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the-iceni-bitch · 4 months

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𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕲𝖔 𝖀𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖘, 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖆𝖒 𝕴 𝕾𝖚𝖕𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝕾𝖆𝖞?

𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝙾𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝚂𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛.

𝙰𝚕𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

Relationship: merman (havmand) Thor Odinson c princess!reader

Words: ~2.2k

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal and anal sex, size difference, multiple orgasms, double penetration), pet names, dub-con, SMUT!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I know it’s not October or 2023 anymore, but let’s not all about that. Let’s just talk about the fact that Thor is big and beefy and has two dicks.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all my fics, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library .

You felt as though you didn’t have any tears left to cry while you stayed curled up in your bed. You could still hear your mother shouting at you through your door, though it did seem as though she was finally walking away as her voice was getting quieter. Perhaps she was finally going to leave you alone.

The thought of having to leave your home made you sob again in spite of your lack of tears. Leaving the sea and the cliffs you were used to and having to be surrounded by mountains sounded like torture. You needed the sound of the waves crashing against the towering rocks and the smell of the salt air as the wind carried its spray against your face. What were you supposed to do with the scent of snow and pine?

At some point your eyes drifted closed, and when you opened them again it was the middle of the night. The moon was reflecting off the sea below your window. You rubbed your eyes as you rose to your feet to open it, sighing at the scent of brine and frozen air made goosebumps rise on your skin. Another hour passed with you just staring at the ocean, the movement of the waves and the silvery light of the moon stirring something deep inside you. That was when you made your decision. You couldn’t be the wife to some king in a frozen, rocky wasteland. The sea was your life, it meant everything to you.

Your dressing gown slid to the floor so you were standing in nothing but your shift. A few steadying breaths were all you needed before you climbed out of your window and found purchase on the notches in the stone wall of your tower that you had scrambled down so many times before. Even though it was slick from the spray and starting to get icy, you still made it down in one piece. It was freezing, but it made you feel alive.

As soon as you reached solid ground you didn’t hesitate, running the few meters to the cliff’s edge and diving off into the empty air. Wind whipped around you for the perhaps three seconds before you entered the water and the shock of cold forced all of the breath from your lungs. There was no time to adjust, though, you had to start swimming. You breathed deeply when you resurfaced, your limbs fighting against the brutal push and pull of the waves as you made your way to deeper waters.

Every time your body was rocked by the waves your breath caught in your throat. It was like the sea was calling your name, desperately trying to pull you under and make you one with its murky depths. If you didn’t have a goal in mind you may have let it, but your eyes were fixed on the massive rock that rose from the waves a few miles from the coast, the one that was almost an island unto itself. His rock.

You were almost there when something wrapped around your waist and pulled you under the waves, making you scream as seawater burned your throat.

“Do not scream, kjæreste,” the sound of his voice immediately soothed you, your face tucking perfectly into Thor’s neck when he rolled onto his back and carried you towards the rock that was his home above the sea, “swimming in the middle of the night, there are far more dangerous things then I that rise from the depths at this hour, little princess.”

“I don’t care,” even in the freezing cold water he was warm, as was his smile when you peeked up at him through your lashes. “It would be better than what my mother has planned for me.”

“She still intends to marry you to the inland princeling, then?” Thor lifted you onto the slick black stone and climbed up after you, hushing you when you immediately crawled into his arms and buried your face in his chest. “My sweet little princess, you haven’t even met the man, you may like him.”

“No I won’t,” you gave him a stubborn pout. “I need the sea, I need you. I love you, Thor.”

“Little one…” Thor kissed the top of your head when you pressed your body even closer to his. “You may or you may not, kjæreste. Give it time. When you have been married to your princeling for a few years it will pass.”

“Don’t say that!” Your wail was truly miserable, your tears falling freely as you looked up at Thor with a wretched expression. “I don’t want to marry him! I want to be with you! Don’t make me go back, please.”

“You do not realize what you are asking, princess.” Thor stroked your hair and let out a deep sigh. “You would never be able to go home. You would never see another human being for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want anything except you.” You clambered so you were straddling his tail, running your fingers through his golden hair and grinding against his sheath. “Only you, Thor. You’re all I need.”

“You are such a tenacious little thing, I do not believe I could ever say no to you.” Thor pulled you close and kissed you deeply, groaning into your mouth as he felt his cocks sliding from their sheath and growing hard under your ass. “You must be sure though, little one. You must tell me now that you can give up your family, the land of your birth, and all of your friends to be mine. That you will stay true even when I must stay beneath the sea for weeks at a time. Can you promise me, kjæreste?”

You felt your lower lip starting to quiver as you gazed at him. Of course you would miss your family and your friends, and the thought of not seeing them ever again gave you pause. But you really did love Thor. He was like the sea brought to life, and you could no sooner live without him than you could the sea itself.

“I promise, Thor.” You moaned into his mouth and fluttered your eyes when he kissed you deeply, one of his large hands gripping the edge of your shift and dragging it up your hips. The fingers of his other hand were suddenly filling your mouth and you sucked on them greedily, making sure to soak them with your spit as they muffled the sound of your voice. “I love you.”

“And I love you, little princess.” Thor smiled warmly as he dragged his fingers out of your mouth and kissed you again, his tongue tracing the curves of your lips as he slipped his spit-soaked fingers between the cheeks of your ass and teased them over the satiny skin of your asshole. “Just remember to keep breathing for me.”

Even though you nodded you couldn’t help but choke on your tongue when suddenly both of the trembling holes between your legs were full of him; your pussy with one of his thick cocks and your ass with two of his fingers as he stretched you in preparation. He swallowed each pathetic, desperate noise that fell from your lips when he started to move, cooing softly when your cunt fluttered around him and your fingers gripped his hair at the base of his neck. It was exceptionally adorable how quickly you turned into a whimpering mess once he started to fuck you, but he found it endearing.

You were very quickly starting to fall under the same spell you always fell under once he was inside you, murmuring nonsense words in between your whimpers while you struggled to move your body on top of his. He was so big, he always made you feel so tiny but never more so than when the two of you were locked together like this. The way he stretched you open to take him was almost painful from the strain but you secretly loved it, and when he removed his fingers from your ass and replaced them with his second cock you couldn’t do more than let out a garbled scream of pleasure as an orgasm raged through your body.

Thor took control when your body succumbed to the unimaginable bliss he always inflicted on you, kissing you gently in a way that contrasted beautifully with the sudden sharp and brutal movements of his hips. You were lost in a warm, gray haze when he rolled the two of you so he was on top, mumbling when you felt the sharp scrape of his teeth along your jaw as he fucked into you with abandon. Even in your incoherent state you still rolled your body to meet his, your breasts pressed against the smooth plane of his chest and your fingers clawing across his back as they struggled to find purchase on his slick skin.

Even though he made his home in the arctic waters of your country, Thor was so warm. Slippery and warm and large all over. It was addictive, like bathing in the volcanic pools and hot springs you had enjoyed in your youth. But in truth they were nothing like having Thor fuck you. Both of his cocks seemed to fit inside you perfectly, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of your body until your own body was almost as slick as his. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once; cupping your breasts and squeezing your ass, gripping your hips and massaging your thighs. Then suddenly they were holding your face tenderly as he kissed all the breath from your body and fucked you so deep you could feel him in your throat.

When he ground against your clit you sobbed, your pussy fluttering wildly and your asshole clenching around each of his cocks as he kept moving faster and deeper. Your eyes stayed fixed on his even as they grew glassy and unfocused, your lips moving as though in a silent prayer as he growled into your mouth and began to thrust even more wildly. Thor’s lips trailed down your throat as you squirted and writhed against him, the low timbre of his voice vibrating your whole body and making everything even more intense.

You let him move your body however he pleased, putting up no resistance when he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. When he bit your shoulder you just whined, shaking when the sudden sharp pain drew another climax from your exhausted body. It had never been like this before. It had always been intense and passionate but not like this. It was as though he was doing everything in his power to make his mark on you, and you were accepting it without protest.

All of your focus suddenly snapped to the sensations between your legs, one final, practically painful orgasm ripping through your body and making you scream so loudly the rock shook from the sound. And then his cocks were swelling and stretching you even wider and you could feel yourself about to pass out, the sudden warm rush of his cum into the deepest parts of you finally pushing over the edge into pitch black emptiness. Thor sighed as he watched your body sag and your eyes roll back in your head, smiling at you and gently cupping your cheek as you slid into unconsciousness. He took a few minutes to enjoy the sight of your sleeping form before carefully pulling out of you, chuckling when your pussy and asshole clenched around the emptiness and his seed dripped from your wide-stretched holes.

He pushed you into a corner near one of the steam vents to keep you warm while you slept, kissing your forehead before sliding back towards the sea and silently slipping into the water. It didn’t take him long at all to reach the murky depths, swimming through the algae as he sought the underwater cave he needed. Brunnhilde was there waiting for him, grinning wickedly as she flexed her tentacles around the stone she was reclining on and toyed with a brightly colored anemone. It was rare that she traveled this far north, but they’re kingdoms were friendly, and the sea witch would always be there for her friend and whatever assistance she could lend to his sinister ambitions.

“I take it your little princess gave her consent?” She chuckled darkly when he nodded, swirling her fingers through the cold water and sighing when it glowed with her magic. “How many have you collected now, seventeen?”

“Nineteen.” Thor found his own rock to rest against, burrowing his tail in the volcanic sand and beaming at his friend. “One for each of the rocks in the bay. Though I do find myself growing incredibly fond of this one.” A seahorse made the mistake of swimming too close to the havmand and he snarled as he snatched it from the water and ripped it in half with his teeth before chewing and swallowing. “If I sacrifice the others do you think you could work up a spell that might allow me to keep her?”

