturdy, strong arms supporting your back, one firmly gripping the back of your neck, he began to pound you once more from beneath. Your body jolting and bobbing viciously up and down, as he finally spilled his thick, warm load inside of you, feeling the endless pour coating your walls all over. His pulsating bulge inside, you could feel growing tenser in the pit of your stomach, certain it could be seen and felt from the outside.
"Fuck Y/N-"
Earning a craven, mindless moan of his name, Aegon laid you back, promptly propping a large pillow beneath your bottom and hips, as he kept your legs elevated.
"This-This will help. Stay there-"
He breathlessly encouraged, as he stood himself off the bed, heading to the water basin, as he ringed a wet cloth, washing away the hard earned work of sweat.
Ringing it once more, he walked back over towards you, seating himself down by your side, as he gently tapped the dampened cloth, wiping away the sweat beads across your forehead. Lustfully watching over you, his eyes lingered towards your stomach, placing a gentle hand over the swell where his cock was buried itself, a faint half-hearted smiled glowed across his handsome, ruggard face.
"Our babe shall grow cosily inside, I am certain. I have made a right choice in making you my wife, sweet pup."
****
The following, bright mane, Aegon and yourself remained retired in bed. Not wishing to be disturbed after the endless amounts of fucking that followed the first. There was a dull ache between your thighs, although Aegon was intent on impregnanting you with his rightful child. Eventually, you were determined also.
Although, his Mother was eager to examine the sheets, you'd both had grown hungry and weak, eager for nourishment, intending to attend a luncheon together. She ceased the opportunity and welcomed herself in, once you'd both been bathed and dressed accordingly.
Much to her satisfaction, the entire bed was a wreck.
****
The Gods had been good, working again in Aegon's favour and true to his word, you began to swell immensely with child in the short coming months to follow. In the initial stages of the consummation you prayed to the Old and the New Gods, hopeful they'd bless you to be a fruitful wife, and not long after, you'd began to show the common signs of being with child. Even Aegon had taken to notice how swollen and sensitive your breasts had become to his touch, let alone your appetite was crazed.
He became even more possessive of you and his unborn child, yet you relished in his unrelenting attention.
****
A beautiful, baby boy was born in due time: kicking like a goat and much larger in size than most babes. He shared the uncanny dark, black hair that resembled most Starks, however, also earned his father's genes, having been blessed with his own set of brilliant Valyrian, violet eyes. Your son was deemed the perfect fit to be Aegon's future heir by the realm, and was loved dearly.
Aegon did not think such joy existed after the torment and gruelling war he had endured just a year ago, yet he thanked you day and night simply for your mere existence in his.
general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand
Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @bucknastysbabe
978 notes · View notes
Text
A Broken Nose
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Female!Reader
Warning: mention of pregnancy and I think that's it.
Summary: Aemond and Y/N's son has an accident playing with other kids.
Notes: English is not my first language.
Tumblr media
Y/N heard in the distance the steps of her husband more hasty than usual. As soon as he entered the room, the anger that boiled in his chest would be unleashed. Y/N knew she could calm Aemond, but when it came to his little dragon, there was no way of that happening.  
She wanted to break the nose of all the children in that yard, but she preferred to give comfort and support to her son, Aenar, before seeing heads roll. Her husband would give her the heads she wanted. 
Despite being aware that her husband would enter any second through the door, she still jumped a little at the roar. The Maester did not flinch; he was focused on Aenar’s suture. 
They were visiting the North to solidify their alliance. In theory, Aegon had to have made this visit, but due to his lack of responsibility, his mother and grandsire had decided that Aemond was the one who would have to solidify that alliance. 
Aemond didn't want to leave his family for so long. Travelling alone with Vhagar was much faster, but he decided to spend some time away from the capital with his family. Also, Y/N’s curiosity to visit the North.
He never thought his son would be hurt. 
-What happened? - he knelt next to Aenar. The little cub let go of his mother’s hand to squeeze his father’s. 
-Apparently, the northern children play rough. - Aemond sought to use a calm tone to keep Aenar calm. Y/N settled on the other side to hold his other hand.
They both smiled at their son. Aenar didn't have serious injuries, just a cut on his forehead and a broken nose. The healings did not take long, and the Maester left the room they had in Winterfell. They called one of the maids who accompanied them on the journey, so Aenar could take a hot bath. 
-In a moment, I will be with you, my little lion - Y/N squatted down. He did not look in pain. 
-Mother, I am a dragon - he chuckled. 
-Don't tell your father, but you are my little lion and more with that cute nose of yours - she told him as she took his little face in her hands and joined their foreheads. 
It was a little joke between Y/N and Aemond since she was pregnant. Will it be a dragon or a lion? Physically there was no doubt; he was a Targaryen, but Y/N saw so many qualities of Aemond in Aenar, and Aemond saw all that he loved about Y/N in his son. 
It could be considered a draw. Aenar was the perfect mix of his parents, apart from the physical, although he possessed Y/N’s smile. 
Aemond came over to give him a slight squeeze on the cheek and smile at him. The boy came out with the maid closing the door. 
-What happened? - his voice was filled with fury. 
-They were playing with wooden swords, and everything got out of control. It seems that the children of the North do not play to fight but fight. Aenar told me that Rickon stumbled, and with the handle of the sword, he hit him in the nose and, with the broken point of the sword opened his forehead. It was genuinely an accident. The children ran for help when they saw blood. - Her husband stared at her and was elated. Y/N was sure he remembered the night he lost his eye. 
-Have they apologized? - he asked in a dangerous tone. 
-More than once, both the children and Lady Stark. - Y/N approached her husband to cup his face just like her son a few minutes ago. 
-Aemond, I know you want heads to roll, and so do I. Whether it was an accident or not, our little cub was hurt, but it was an accident, my love. - her husband began to relax under her touch. 
-What heads do you want rolling?
-Those of the North, I don’t understand why children play so rough. 
- I can give you Winterfell if you ask me.- Y/N knew that Aemond wasn’t playing. 
-As much as I would love that it won’t be necessary, my love. It was an accident. - both stayed a few seconds in silence 
- If Aenar doesn’t get an apology from Cregan, I want his head. - she confessed. Aemond nodded as he hugged his wife. 
-I don’t expect that either. 
During dinner, Cregan Stark not only apologized publicly but offered one of his horses to Aenar. Cregan was not a fool. He knew that Aemond not only expected but would demand an apology. He also knew he could no longer increase the rivalry between the Lannisters and the Starks. 
-I know it’s not the same as having a dragon, but Northern horses are the best horses you can find in the Seven Kingdoms.- Aemond and Y/N thanked the Starks for their gesture and goodwill. 
Before going to sleep, Aemond went to Aenar’s room. He checked that his son was not cold. He sat on the bed next to him and tucked him into the bed.  
-Mother won’t be able to tell me I’m a lion, now I’m going to look more like you with my scar.- he said. Aemond smiled a little. 
-Do you want to look like me?
-Yes! You ride Vhagar, and you're the best swordsman of all the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.- Aemond was moved by his son’s words. He never wanted to be like his father. He could even say that he never had one. Aemond hugged Aenar and kissed his head. He couldn’t let his son go through what he did. 
