#stoned uncle recommends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xdead-writers-societyx · 5 months

Text

Jorrāelagon

Synopsis: Despite the love he holds for his mother your husband's love for you will always triumph. Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: General HoTD shenanigans such as sexual themes, incest, vulgar language, and the sort so please if any such things make you uncomfortable or if you're underage do not engage with this post or I will feed you to my dragon!

1,750 words

A/N: This is a little follow-up to Pazavorve so I would recommend reading that first and you can do that by clicking here.

Ever since your return back to Dragonstone your mind had been continuously haunted by the ghost of Aemond, you were especially plagued by the broken screams of your name as he helplessly watched you flee from Kings Landing, as he watched you flee from him.

Days had soon drifted into weeks and yet even as you remained motionless on the balcony of your chambers your heavy eyes searching the tumultuous ocean below, he invaded every aspect of your mind, so much so you began to materialise Vhagar’s large form in every dark cloud that passed in the night.

Shaking your head, you brushed away the tangled mess of hair that covered your face, scoffing at your foolishness you made to return to the comfort of your bed when you were halted in your tracks by the thunderous growl echoing throughout the darkness.

Mouth agape in disbelief you couldn’t help the chocked sob that left your open lips at the sight of Vhagar soaring in circles high above the castle with an emotionless Aemond seated impassively upon her back.

With little care for the fact that you were in nothing but your sleep shift or the fact that Aemond could be accompanied by his brother you bolted through your chamber doors yanking them so harshly open that your unsuspecting guards could do nothing to stop you as you brushed past them ignoring their calls for you to stop.

Your bare feet made little noise upon the cold stone of the castle floors as you weaved through the many twists and turns until you had reached the winding steps that led you down till you came crashing out onto the cold sandy beach below.

“Dōna Riña, stop!” Choosing to ignore the worried calls of your mother your footsteps quickened in pace until they were carrying you hurriedly across the damp sand to where Vhagar had now landed in the near distance. (Sweet Girl)

“Aemond!” Your voice carried over the crashing of the waves until it reached your husband who turned upon hearing the one voice he had been longing to hear calling his name since you left, leaving his dragon he instead focused on his sweet wife as a call of your own name left his mouth.

But no sooner could you take another step to reach him had the footsteps that had been chasing you through the night caught up and before you knew what was happening a pair of strong arms were being wrapped around your middle pulling you into the body of your mother’s husband.

“Stop fighting!” Daemon’s voice was firm as you continued to thrash against his unwavering hold on you, “Go and stay with your mother.” With a skilled ease he had manoeuvred you behind him only releasing his hold on you once assured that your worried mother had you held securely in her arms, turning back he managed to unsheathe Dark Sister just as Aemond arrived before the three of you.

“Please Daemon!” Your voice sounded so unlike your own as you screamed out, the sight of the tip of the great sword pointing threateningly at Aemond’s chest had a wave of tears fighting to fall from your eyes, “Please do not harm him!”

Daemon tossed the briefest of glances of his shoulder,“Be quiet,” His voice was full of authority as he spoke before focusing back upon his stoic nephew, “Nyra, take her back to her chambers where it is safe.”

“Come along Sweet One.” Despite your mother’s soft words her strong hold on you never once wavered as she stared warily to her younger brother across the beach while attempting to wrestle you back the way you had come.

His uncle’s words had been enough to knock Aemond from his stupor, “You think that I would harm her?” The question had Daemon’s brows furrowing as the younger Targaryen took a step forward not so much as wincing at the sharp sting of Dark Sister piercing into the flesh of his sternum, “She is the only thing in this damned existence that I give a shit about, she is my love and my soul. I would sooner you cut my beating heart from my chest than see her harmed. She is the reason I have come here tonight.”

Aemond’s words seem to have peaked your mother’s interest as her grip loosened till only a soft hold remained, “What is it you come here seeking brother?” She was cautious as she took a step closer to the two men ensuring that you were kept safely by her side, “For I shall not permit you to take my daughter back to that den of snakes.”

Aemond moved his one remaining eye from where it had been glaring upon his uncle to instead meet the familiar eyes of your mother which you had been fortunate enough to inherit, “And I would not request this of you sister.”

Having far less patience and care for Aemond than his wife Daemon scoffed pressing his sword more firmly against the young man’s chest refusing to be caught off guard in this situation, “Then what is it exactly that you ask of us then, boy?”

After sparing his uncle a scathing glance Aemond chose instead to focus on your mother as after all she is the one that held all the power, “What I wish sister, is to bend the knee to the rightful Queen of The Seven Kingdoms and pledge my loyalty to you.”

“Why?” Your voice was quieter than you had intended as you gazed upon your husband your eyes wide in shock at the words he had spoken, “Before I fled, I begged you to bend the knee and you refused. Why is it now that you have had a change of heart Aemond, what has changed?”

“Nothing has changed,” Despite the sureness in his voice you knew Aemond better than anyone else which is why you knew he was holding something back from you, “I should have listened to you from the very beginning, Ñuha Zaldrīzes. My brother is not fit to rule as King and I have come to see that for myself, I can only apologise that it has taken me this long.” (My Dragon)

Your brows pinched as you moved as far forward to him as your mother’s protective hold would allow, “I do not believe you.” Searching his blank face, only you could decipher the anguish and conflict happening deep within, “What is it that you are not telling me Valzȳrys?” (Husband)

“Speak the truth nephew.” Daemon’s voice was firm as he stared menacingly upon your husband, “Lest your body be sent back to your cunt brother in pieces.”