#natalie writes #monstrous mayhem #kinktober 2023 #merman!thor odinson #thor odinson #thor #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x you #thor odinson x y/n #thor x reader #female!reader #marvel au #eighteen plus #thor odinson smut

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sroloc--elbisivni · 8 months

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Stacy worked for almost twenty minutes before she made a faint sound of approval. “Almost done,” she said, dusting her brush across my nose and forehead.

“And thank Titania for that,” I said fervently, as she went back to working on my hair.

“You should be thanking Titania,” said Stacy, spraying something that smelled like roses and cotton flowers into the air above my head. “If it weren’t for her, we’d be doing this the mortal way, and we’d be here for at least another hour.”

i’m rereading the toby daye books. just got to this line in One Salt Sea and had to bury my head in my hands and scream in Be The Serpent. seanan mcguire knows exactly how funny she is and the rest of us just have to suffer for it.

#sroloc babbles #toby daye #started yesterday. books….good.#october daye

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

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Sunscreen

Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob burns. Your daughter gets very paranoid when he forgets his sunscreen one morning and insists on bringing it to him.

wc: 1.4k

a/n: ahhh my first bob fic. I just love the idea of him as a dad!

“Do you have everything?” You called from the kitchen, the rustling of objects from upstairs perking your ears.

“I got it, darlin’,” Bob told you kindly as he trotted down the stairs while zipping his tan backpack.

Beach football had become a tradition since the first game almost seven years ago. One football emoji from Maverick in the team’s group chat would have everyone rushing off base or nearby homes and gathering on the beach across from the Hard Deck. Bob would smile every time but quickly turn off notifications and grimace as Phoenix and Hangman started their taunts.

The blond wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek, “Don’t come home with a bloody nose, please,” you jokingly pleaded, pushing up his aviator glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Your husband chuckled and draped his backpack over his shoulder before walking over to the other side of the counter. His hand playfully grabbed hold of one of his daughter's space buns and pulled her closer. “Be good for your mom, Ames” he told her as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m always good, daddy,” the six-year-old sighed dramatically and looked up at him, her matching aviator glasses slipping off the nose that also matched her father's.

“I know, but as your dad, it’s my job to say it,” he reminded her matter of factly before offering a quick ‘I love you’ and ‘I’ll see you later’ to his favorite girls.

Amy returned to her coloring book, her cheek resting against the palm of her hand as she meticulously colored her half-finished page. You leaned against the counter and watched as he walked towards the front door, casually eyeing him up and down with a smirk appearing on your face as his yellow shirt rose slightly. “Gross,” Amy mumbled under her breath after hearing the door shut.

You playfully scoffed and tugged on her other bun before kissing her forehead. “One day when someone catches your eye, baby, the payback will feel so good,” you chuckled before leaving her to her coloring book.

The house was still.

Like her father, Amy was a quiet child and her soft voice only ever rose when she was in distress or angry, which wasn’t often. “Mom!” she cried. Your blood turned cold at the shrill tone of her light voice, the basket of clothes collided with the wood floor.

“Amy,” you breathed as you hurried into the room, your heart pounding against your chest. The little girl stood in the center of the kitchen, tears filled to the brim as she looked down at the cylinder spray bottle in her hand. You came closer and got down on your knees, instantly looking for scrapes. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, moving the can towards you. “Daddy left his sunscreen,” she told you meekly.

Your face instantly softened as she passed it to you. Amy was never the same after last summer when the sunscreen was left in the room while you were out in the hot weather. Bob came back a bright blinding shade of red. The sounds of his pained groans and restless nights still haunted Amy. She hated to see her dad in any kind of pain or even slight discomfort.

“He’ll probably borrow Aunt Nat’s sunscreen,” you tried to reassure her, taking your finger and pushing up her glasses.

“But it’s his special sunscreen,” she grumbled, her eyes slowly narrowing. “We have to go give it to him!”

You looked down, the bold labeling reading: up to 110-degree protection. A laugh threatened to escape your poorly concealed smile. Bob swore by this stuff, proudly taking it with him everywhere during summer outings since the incident. “Ok,” you gave in, “we’ll go.”

The salt air was refreshing, the seagulls wailing loudly from above and the testosterone-fueled shouts were not any less quiet. You took a quick glance inside the windows of the Hard Deck, sending a quick wave to Penny before Amy pulled on your other hand.

“I see him!” Amy gasped excitedly, seeing Bob sitting in the sand with some of the other aviators while they reset for the next game. She let go once she noticed you watching, taking off towards Bob. “Daddy!” she called.

Bob’s eyebrows knitted together as he heard the familiar voice, he looked up to the sun wondering if he was overheating. The voice called to him again, the voice huffing and puffing before standing in front of him, her little shadow blocking his slightly pink face from the blazing sun. He looked down in surprise, “What are you doing here?” he asked with a grin.

“You left your sunscreen at home,” she said as she pulled away, showing him the can.

“She was adamant about bringing it to you,” you chimed in from behind. Bob’s torso turned and he wrapped his arm around your calf to pull you closer to his side.

Bob chuckled and took the can, pressing his kiss to her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’,” he hummed. Amy put her hands on her knees and inspected his face, noticing the small patch of red forming on his nose. There was only one way to get her to relax. Bob popped open the lid and removed his glasses before spraying it all over his face. “Is that better?” he asked, one of his blue eyes opening to see her reaction.

She was about to tell him to spray his face once more but a gasp left her throat as she was hoisted into the air and seated on broad shoulders. Her eyes were screwed shut and her arms had a death grip around the person’s neck. “I didn’t think I’d get to see my favorite girl today,” he said.

Her eyes opened once she heard his Texas drawl. “Jake!” she giggled, her eyes opening widely and a bright smile forming on her lips.

“Come to save your old man from losin’, baby bob?”

Amy blushed and shook her head bashfully. It was no secret to the team that Amy had a little crush on Hangman. “No, daddy left his sunscreen at home. I didn’t want him to get burnt.” Jake looked down at Bob and tsked, teasingly shaking his head in disapproval before carrying Amy off towards the water.

You took a seat next to Bob and looped your arm around his. “You know I just borrowed Natasha’s, right?” You couldn’t help but smile at the small laugh he had in his voice, it was your favorite sound in the world.

“I know,” you sighed, resting your head on his clothed shoulder. “You should have seen her face. She was worried you looked like a lobster.”

“I was doing just fine,” he hummed, turning to kiss your temple. “I promise.”

You looked down at his sand-ridden forearm. Raising a single eyebrow in suspicion, “You’re looking a little pink there,” you smirked, nudging him with your shoulder. Untangling your arms, you moved to sit on your knees, taking the can from its spot in the warm sand. “You could always…” your voice faded off as you eyed him up and down, hoping he’d get the hint.

Bob noticed the slight change in your tone and watched as your thighs clamped together while your eyes examined his clothed chest. “Baby,” he said in a low voice.

"Lift," you said sternly. He did as he was told and lifted his arms so you could spray his strong arms. You looked over, Amy was still sitting on Jake’s shoulders as he ran her down the beach, her little arms held the red football tightly to her chest, and giggled as the guys tried to reach for it. “She’s with her fan club,” you murmured before dragging in your lower lip.

The blond gave in and took off his shirt, gently placing it over his backpack. “This is what does it for you?” he joked, pointing at his pale skin.

“Very much so.” You nodded happily and started to spray his chest and back. Goosebumps started to form from the cold mist, naturally flinching to get away from it. “You should keep your shirt off,” you told him, sending a wink in his direction.

He pulled you in for a kiss, “You would like that wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” he mumbled against your lips.

“You guys are so gross!” Amy whined as she trotted towards you, plopping down right in between your bodies. Bob rolled his eyes and took back the sunscreen, spraying a little on his finger and dabbing it on her nose. She pouted, yet still nuzzled against his bare chest. “Thank you,” she sighed, scrunching her wet nose.

Amy shifted into your lap after the team called for Bob. He groaned and stood up from his spot, instinctively reaching for his t-shirt. A low hum of dissatisfaction rumbled from your throat, his head whipped towards you and caught your knowing expression. “Fine,” he sighed before walking back towards the beach, looking back to see your grin. He looked down at Amy and pushed up his glasses, making his daughter giggle and do the same.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fluff #top gun #top gun maverick

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gazs-blue-hat · 2 months

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King!Johnny MacTavish x Siren!Reader (kinda FemOC, but she’s never given a proper name, descriptions, or anything. No Y/N either)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Language, brief descriptions of injury and blood, storms (thunder and lightning), lots of ocean stuff (lmk if I missed any!)

AN- Dedicated to the lovely @sprout-fics who helped me out of my writing slump. Thank you forever friend. Another shout out to @deadbranch who indirectly inspired me to make pretty headings for my stuff! Thank you!

(Also, formatting may be weird due to me being on mobile)

Word Count: 2,802

There was a whisper on the breeze, as if the very sea itself was restless. Thunder cracks in the distance and lightning split the sky like some kind of beast tearing it open. Rain fell in sheets that created waves in the air, splashing against the tower of the castle upon the cliff face, mist settled against the glass paned doors of the royall chambers, creating droplets or condensation that clung to the glass before sliding down like tears on a face.