-Well, you’re always going to be a dragon, as much as a lion. The important thing is that you know when it’s time to be a lion and when to be a dragon. 
-When would it be best to be a lion? 
-Your mother always knows what to say and ...
-She gives the best hugs.- Aenar interrupted with enthusiasm. 
-You don’t like my hugs? - Aemond smiled and hugged him trying to prove a point he knew was lost. He knew very well the sweet touch his wife had.
-Yes, but mother sings to me and strokes my hair. 
-I know, my little dragon. Time to sleep. - Aemond accommodated his son in bed and went to sit by the fireplace. 
He was fine, he thought. 
Y/N entered his son's chambers. She discovered her husband was lost in his thoughts. 
Y/N stands beside her husband as she stroke his hair and holds his hand. 
-Everything is fine. He is fine. - she reassured. 
-I know how it feels when your father not only doesn’t defend you but blames you for an accident. I can’t let him have this grudge I have against my father. - he paused for seconds.- I’d rather have known he hated me than ignore me. He let him hurt his son and did nothing. I was only the second child of the second marriage. It doesn’t matter what I did; it was never enough. 
Y/N knew Aemond’s contempt for his father. No matter what Aemond achieved, Visery never cared. The only thing Aemond could do to gain his attention was to insult Rhaynera or his bastards. 
-His only child was Rhaynera. Even though she left him and we were there the whole time. - Y/N kissed his hand and squatted in front of him. 
-Aemond, your father got sick when you were very young; we’ll never know what kind of father he would have been if he had been healthy. - with her free hand, she caressed his face. - But you don’t need to be her, and I hate your father for making you feel inferior. The father you are does not reflect anything that was yours. Aenar adores you. You were willing to burn Winterfell for him. 
-I’d do anything for him and you. 
-We know. 
-I don’t know if he knows 
-Of course, he knows. When he arrived after the accident, he asked for you. When I told him I had already sent you, he relaxed, he knew his father was coming and everything was going to be fine. - Aemond guided her to sit on his lap. 
-I’d burn the Seven Kingdoms for you.
-We know.- she gave him a sweet kiss.  
Before leaving for their room in Winterfell, they gave the last glimpse of the night to Aenar. Aemond hugged his wife from behind. Y/N led her hands to her belly. 
-We should give him a brother.- Aemond smiled.
-A great idea, my lioness. - he caressed her belly. He remembered four years ago when Aenor was safe from any danger in his mother’s womb. 
-There will be another cub that confirms that you exceed in being a father. 
- A little dragon.- he corrected her. 
-No, we already have our dragon. We need the lion. - Aemond smiled and kissed his beloved wife. 
He was eager to become a father again.
1K notes · View notes
the-desilittle-bird · 9 months
Text
AN- I just thought, why not 🤣🤣🤣. Also, Rhaenys is dead for the sake of this…
Thank you and Enjoy your reading!
HoTD Preference
First Meeting
Characters- Daemon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Otto Hightower, Corlys Velaryon, Cregan Stark & Criston Cole
Warnings - Incest (Targaryen)
Tumblr media
Daemon ‘Rogue Prince’ Targaryen
You are either a noble or a part of the extended Targaryen family. Possibly a sister of Aemma.
If you are just a noble lady, then you meet at the court. Possibly at a ball thrown by the King or at a tourney, when he asked for your favour.
If you are a Targaryen (Aemma’s sister, as I am imagining), you meet at your sister’s wedding to Prince Viserys.
You two spend the entire time giggling and laughing and drinking.
Perhaps he spare you a rare dance or two.
You two fully enjoy your time together.
Aemond ‘One-Eyed’ Targaryen
You are most probably a noble lady from one of the Great Houses of Westeros, maybe a Stark or a Lannister or a Tyrell.
Your father or your brother is looking for a perfect betrothal. A good husband and a promise of alliance between your house and his.
Alicent Hightower deems you worthy for her second son.
You two met when you traveled to King’s Landing with your father.
A stroll through the gardens or perhaps a personal supper.
The first meeting was awkward with barely any words spoken, but after a few such meetings, you start to open up to each other.
Otto ‘Hand of the King’ Hightower
You are a Targaryen; younger sister to Viserys and Daemon.
You meet Otto when he is appointed the Hand of the King to the Old King Jaehaerys.
You wish not to marry for alliance; and everyone seems to respect it, surprisingly.
After his wife dies, you become a friend of his.
As much as you love your brothers; you don’t like how Daemon seems to always fight with each other.
You and Otto spend your time together reading and playing chess; or if you have any interest in politics, then you two discuss politics sometimes.
Tumblr media
Corlys ‘Sea Snake’ Velaryon
You are a Lannister; sister of Jason Lannister and Lady Regent of Casterly Rock until he marries Johanna Westerling.
You and Rhaenys had always been quite close to each other.
You meet Corlys for the first time at her funeral in Driftmark.
You offer your condolences to him about her death; to which, he only smiles and nods.
He calls you for a supper when you are in Driftmark.
You reminisce your memories of Rhaenys with him and once, your back in Casterly Rock, you send ravens back and forth.
Cregan ‘Wolf of the North’ Stark
You are Rhaenyra’s first born and the only true born Velaryon. The star of your mother’s and father’s eyes.
You are sent to the North to gain alliance with the North on dragon back.
You tamed the Bronze Fury, much to Daemon’s delight. His mere presence made the Northerners freeze with fear.
Cregan welcomed you to the North with a light small smile and a hand on your back.
You handed him the scroll written by your step father.
You later came to know that you have been betrothed to him.
Criston ‘Kingmaker’ Cole
You were a respected lady of House Dondarrion, where he and his father served.
He had asked for your favour in a tourney held in the joy of your name day.
You had been startled by his handsome features and shy behaviour.
Next, you see him when your house attends a celebration after Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding.
You were the one to seek a conversation out with him.
You two jested about all the fat lords and the envious ladies in search of a suitor all night.
301 notes · View notes
captaincapsicle83 · 17 days
Text
I Know I Said I Couldn't Call
Bucky Barnes x Reader
TW: implications of death, cursing, and [worst of all] phone calls
Summary: Bucky gets an unexpected call in the night. A short little story, cute little fluff moments...
Tumblr media
He grunted, and turned over at the standard form iPhone ring. Sam mocked him, and Tony was baffled, but Bucky claimed he, "liked the factory stuff."
In all reality, he didn't know how to change it.
It seemed to ring forever, and with experience he was sure it would. He turned over, reaching across the bed he was sprawled out on. The blanket was gathered at his feet, the sheet wrinkled and wild. He had about four pillows, arranged in a strange modern art kind of way.
It was truly a remarkable sight, but Bucky was just glad to be getting any sleep at all in a bed. Of course, not for very long, considering-
The phone call.
He picked out the phone, in his non metal hand. He became a little more alert, a little more awake, and sat up at your name flashing on the screen. At the end of it, was a little emoji, a pink heart with some sparkles around it.
He hesitated, but not for long. He didn't want it to ring out, risking not talking to you. You were on a mission, somewhere in an Eastern country. It was a solo one, Fury telling you it would he a piece of cake.
Ever had cake that was dry, and spongey? Made with frosting that wasn't sweet and tasted like crepe paper?