Dropping his head defeatedly as though regretful of what he was to say Aemond chose to focus upon the sand below, “My mother and Aegon have declared you a threat to the realm and wish to see you dead.” Rolling his shoulders his eye danced pointedly between on two elder Targaryen’s.

Sighing your mother began smoothing a hand over your hair more to comfort herself than you, “That is of no surprise to me brother, yet you hold no well wishes upon us so tell me, why have you come here.”

Reaching for your mothers unoccupied hand you squeezed it tightly as your teary eyes gazed up at that familiar violet you adored so much, “Please Aemond, just tell me Ñuha Jorrāelagon.” (My Love)

“They want you all dead, your brothers, Rhaenyra, Daemon and you Ñuha Zaldrīzes.” Aemonds voice held a sadness and regret you had not heard from him since the night that he had claimed Vhagar where he had called you and your brothers bastards in a fit of rage, “And no matter how much I love my mother, I will always love you more.” (My Dragon)

“Let him pass Daemon.” You stared up at your mother in shock at her order, smiling softly she held your damp cheeks in her warm hands, “Avy jorrāelan, Ñuha Dōna Riña. You and Aemond will be safe for as long as you both choose to stay here.” (I love you, My Sweet Girl)

Clinging to her wrists in a fashion similar to how you had held to her skirts as a child your forehead dropped to rest upon her own as you whispered, “Avy jorrāelan tolī muña. Thank you for everything.” (I love you too mother)

“Surely you cannot think this wise Rhaenyra.” Daemons voice was one of disbelief as he looked between the two Targaryen women he cared for so deeply while holding firmly in his reluctance to welcome his nephew into their home, “He cannot be trusted!”

“Enough Daemon!” Your mother silenced him with a harshness any of you rarely ever heard from her, “There has been enough conflict in our family I shan’t add to it here, now let him pass.”

Despite his protests Daemon dropped Dark Sister from where it had been pierced into the chest of your husband for the entirely on the conversation and no sooner had it been sheathed was Aemond lurching forward to pull you into his arms.

“I have missed you more than my heart could take Ñuha Jorrāelagon.” Your sobs were muffled by the leather of his tunic as you grasped to each other so tightly it verged on painful but neither of you nor Aemond cared for you were both too enraptured in each other so much so neither of you noticed your mother dragging a grumbling Daemon back to the castle to give the two of you some privacy. (My Love)

Pulling your face from the crook of his neck Aemond began scattering kisses upon every inch of your face before finally settling on your lips, humming happily into his mouth your arms wound around his neck pulling him impossibly closer till the two of you had no choice but to release each other lest you suffocate, “However much you have missed me I have missed you infinitely more Ñuha Zaldrīzes. I have not known a moment of peace since you left.” (My Dragon)

Climbing upon him as though he was a wild dragon in need of taming, he had no choice but to move his hands from your face to the back of your thighs to hold you to him, pressing a lingering kiss to his swollen lips your eyes flitted across his face taking in every scar and groove you had missed so dearly, “Then show me how much you have missed me.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #targaryen!reader

1K notes · View notes

hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 months

Text

Thinking about the transgender allegories that come with being a halfa. (Needing to hide your identity from the world, the government not respecting your autonomy as a person, only trusting your ghost half identity with very close friends and other members of the community)

Thinking about how Spectra weaponizing Danny's identity against himself, Skulker hunting him down for being what he is, and Walker's rules being as strict as they are and giving nobody any chance to learn them all feels like LGBT+ Community infighting metaphors.

ESPECIALLY Walker, and especially when combined with the genius headcanon that he is Maddie's dead dad because in that situation, Walker is the homophobic/transphobic man who spent his life fighting against these 'strange others' and when discovering that he's not as cishet as he thought, starts policing the community as a moral authority who's strict to an unobtainable degree.

Thinking of Skulktech's existence in general.

Thinking about how despite being told Ember and Skulker are a couple in canon, we never see much (if any) of their chemistry together. In theory, them being a couple could lead to an episode about them hunting Phantom down as a band/team as Ember's trying to engage in Skulker's hunting interest and Skulker's reciprocating by trying to engage in Ember's music interest, but we don't get anything like that.

Thinking about how all the cute couple stuff between them comes from phanon and in the show their relationship is more of an obligation. At best they're mutually bearding (Ember gains scary dog privilege with him to spook off the creepy fans and Skulker gets free seats to the shows of the most popular rockstar in the ghost zone), and at worst they're in an unhappy forced hetero-normative relationship.

Thinking about how Danny's arc going from fighting ghosts to working with them and deciding to be the bridge between the human world and the ghost world could be an allegory for him learning to love himself for what he is.

Thinking about how those transgender allegories also apply to Vlad on the grounds he himself is one.

Thinking about how we never even see or hear about Vlad's biological family outside of an off-mention about a sister he might not even have. "If anyone asks, you're my sister's cat".