King John MacTavish pushed said doors open, his rough hands leaving prints in their wake. He should feel bad, but he knew the glass would be cleaned in the morning. Everything in his home was constantly being polished or shined or cleaned in some shape or form. He took a few large steps onto the stone balcony, his furs ruffling about his shoulders from the harsh wind. It was a dreadfully cold night out, his breath puffing before his face like the smoke from mythical dragons his ancestors claimed to have slain. He rested his hands on the salty parapet, scraping against stone that was constantly kissed by the sea. He looked out at the tempest, arms folding and shoulders sagging.

Oh the sea…

He sighed, his head hanging in a moment of pity for himself. He missed his old life. He missed the scent of the open ocean. He missed the feeling of the salt in his hair and the wheel in his hands. A ship captain turned king? Who would have thought? Certainly not him.

He looked down at his hands, rough from years of use on ships. Old calluses from harpoons and ropes slowly fading away from lack of use. His hands had never before been soft. They were a man’s hands, the hands of a warrior and of a worker. Not of…not of a cushy noble who sat in a castle all day.

He looked up, hearing the surf crash against the castle walls and feeling the mist settle on his shoulders. He turned his gaze to the churning depths below. The surf was rather high tonight, seeing as the moon was full and the tide was coming in. A particularly bright crack of lightning blinded him temporarily before the equally loud boom of thunder filled his ears.

The mighty captain turned king ducked and covered his ears, hands firmly protecting the one sense he truly was fearful of losing. His mind was filled with the memories of booming canons, the screams of men being torn apart by sabers and shrapnel from the exploding timbers of a ship. He stood, feeling the icy water spill onto his face as the rain hit the castle. He groaned and ran his hand down his face, feeling quite foolish for being spooked by a thing as simple as thunder. He used to take on giants of the deep without a drop of fear. Now he was simply jumping at shadows…

He scoffed and looked down at the swirling sea, watching as the foam and spray swirled in the wind. The tide rose again and a massive wave crashed against the cliff, momentarily blocking his view of the opposite shore. The water subsided and a low groan filled the air around him, seemingly coming from all directions. John spun, drawing his saber that he kept as his side at all times and pointing it at the space behind him. He checked the corners of his vision before slowly sweeping his attention across the empty balcony.

Nobody. There was nobody there. He sighed softly before sheathing the saber once more, turning to look out at the craggy shore. His eyes widened as he saw a woman, her skin scraped and scratched by the stones she now rested on.

“Steaming bloody Jesus…” the curse slipped from his mouth as he stormed back into his chambers, and hurried down the stairs. A few members of his staff yelped as he hurried down the stone steps, concerned for their king that was now trailing water through the castle. “Someone wake the surgeon! I may need her aid!” His voice boomed through the stone hallways and his Knight Captain nodded, the helmeted man clanking his way to the surgeon’s quarters.

John pushed open doors and hurried through the narrow halls until he made it to the docks behind the castle. Behind him, he could hear the rapid footsteps of the court surgeon following behind him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her words fell on deaf ears as he hopped over a low wall and scurried down the rocks to where he saw the woman. The surgeon growled in frustration while lighting a lantern, carrying it with her. “Damn it Johnny! Talk to me!” She ran behind him, ignoring the rain as it soaked her uniform and the utensils she had brought. “I can’t help if you don’t-“ she trailed off as Johnny held his arm up as he skidded to a halt, pointing at the woman who was laying on the stony shore.

Now that he was closer, he could see the jagged cuts and scratches along her body. He could see the blood staining the water red. He couldn’t see her lower half, seeing as the water was still lapping at her waist and the occasional wave rushed over her that would shift her entire form. He came closer, assisting the surgeon over the rocks as they got closer to the woman.

When they reached her, it was very clear she was in serious trouble. Her back was a mess of scars and scrapes, some older and some more recent. There was a series of marks on her back that Johnny identified all too well. She had been whipped, and aggressively too.

“I’m going to get a bed ready. Bring her to me and I’ll get her squared away.” She touched his shoulder and squeezed once. Reassuring him that she would be there if he needed her.

“Cmon lass…let’s get you warm..” his words were soft as he gently placed a hand on the injured woman’s shoulder. She didn’t move and she was freezing to the touch, giving Johnny cause to assume she was dead. He sighed heavily as he closed his eyes, resting more of his hand on her shoulder. His eyes snapped open when he felt her move. That same groan from before filling the air. He turned her over without thinking, ready to administer aid, hands hovering over her torso in the position the surgeon had taught him when he froze. She had…scales

Scales the likes of which he had never seen before. They were iridescent little things, trailing up her hips to her navel before becoming freckles against her skin. His eyes locked on her skin, the soft but cold skin of her torso that was covered in scratches and cuts. As his eyes trailed upwards, he could see that her upper torso was also coated in scales, a lighter shade than that of her hips that decorated her clavicle and upper arms. They were tiny things, glittering in what faint light he could see.

Her breath came shallowly and he placed his hand on her neck, feeling for a pulse. He had no idea if humans had the same anatomy as her kind, but he figured he’d try for a pulse anyway. A weak beat danced under his fingers and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive, for now at least. He was itching to learn more about this creature that had washed up on his shore but his thoughts were interrupted when a rather rough wave crashed over the rocks and soaked the king to the bone, or…more soaked than he already was.

“Oh for fuck’s sa-“ his curses died on his tongue as a bright bolt of lightning illuminated the source of the mermaid’s troubles. Her tail, which had been pushed into the shore by the incoming waves, was now visible for him to see. A massive amalgamation of fishing line, netting, and various hooks and harpoon heads had embedded itself deep into the flesh of the appendage and was cutting into her. “Oh lass…no wonder you couldn’t swim. Especially in this tempest…”

He sighed softly and shifted to grab his saber, removing it from the sheath. He shrugged off his coat and draped it across the mermaid’s tail, not resting his weight on her directly. The fur squished uncomfortably under his fingers and it was quickly stained by the blood flowing from the wound on her tail. With expert hands, he worked to slice the mess of string and metal free from the tail of the mermaid, being careful to not cut the injured flesh more. He removed most of the line with little issue, tossing it to the side and out of the water. The hooks were next and as he knelt closer to remove one, he looked back.

Eyes as stormy as the sea were looking back at him and he felt his blood run cold. They were slitted, like the eyes of the great cats from the stories back East and they were filled to the brim with rage. He raised his hands and held them above his head. “Easy…easy. I was just cutting them free. It won’t be pleasant, but you’ll be swimming in no time. Just…hold still.” He spoke softly, like one would to a wounded animal to get it to come closer. The mermaid didn’t move to attack him, instead she closed her eyes and lay back on the rocks, breathing heavily.

Johnny slowly and carefully removed the hooks from her tail, seeing how the fins were tattered and torn. Whatever scuffle this mermaid had gotten into, she had been lucky to escape it. Once the final hook was removed and he had tossed it to the side, he sat up, proud of his work. The tail was still wounded and blood still stained the rocks and water around them, but she wasn’t trapped by them anymore. He smiled and moved to get up when the large muscles of the tail twitched into life, spinning him into the water flat on his back.

He felt the water of the sea surge over his face as he fell back, a rock scraping across his shoulder painfully. He felt firm hands on his chest and when the waves receded, the face of the mermaid was above him.

Her glare was sharper than the rocks they found themselves on and colder than the rain that fell in sheets over the churning sea. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth opened to form a hiss. Her teeth were razors, sharper than a shark’s and probably just as deadly. Johnny couldn't move, his arms pinned by the waves and the sheer strength of the woman pinning him down. He felt her inhale against him, deep and long until she screeched.

The sound was deafening. Johnny covered his ears as the mermaid, no, siren shouted at him. The rocks rumbled under his scrambling grasp and his eyes watered in pain. The siren surged over him, diving into an incoming wave and leaving him with a slap to the face with her powerful tail. Johnny could only watch the lightning lit waves for any sign of the mythical being, but he was met with nothing but churning water and spraying foam.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood on the shore but eventually the surgeon came back, a lantern held tightly in her grip. “Where did the woman go? Don’t tell me she-“ Johnny held up his hand and showed her the collected scales. They had broken off the siren’s tail as he was working on getting the hooks out. The surgeon took the scales and held them to the light, inspecting them.

“Wasnae a woman. It was something else…” His words were soft and his accent thick. The rain had stopped a while ago but he couldn’t remove his gaze from the sea. Something there was calling to him, and it caused an ache in his heart to be away from it. If John MacTavish had longed for the sea before, he was now enraptured by it.

For the entire walk back to the castle, his eyes were locked on those tumbling waves, searching and seeking for a glimpse of a tail, or of skin. A glimpse of her.

“I’ll see you again Bonnie. I swear it.”

#johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cod mw2 #John MacTavish x reader

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desertwaterwitch · 10 months

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Hey witches,

Just so you all know, you don’t have to use special candles in order to practice witchcraft. I use candles I get at Bath and Body Works quite often, like a rose one I have. I light it when I take self-love baths and it’s super powerful. Even if it’s the only thing you have, it’ll work!

As a broom-closet witch I have had to think outside the box to practice things, and this is just one of the things I’ve done.

Another example of something unsuspecting would be a moon water and salt spray. You don’t even have to add the salt if you don’t want to! This is a great idea because it’s powerful, and if someone sees it and asks what it is, you can tell them it’s just water to wake you up, water to mist your plants, water to dust with…etc. Of course that’s only if you don’t add salt.

Either way this will be a great cleansing and protection spray for your room. If you don’t add salt you can spray it on yourself as well. I am always using mine and will spray it more at my door and window, and it helps so much!

I hope this helped! It’s great for Spoonie witches too! I love that when I’m not able to leave my bed or room, I can still spray it.