That was the piece of cake you were eating in Northern Russia right now.
"Hello?" Bucky said, his voice gruffer than he meant it to be. However, he couldn't much help it, the tiredness was overcoming him, no matter how much he shooed it away.
"Hey, baby," you said. Your voice was soft, and sweet. Sweet like the cakes you and Bucky ate together on that third date where you accidentally got another tables birthday dessert. Sweet like the cakes Wanda would bake with you, the ones you made her promise to make you on your wedding day.
"Hi," Bucky said again. His voice was as soft as he wanted it to be this time, like a cat walking carefully across a piano. Alpine did that once, and he watched with such lust and wonder, you had to watch his face. It had to have been the quietest moment of your life, watching his face light up into a half smile as Alpine carefully treaded, her soft paws taking each step with care.
It was beautiful, he was beautiful.
"I thought you couldn't-" Bucky started, but you cut him off. He was too tired to sense the underlying issues with the conversation. The unexpectedness, the urgency...the sadness.
"I know I said I couldn't call. It's just- I got the chance and I didn't...want to...waste it," you said.
"Oh," Bucky said, cutting himself off with a yawn. "That's...nice. I've missed you."
"I miss you too- I'm sorry I woke you up. It's gotta be so late there," Bucky glanced at his bedside clock. 2:43 am.
"How have you been sleeping through the night?"
"Better, honestly," Bucky said, then let out a tired chuckle. "The beds always a mess though, I kick things everywhere. Alpine won't come near me. Guess its the Winter Soldier in me."
You laugh at the joke, but it hurts you. It hurts your core, and you put a hand to the gaping wound on your stomach. You were outside of the old payphone box, watching the snowflakes fall on and around you. Your phone was so smashed and cracked, you were surprised it turned on at all. You were very serious about phone chargers though, and it was always above 70% when you left with it. Bucky would joke if the phone was below 50% charged you’d go into shock.
It was at 23 when you had made the call. Turns out, he wasn’t half wrong.
"How's the mission?" Bucky asks you. You admired his ability to hold a conversation, yet he was clearly struggling. You were too, if you were honest.
"It's going on a little longer than expected," you say, trying to sound like you were laughing without doing it. It hurt too much, and you were worried your guts would quite literally spill out.
"It'll be alright, you always get through it," his soft voice says. That was why the cat liked him, you had told him, because he basically was a cat.
He had pressed for answers, and you had delved him, not only into the satanic lore of cat behavior, but of the slew of internet memes, comparison of him to the one and only grumpy cat.
Sam was there for that, and nearly died everytime a new side by side came up.
"Is everything okay?" Bucky asked. The line was quiet, and you were suddenly very aware of that. You were worried you had already died. That wasn't what you wanted, not to die on the phone.
"Yeah, just thinking of you," you could almost see the blush and smile he was surely brandishing. "I'll be home soon, baby," you lied. You owed it to him, to let him sleep a little longer after you hung up.
"Yeah?"
"'Course. Be back before you know it. Gotta kick your ass for messing up my bed."
"I love you doll."
"I love you too, Bucky," you couldn't help but choke out a sob at your last words. Before he could question it, before you could hear anything else, you used all your energy to hang up the phone, letting the line go dead as your ungloved hand fell to your side.
Your eyes watched, the life flickering in and out of them, the snowflakes fall from the sky.
123 notes · View notes
useless-moss · 16 days
Text
Back with the dragon headcanons.
This episode: The Night Fury
Buckle up, this is a long one.
Color variations! Their whole body is usually a dark color. Shades of black/dark grey, dark blue, dark purple are the most common. However, they also have lighter colored patterns on the underside of their wings. Blurred together scales and marks that resemble the northern lights and/or a galaxy type design. It started as a mutation meant for better camouflage, but eventually turned into a mating thing like with peacocks. A night fury has really pretty patterns/designs on the underside of their wings? They have a better chance of getting a mate.
Patterns. They have darker markings and patterns. Think of a black jaguar or a tabby cat for reference. Also, accompanying the previously mentioned designs on the underside of their wings, white speckles that look like stars and can even extend to their underbelly.
Toothless has melanism, hense his more solidly black design, and is actually considered even more rare because of his coloration alone.
They have the widest eye color variation among dragons. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, even shades that look purple are possible.
They usually live in large packs led by a female alpha/queen. If you find one Night Fury, there's usually at least ten more nearby.
Night Fury's in a pack are able to fight the control of dragons like the Red Death and Bewilderbeast more easily since, well, they already have an alpha they're following. Solo Night Furys are still strong willed and can break out with enough trying, but it's significantly harder.
Night Furys are one of if not the most intelligent dragon species. They're able to adapt to different environments, learn from observation to mimic other animal, dragon, and even human behavior, can recognize human weapons, and are smart enough to strategize hunting plans.
Building onto that last point, they don't hunt anywhere near where they nest. They'll fly miles away to hunt for, usually, fish. At least half of the pack will leave at a time while the other half stays back to guard the hatchling, eggs, and nesting area in general. This behavior was learned and adopted after being hunted to near extinction.
Their favorite nesting places are areas that humans can't easily get to. Large cliffs with rocky/rushing water below and in areas prone to storms. Again, a learned behavior from being hunted.
More nesting info, they use a combination of their plasma blasts and claws to dig/carve out caves into said cliffs, which is where they'll nest. Cliff side in an area you can't get too close to on boat with a bunch of holes in the side? Congrats! You probably just found a Night Fury nesting ground and should turn back quickly.
Night Furys aren't inherently aggressive or hostile at all, really. They're wary of humans for obvious reasons, and will defend themselves and their pack/territory, but otherwise they're pretty laid back. Big cats, essentially. Don't be a threat, give them space, and you get to live. This is partly due to them being smart enough to recognize via body language, tone, and even supplies if someone or something is a threat or not.
You want to tame a Night Fury? No weapons, bring food, and again give space. Let them come to you, because they will eventually. Will begin to realize you're not a threat, then realize you bring snacks, then accept that you're pretty alright and begin allowing more physical contact/affection and eventually be okay riding/flying with you. It's a slow process built entirely on trust and mutual respect. If you start getting pushy with a Night Fury, especially too soon in the process, they'll push you away and you have to start from scratch.
Night Fury's are very, very, very protective and loyal. Arguably one of the best dragons to tame purely off of the fact they'll stick with you until the very end and do everything possible to keep you safe.
Once you've tamed or generally befriended a Night Fury you're considered part of the pack. Dynamic from there depends on the type of Night Fury you're dealing with. An adult/older male or female with a history of hatchlings? They'll likely consider you as one of their own babies. A juvenile/younger male or female? They'll likely see you more as a sibling. A hatchling? Hope you're ready to be a parent cause that's what they'll likely see you as.
Cuddle piles. They'll usually sleep cuddled up with littlermates and parents in a pile of sort for warmth and security. This is a behavior that persists into adulthood, since it's a source of comfort and stability as well as a bonding experience.
You know the smaller nubs on a Night Fury's head? Hatchlings tend to suckle on those for comfort. There's literally no other reason. It's like a baby with a pacifier, essentially.