Thinking about how Vlad and Danny are thematic opposites despite being the (former) only two of their kind, how Vlad has everything but the family he wants so badly and how we're proven time and time again that when the chips are down and when it comes to it, Jack and Maddie always love and accept Danny and his ghost half.

Thinking... Did Vlad get disowned from his family for being what he is?

Also with all of these thoughts, Badger Cereal in a nutshell is 'trans teenager whose only experience with lgbt communities is toxic cesspools filled with infighting tries to cancel his pseudo-uncle/godfather on twitter because "he used anti-lbgt slurs" (to describe himself) and instead of being mature, Vlad retorts with "My transsexual whore ass was with both of your parents back in college, I'd recommend getting a DNA test before throwing stones Little Badger"🫶. Because he himself is also pretty toxic and petty.'

#danny phantom #danny fenton #penelope spectra #skulker #warden walker #ember dp #jack fenton #maddie fenton #vlad masters #vlad plasmius

103 notes · View notes

artemiscrocksgf · 2 years

Text

you vex me II (aemond targaryen x fem!reader)

this is part two, you can read the first one here or it can be read as a standalone but i recommend reading the first

pairing: aemond targaryen x velaryon fem!reader

warning: angst , pining, angst to smut, enemies to lovers ?? , incest (uncle/niece) it's hotd duh. explicit, minors dni 18+, NSWF

word count: 2.9K

high valyrian words are translated

The sky is fragile, the sun above the tumultuous cloud tops the only brightness that shines through. “Lykiri!” [calm] you command in high valyrian, the bellows of your dragon’s roar echoing through the dragonpit grounds. Like your mother and previous ancestors, you were trained to ride dragon back at the age of six, gifted with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone. Ysera your dragon, her wings emerald green like the precious stone she was named after, and her claws and crest scales bright as pearlescent jade. Ysera’s deep green scales glistened from the light mist that fell from the clouds. “Lykiri Ysera,” the dragon’s leathery wings sprawled open as you stroke her neck, while the dragon keepers prepare her saddle.

“Princess, the weather has turned – you should ride on the morrow” the dragon keeper Elder advised, his hand clutching the shackles that tied around Ysera’s neck. You glance up at the sky hinted with silver black clouds that were gathering over Kings Landing.

“On the contrary, it is perfect weather,” you insisted, taking a deep breath through your nose as you let the scent of the sea and the rain fill your nostrils. “It is only a little rainfall and the misty dew that melts into my skin – it is truly an experience like no other Elder,” you marveled.

“I could not agree more,” a voice sharp as glass replies from behind you.

You could recognize that voice anywhere, “Why did you not warn me Ysera?” you whispered to your dragon before turning to see the Prince behind you. Aemond was dressed in his usual black attire, his hands adorned with leather gloves – the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk as he notices you eyeing him from head to toe. Neither one of you has discussed the kiss that happened last week — it would be lying to say your mind did not wander to that moment in the wee hours of the night. Your body shudders.

You clear your throat, “Is vexing me at the Keep not enough? You must now follow me around Kings Landing?” you jest, adjusting your black and red cladded riding armor.

“Do not flatter yourself dear niece” Aemond’s shoulders bounce with a huff, as he lifts his hand to signal the dragon keepers to bring out Vhagar. “Perhaps Elder is right, you should not fly your … quaint dragon through this weather – much like her rider she is fragile,” he sneers. Ysera rumbles almost as if she understood his insults, you glare at him giving him the reaction he craved. You loathe admitting that you enjoyed the odd relationship you had with the Prince, built off hating one another. The hatred offered opportunities for blistering eye contact and tension that could be cut with his dagger. And despite the rage, he makes you feel you cannot help but think of him every second he is not with you. It infuriated you.

“Remind me, Prince, what was the name of your first… dragon?” you taunted while mounting Ysera. “Pink… Ah, pink dread! Much like its rider, it is a pig,” you snicker. You catch a glimpse of the anger in Aemond’s eye before you commanded Ysera to soar, “Sōvēs,”. You grin smugly at the Prince before Ysera ascends into the clouds, prowling the skies in ever-widening circles. Fanned by the strong winds your unbound hair cascades with the breeze. Green crests flashed along Ysera’s back as her silver-green wings beat against the gray sky. The beating of her wings flew through the veil of clouds, the raindrops dampening you as she soars above the cloud tops to the hidden sun. The beauty that lived beyond the clouds was endless. You gently close your eyes as Ysera glides gracefully through the open sky, when her thundering roar breaks your peace, “Skoros iksos ziry issa hāedar” [What is it, my girl?].

Vhagar’s wings erupt from behind the clouds, her bellows booming in the vast sky, and on her back the one-eyed Prince hoisting her saddle reins. “Thank you for warning me,” you say to Ysera, petting the top of her head as she ascends further up. Soaring like eagles, stooping like hawks, they circled each other – creating a choreograph of intertwining wings. Vhagar vanished into a bank of clouds, only to reappear an instant later. In awe, you watch Aemond’s long hair streaming silver behind him as he circles above the clouds. Fuck. He is insufferable. Yet everything about him was intoxicating.