#witchcraft #witch community #witchblr #witches of tumblr #baby witch #beginner witch #witches #spoonie witch #broom closet witch #water witch #witch tip #witch tips #moon water #protection spell

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gilverrwrites · 3 months

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Supernatural Taste and Smell Headcanons

I included a lot of characters (I think 24?), but if your fave didn't make the cut, just send me an ask!

Dean

Smell: Leather, cinnamon, and the kind of musk that only comes from an axe body spray, cause you know what man only buys whatever is quick and easy at the gas station. He’d also smell like gasoline.

Taste: Malty like beer, but sweet in the way bbq sauce is sweet.

Sam

Smell: I just feel like (when he’d not hunting) he smells clean, ya know? Citrusy and woody, kind of like D&G light blue, with undertones of like a ‘fresh’ scented fabric softener.

Taste: Kind of fruity but tart, like a berry smoothie. Also just a little bit of like garlic, or mustard.

John

Smell: That man is a smoker, and you can’t tell me otherwise – at least later in life, way after the marines, and losing Mary. He always has a stale smoke smell on his clothes and lips. I recon he uses old spice or similar as an aftershave, so also like cloves/sage.

Taste: Again smoky, ashy, but also oaky and malty like bourbon.

Mary

Smell: Citrusy like Sam but darker, smokier (joke not intended) with hints of like jasmine, bergamot, and a little bit of vanilla. 100% the kind of smell that wraps you up if you come in for a hug.

Taste: Chocolate, specifically the kinds with nuts and caramel, woman has a sweet tooth.

Castiel

Smell: I feel like all angels smell at least a little like parma violets, or some kind of sweet and subtle floral smell, be especially Cas. On top of that, he’d have like other earthy scentes, like honey, patchouli, maybe a bit of amber.

Taste: Coffee, always coffee. When human/when he eats; grape jelly, and honey.

Jack

Smell: Like Cas he has the sort of clean, floral scent to him. I also think he would smell of peppermint and like a yankee candle version of warm vanilla. He just has a cosy, familiar smell to him.

Taste: Again I think minty, additionally like white chocolate and rose/flora flavours.

Bobby

Smell: Like old books, burnt candle wicks, motor oils, and nose hair singing whisky.

Taste: More than anyone else on this list (including Crowley) Bobby tastes like whisky. Not the good stiff though, that’s only for special occasions. He taste like Jim Beam and Jack Daniels.

Crowley

Smell: Like a bonfire!!! Smokey, warm, woody, with a hint of burnt sugar.

Taste: 100% Whisky, and dark chocolate.

Charlie

Smell: Charlie smells like she just stepped out of a fantasy book, like wildflowers, and peppercorn. Like strawberry and blackcurrant wine.

Taste: Like a vegan alternative to Nutella, creamy, chocolatey, nutty.

Meg

Smell: Surprisingly soft and clean. Milky, with almond and peach. Just a hint of leather and cedarwood underneath.

Taste: Salty and sweet, anise: like a strawberry liquorice.

Ruby

Smell: Like cedarwood, ginger, and pink pepper. Pleasant but sharp, and strong. Like it pulls you in from across the room.

Taste: Bold and sweet like cabernet sauvignon, starkly contrasted by pepperoni and cheesy pasta.

Lucifer

Smell: Similar to Jack, in that he smells clean and minty. However, his is sharper, harsher. There is lime, and moss, and mahogany.

Taste: Like pure Moroccan mint, with that like sweet sourness you get on things like a tangfastics or a sourpatch kid. Like if you’re not expecting it, or you taste it for to long it will make you squirm.

Gabriel

Smell: Like walking into the kitchen of a bakery just before opening and they’re prepping everything. Mocha, malted sugar, rich caramel, creamy vanilla.

Taste: All of the above again! Just so sweet and creamy. Like a spoonful of sugar.

Raphael

Smell: Very similar to Cas, floral, but less earthy, and more sterile. Like aloe vera and antiseptic.

Taste: Again, very clean. He has a flavour the way cucumber has flavour? Refreshing, clean, but not notable.

Michael/Adam 😍

Smell: Kind of like the ocean, meets the forrest. Musk, white lilies, salt, collided with pine, sandalwood, and cedar. Cold, but familiar, ya know?

Taste: Hear me out: Fruit loops, and Dr Pepper. Like Michael has little say over what they eat, that’s all on Adam. And after the initial, ‘I haven’t eaten in 1200 years, I’m gonna eat everything I craved’ has worn off. He’s just like, a normal guy (who does not need to eat because he shares his body with an immortal angel). So, I can see him mostly reaching for snacks that make him feel good, that remind him of his mum, or his childhood, something comforting; like sugary cereals and fizzy drinks. I love them, I will take no criticism.

Rowena

Smell: Like an apothecary. Rich and indulgent. Very aromatic with lots of deep woody tones, sweet cherry, dark rose and other florally scents.

Taste: Like a bottle of mataro, or Nebbiolo wine. Spice, cherry, plum, smoke. She both smells and tastes intoxicatingly expensive.

Chuck

Smell: Kind of musky, cottony, leafy. I don’t really imagine him smelling too strongly of anything.

Taste: Summary and tart, like a sea breeze cocktail. (Grapefruit, cranberry, lime – an acquired taste)

Amara

Smell: Similar to Chuck, I sort of envision an absence of smell. Maybe just hints of amber, sandalwood, and a musky citrusy scent.

Taste: Like a white dessert whine, like Riesling. Dry but sweet. Honey, and pears.

Billie

Smell: Bergamot, rose, silk, and cocoa. Inviting and pleasant, but with an undertone of darkness.

Taste: Very similar to scent, sweet and warm but with an aftertaste of something bitter; blackcurrant and dark chocolate

Benny

Smell: Robust (Copper, ginger, tobacco,) but enticing (amber, cardamom, cinnamon).

Taste: I mean, I have tried really had to not add blood to any of the previous entries, but Benny undeniably tastes like blood.

Kevin

Smell: Not good. Pre-prophethood, not so much; I imagine like mint, green tea, jasmine, the kind of smell you would expects from a reasonably priced aftershave. During prophethood, the aftershave is long forgotten; its more fried chicken, old paper, and forgetting to shower for 9 days.

Taste: Like redbull, chexmix, and mouthwash.

Eileen

Smell: Like peaches, and roses, rich chocolate, and strong coffee.

Taste: Chocolate and coffee again, but hints of sparkly summer fruits.

Ketch

Smell: Like high end British aftershaves only the royal family know off, something with notes of fig, and oud, and other pretentious smells. The small of cigar smoke, and leather follow him around too.

Taste: Like earl grey tea, and dry gin.

Balthazar

Smell: Kind of like ketch, some high end and expensive (if he actually had to pay for it). But woodsier, and fresh. He would also have that hidden undertone of violet.

Taste: Creamy and hazelnutty, but there’s a constant aftertastes alcohol, and something metallic to him, no matter what comes first.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural headcanon #supernatural headcanons #spn headcanon #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural angels #supernatural archangels #supernatural demons #gilverrwrites

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dear-mrs-otome · 3 months

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Chapter One - Ansare

Pairing: Silvio Ricci x Emma...eventually Word Count: 2.1k+/??? Author's Note: If Cybird won't give me a proper Beauty and the Beast story, I'll write it myself. This is a slowburn fairytale AU that hews closely to canon, but veers when needed.

Summary: A curse, of sorts. A rose, of sorts. And one prince's long, tangled journey to answer an eternal question...What separates man from beast?

It all began, as so many things do, with a love poem.

Emma lifted the top off of a crate, and was greeted by the rich waft of old books. Leather and glue and that indescribable patina that only the echo of many long years could leave behind. Wisdom crowning wisdom.

“There’s so many,” she said with amazement as she dug through the first layer of packing straw and pulled a title free. Running careful hands and a practiced eye over the condition of the bindings and the gilt lettering that traipsed up their spines, she began sorting them into loose categories. Histories, the classics, poetry and novels, geography and the sciences. She paused long enough to linger over a detailed map of the continent in one of the gorgeously illustrated atlases, a wistful sigh escaping her.

The bookstore was her life - she knew every nook and cranny of this shop like the back of her hand. Had skinned her knees tripping over the single uneven floorboard in its stacks as a coltish child, had stained the pages of more than one romance with tears while nursing the first tender bruises of young love curled up in the nearby battered armchair. She’d scrimped and saved and squirreled away every penny she could pinch, ever since Akatsuki had handed her the first of her wages, determined to buy it from him one day when he retired. She knew that would make her the happiest woman in the world.

But some days, it was hard not to wonder what was over the jagged rooftops of town, crowded and gnashing the skyline like snaggled teeth. What mysteries might lay just beyond the hills that cradled their city so gently, rolling away towards the horizon as she imagined waves upon the sea must. In her dreams some nights she tasted the salt spray of the ocean, only to awaken, baffled to find it was tears on her tongue.

Some days, it was hard not to wonder if she was settling her future comfortably…or merely settling.

Putting the atlas and those maudlin thoughts aside, a delighted grin stole over her face as she plucked the next book from the box, a slim volume of poetry with an aging, cracked cover and worn edges. The obscure missing volume in her exhaustive collection of Benitoitian sonnets. She flipped eagerly through the pages, her gaze devouring the metered lines upon them, lingering over one poem in particular that was redolent with the bittersweetness of longing. “You found it! You actually found it! Is that what took you so long this time?”

“Partly. I didn’t want to disappoint you, not when you’ve been looking to round out that collection for so long.” Akatsuki’s ever-stoic face thawed with the first hint of a smile as he wove a far defter path through the piles she was creating than one would expect from a man of his years. But then again, the passing of time never seemed to touch him, she’d noticed, beyond kissing a few more strands of silver into his dark head of hair. He still moved as spryly as men a third his age, and had never in all of her years of working for him ever taken a single day off ill. “And partly I was busy with business meetings.”