My personal favorite now, SCRUFF! Hatchlings have looser yet tougher skin on the back of their neck that acts as a scruff, allowing adults to pick them up and carry them around easily. As they age it stretches and thins and, eventually, that pressure point we saw in httyd 2 becomes 'exposed.' At that point a parent or other adult Night Fury will nudge the spot with their snout or claws to activate it. This whole process usually occurs around early juvenile/teen stages, since that's when a night fury will begin actively joining hunting parties and need to fly with more speed and agility.
35 notes · View notes
deadboyfriendd · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
Cochise l: Nellie
Summary: A dark stranger blows into town, bringing Hell with him. Little did he know, Hell was already here, in the form of you. The air here is stale and the residents stagnant. This town was as wild as the west was able, and you are the most wild thing about it. 
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, wet dream, smut included, feminine rage embodied and I gave her a gun
My content is 18+ Minors DNI
Word Count: 4.4k
Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading!
Find the series masterlist here!
When the dust blew in from the East, Hell came with it. 
And Hell hath no fury like a woman’s reproach. 
1890. From the ashes of the Civil War rose a phoenix of economic expansion and spurs the great migration west. Farmers, ranchers, prospectors, killers and thieves seek their fortunes. Cattle drovers turned cow towns into armed camps with murder-rates higher than those of modern-day New York or Los Angeles. Silver is discovered in Arizona, and the prospectors dragged their young wives and their Parisian fashions with them. Siphoned together out of greed, hundreds of Texas outlaws banded together to forge a new way forward, resulting in the birth of early organized crime. 
Out of this chaos came the great legendary lawmen, and none as mean as you. 
The air was stale this time of year, heavy enough to flatten a lizard, when the turn of the season brought the green back to the ironwoods and the snakes back from their hides. When it brought the heat back with a haughty laughter and a heart full of vengeance. The sun cast down a glare that warped the mirage of the desert backdrop of Cochise County, turning from a comforting radiation to a wasp sting when the night turned. The cereus blossom fragrant with rot that filled the stagnant night air and its timely beauty– and ultimate untimely death. 
He reaped a certain morosity with him, spurs scraping across the floor like a toll, steps sure as snow in the northern country– as they dragged the dust from his heels eastward. His skin was of alabaster, and his clothes of obsidian. He was not from here, and it drew a shudder from the mesquite doors upon their sun-dried hinges. The dirty faces of prospectors, drunks, and cattle drovers turning to peer at him under sweat-laden brows. 
The Whispering Sands was not the ritzy bar, no, that was the bar located in the lobby of the Grand Hotel up the holler. No, Your dealer was as straight as a Christmastime wreath, your doors hung as crooked as your dealer, and if you didn’t carry when you walked through, you had spares. There would be no clean men and women with their Parisian dresses and costly hat pins occupying this place. This was the lowest of the low. 
He peers at you from under the brim of a coal-stained, honest-to-God gunslinger wool Stetson, lined with the hammered silver and turquoise-inlaid band. It laid flat across the top and around the brim. You hadn’t seen one like it since your wedding night on the ritzy hardwood grounds of the Grand Hotel herself. He takes a seat in a singular fell swoop, frock coat flaring outwards and casting a soft breeze over your presence. Single-breasted, large notch lapels. Beneath it, his dark pinstripe trousers folded under the weight of his body, the silver brocade vest above the black cravat remaining stiff. From where your eye connected with him, you could see the nickel plating of a Colt 1873 single action revolver, sheathed under the oiled ellipse of the leather-bound shoulder holster. It was apparent he wasn’t here to push cattle. 
It was a fleeting gaze, the kind that rattle each of your vertebra and settled in your coccyx. A single golden curl slipped over a broad shoulder and swung heavy in the tension between your two bodies. 
There was a resonant patriarchal tenor that buzzed amongst the patrons in this space, tense on the outcome and flat-lining in deliverance. They tried to avert wandering gazes from this new resident— strung together words in staccato, interrupted by morbid curiosity and on-looking eyes. Michael Doten– amicably monickered “Mudsill”, shattered this hum like china. He was a worm of a man, slimy in all of the worst ways, and, on this day in particular, aptly under the impression of laudanum and drink. He shared these sympathies with his own father– a man no more than fifteen years his senior. 
He slinked through the door with the demeanor of an old tom-cat, crooked in stride and greasy to the touch— not that you could fathom anyone wanting to touch him at all. He demanded a house whiskey with a slovenly belch– a concoction made from your own sarsaparilla, burnt raw sugar, and chewing tobacco. 
“Michael, I’d say you’ve about had enough today.” You chided, firm in your answer. The stranger peered a doting gaze towards you, then turned it toward ‘Ol Mudsill from a downturned hat– wistful in demeanor and daring in residence. He watched as Michael cast a thumb of brown saliva onto your floor, intentionally ignoring the existence of the spitoon a mere few feet from it. 
He sneered towards you through leather-laden eyelids, a protuberance straight from the aforementioned spittoon, and filled with piss and vinegar, “Now,” He started, “ – if I wanted an old bitch telling me what I can and can’t drink, I would have considered marrying.” It was a slimy statement with a profound lack of remorse. It dripped from the gaps of his rotting teeth like a tar. 
“I wouldn’t marry you, even if I was fixin’ to face death herself.” It wasn’t the first time you had denied him a drink, nor was it the first time he had spoken ill toward you. You doubted it would also be the last. You were a harum-scarum, devil-may-care woman, tough as nails and pretty as a mink stole.
“You don’t listen too good, now do you?” Mudsill spit back, standing now. Your fingers grazed the pearl handles of the Remington Model 1890 tucked away in the fold of your dresses. You hoped to God you didn’t have to use it. 
Before ‘Ol Mudsill could think of something to say back, the dark stranger stood, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.” 
“Is that a fact?” Mudsill raises a wiry brow towards the man, standing erect in front of him. 
“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He said back, quietly. It was a discerning quiet, the kind where you figure trouble might be brewing. 
“Well, for a man that don’t go heels, you run your mouth kinda reckless there, don’t ‘ya?” The stranger said, standing a little more erect– like he was fixing for trouble, though, by the context of the rest of the conversation, you’d say trouble had already been brewing. Now, you waited for the pot to boil over, “No need to go heel to get the bulge on a tub like you, huh?”
Mudsill glared toward him though tight lids, a reckless abandon only a drunk could possess, “Is that a fact?”
“That’s a fact.”
“Well, I’m ‘real scared.” Musill replied with a bobbling nod of his head, reaching for the firearm tucked away behind his waistband. 
“Damn right, you’re scared. I can see that in your eyes.” The stranger followed the movement of his hand momentarily, eyes settling over the worn wood of the stock before meeting back up with his eyes,  “Yeah, go ahead, skin it. Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.” 
“Listen Mister, I’m gettin’ awful tired of you–” He was cut off, the stranger landing a stinging, open-palmed blow to his face. 
“I’m gettin’ tired of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work.” Mudsill stared back, stunned. Frozen like a scared lizard. Another blow. “I said throw down, boy.” A third blow landed across his cheek, harder this time. You could see where the blood filled his mouth and covered his teeth. “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?” 
“No?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, reaching upwards to put a forceful hand on mudsill’s shoulder, “Now, come on, Junior.” 