“Naejot” [forward] you ordered, Ysera launching herself up towards Aemond, her wings buffeting the air as she flew around the large dragon. The dark clouds began to rain, the drops hitting your face and dampening your hair. You close your eyes letting the rainfall take you. Aemond watched you as you rode through the clouds, the mist bathing you in a wet sheen. Aemond’s breath was sucked right out of him – he wasn’t self-delusional to mistake the tightening of his muscles as anything other than desire. Seven Hells. He detests you. And yet he found himself unable to keep his lengths from you.

The torrent winds begin to pick up, the storm clouds rolling over the skies. The light mist was now a heavy downpour making it almost impossible to see ahead. “Princess?” you hear a shout in the sunless bank of clouds. He yells again, you notice a hint of concern in his voice.

Ysera roars as cracks of lightning surround you, “Lykiri, LYKIRI,”

“It is time we descend,” his voice getting drained from the deafening thunder. A nervousness lingers underneath his outward demeanor. A sudden bolt of lightning shattered the veil of black. His gaze locked on yours.

“Scared Aemond?”

“Jest all you want, but the cloudburst is coming and we need to take cover,” Aemond instructs, his hair completely drenched. “We are too far to make it back to the pit in time but we can make way to River Gate and wait out the clouds,”.

“I do not take orders from you,” scoffing, the rumbles of the thunder echo through your ears – the storm beginning to rage. Although you would never admit it aloud, Aemond was right.

“God! Must you be so fucking stubborn?” his eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. You stifle your laugh at his annoyance. You enjoy enraging him.

“If we must,” you reply. Ysera’s iridescent scales glisten in the darkened and ominous sky, you tail Vhagar as the dragons make a descent to land, the rain whipping down like crystal nails. Your hair slicked from the rain, strands stuck on your face as you dismount off Ysera, “Umbās'' [wait]. The rain has lost the ambient temperature of early fall, freezing and paling your skin on contact. You look up at the molten silver sky, the dark swirls covering every inch of the sky casting a dark shadow. Aemond silently walks towards an isolated barn on the outskirts of the trees that line River Gate. You follow.

The barn is empty, and the musk of hay and pine devours your nostrils as soon as you step under the shelter. The rain continues to pour, the drops hitting the oak creating a drumming against the roof – So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. Aemond has still not spoken a word to you since landing. Which made the confinement even worse, you would much rather have him hurl snide remarks at you than complete quietness. He sat silently not acknowledging you as he fidgeted with his dagger. You pace back and forth, unable to stand still as you wait for the rain to cease.

“Would you stop your incessant walking,” Aemond says nonchalantly, his eye not meeting yours. His dagger danced between his slender fingers.

“Oh he finally talks... I thought you were half blind and going mute”

“This rain will not pass any time soon and I do not want to be here anymore than you do” his voice low. You drove Aemond crazy in more ways than one, being stuck in this barn with you was a nightmare – not only because you infuriate him like no other but because he could not keep pretending he did not desire you. Crave you.

Ever since that goddamn kiss.

You exhale through your nose as you take off your leather gloves, planting yourself on a hay barrow. You take your leather boots off, the sound of the material squelching.

“What are you doing?” his voice raises as he cocks his head at you.

“I would much prefer not dying from cold fever,” you remark, wringing out your drenched hair. “Although it does sound better than being here…” you mumble under your breath. You assumed Aemond heard you when you saw his head shake, the corners of his mouth quirking into a small smile. You lower your eyes as Aemond stands up, turning his slender back to you as he unbuttons his black outer coat. It was improper of you to stare as his soaked cotton undershirt clung to his wet body – outlining his lean shoulders perfectly.

Seven Hells.

You clear your throat as you feel a warm heat gathering in your cheeks, you unbutton your armored gown – your drenched undergown beginning to make you itch. Your hands reach around to the clasp by the nape of your neck. You mentally cuss your handmaidens as your fingers struggle to unclasp the button on your own. Your body jolts and his warm fingers slide down the back of your neck to the tender skin – unbuttoning your gown. “Here,” his raspy voice whispers into your ear as the gown drops to the ground.

“I did not need your assistance,” you say but your words end up breathy and weak. You turn to face him. He was close to you, you could feel the heat of his body and smell the dragon scent of him. It sent a trickle of shivers straight through you. You wholeheartedly disliked the Prince and yet you had the most absurd inclination to lean forward until the space between your bodies was squeezed into nothingness.

His eye lowers down to your mouth, that mouth that vexes him to no end with an endless stream of insults and snide comments. Despite all that, all he could think about were your lips on his. “Is that so?”

He lifts his hands brushing your wet hair away from your face, his fingers lingering by your cheek. The heat of his body seeped through your thin gown, he was so close you couldn’t tell where his breath ended and yours began. Aemond was going to stop right there and leave you bothered and breathless, to teach you a lesson but when there was barely an inch between your bodies, the pull grew too strong. Your breath quickens, your mind telling you to pull away but your body says otherwise.

“Mmhmm,” is all you could manage to say, his fingertips trailing along your cheek – torturing you. Suddenly his hands cupped the back of your head as his lips took yours in an explosion of desire and hatred. You moan against his mouth, taking advantage of your parted lips, Aemond slides his tongue between them. His hands still cupping the back of your head, he grabs a fistful of your damp hair pulling it back. Your head tilts back, exposing your neck – his eye darkens as his lips leave yours to taste the slightly salty skin of your neck.