“Business meetings?” She slipped a bookmark at the page with the poem that had caught her eye and looked up, wrinkling her nose at the implications of that. “Oh, no. No. Don’t tell me that means-”

The rest of her sentence was robbed by a resounding crash, the deafening clatter of a door thrown open - or rather, kicked open, as she knew better than to believe otherwise of the man who sauntered in. The violence of his entrance setting one of her nearby newly built towers of books swaying precariously.

“-Him,” she finished flatly, before plastering on a smile even more obviously fake than the forgotten vase of forlorn silk orchids gathering dust in a nearby corner. “Welcome in, Your Highness. Thank you for testing the resilience of our hinges. Again.”

His Highness in question - Silvio Ricci, the crown prince of Benitoite - drew to a halt and spared her a scathing look, shaking his fur-lined cloak back imperiously. “I’d start charging for the service, but there’s no way in hell this dump could afford me.”

“Strange. For being such a ‘dump’, it sure seems to keep you coming back,” she returned fire, cloyingly sweet, before forcing herself to take a deep breath. She would not let this goblin masquerading as royalty get under her skin and ruin the high of a delivery day. Not this time.

He snorted. “It’s the impeccable customer service, clearly.”

She ground her teeth together and shot Akatsuki a pleading look, noticing the amusement that clung to the wrinkles fanned around his eyes as his attention bounced between the two of them. Spectating his favorite sport.

“Prince Silvio,” Akatsuki said at last, wading into the fray.

Dismissing her, the prince turned a dauntless, charming grin on the man who owned the shop, and she did her best to ignore the nip of envy that inspired.

He’d never smiled once at her like that. But then, why did she possibly care?

“Signore.” Prince Silvio inclined his head ever-so-slightly in the older man’s direction. “I trust you found the details of the documents I had couriered to you acceptable?”

“Well, yes. But I…” He broke off, and his gaze bounced off Emma before landing back on Silvio. “Wasn’t expecting you quite this soon. I had hoped for a bit more time to explain things.”

“Explain what?” Emma interjected, unease a cool hand curling fingers around her stomach.

Akatsuki seemed at a loss a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Circumstances being what they are and all…”

Silvio made an exasperated sound that bordered on rude. “This bookstore is the second-most profitable one in the city. I could make it number one.” He paused a moment, and lifted his chin imperiously. “I will make it number one.”

Emma shook her head. “We don’t need any advice from the likes of you. I’m certain.”

“You may not want it, but you’re getting it. And it won’t be advice…it’ll be orders.”

“Says who?” she countered, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“Me. The soon-to-be owner of this enormous heap of paper.”

She’d heard the words, but they rang hollow, refusing to make sense. She whirled towards Akatsuki as if he might somehow be able to translate.

He had the good grace to wince. “Emma, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out. But I’m not getting any younger, and the traveling of a merchant’s life gets harder and harder every year.”

“So you sold the store to Prince Silvio? Of all people, him? But…” She’d never felt betrayal before, but this nausea that clawed acrid at the back of her throat couldn’t be anything else. “I was going to buy it.”

The forlorn admission slipped free before she had time to snatch it back, falling helplessly to the ground. A fledgling taken to wing too soon.

Silvio blinked, and chortled. “You? You were going to buy the shop?"

Her cheeks stung pink at the slap of his incredulous laugh. “Yes, me.”

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this,” he scoffed.

She shook her head fiercely. “No, you wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this. Could you recognize an incunable if you saw one? Do you have the faintest idea what an octavo is? Or who Madame Rochefort’s favorite author is? What genre you can sell Monsieur Martin on without fail when he comes by every Tuesday afternoon? All you see is coin to be made. Numbers in a ledger. Profit and loss. Not people. And certainly not their stories.”

“This ain’t a library, lady. It’s right there in the name - bookstore.” He paused, as if considering something. “Although, if you’re so eager to make sure things are done in a certain way, I suppose I could let you keep your job.”

“Let me…” A logjam of words crowded her throat for a moment, indignities all clamoring for space at once until one finally jostled free. “You want me to work for you?”

A petty smile slanted his lips. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it.”

That expression of his was like a door being thrown open on a smoldering fire. Rage exploded through her in a backdraft, a mindless wave of fire and fury that vaporized the calm logic she prided herself on. “Listen to me, you tacky, tasteless, tawdry, tinsel-clad affront to the eyes. I wouldn’t work for you if you were the last thing standing between me and utter destitution.”

Answering sparks flew from a blue gaze turned flinty, as the blood drained from his face. “That could be arranged. One word from me, and I could make it so that you never work in this city again.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes stinging from the salt he had just rubbed into every last one of her open wounds. “And now you think you can threaten me into keeping the job that I already have? All while you buy the shop I already planned to?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can.” His grin was more a macabre baring of teeth than any thing of mirth. The snarl of a hound treeing its quarry. “I know I can.”

“Forget it. You can own this shop, you can own this city. You can own this whole damn country. But you will never, ever own me.” The world had gone strange around her, red and wavering, like water spilled through wet paint. It took her three tries to see through it well enough to snatch up her book of poems from the top of the pile. “I quit.”

It occurred to her, as she took her first wobbly step towards the door, that it might have hurt less to have simply driven her paper-knife into her own heart. She clutched the book tightly to her chest, as if it could staunch the blood she swore poured from some wretched wound, though her blouse remained as pristine as ever.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His snarl stopped her in her tracks, but she didn’t do him the courtesy of turning around to reply. Etiquette when dealing with royalty be damned.

“I’m leaving. Like I said, I quit. Have a nice life, Your Highness.”

He lunged forward, snatching at the book she held. “You can’t just walk out. That’s store property. Which means it’s my property now.” They tussled over the tome, wrestling, neither willing to back down - until finally it fumbled from their grasp and fell to the ground, open to the page she’d slipped her bookmark in.

They both dove for it at the same time, the childish squabble continuing until they were brought up short by the harsh sound of tearing paper, freezing where they stood.

Emma forced herself to look down, dread a swallowed lump of lead sitting queasy in her stomach. Gaze shifting from the book in her hands to the page now crumpled in Silvio’s fist, a forlorn flap of ragged paper still standing accusatory in the spine she held.

“Look what you’ve done,” she managed, through lips gone stiff and numb.

“What I’ve done? You started this. If you’d just handed over the book - or better yet, not thrown a tantrum and tried storming out - this wouldn’t have happened at all,” he retorted fiercely. But when she found herself at a loss for any sort of response, and the silence drew out long and stilted and awful, he thrust the rumpled page at her abruptly. Refusing to meet her eyes. “Here.”

She glanced down at it, and let out a humorless laugh. It was the only reaction she could muster when she saw familiar words of poetry between his fingers. The exact one that had warranted a bookmark from her in the first place.

Would I could come, O lovely one, to you just in a thief’s disguise, unknown to all!

It figured that he'd manage to ruin even this for her, too.

“I bought this book. It belongs to me. Akatsuki’s been looking for it for me for almost five years now. But you know what? Keep the page, and the poem. My parting gift to you,” she told him, no longer trying to keep the bitterness coating her tongue from seeping into her words. She was too sick with it, choking on the wretched feast as she ever-so-carefully closed the book. Ever-so-carefully tucked it under her arm, before flinging a razor edged glare at him like a flechette. “It’s the closest to love you’ll ever get, Your Highness.”

He flinched, as if struck, but made no reply. Made no other movement at all, as she left him holding those words and walked out.

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, let me know!

(Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune, header image commissioned from @/sbeep)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #ikepri emma #ikepri fanfic #my writing

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sunshinegat0r · 1 year

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Sooo it’s been about 12 years since I’ve written any kind of fanfiction… I never imagined I’d be getting back into it with One Piece, but here we are! I used a prompt from @sharkjana's fluffy list to shake the cobwebs off. ❤

Dreams ~ Sanji x GN!Reader

CW: None, just a ton of fluff. :) WC: 663

The creak of salt-sprayed wood and the rocking of waves against the hull were your lullaby tonight. Wrapped in a warm cocoon of sighs and gentle darkness, safe and secure in your comfortable bed. The full moon was high in the sky, filtering softly through the curtained porthole, casting everything in buttery shadows.

Its light barely revealed your form, snuggled under the covers and up against your lover. Sanji’s long, lean body stretched against yours, his hairy legs entwined with your smooth ones. From a distance one would think him wiry, but his usual crisp outfits hid a surprising amount of muscle and strength. You rubbed your hand along the corded muscles of his thigh, delighting in how powerful it was and how it twitched under your touch.

His chest rose and fell with a huff that puffed against your hair. Sanji buried his face in the crown of your head, muttering about you starting trouble again. In retaliation he ruffled his nose against your head, mussing your hair while he breathed in your scent. You chuckled lowly and pulled your head back to look at him in the dim light. Gently you tucked his silky blond hair behind his ear, getting a rare look at his full face. Sanji opened ocean blue eyes that took your breath away even in the darkness.

You gave him a small smile and raised your hand to tenderly cup his cheek, thumb brushing along the scruff of his chin in soothing patterns. Sanji’s large hand came up to cover yours, turning his head and pressing a kiss into your palm. You could feel your heart melting as it often seemed to do at his romantic gestures. You actually adored his sometimes over-the-top mannerisms in public, but you truly could not get enough of how serious and calm he could become when devoting all of his attention to you in private. The suave and confident demeanor he carried into battle was irresistible when he applied it to romancing you.