The wire snapped behind ‘Ol Mudsill’s eyes, and with a sleight of hand, he reached for the worn pistol tucked into his overcoat. The dark stranger was fast, but you were faster. The pearl grips cold and smooth against the sweat of your palms. Quickly and in one motion, you stepped out from the bar, hand forced steady only in fear alone. 
“You’re bluffing.” Michael sneered towards you, taking a step forward, closer to you with the barrel now in your direction. It was enough for the stranger to bear his arms as well, though, he wouldn’t need them today. The barrel met Michael’s forehead. 
“I don’t bluff.” Your thumb met the hammer, pulling it back enough for a deafening swell click, “Now your family may be back to rush me, but that won’t stop me from blowing a canoe through your head first, y’hear?”
His eyes widened, and he pulled the barrel back from you, finger leaving the sheath of the trigger and thumb only staying tucked around the grip enough to keep it held. 
“Don’t come back here. Ever.” You ordered, and he nodded slightly. 
“Yes’m” 
The stranger spoke then, pistol still planted firmly against the back of the offender, “And you’re gonna drop that weapon right here, Michael.” He ordered. 
The worn colt clattered against the floor as he tossed it from his waist-height to the ground. The stranger took this as the opportunity to grab Michael by the collar and drag him out the front doors like a calf. You could see the durst stir from outside, but didn’t sense a further commotion. You sat idly in one of your stools, letting free an exasperated sigh as you threw your head down against the bar. You didn’t sign up for this when you found yourself out west. 
You felt the stock of a pistol press into the meat of your upper arm, “Here. Keepsake. Hang it over the bar, Nellie.” The stranger spoke back to you, sliding the firearm across the worn mesquite bar top. 
You raised a brow at him, more at the moniker, but also at his enthusiasm, “Nellie?”
“I had a horse like you once,” He released a breathy laugh between his words, maybe more nervous at the fact that he was comparing you to a horse, “ —even after she broke she was meaner than hell, but prettier than a mink stole. It’s a pleasure, Mrs–”
He thought it was foolish, comparing you to that mean old mare, but he didn’t have time to dote on it before you stopped him mid-sentence. 
“Ms.” You corrected. 
He couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted down to the ring on your finger, a single thin gold band that he dwelled on for just long enough for you to notice the cogs attempting to turn in his head. 
 “Dead.” You clarified, and he felt his heart contract as the word left your lips. 
“Sorry to hear that.” He dips his head low, only now taking off the Stetson to greet you properly, “Name’s Munson. Edward Munson.” 
You shook your head, forcing that still-bruising ache away to push a smile, “Ain’t no changin’, may God have willed it, Mr. Munson.” 
He matched your smile, handsome cheeks creasing deeply around the curvature of his mouth, “Just Edward will do, ma’am.” 
You pulled open the humidor, nimble fingers gracing along the stack of cigars beneath its lid. You chose the one with the cleanest-looking wrapping, one that looked sufficient enough as a thank-you, before offering it to him. He took it with a nod of his head, thick fingers wrapping around the base gently before pulling the kerosene vase near him. You watched the smoke roll from between his lips in a vapid crescendo, all too graceful and all too beautiful. 
“I take it you're not a prospector?” You questioned him gently, voice sure, yet smaller than his resonating alto. 
He laughed softly, the kind that heaves itself from the chest. Hearty, “No ma'am.”  
“Then how does someone like you find yourself in a place like this?” You leaned an elbow on the bar, chin resting firmly in the warmth of your palm. You tried to ignore the sweat building between the flesh. 
He looked down at the cigar between his fingers, twirling it around and feeling the paper it was rolled in, “Well I find I could ask you the same thing–”
The bell above the door was shrill in the staleness of the air, the resonance of the prior entanglement floating back up in a cloud in an attempt to re-settle over the old furniture like silt. The man that waded through its wake was tall, but not gangly, no, he did not share the demeanor of a scarecrow. He looked like he meant business.
You pulled your attention away from Edward for a brief moment, your eyes tearing from his personage and settling over the familiar face, “Hello, Sheriff.”
“Hello, ma’am.” The sheriff tipped his hat towards you in greeting, peering briefly at the man sat at the bar in front of you, “‘Ol Mudsill seems pretty shaken up, did somethin’ happen again?”
“Nothin that Edward here couldn’t handle.” You watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and Edward, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together but there were too many missing pieces, “Sheriff, this is Edward Munson, just unloaded from the train in Tucson.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” He reached a broad hand out to meet with the sheriff’s. 
He accepted the offer, hands locked together in a firm grip, “Steve Harrington.” 
“Pleasure.” Edward mentioned, politely. 
“You have a place to stay, Edward?” He asked, hand still interlocked with his for a brief moment. 
“Not as of yet. Know of anyone housing?”
“I’d say the Grand Hotel just across the way.” 
+
The walk to the other side of the road is brief, but the sun beat down against Eddie’s back like a brand– the eyes that followed his movement, the hands that held the iron. The dust kicked up behind him and collected at the bases of his boots seemed to slow his stride as he sunk into its softness. He would have to have them polished tomorrow. 
Steve turned to him, boots casting a hollow thud as they stepped up onto the decking of The Grand Hotel, “I am inclined to ask, what exactly happened back there?”
Eddie cleared his throat, righting himself, “Just some drunk. Got all riled up when she wouldn’t serve him and started waving his gun around.”
Steve shook his head, removing his hat to run a finger through the hair beneath it, sand ripplying against his scalp beneath his finger, “Christ, well, thank you for handling that for her. She’s been through too much this year.”
“She dealt with that right on her own, sheriff, the only part I took part in was getting him out.” 
Their boots made a clunk against the sun-rotted wood on the staircase of The Grand Hotel, stairs creaking in affliction. There was a moment of silence between the two men, tense and fleeting, like there was still something to be said. 
“Her husband died last spring.” Steve finally mentioned, understanding that it wasn’t his place to tell. 
“She mentioned it.” Steve felt a relief at him knowing. He didn’t want to be the one to have to bear the shock of the statement. 
He sighed before continuing, “Shot and killed on that bar floor. ‘Couple of bandoleros robbing the place.”
“Chist–- She seemed capable.” Eddie mentioned to him, raking his hair back under his hat. He felt the sweat bead around where the band met his skin. 
“But still, no woman should ever have to bury her husband.” The sheriff said, reaching up to place nimble hands on his hips, “‘Specially not that young.”
The Grand Hotel is the essence of luxury in the west. Well, as luxurious as they could ship by train. Mahogany covered the expanse of the palace in a grandeur scale, only being broken by the pin-striped wallpaper covering the upper half of the wayne-scotted wall on the second floor. The taxidermied elk that hung above the bartop was shipped from the northern country, as were many of the axis and whitetail deer that hung on other walls. 
This seemed to be the only place in this town that a fine layer of dust hadn’t settled over. 
The velveteen nature of the drapery that hung over the stage to the left in a heavy abismality had remained nearly untouched by the traces of the desert around it. The gold of the drawstrings that held them back still contained the luster under the light. 
He couldn’t help but to search for you in the madness of coiled, unabashedly tentative curls piled on the heads of the women in the large bustles that scraped between tables and each other. You looked like you belonged here, but he knew where you would be. 