Aemond pulls your hair a little harder, “You should learn to bite that tongue of yours…” His free hand grips your breast through the fabric. The pads of his fingertips rolling over your nipple. You suck in a shaky breath when he catches the bud between his forefinger and thumb, tweaking it sharply. Aemond releases your hair, the pressure of his grip still lingering. You could feel his stiff cock pressed against your body.

“Only when you learn to bite yours,” you tease, sliding your hand down his wet undershirt and over his trousers to palm at his cock. A sweet groan escapes his lips when you softly squeeze him. He abruptly stops your hand, lowering your back onto the damp ground. This moment could be stretched and savored, but when were things with Aemond ever savory. His hands tugged the rope on the thin fabric that covered your body with enough force to nearly tear the gown. Aemond grapples at his shirt, pulling the wet fabric over his head. Your core is already searing with heat as he lets his eye caress your exposed body, something so simple but so seductive. The gaze was heavy with lust. God. You want to feel him. Taste him. Fuck him.

Aemond lowers himself between your legs, his tongue darts over his lower lip hungrily. He pushes your thighs apart, gripping them down firmly – his other hand trailing above your center. “Still do not need my assistance, my love?” he murmurs. He smirks seeing the wetness of your core. You curse when you feel his thumb and forefinger softly part your soaking folds, circling your clit and down to rub your dripping entrance. They gently tease your clit, smearing your wetness around but not enough to give you the desire you crave. You bite back a groan as your hips grind into his fingers. You tense as the tips of his fingers press at your entrance, his slender digits slipping in all the way. He drew them back out, slick with your wetness – a roguish grin across his face as he thrust them back in, easing into a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire.

His hand dipped further into your cunt, sending a sharp edge of ecstasy through your core and down your spine. Aemond presses two fingers into your entrance, your walls clenching around his fingers as he thrusts roughly into your wet folds. Your body seizes up tight when all of a sudden he abruptly removes his hand from your soaking cunt. Leaving you on the edge of burning waves, a needy moan tears almost painfully from you.

“Tell me you need me,” he commands. Fucking Bastard. “Say it,” his fingers return to your throbbing core teasing the folds of your swollen lips but not enough to satisfy you. Fuck he’s going to be the death of you. Aemond’s fingers teased your clit, making you breathless as you begged. He knew even if you had not said it that the desire was mutual.

“Please Aemond,” you whine desperately, with a pleased grin, Aemond jolts his fingers back into you. His fingers curling into your cunt, nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing – deep inside your core, his finger brushes against the rough spot of nerves against your walls. Tilting his fingers into your cunt faster, you feel your muscles tense as the orgasm violently spills over. His free hand wraps around your thigh to hold you down, as he twists his fingers inside you. It’s all too much too quickly. Your ears ring, and waves of pleasure cascade through every nerve in your body. Your core pulses around Aemond’s fingers, eyes slamming shut until you shatter onto him – your mind folds as your orgasm cracks. You whine and push his hand because he’s still going, your clit burning from overstimulation.

“That is how you make me feel when you vex me,” he grunts, his hands now snaking their way to your neck. His grip tightens as he lowers himself to your lips, his mouth descends onto yours – his kiss hungry and full of lust. His hands worked the drawstrings of his trousers.

“Perhaps you need assistance,” you remark. His hands push down his black trousers, the thick swell of his cock throbs. There’s a wet smear as the head of his cock runs through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. With little warning, Aemond’s full-length slams into you with a devastating force – you moan into his shoulder as his angular face nest into your neck. You’ll feel him for days afterward as your walls clench inch after inch, a dull ache settling deep inside you. The rhythm of his hips is hard. Fast. Merciless. Aemond buries himself into your core, each stroke as rough and feral as the last. Your fingers tangle his silver hair, your nails raking down his back – leaving raised lines in his pale skin.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Aemond firmly grips your jaw, sliding his thumb past your lips – your tongue brushes over his finger. You pull his lips towards you, molding your mouth to his as your soft wet kisses morph into pricks of his teeth. His gaze locked on yours, as his length goes in you – you pull his head down once more you gently place kisses around his scar. His eye flutter shuts with every touch.

His thrust boils the shimming heat gathering in the pit of your core, electric heat blazing through each and every nerve. Your muscles tighten around him, making his cock throb as his thrusts create violent slaps. Aemond couldn’t hold back any longer. Hot spurts flood your insides, his eye squeezing shut as he buries his face into your shoulder. You clutch him tightly against your chest while he fills you.

He eventually pulls away, his gaze taking in every inch of your bare skin. With a cocky grin on his face, you knew he wouldn’t let this down. But neither would you. You knew he desired you as much as you desired him.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x targaryen reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond Targaryen x velaryon reader

670 notes · View notes

triscribeaucollection · 11 months

Text

Can’t Breathe In

(SO. What if, way back during Infinity War, the group on Titan fighting Thanos managed to get the gauntlet away from him? Say, for example, Peter yoinks just a tad harder at the right moment, pulling it and the four already-retrieved Stones off. There’s still the problem of keeping them away from the purple bastard, so Strange opens up a portal back to Earth, tosses the kid, the gauntlet, and the Eye of Agamotto through for good measure, before he and Tony and the Guardians do their level best to put Thanos down for good.