A blush rose along your cheeks that you didn’t think the night could hide, sure Sanji would notice. His hand moved to your face now, grinning a little when he felt the warmth there, and he pulled you in for a lingering kiss. You sighed in contentment as your lips met, a velvet kiss that was slow and sweet, a simmering warmth behind it; at the feeling of his slender fingers pressing into the back of your head, holding you in a subtle show of control that left you a little weak. Your own hands splayed against his broad chest, fingers reflexively digging into his shoulders. When you inhaled you could smell the sweet smoke of his last cigarette, as well as his subtle cologne and a hint of the dinner he had prepared tonight. It all surrounded you in an overwhelming burst of love and comfort as tangible as the blanket enveloping you both.

When the two of you pulled apart Sanji was staring at you with a similar sentiment shining in his eyes. “Je t’aime, ma chérie,” he whispered to you.

“I love you too, Sanji,” you whispered back, almost giddy with a sleepy happiness.

Seeing your eyelids drooping even as you struggled to keep them open, Sanji sighed and wrapped his arms back around your plush body, tugging you securely against his solid chest.

“Good night, love,” you tell him, “See you in the morning.”

“I miss you already,” Sanji murmured, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Sanji, we need to sleep at some point,” you replied, stifling a yawn as you did.

“Then I hope I see you in my dreams, my love.”

Your heart clenched at his sweet declaration, and you squeezed your arms tighter around his warm body, wanting to be even closer than you already were. The two of you drifted off to blissful rest, lulled by the rocking of the ship and the comfort of each other.

#one piece #one piece x reader #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece sanji #one piece fanfiction #sunshinegator writes #sanji x you

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rowantheotaku · 5 months

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What do the Obey Me Brothers smell like?

I was reading fanfiction and decided to make this, so here you go

Lucifer: He's very particular, so even though I don't care about him he'd probably smell pretty good. He would smell like leather from his gloves and probably a very mild soap scent. It wouldn't be overbearing or very strong.

Mammon: I love him, but we all know he smells like a middle school boy who used way to much ax body spray. He probably also smells like leather from his jacket.

Leviathan: It would depend on the day. If you caught him right after an anime or game binge he'd probably smell pretty bad. Like sweat and body odor. But if you caught him on a day where he showered he'd probably smell a bit like salt water. A slightly floral soap faintly somewhere mixed in.

Satan: Considering how he surrounds himself with them, he'd smell like old books. He would have a faint soap scent that's barely recognizable under the ink and paper scent.

Asmodeus: Roses and vanilla sugar. He uses a vanilla sugar body wash with exfoliating pearls along with a rose scented bath bomb and rose petals. His entire room smells the same from him using perfumes and hair products. Yet it manages to stay a light fragrance and not overpowering.

Beelzebub: He works out a lot, so he probably smells a bit like sweat, though he also would smell a bit sweet from eating sweet foods. He'd also make sure to shower after working out because, come on, he's a himbo. Probably smells like sandalwood and citrus directly after a shower.

Belphegor: Somehow, for being locked in an attic for months and not having a lot of energy, he'd probably give off a faint sweetened lavender scent. He'd also probably have a faint aloe scent as more of an undertone.

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housewife-noire · 5 months

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Depression Master Post

I AM NOT A DOCTOR OR THERAPIST, JUST SAYING WHAT WORKS FOR ME

Tips that work for me:

♡Utilize your audio notes apps on your phone as an 'audio diary', talk to yourself like it's a podcast, interview, imaginary bestie etc

♡warm wet rag, toner (I use a bottle type and a spray type), moisturizer, Vaseline for a 'lazy' skincare routine. You can also use rose water to cleanse your face. This takes literally five minutes

♡modified stretches/workouts are your best friend, it's actually very easy to do stretches without getting outta bed or even moving your blanket!!

♡open up your blinds!!!!!

♡ensures and similar brands w/ extra protein for days you absolutely can't get out of bed

♡can't shower? No problem. You can get bathing cloths at any pharmacy otc (you can purchase with an HSA card as well!) Just add water to the pack no soap or rinsing needed

♡any food is better than no food!!!

♡90 minute rice + tuna packs are good 5 minute meals w/ some substance. You can add any add ins you want(I add fried egg and avocado)

♡download the finch app!! It's super cute and like a self care tamagotchi

♡allow yourself the time to rest

♡have a self love/feel good Playlist ready

♡rewatch your fave childhood show/movie. Anything that's been longer than 5 years since you've seen it works best imo

♡pedialyte AND water to keep hydrated, add a pinch of pink salt to the water

♡mix water, rubbing alcohol and essential oils to make an air freshner spray for bedding and clothing

♡if you're not on any medications, combine l-theanine and st John's wort supplements for mood health (can also add St John's wort, damiana, lavender and mint/catnip to a tea or smoke blend)

♡pure tart cherry juice before bed to help you sleep

♡download the I Am app and repeat the affirmations you see out loud thrice

♡can't brush your teeth? Get a water flosser and add a bit of mouthwash & peroxide to the reservoir to kill bacteria and remove stuck food

♡use pink or brown noise as your background for sleeping, you can find these on youtube

♡download MindDoc & Gratitude if you have the spoons to have prompts and questions to answer about your mood

♡digital coloring books!!! I use infinite painer and sketchbook on my Samsung tablet

♡if you scroll any app, pick the one you see the most positive or nontoxic feed (lemon8 and tumblr for me), this way your consumption is potentially bettering your life

♡charge your phone and other devices in a separate room/a few feet away from your bed to reduce scrolling and help promote getting out of bed to turn off alarms etc

♡daily shower spray cleaner, helps keep your tub clean. I spray after I get out

♡use Groupon to schedule yourself a moodboosting self care activity for the month (massage, tanning, filler, facial)

♡eat with a tray in bed

♡spray your fave body spray before bed

Hope these tips help someone!!! Add your own in the tags or reblog ♡

Happy House Spousing ♡♡♡♡

#black housewife #black women in femininity #homemaker #bunni boo babblz #cooking #high maintenance #skincare #mental health #good advice #self isolation #keyewed

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 6 months

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Begged & Borrowed Time (xxiv, ao3)

Chapter twenty-four: Determined to destroy the Cauldron once and for all, the Inner Circle head to Hybern to avenge the attack on Velaris. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The castle was a slash of ragged stone, dark and brutal against the grey sky.

Sitting atop the roughened white cliffs, crenellated walls rose from the ground in an unbroken curtain of solid, impenetrable stone and beyond, a dozen towers pierced up towards the heavens, all of their windows dark. It was a castle with a singular purpose— built to keep those outside from getting in, and those inside from getting out. A fortress damn near impossible to infiltrate, the windows were barred with iron lattices, and every few yards along the wall, arrow slits punctured the stone.

Cassian fucking hated this place.

The seat of Hybern’s power, he almost thought he could taste the malice in the air— or perhaps it was just the wind, howling incessant against the cliff’s edge. Either way, it made his hair stand on end, and when he looked down, he saw the sea beneath him roiling, waves crashing against the rocks. He couldn’t help but feel like even the sea was uneasy in this place, trying to draw back, to run, with every wave that pulled away from the rocky shore.

It felt like an age before Mor winnowed into the sky above him.

Just as they’d planned, she had Feyre with her, and as the pair of them plummeted towards the murky sea below, Cassian darted upwards, catching the Cursebreaker before she could hit the waves. In a blink, Mor had winnowed once more, ready to meet them at the sea door that opened into a tunnel, cutting through the rock all the way up to the castle. As the salt spray spattered his boots, he climbed higher, giving Feyre her first real look at the castle that overlooked the thin sea separating Hybern from Prythian.

She shuddered.

Cassian fought a shudder of his own as the wind raked icy fingers down the edges of his wings.

“You ready?” he asked.

Feyre nodded.

It had been two days since Hybern had attacked Velaris, and as the blood had begun to dry on Night Court streets, Amren had locked herself away, determined to find a way to destroy the Cauldron once and for all. She’d called an emergency meeting at the town house only yesterday afternoon, where she announced with vengeance burning in her eyes that she’d figured it out at last.

And thus, a plan was born— one that lead them here, to Mor waiting at the bottom of the cliff, Azriel already inside clearing the tunnel, and Rhys waiting somewhere nearby, where he couldn’t be detected and where the tracker Hybern had on his magic couldn’t give them away.

“I’ve been here twice,” Cassian said lowly when Feyre’s fingers tightened on his jacket. “Both times I was counting the minutes until I could leave.”

She let out a hum that might have been one of agreement as she straightened and looked ahead to the castle, that slash of bone-white against the dark sky. Her eyes scanned the empty parapets, taking in the torches burning along the wall that illuminated patches of stone where guards should have been standing watch. But instead the yellow light glanced only off of empty spaces, nothing but thin air in the gaps where they should have glimpsed the flash of armour.

Feyre frowned. “Where is everyone?”

“Guard shift,” Cassian answered, nodding to the bottom of the cliff-face. “Az is already inside. Mor’s waiting at the sea door— it’s the closest entrance to the lower levels.”

“Closest entrance to the Cauldron,” she added.

He nodded grimly. “That, too.”

Her hand went to the pocket sewn inside her jacket, where one half of the book was hidden. The other half, he knew, was stowed in the pocket on her other side. Don’t put them together, Amren had said before they left. You put the pieces together and you won’t just attract the king of Hybern. You’ll draw out enemies far older and more wretched.