This night’s show had ended already, the lingering patrons also taking residence within the palace. The backing curtain drawn to a close and the actors retired to their quarters. Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, overrun, overplayed. Edward thought about it. Of all the things in the world to know, why learn The Devil’s craft? He figured if it was the only thing left to know, he’d probably learn it, too. 
There is a man of about five foot, ten inches sat at the bar, elbows rested against the glossy finish of the bartop. He is a burly man, Eddie can see that even from his sitting position. Steve guides Eddie towards him, taking his own seat next to him. Eddie stayed standing. 
He looks back behind him, Steve muttering a few words that Eddie couldn't seem to hear over the drabble of lobby patrons, “Milt. County Marshall.” 
He sticks a rough hand out, and Eddie takes it in a firm clasp. 
“Edward Munson.” He shakes his hand once, Milt was a man of few words. 
Steve buys Eddie a drink. A golden bourbon, not watered down like many of the bars out west did for reserve. Real golden bourbon. An import. A thanks. 
They settled on a less-occupied corner of the palace, one that lacked faro tables and drunk patrons. On the opposite side of the baby grande that played anything its player knew how. 
“Her husband was a good man.” Steve said between sips, sweat dripping down the crystalline glass like glitter, “Too good if you’d ask me. It’s what got him killed in the first place.” 
He felt the pang in his chest, a tightening of muscles like tears, “It’s a shame. Pretty woman like that having to run that place by her lonesome.”
Steve chucked a bit in agreement, looking back over his shoulder like you would somehow appear, “That isn’t by our choice. She could have her pick if she wanted it.” He took another sip of his drink, and Eddie knew he was right. You were pretty, sullen skin like satin, hair like ribbon. He’d pay all of the money in his pocket just to touch. 
“She doesn’t?” Eddie questioned, looking over to meet Steve’s eyes. 
“I’d reckon not.”
He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the piano. He watched the woman sat on top, the way the lace of her undergowns flowed upwards with the swing of her ankles. He watched the man play with skilled– albeit drunk– fingers. 
This place was lively, perhaps a little too lively for the hour. People still yelling obscenities and praises over faro, ice in glasses. He felt the sweat from the glass beneath his fingers, and it matched the band of it building beneath his cap. His collar felt tight, like someone had been pulling it from the back. Shouldn’t it have gotten cooler when the sun went down?
“I’d reckon I’d better turn in for the night.” He said suddenly, placing the glass down on the bar in front of him, about a milliliter of fluid left watered-down and pooling at the bottom. 
He ascended the mahogany staircase to his quarters, where he would retire for the night. However, as he stripped himself of his frock coat and underclothes, he couldn’t help to peer towards the luminescent glow coming from The Whispering Sands upper floor across the bend. 
The curtains billowed outwards towards the street below, casting a light over the sand beneath it like a halo. White linen backlit by yellow butane lighting. And there you sat, all woman. He’d have half a mind to buy you some night clothes, and the other half a mind to burn them if you even had them. 
He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He could feel the windowsill digging into his palms, it grounded him– kept him from free-floating into the stagnant desert air. 
The Grand Hotel is a loud place, and it never sleeps. The faro games did not stop on his account, and he didn’t expect them to. He closes his eyes, a glass breaks. A fight breaks out downstairs in a triad of commotion, shuffling, and yelling. This was the first time he had been in a bed in days, yet, it felt horrendously unceremonious. Sleep would not evade him in the way he willed it. 
The flooring creaked, drunk patrons hit the wall outside of his quarters with intense, muffled thuds. Two people in the suit next to him were clearly of relation. He tried to ignore the way the oak headboard creaked and hit the wall in a rhythmic fashion. He tried his hardest not to think of you. 
This place did not sleep, and he knew he wouldn’t either. So instead, Edward collected his hat and gun, pulling his trousers back on and lazily doing his shirt back up. 
The night air had cooled some, less blistering than when the sun was out, yet it remained stale. He walked a bit, eyes still shimmering with the adjustment of light from the palace to the stark darkness of the desert. Light traveled a lot further here, darkness even further. The hum of the palace dimmed as the distance between them grew, air heavy like a barrier that stopped the noise from traveling. 
He settled himself in the soft sand beneath him, back planted firmly against the knotty base of that twisted old ironwood. Someone else still awake at this unholy hour plucked delicately at old piano keys– these ones slightly more out of tune and reverberated off of the walls with a static hum that resonated through the otherwise empty streets. Sleep evaded in a thankless percussion. 
And there you were. 
He allowed his fingers to trail over the delicate expanse of your shoulder, brushing soft curls over its bridge. Soft presses of his mouth trailed from your year to the valley of your clavicle. He pressed your gowns down your shoulder as he went, the loose garment sliding off with ease.
In your glorious, supple nature. All woman all the time. Your hands, nimble and soft, were forceful against his chest as you pushed him back against plush white linens. Fingers as sure as death and as right as rain. The haze from the butane lamp cast a glow around you, baby hairs illuminating around your head like a halo. 
Slowly now, but with an urgency, you right yourself in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his shirt in a way that made him want to beg just to feel a finger brush against his skin. He whined as he watched you with wide eyes.
His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, a welcome breeze blew through the open window, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. Songs of “Oh- Gods” and small giggles creating perfect songs- a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of the desert around you. You could feel his hands on your back, fingers his fingers unwrapping you from linen bed sheet confines and introducing you to your own bedroom like an heirloom– a home in which you yourself haunted. The palms of your hands feeling the smooth surface of stone beneath the skin, and the dewey droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue. 
His fingers pressed firmly into the plush of your outer thighs, and your skin was soft. Calves skin, another import. Too soft for this place. Too soft for this sadness. 
“So soft.” He whispered, voice a tenor to its usual pitch. 
He watched where your bodies connected, the way you slid up and down on him, the way his fingers rippled your skin where they dug in, the gyration of your hips. Your hair is down this time, braid long since combed through, and the ends of it tickle as they brush against him. 
“God, Nellie.” He isn’t particularly introspective or anything, but he does know that he’ll never feel something like this again. 
Your tender touch a velvety petal trailed down the expanse of his chest where it heaves, nothing left to impede your touch. No overcoats, no holster or gun. Your hands like the claws of the bobcat pawing into the sand where his heart lay in an unmarked grave.
“Edward,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, his hands pressing the center of your back to bring you close against your chest. It was a plea. It read like a prayer. “Take me, please.” 
His upward thrust slowed from long, meaningful bass crescendos to harsh uneven staccatos. Your breaths became erratic in nature to match. Your release washed over you like a storm, rolling and violent and all at once. His own followed suit. 
Edward realized then that this was how the west would be won. If it wasn’t, he’d wage the war himself. 
183 notes · View notes
soteirahere · 5 months
Text
Invocation to Hekate Soteira - Peace for the Children of Gaza
Tumblr media
Mother Hekate, Goddess of the Liminal Spaces, Hekate Kleidouchos, Keeper of the Keys, Hear the desperate cries of your innocent children in Gaza and the West Bank, echoing through lands and seas. Guide us through the labyrinth of life, unlock the doors we face, Be our compass in the chaos, our sanctuary in this sacred place.