One thing leads to another, all roads converge in Wakanda, and there ends up being a knock-down drag-out free-for-all fight between the present Avengers and the remaining Children of Thanos for six Infinity Stones in one room (Shuri having just enough time to cut Vision free of the Mind Stone before shit hits the fan).

Stuff is exploding, containers are breaking, half a dozen all-powerful artifacts tied to the foundations of Existence are flying through the air, and a certain Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Doofus manages to grab two at once.

Things get... interesting, after that.)

---

Peter is so screwed.

Even if he survives, even if he manages to change enough things to save the day for everybody else, he is so screwed, because he did the one thing Doctor Strange explicitly said not to and at this point it’s definitely going to kill him.

Just. Slowly. Because that’s Parker Luck for you.

Panting through the pain, Peter manages to finish scrawling out the last of his future-notes, doubled up at the very bottom of the page. Then he promptly drops the pencil and grasps at his head, whining faintly.

Some of it’s definitely a residual after-effect of accidentally grabbing two Infinity Stones at once and super accidentally activating them. The rest is a miserable combination of adjusting to no longer having his powers, adjusting to once again having asthma, and of course the bout of bronchitis his thirteen year old body happened to be dealing with when Peter’s sixteen year old mind got dropped into it.

Zero out of five stars, do not recommend.

A hand knocks on his bedroom door, and Peter barely bites back an instinctive whimper. “Y-yeah?”

“You okay in there, kiddo?”

And there’s the other thing. Ben is still alive.

Ben is alive, May isn’t a widow, and Peter really needs to make sure they both stay that way.

But he also needs to warn Mister Stark about everything that’s coming.

“I- I guess,” Peter says miserably, and it’s enough to make his uncle open the door and step inside. The kid’s heart stutters just at the sight of him: familiar concerned expression, rumpled well-worn clothes, brown hair that’s only just started to turn gray around the ears.

“Well, you must be feeling a little better, at least,” Ben mutters, glancing between Peter at his desk and the abandoned bed. “I’m ducking out to run a couple errands, kiddo, shouldn’t be gone too long. Want anything?”

He takes as deep a breath as he can manage at the moment. “Actually- yeah. Could you drop off a letter for me?”

Ben raises an eyebrow, mouth quirking up a little at one corner. “A letter?”

“Mmhm.” Peter reorganizes his papers real quick, then folds the four sheets in half before taping them closed. On top goes a post-it note, and one final scribble: for FRIDAY or Happy Hogan, please.

...after a moment’s consideration, ‘please’ gets underlined an extra time.

Ben’s second eyebrow has risen as well by the time Peter turns back, holding out the makeshift envelope. “Where am I taking this, kiddo?”

“Manhattan. Stark Tower.” He can see the startled blink, and hurries to go on, “It’s really important, Ben, please. If I could take it my- myself-” His lungs choose that moment to induce a coughing fit, and Peter practically doubles over as his whole body shakes.

One of Ben’s large hands settles between his shoulder blades, rubbing up and down until Peter can breathe again. “Okay, buddy,” his uncle murmurs, gently tugging the papers free of his grasping fingers. “Okay. Stark Tower. I can do that. Might take me an extra hour, though- are you going to be okay by yourself?”

Rather than speak and irritate his poor throat, Peter raises a thumb’s up.

Ben grins, just slightly, and ruffles his hair. “Go on back to bed, then. I’ll top off your water cup and head out.” A+ plan. Truly phenomenal. Peter drags himself out of the wobbly desk chair and shuffles over, dragging the same blanket he’d brought along with him in the first place. Toppling over onto his old mattress is easy; so is making an unintelligible noise of gratitude when Ben sets down a refilled plastic cup. And from there, Peter slowly... drifts... off.......

...only to lurch back upright in a panic, mere minutes later, because he addressed the notes to Friday.

FRIDAY, the AI who doesn’t exist yet. Instead of JARVIS, the one who does.

Several curse words drop from his mouth, as Peter scrambles to try and find his- his phone. Which he does not have yet. Because it was a Congrats On Starting High School present after he turned fourteen. Because of course.

Nothing for it, then. As miserable as he feels, Peter needs to get dressed, go after Ben, and swap out the incorrect post-it for a properly addressed one.

When asked, he will very much blame his current fever and illness to explain why he didn’t go out into the living room, and use the landline they still possess at this point in time to call his uncle and fix the error. But that’s later, and this is now, and Peter fumbles for his jeans and a mostly clean t-shirt.

---

Ben Parker would like to claim he isn’t a terribly gullible person. Nor a distrusting one, either. But this feels like a delicate balance between the two, as he takes the subway to cross from Queens over to Manhattan, and then walks a couple blocks to a particular nigh-infamous building. ‘Stark Tower’, ‘Avengers Tower’, either way, the gleaming structure easily attracts attention, even when you aren’t a rubber-necking tourist.

The sheaf of papers crinkles in his back pocket.

If Peter weren’t so sick, Ben probably wouldn’t be humoring him like this. Then again, if Peter weren’t sick, he’d more than likely have found a way to sneak off to Stark Tower himself to deliver the mysterious letter. Taking a deep breath, Ben steps through glass doors, and does his best not to hunch his shoulders or otherwise look nervous around so many people in business attire.