Another shudder worked it’s way across Cassian’s spine, but he pushed the feeling away. For half a second a furrow appeared in Feyre’s brow, but before Cassian could blink it was gone, as if a phantom hand had smoothed away the crease. Determination lined her jaw instead as they neared the rough edges of the cliff face, and even though the wind threatened to send them barrelling into the rock, Cassian kept them steady as they came in to land.

Mor waited by a crevice cut into the cliff— the sea door; narrow and uneven and half-flooded by the waves that lapped at the stone landing platform. A single wooden post had been driven into the rocks to anchor any boats that might come this way to deliver goods, but the rope wound around the post was crusted with sea-salt and fraying with age. He didn’t think anybody had used this door for a very long time, and as he peered into the darkness, he could only hope that Hybern had forgotten about this passage entirely.

But as a glimmer of blue shone through the narrow walkway, Cassian caught sight of Azriel stalking towards them— blade held tight in one hand.

Already it dripped with blood.

Not forgotten, then, he thought sardonically.

“Guards are down,” Azriel said quietly when he reached the mouth of the sea door. His voice reverberated on the crudely hewn stone, mingling with the echo of the waves as they crashed around them. “Let’s go.”

And as the wind whistled overhead, Cassian unsheathed a blade and took his first step into the darkness— into the heart of Hybern’s stronghold.

***

Undetected they slipped through the passage that led from sea to stone.

The floor beneath their feet began to slant upwards, the rough-cut rock turning smoother as sconces appeared at intervals along the walls. But still it remained narrow and cold, and there was an odd scent in the air that Cassian couldn’t place— something ancient, like cold air and old earth, something he thought he might once have recognised but had since forgotten. It reminded him that this castle had stood for a thousand years— longer, perhaps.

No easy task, then, to infiltrate it.

His fingers curled tighter around his blade, as if to reassure himself, and only when they reached an old wooden door did Cassian realise that they were no longer beneath the castle. The sea door passage led them all the way to the base of the curtain wall that circled the castle proper, and as Azriel cracked the door open and sent shadows slipping through to ensure the way was still clear, he ran through the layout of the castle in his mind. There was a small courtyard beyond, leading to a thicker door made of reinforced iron that would grant them access to the main tower— to the halls where the king kept his court, and to the warren of corridors and chambers that dipped back beneath ground level.

In one of those, they would find the Cauldron.

The shadow returned, and Azriel gave them each a single sharp nod before opening the wooden door on silent hinges. Cloaked in shadow, he slunk across the courtyard, close to the wall, and pulled open the iron door on the other side. Only then did he turn, pressing a scarred finger to his lips.

Mor rolled her eyes.

Like they needed the reminder.

Cassian might have smirked, had he not been too busy listening for footsteps, scanning the hallway as he stepped through the iron door.

On this side, the hallways were wider. They were still cold stone, still seeped in centuries of cruel and brutal history, but Cassian no longer had to tuck his wings tight to make it through, like these walls were accustomed to guests with wings. He thought of the creatures like the Attor, the ones that had attacked Velaris, and when he looked down at the floor, he was certain that the marks he glimpsed in the stone had been made by claws. He gritted his teeth, pushed on through the rising unease that made him want to shudder.

He’d thought flying over Hybern was bad enough, but being inside the castle was something else entirely.

Dread snaked through him as they made their way through the labyrinth of corridors that made up the central keep, steps silent on dimly-lit stone. He didn’t know what they were looking for except a way down, but when they reached a corridor darker than the rest, colder than the rest, something stirred in his chest that made him pause.

“Down there,” Feyre breathed, nodding to the staircase at the end of the corridor. “It’s down there.”

Cassian didn’t bother to ask if she was sure.

Even he could feel it— in the way the air suddenly seemed static, the way everything else had seemed to still.

The stairs descended into darkness, a narrow spiral down and down and down, to the very depths of the castle. The air seemed thicker down there, heavier, and the scent of iron and salt pierced his lungs. Cassian didn’t know how far down those steps went, or what waited at the bottom, but there was only one way to find out.

With his blade out, Cassian took the stairs first.

With the way the stone curved, it was impossible to see far ahead. He didn’t know what waited around each twist, couldn’t say for certain he wasn’t about to run headfirst into a horde of Hybern’s soldiers, and as his siphons pulsed, casting crimson light on grey stone, he kept his blade ready and his senses sharp.

Down, down, down.

It seemed endless, like the stairs led to the belly of the earth itself, but eventually Cassian reached the landing at the bottom.

A guard waited.

Back turned, eyes on the chamber ahead rather than the stairs behind, the soldier didn’t hear Cassian approaching until it was too late— until the general’s knife had opened his throat. Cassian covered the guard’s mouth before he could scream, and he listened as his heartbeat thudded— quickened for just a moment, before failing, quieting, and fading completely. When he turned limp, Cassian dragged the body to a shadowed alcove and left it there, hidden in the dark. When they were back in Velaris, he might regret the loss of life. Might curse the tolls that war made them pay, but for now—

They had a job to do.

He whistled, so softly it could have been mistaken for the wind passing through the rock, but it was the signal Az and Feyre and Mor needed to descend that winding staircase.

And only when he glimpsed the blue light of Azriel’s siphons did he move further into the chamber the soldier had been guarding.

It was rounded, cavernous in a way that made him think of old temples and lost places of worship, and there were no windows, no natural light, no sound. Instinctively he knew they were back in the belly of the cliff, the ground so many miles above them. Dark archways lined the walls, but from what he could see in the dark, they were empty. The only light came from a single round ball of faelight hanging in the centre, casting an eerie silver glow across the centre of the room, where right in the middle, on a raised stone platform—

Sat the Cauldron.

Every nerve Cassian possessed chilled.

Made of iron so dark it seemed to swallow the light, the Cauldron sat like a void at the centre of the world. All was still, like time itself had no bearing in this place, and the chamber was so silent Cassian could hear his heart beating, racing, and his fingers flexed instinctively around his knife. It was bigger than he expected, the Cauldron. And old— he could tell, just from looking, even at a distance, that it was ancient. More ancient than anything he had ever seen before, and if the legends were true… Well.

The entire world had been tipped from this thing.

A shiver crawled down his spine.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps erupted over his flesh, and as Feyre took her first tentative step forward, Cassian hung back, lingered at the edges of the chamber as he scanned the room and counted all of the dark corners. Mor drifted towards the Cauldron, a step behind Feyre, and if she was as unnerved as Cassian was, she didn’t show it.

Without speaking, Feyre mounted the platform. She placed her hand on the lip of the Cauldron, and as her fingers touched iron, Cassian tensed. It was something involuntary, something primal and basic, like something had cracked an eye open in the darkness and his instincts were begging him to turn back. His chest felt cold, too. Where the bond was wrapped around his ribs, there was a growing emptiness, foreboding and forbidding.

Nausea swelled.

Blindly he reached for the bond— tried to feel its comforting weight in this place, where even the stone walls seemed intent on repelling all warmth and light and sound, but there was nothing, only an odd absence in the air that made him feel all kinds of wrong. He scanned their surroundings again, but some of the alcoves were so dark that even his fae eyes couldn’t see into them fully, and the silence seemed to grow heavier with every moment they spent in the Cauldron’s presence.

A castle as large as this one should have been filled with sound, but only a deafening quiet echoed on the bare stone walls, and even when Cassian strained his ears, trying to hear something, anything, from the floors above—

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

This fucking place.

He turned slowly in a circle, hand tight on his blade. Feyre began to recite the spell Amren had given her, her voice steady and soft, and Mor and Az hadn’t moved, only kept watch from the foot of that platform.

But Cassian felt something else. Something echoing in that hollow chamber inside his chest, right where the bond that bound him to Nesta took up space. It was still, but it wasn’t a calm kind of stillness. No, it was the kind of stillness of an ocean wave just before it crests— the silence of a storm, a moment before the thunder cracks.

And for the second time in as many days, Cassian felt like something was wrong.

It was the same as the night after the attack, but worse now— stronger. Caution practically buzzed through his veins, a relentless thrum that blazed like a wildfire through his chest.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured to Azriel.

Az said nothing, only mutely shook his head. But his face was grim, and Cassian wasn’t reassured. He paced, but every footfall had him feeling sick, that feeling in his gut crawling up his throat and coating his tongue, and all he could think as he slowly wore a path into the stone around the edge of that chamber was—

Something’s wrong.

And this time…

This time he didn’t think it was nothing.

Feyre continued murmuring, and Cassian tapped his foot against the stone. Gods, he couldn’t wait to be free of this place. Couldn’t wait for the Cauldron to be rendered powerless. As soon as they were out, he’d be heading straight to the mortal lands, to find Nesta and tell her that the threat to the wall had been vanquished, that Hybern might attack the lands above the wall, but those below it were safe. She was safe. He couldn’t wait to take her in his arms and kiss her the way he should have kissed her when he last said goodbye, couldn’t wait to finally tell her he loved her—

Suddenly, Feyre stopped.

The silence deepened, grew sharp, and all thoughts of Nesta eddied from Cassian’s head as the Cursebreaker lifted her chin, one hand on one half of the book and the other on the Cauldron. Her eyes were glazed, like she wasn’t really there at all, and as they watched, a thin ribbon of blood began to drip from her nose.

And then Feyre’s hand came away from the Cauldron, her fingers twitching as she reached for the second half of the book— the one that Amren had specifically warned her not to reunite with the first.

Mor swore, a whisper skittering across the stone floor.

“Feyre,” she said, lunging forwards, hands outstretched.

But Feyre shook her head, and before Mor could reach her—

It was too late.