Hekate Kourotrophos, Guardian of the Young, lend your sacred care, Wrap the children of Gaza in your arms, show them love beyond compare. Be their shield in the daylight, their comfort in the night, Be the hope in their eyes, their courage in the fight.
Hekate Atalos, the Tender One, feel the weight of their despair, Hold their hearts within your hands, show them someone cares. Let your compassion be their guide, your tenderness their song, In a world that feels so cold, show them they belong.
Hekate Agrotera, Mighty Huntress, track down peace where it hides, Be their eyes in the forest of fear, their steps where danger resides. Lead them to safety, to havens free from harm, With your bow and arrow, protect them from alarm.
Hekate Antania, Enemy of Mankind, turn your wrath on those who divide, Be the avenger of the oppressed, let justice be their guide. Strike down the walls that imprison them, shatter the chains that bind, Be the sword of retribution, the defender of humankind.
Hekate Brimo, the Angry One, let your fury be their shield, In the battlefield of life, be the power they wield. Turn your rage into a fire, a blaze that lights their way, In the darkest corners of their world, be their break of day.
Hekate Despoina, Mistress of All, make the oppressors yield, Be the authority they respect, the scepter and the shield. Command the winds of change, the tides of time and fate, Be the voice of sovereignty, that the tyrants cannot negate.
Hekate Enodia, of the Paths, guide them through the darkest night, Be the lantern in their hands, the star in their sky so bright. Lead them through the crossroads, where their destiny unfolds, Be the map to their future, the story yet untold.
Hekate Epipurgidia, on the Tower, be their watchful light, Be the sentinel in the darkness, their guardian in the night. From your lofty vantage point, see dangers from afar, Be their early warning, their guiding northern star.
Hekate Gorgo, the Grim, instill fear in the hearts of their foes, Be the terror in their eyes, the nightmare that never goes. Turn your gaze upon the wicked, let them tremble in their sin, Be the face they cannot forget, the conscience from within.
Hekate Khthonia, of the Underworld, where the river of justice flows, Be the keeper of their secrets, the knower of their woes. In the depths of their despair, be the light that never dies, Be the hope that springs eternal, the truth that never lies.
Hekate Kleidophoros, Bearer of Keys, unlock the doors to their salvation, Open the gates of opportunity, the portals to liberation. With each key you turn, unlock a brighter day, With each door you open, show them a better way.
Hekate Krataiis, the Strong, be the pillar of their foundation, Be the rock upon which they build, the core of their determination. In the storms that rage around them, be their anchor in the sea, In the winds that try to break them, be their stability.
Hekate Krokopeplos, Saffron-Cloaked, wrap them in your protective embrace, Be the warmth in their winter, the smile on their face. Clothe them in resilience, drape them in your might, Be the cloak that shields them, in the day and in the night.
Hekate Nyktipolos, Night-Wandering, guard them when the sun takes flight, Be their eyes in the darkness, their senses in the night. Walk beside them in their dreams, be their guide in realms unseen, Be the whisper in the wind, the force that stands between.
Hekate Perseis, Daughter of Perses, bring them through the darkest plight, Be their sword in the battle, their courage in the fight. With your lineage of power, be the magic that they wield, Be the strength in their spirit, the armor and the shield.
Hekate Phosphoros, Light-Bringer, illuminate their path so dim, Be the dawn of their new day, the hymn in their morning hymn. Shine your light upon their road, be their beacon in the dark, Be the spark that lights their way, the fire that ignites their spark.
Hekate Propolos, the Attendant, lead them to safety on a whim, Be the hand that pulls them up, when their hope begins to dim. Guide them through the labyrinth, be their compass and their chart, Be the intuition in their mind, the empathy in their heart.
Hekate Propylaia, Before the Gate, guard the entrance to their homes, Be the keeper of their hearth, the walls made of ancient stones. Stand before their sanctuary, be the lock and the key, Be the guardian of their peace, their security and their glee.
Hekate Soteira, the Savior, in your name this heartfelt prayer roams, Be the miracle they seek, the angel that guides them home. Save them from the perils, that lurk in shadow and in light, Be the wings upon their back, the daybreak to their night.
Hekate Trikephalos, Three-Headed, watch over them from every side, Be their lookout in the front, their rear guard far and wide. With your trinity of vision, see what's hidden and what's known, Be their eyes in every corner, where danger may have grown.
Hekate Trimorphis, Three-Formed, in you their hopes and dreams reside, Be the facets of their soul, where love and fear collide. In your triple aspect, be their past, present, and future, Be the sum of all they are, the editor and the tutor.
Hekate Trioditis, of Three Roads, guide them through choices yet unknown, Be the signpost in their journey, the seeds that they have sown. In the forks that lie ahead, be the wisdom that they seek, Be the courage in their choices, the voice when they are weak.
Hekate Trivia, of the Three Ways, let your wisdom to them be shown, Be the teacher of their life, the mysteries they've known. In the crossroads of their fate, be the lantern in the mist, Be the answers to their questions, the chances they can't resist.
Hekate Adonaea, guide our magic, direct and firm, All that hurts shall be returned. Be the force that shapes their spells, the focus of their aim, Be the power in their words, the sanctity in their claim.
Hekate Nyktipolos, Night-Wandering Queen, open our eyes, allow all to be seen. Be the revealer of truths, the seer of what's concealed, Be the clarity in their vision, the reality revealed.
Hekate Hieros Pyr, Holy Fire, be the flame that never dies, Be the inferno in their soul, the passion in their cries. Burn away the darkness, consume all that's unjust, Be the fire that purifies, the ashes to the dust.
Oh Hekate, let your voice ring out in the celestial halls, Gather the Gods, from their heavenly realms and sacred walls. Implore them to lend their might, their love, their divine grace, To the people of Gaza, suffering in this unforgiving place. With tears in our eyes and hope in our hearts, we pray, Hekate, rally the Gods, guide us toward a better, brighter day.
59 notes · View notes
sundowncryptid · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Some Sunswooper :)
172 notes · View notes
nightfury-2001 · 8 months
Text
Last minute revenge on @eventidecryptid and @/pufffinn
Tumblr media Tumblr media
46 notes · View notes
beardedmrbean · 3 months
Text
An Italian court has given a Pakistani couple life sentences for killing their 18-year-old daughter because she refused an arranged marriage.
Saman Abbas's body was found at a farmhouse in northern Italy in November 2022, 18 months after she disappeared.
Her father, Shabbar Abbas, was arrested in Pakistan and extradited to be tried for her murder in August.
Her mother, Nazia Shaheen, was convicted in her absence. She is believed to be in hiding in Pakistan.
Shabbar Abbas had earlier made an impassioned plea to the court, asserting that "never in my life did I think of killing my daughter".
The teenager's uncle, Danish Hasnain, was given 14 years in jail for involvement in the murder, but two of her cousins were cleared.
Saman Abbas's so-called honour killing by her family in late April 2021 shocked Italy. Following her disappearance, Italy's union of Islamic communities issued a fatwa - a religious ruling - rejecting forced marriages.
The teenager had emigrated with her family from Pakistan to the farm town of Novellara in 2016, according to Italian reports.
She began dating a young man of Pakistani origin, and a photograph of them kissing on a street in the regional capital, Bologna, reportedly drew the fury of her parents.