Even so, his thrift store outfit and old leather boots draw at least a few stares.

The young woman at the desk he goes up to at least smiles welcomingly, and Ben does his best to return the expression. “Hi there. This is going to sound weird, and I apologize in advance, but my kid’s sick and begged me to drop off a letter for him.”

“A letter for whom, sir?”

“Ah-” Ben pulls the folded papers from his pocket, miraculously managing to avoid losing the post-it note on top. “-Friday or Happy Hogan? He wrote down both their names, but I’m afraid I don’t know who either is.”

The woman’s face does something complicated when she sees the taped letter, but thankfully doesn’t laugh or scoff. “Well... Mister Hogan is Mister Stark’s head of security, but I’m afraid I haven’t heard of anyone named Friday who works here.” Something chimes on her computer screen, and she glances away to tap a quick reply.

Ben can’t help but blink. “Security? Huh. I would’ve figured a scientist or something...” Well, to be completely honest, he figured a feverish Peter would write directly to Tony Stark, considering how many Iron Man posters occupy the kid’s bedroom walls. But a security man just makes no sense at all.

“Pardon me, but what was your name, sir?”

“Parker. Ben Parker. Uh, like I said, I’m really just humoring my kid while he isn’t feeling well - I understand if you can’t actually get this to Mister Hogan-”

“On the contrary, sir,” a British voice says out of nowhere, making Ben jump. “I have already taken the liberty of summoning the appropriate individual to meet with you.”

He stares at the young woman, who looks startled but not nearly as confused. “That was Jarvis,” she quickly explains, “Mister Stark’s AI. Jarvis runs most of the building’s automatic functions, but- he doesn’t usually speak to guests without prompting.”

An uneasy feeling creeps up the back of Ben’s neck.

‘Jarvis’ doesn’t talk again, and the young woman directs him to wait by the end of the welcome desk for whoever’s coming down to meet him. It’s awkward, to be sure, especially as more people idly glance in his direction.

But then an elevator dings, and Ben turns, and shock overwrites literally everything else.

“Mister Parker?” Tony Stark asks, walking briskly towards him. Behind his glasses, the man’s eyes dart to either side of where Ben is standing, and they flicker slightly with something he would almost call disappointment. “Hi, welcome, sorry to startle you, but we’d better have this conversation in private. Jarvis said you’ve got a letter?” Wordlessly, Ben holds it up. Stark huffs, quickly plucking it from his fingers, but doesn’t bother to do anything besides tucking it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. Then he claps a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and steers him straight into the waiting elevator. “How’s Peter?”

The shock is still going strong. That’s the only explanation for why he blurts out the single word response, “Sick.”

Stark’s head snaps around. “Sick? With what? How bad is it?”

“Bronchitis,” Ben barely manages to say, most of his brain power currently occupied trying to reconcile the fact that Tony-Iron-Man-Stark apparently knows his nephew. “Not- not too bad, this time. How do you-?”

“J, you downloaded the kid’s medical files, right?” Stark asks the open air.

“Yes, Sir,” the same disembodied voice as early rings out. “This would be Peter Parker’s fourth bout with bronchitis in the past three years. Records indicate he is taking appropriately prescribed medication and has been home from school for the past two days.”

“Good, that’s good.” Still, Stark’s expression is twisted unpleasantly, and Ben can only stare in a sort of detached fascination. “Double check that our pharmaceuticals division doesn’t have anything better for him, J.”

“Of course, Sir. I also need to inform you that we have received confirmation from Prince T’Challa of Wakanda, and reassurance that his family is taking the necessary precautions.”

“About time Pink Panther got back to us. Anything from Fury and our super-duper wonder spies?”

“They have yet to emerge from the secondary conference room. Mister Barton’s only communication at this point has been to request another round of takeout and coffee, as it looks to be, and I quote, ‘a long-ass day on top of a long-ass night’, Sir.”

Stark snorts. “Got it. Approve whatever he and Nat want. Anyone in the lounge?”

“Negative.”

“Right, take us there, then.” Sighing, the celebrity finally turns to actually face Ben. For a long moment, he only stares. “It’s different, seeing you in person. Good different. Peter actually say anything about the letter?”

“...no,” Ben manages to answer. “No, and I don’t- no offense intended, Mister Stark, but what the hell is going on?”

“Tony, please.” A flash of genuine pain crosses Stark’s face, before he returns to the bland observing expression. “And none taken. I’ve had a lot of people ask me that question since two this morning.”

The unease returns, this time in Ben’s stomach. At 2am, he and May were woken up by Peter shouting in his room - a fever dream turned nightmare, or so they assumed.

He doesn’t particularly care for the coincidence.

“So tell me, Ben Parker: do you believe in time travel?”

---

Peter is so, so screwed.

He left the apartment without his key. Without his shoes. And the longer he attempts to keep shuffling down the city sidewalk only in his socks, overwhelmed by noises and smells and the bright sun overhead, the more it becomes abundantly clear:

He messed up.

Majorly messed up. On top of his other major screw-up, and the more he tries to squint at street signs without the glasses he also forgot at the apartment, the more his head pounds and his nose runs and his chest hurts.