Feyre laid both halves of the book together, and Cassian swore he heard a whisper on the air, a quiet murmur that he thought might have been the book itself, snaking through the cold towards the woman who held it whole now in her hands. The air trembled— a shockwave shuddered through the chamber, rippling out to the world above, and Feyre’s legs seemed to shake, but she had one hand back on the Cauldron now, fingers once more curled around ancient iron.

“We need to get out of here,” Mor hissed. “Now.”

And Cassian looked at the darkened stairway, and the alcoves he couldn’t quite make out, and then back to Feyre, to her lips moving quickly, almost silently. He didn’t think she could even hear them right now, so lost was she in ancient magic, and despite the blood that leaked from her nose, she remained standing. Her grip on the Cauldron’s edge was tight, and though Cassian knew Mor was right… He knew, too, that this was their only chance to destroy the Cauldron, the greatest weapon in Hybern’s arsenal.

This had to work— for all of their sakes.

So he shook his head, sharp.

“Give her a minute,” he said, because despite everything he believed in her— in her Archeron blood.

A moment passed. Then two, then three, and Feyre stood there still, her lips moving and her eyes closed.

Mor swallowed thickly, her anxiety building as the minutes dragged. Cassian felt it too, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he wondered what that pulse of power might attract, what could come crawling from the dark.

Ready, he palmed another blade from the sheath at his thigh.

But before his fingers had even closed around the hilt—

Steps.

Footsteps sounded on the winding stone staircase, slow and methodical.

It was Azriel who rushed for Feyre, who grabbed her hands and pulled her away from the Cauldron, breaking her trance as Cassian watched the foot of the stairs, his eyes widening as he caught sight of who had discovered them.

And when Jurian lifted his chin in the silver light, for a moment Cassian simply looked at the human he’d last seen breathing five hundred years ago.

Jurian’s eyes were widened slightly, his pupils blown, and Cassian had heard the rumours of his insanity, heard the tales, and seeing Jurian now… the way he tilted his head, a crooked smile on his lips and a glint in his eye that seemed unhinged somehow… Cassian didn’t doubt for a moment that the human general really had lost his mind. He met his eyes, and with a barely contained shudder he remembered what Amarantha had done, where she’d kept him these centuries past.

Jurian sneered.

“Stupid fool,” he hissed, his voice a slash of ice that resounded on the stone.

Feyre’s breath caught in her throat. “Jurian.”

He inclined his head in something like a nod, a mockery of a greeting, and Cassian snarled as the mad general took a step further into the chamber. The faelight illuminated the planes and shadows of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes.

This was a man haunted, Cassian thought to himself.

One who hadn’t known peace for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like.

He might have pitied him, had Jurian not been blocking their only exit.

Mor stepped closer, fingers twitching as if readying herself to winnow them out. But she could only take two—

As if he’d heard them, Rhys winnowed right into the centre of the chamber.

Tracker on his magic be damned, the High Lord stood beneath the silver light now with his shoulders tight, as if he’d sensed his mate was in danger. He drew close to Feyre’s side, and as Cassian redoubled his grip on his blade, he glanced sidelong at his brother.

So much for being subtle.

“You look good, Jurian,” Rhys said, meandering closer until, between them, he and Cassian formed a barrier between the human general and Feyre. So smoothly Cassian almost missed it, Rhys took the book from his mate and slipped it inside his jacket. “For a corpse.”

Jurian scoffed. “Last time I saw you, you were warming Amarantha’s sheets.”

Cassian snarled, vicious, but Rhys only shrugged.

“So you remember. Interesting.”

Jurian sneered, his face twisting. “Enough pleasantries. You think he didn’t expect this?”

Cassian’s blood ran cold, but before he could think too much about what Jurian had said, what it meant, Mor was reaching for his hand, grasping for his wrist. Her other landed on Azriel’s forearm, fingers curling in the shadowsinger’s leathers. She glanced at him once, quickly, dipping her head in the barest sort of nod as she prepared to winnow them out of there at last. Rhys grabbed Feyre’s hand, and Cassian braced himself for the darkness, the rush of winnowing—

But there was silence in the chamber, a stillness that was almost terrifying, and as it stretched, Jurian began to laugh.

The sound echoed, harsh and chilling.

“New trick?” Rhys growled.

Jurian shrugged. “I was sent here to distract you whilst he worked his spell,” he said, a wolfish, maddened smile on his face. “You won’t be leaving this castle unless he allows you to.”

Cassian didn’t miss the emphasis Jurian placed on the word unless.

At his back, he felt the dark presence of the Cauldron and fucking hell— something flared in his chest, a kind of panic that didn’t feel like his own.

Rhys snarled, and suddenly Cassian was reaching, grasping for the power in his siphons—

But there was nothing.

Nothing rose to meet him, no wave of brutal magic sitting idle in his palm. A glance to Azriel on the other side of Mor, blue siphons stuttering in the dark, and Cassian knew that whatever dark magic had been worked, it hadn’t just stopped them from winnowing out.

Jurian smiled again.

“Oh, there’s that too,” he said, waving a hand. “Don’t you remember?” he added to Rhys. “When she took your powers that day fifty years ago to trap you beneath that mountain, it was his book of spells she used.”

Cassian tried again as grim realisation dawned, but the power that had always been a part of him, always at his side, was cold now, distant. It wasn’t like it had been after the attack on Velaris. No, even then he’d been able to sense it, even if it was depleted and drained. This was different— like a solid wall had been erected between himself and his magic, one that wouldn’t crack and wouldn’t break and held him back so completely his fingertips felt numb.

“He made sure that particular book was returned to him,” Jurian continued, oblivious to the way Cassian was desperately grappling for his power. With the way Feyre frowned, her breaths growing shallow, she was doing the same, throwing herself at the spell Hybern had cast to leave her powerless.

Rhys’ hand tightened to a fist.

Jurian’s face turned colder, his eyes crueller.

“Do you have any idea,” he hissed, “what it is like to be unable to sleep, to drink or eat or breathe or feel for five hundred years? Do you understand what it is like to be constantly awake? Forced to watch everything she did?”

Rhys’ face darkened. “I was there Jurian,” he said coldly, and if Cassian had had any space left to feel anything but unease and desperation, his heart would have broken for his brother. But as it was, his heart already felt like it was cracking, splintering to make way for sorrow, and he didn’t know why, could only feel it straining as though opposing forces were pulling it in different directions.

Jurian’s lips parted— in a cruel smile or a snarl, Cassian couldn’t tell.

And then he began to laugh, cold and unnatural— the laugh of a man who had spent so long in the dark he’d lost his mind.

And when it died away, the silence working its way into the gaps between stone, more steps sounded at the top of that winding staircase.

Heavier steps— surer steps, slow and definitive, each slam against the stone another nail in their coffin, and the first Cassian saw of him was polished boots, black leather. Then a pair of muscled legs, and a tunic that was finely woven but far from luxurious. And finally, a face. Edged with shoulder-length black hair, straight as an arrow, and lips twisted into a menacing smirk, the king of Hybern stepped into the Cauldron’s chamber.

His eyes seemed to dance as he took in the scene, his gaze lingering for a beat too long on Feyre and the Cauldron at her back.

His smirk grew teeth.

“The trap was so easy,” he drawled, “I’m almost disappointed none of you saw it coming.”

His voice felt as ancient as the castle above them, and just as devoid of warmth. It felt cruel, merciless, and intently Cassian began to study the king that stood before them, desperate to understand him, to find a weakness that might get them out alive. Centuries of training kicked in, assessing every inch of the man who stood before them, but there was nothing, no crack Cassian could find in that cold, unfeeling armour.

And he didn’t see the crossbow in Jurian’s hand until it was too late.

Didn’t see the general move, didn’t see him pluck the weapon from one of those shadowed alcoves, and before Cassian could move—

Azriel roared.

His scream rent the air in two, so loud in the rounded chamber that it echoed, seemed to go on forever.

A bolt protruded from his chest, a strange silver gleam on the shaft that mingled with Azriel’s blood as it spilled, and Mor’s scream echoed through the chamber too, resounding on the cold stone as Cassian whirled to face his brother.

One scarred hand lifted to his chest, the blood already slicking his leathers, and although Cassian caught Azriel before he could fall, when he moved to rip the bolt free - to give Az the chance to heal - the king tsked, and Cassian’s fingers stilled.

“The bolt is coated in faebane,” he said, a darkly satisfied lilt to his ancient voice. “It’s in his blood now, and only I can control the flow of it. Do exactly as I say and it won’t reach his heart. But resist…”

The king smiled cruelly, twisting his fingers, and Azriel gasped in agony. The poison flowing through his bloodstream turned the veins at his hands and wrists black, and Cassian glimpsed it crawling over Azriel’s collarbone too, beneath the Illyrian tattoos, aiming right for the shadowsinger’s heart. He jerked his hands back, letting go of the bolt.

“I can kill him in a heartbeat,” the king finished.

His thin lips split into an even crueller smile, and as he turned on his heel and swept back up that spiral staircase…

What were they to do but follow?

With Azriel’s blood leaking onto the floor, crimson marring the cold grey stone set before the Cauldron that had created the world… Cassian knew they were out of options.

Jurian extended an arm, motioning for them to pass as the king disappeared up the staircase. Azriel groaned as Cassian met Rhys’ eyes - the violet flecked with so few stars now - and his shadows scattered as Rhys took one of Azriel’s arms and slung it over his shoulder. Cassian took the other, one hand on Azriel’s wrist and the other around his waist, beneath the wings that hung limply at his back.

And with Mor and Feyre trailing behind them, Cassian and Rhys dragged Azriel up and through the dark— to wherever the king of Hybern was leading them.

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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