Italian investigators said Saman Abbas's parents had wanted her to travel to Pakistan for an arranged marriage in 2020, but she refused.
She then lived for several months under the protection of social services from October that year, but returned to the family home in Novellara in late April 2021 in response to a flurry of messages from her family, Italian reports said.
Prosecutors said she had been tricked into returning home and it was at this point she disappeared.
CCTV footage released by the police showed three of Saman Abbas's family members walking with spades, a crowbar and a blue bag on 29 April 2021. The following day, separate footage showed the missing teenager leaving the house with her parents.
Her body was eventually recovered last November, close to a farm house not far from where the family lived, after her uncle had revealed where she had been buried.
A post mortem examination found she had suffered a broken neck bone, possibly as a result of being strangled.
Her parents had immediately left Italy for Pakistan after she disappeared, while her uncle Danish Hasnain and two of her cousins travelled to France and Spain.
The uncle was eventually detained in Paris in 2021, while her father was arrested in 2022 and finally extradited on 31 August this year. Her mother remains at large.
Although Nazia Shaheen was in absentia, the court in the northern city of Reggio Emilia convicted both parents and sentenced them to life in jail.
Shabbar Abbas had earlier told the court he was innocent, insisting he and his wife had only followed their daughter on the night she disappeared because they were unhappy it was so late and they wanted to see where she was going.
"This trial is not complete. I too want to know who killed my daughter," he said, according to Italian media.
The idea that a murder can be "honourable" is believed to have come from some tribal customs, where an allegation against a woman is perceived to bring dishonour to her family.
According to these customs, male family members of a woman who has interactions with unrelated men - however innocuous - should first kill the woman, then go after the man.
Human rights groups say the most common reasons for "honour killings" are when the victim refuses to enter into an arranged marriage or have been raped or sexually assaulted.
But killings can be carried out for more trivial reasons, like dressing in a way deemed inappropriate or displaying behaviour seen as disobedient.
In Pakistan, hundreds of women are killed in this way each year. A much smaller number of men are also murdered in such cases. Last month, an 18-year-old woman in the remote Kohistan district was shot dead by her father and uncle on orders from tribal elders - because of a photo that showed her with a man. The photo, which went viral, was later found to have been doctored. Her father has been arrested while her uncle is on the run.
37 notes · View notes
gnomescarfcomics · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
The Balrogs were destroyed, save some few that fled and hid themselves in caverns inaccessible at the roots of the earth...
Tumblr media
...and the uncounted legions of the Orcs perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shrivelled leaves before a burning wind. Few remained to trouble the world for long years after.
Tumblr media
...a great part of the sons of Men, whether of the people of Uldor or others new-come out of the east, marched with the Enemy; and the Elves do not forget it.
Tumblr media
...so great was the fury of those adversaries that the northern regions of the western world were rent asunder, and the sea roared in through many chasms...
Tumblr media
In those days there was a great building of ships upon the shores of the Western Sea; and thence in many a fleet the Eldar set sail into the West, and came never back to the lands of weeping and of war.
Tumblr media
Yet not all the Eldalie were willing to forsake the Hither Lands where they had long suffered and long dwelt; and some lingered many an age in Middle-earth.
Tumblr media
Among these were Cirdan the Shipwright, and Celeborn of Doriath, with Galadriel his wife, who alone remained of those who led the Noldor to exile in Beleriand.
Tumblr media
In Middle-earth dwelt also Gil-galad the High King, and with him Elrond Half-elven, who chose, as was granted to him, to be numbered among the Eldar...
Tumblr media
...but Elros his brother chose to abide with Men.
Tumblr media
But Morgoth himself the Valar thrust through the Door of Night beyond the Walls of the World, into the Timeless Void; and a guard is set for ever on those walls, and Earendil keeps watch upon the ramparts of the sky.
Tumblr media
Yet the lies that Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.
70 notes · View notes
praetorqueenreyna · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The king of Hybern picked his way through the remains of Rosehall. The once proud manor was now dilapidated and overgrown with weeds. The front doors had been ripped off their hinges, and part of the ceiling in the foyer had caved in and allowed debris from the outside to invade and pile up on the floor. He made his way unerringly to the throne room. An enormous beast lay prone in front of the dais. Its wolf-like jaw rested on its paws, green eyes staring vacantly at the wall. One of the antlers that adorned its head had snapped off. “Look what they’ve done to you,” he murmured. The beast didn’t move. “You fought me, every step of the way, out of some misplaced sense of honor. And what do you have to show for it?” Slowly, painfully, the beast raised its head to look at him. The king fought back a smile. The situation was delicate, and the High Lord was still powerful. He continued speaking, his voice a soothing melody. “They’ve all betrayed you, haven’t they? For hundreds of years, they’ve used your loyalty against you and then left. The Lord of Night slaughtered your family and then waged war on your land. That human woman lied to you in order to destabilize your rule and steal your secrets. Even your faithful emissary has left you.”  The beast's eyes blazed at the mention of the Autumn Court brat. A matching surge of fury swelled in the king’s breast, and he fought it down. This was no time for petty emotions like jealousy. He was so close to success. “Don’t you tire of these outdated notions of good and evil?” the king crooned. “Nobody else in this wretched kingdom adheres to them. You’ve fought for them long enough. Isn’t it time to fight for yourself? To seek vengeance against those who have deceived you?” The king held his breath. This was the vital moment, where he found out if he had gone too far and ruined his entire plan before it had even begun. The beast unfolded its legs and rose to its feet. It approached the king, its mouth full of sharp teeth perfectly level with his throat. The metallic tang of magic filled the air, and the beasts form puddled and shifted into a bowed blonde man dressed in rags. The High Lord of Spring turned his gaunt face up to the king. “Yes,” he said, voice hoarse from disuse. “Tell me how.” Finally, the king allowed himself to grin. He tenderly cupped Tamlin’s cheek in his hand, thumb brushing against the perfect golden skin. “I already have.”
I blame @copypastus, @thrumbolt, and @northern-star-polaris for infecting my brain with Tamlin/King of Hybern nonsense.
71 notes · View notes
lilliths-httyd-blog · 9 months
Text
another hidden world criticism
you don't think that maybe a bunch of dragons all flying off in one direction and then never returning is a pretty good indication of the direction in which they went and where they may be living now??
you don't think that dragon hunters could use these observations to find thw? if they ask around a little bit they'll certainly get some useful data.
like a bunch of dragons migrate west of the archipelago and the great beyond and whatnot. ones in the southern-oriented areas of this region fly north-west and ones in the more northern-oriented areas fly south-west perhaps. certainly they'd fly in different directions while still all heading west, right? hey, maybe where these lines intersect there's some really funky dragon related stuff happening?
Tumblr media
so they sail towards that spot, stocked with enough supplies to get them there and back because they now know the distance of the journey based on those intersecting lines. they reach that spot, and what do they find except the whole ass hidden world which now contains every dragon in existence in a single spot. the only problem now is getting past that night fury (its-the-wings-and-the-tail-that-you-really-want-style) and getting down into it, and since THW likes to pretend that speed stingers and cavern crashers can get down there just fine, im sure the hunters would have no problem figuring that out.
83 notes · View notes