Eventually it’s just- too much. Peter coughs weakly into his elbow, and scoots into the first alley he can find.

---

Once, not so long ago, Ben didn’t think aliens or superheroes existed outside of books and movies. Time travel isn’t that far a leap in comparison.

But the more Stark keeps talking, the less Ben takes in, overwhelmed by a couple of things the celebrity breezed over, which stand out all the more for his lack of emphasis. First and foremost: Tony Stark cares about Peter. Knows him. Likes him. Invites him on weekend visits to work on personal projects. Illegally hacks medical databases to double check that the boy is getting appropriate medication for his current illness. Ben might actually laugh if it weren’t for the second thing:

He’s going to die.

Stark doesn’t outright say that, of course, but he tip-toes around the fact that he knows Peter well enough to care about him, and he knows May well enough to be wary of lying to her, but today is the first time he’s ever laid eyes on a living, breathing Ben.

Peter is going to be a superhero. May is going to be a widow. Peter caused some kind of magical accident that sent the Avengers back in time three years. May is going to be a widow. Peter apparently wrote out four pages of notes about incoming disasters for nothing, because Stark and his teammates have been scrambling for the past ten hours to prevent all of it and more.

May is going to be a widow.

Eventually, Stark must realize Ben’s only absorbing every fourth sentence or so, because he abruptly finds himself pushed down into a sleek leather chair, glass tumbler in hand. He doesn’t bother to check exactly what kind of alcohol he’s been given; it burns going down, and that’s good enough to restore some clarity to his overwhelmed mind.

First thing’s first. “Peter has superpowers?”

“He will. Probably. We know when and how he gets them, at this point it’s just a matter of making sure he’s in the right place at the right time. If he still wants- I mean, I’ll be honest, I’d probably sleep a little better knowing the kid isn’t swinging around Queens stopping muggers in the middle of the night, but I also know there’s only a point oh two chance he’ll willingly avoid becoming Spider-man again.”

Ben nods, swallowing down his initial reaction to that word-vomit. “Okay. Okay- next question.”

“Shoot.”

“How do I die?”

Stark promptly winces. “...alright, poor choice of words on my part. Look, Ben- can I call you Ben?” He nods. “Thanks- look. I don’t know all the details, but Peter definitely will, and between the two of us I can guarantee you won’t this time. Hell, I’ll get you a nano-tech bulletproof vest if I have to, but we’re going to make damn sure you live to a ripe old age no matter how many burned casseroles May tries to fix for dinner. Alright?”

Something in the back of Ben’s mind whispers that it can’t possibly be that simple, but he’s willing to take the other man’s words at face value for the moment. “Alright.”

“Sir? Captains Wilson and Rogers have returned, with two guests.”

“Hot damn. Okay, Ben- just hang tight for a minute, I need to say hi to Ruby Tuesday and her delinquent brother, and then we’ll see about getting Peter up here, yeah?” Ben doesn’t have a chance to respond before Stark is up and moving, heading for the elevator just as it slides open.

Captain Rogers is apparently that Captain Rogers, and Ben’s eyes widen so much he half-wonders if they might actually fall out of his face.

Steve-Captain-America-Rogers steps out of the elevator, face tired but triumphant, dressed in civilian clothes rather than his iconic uniform. That’s definitely The Shield slung across his back, though.

Behind him comes another man, dark-skinned with short hair, rolling his eyes as he finishes saying something to the people behind him. Both young, on the thin side - the girl’s hair is long and dark, the boy’s shifting from a similar color to silvery-white in a way that doesn’t look like a dye job. He’s nervous; she’s relaxed. Stark approaches them with stiff shoulders and a careful smile.

“Tony,” the girl says warmly, and half the tension drops away from Stark’s frame.

“Wanda,” he replies, stopping short of arm’s reach. “You’re okay?”

“I will be. I have Pietro again.” She reaches out, and catches the boy’s hand where he meets her halfway. “Ultron?”

“Shut down for good. Never even got the chance to wake up and cause trouble.”

The girl lets out a low, shaky sigh, squeezing her eyes shut as she nods. “Good. That is- very good. Vision?”

“We’ve got him. Sort of- no body for him to land in like the rest of us, obviously, but Cho’s putting one together, and there’s a copy of his consciousness tucked in with Jarvis right now.”

“One moment please, Miss Maximoff,” the AI says. A moment later, what sounds like the exact same voice speaks again, but with a great deal more emotion. “Hello, Wanda.”

“Viz,” she replies, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “You are alright?”

“I am much better, now that you’re here.”

Well didn’t that sound adorably sappy. Some small sound must escape Ben’s mouth, because a moment later the girl, Wanda, is looking right at him with a frown. “Who is this?”

“Ben Parker,” Stark promptly answers, shifting in place to make a sweeping gesture. “Better known as Spider-man’s uncle. He came to drop off some notes from the kid, who apparently didn’t realize we all got swept back in time thanks to his stunt with the Mind and Time Stones. Speaking of whom- Jarvis, have we got eyes on Underoos yet?”

“Yes, Sir. But I am afraid Peter Parker is not in his Queens apartment.”

Like a storm blowing out a candle, Stark’s face turns immediately grim. “Beg pardon?”

“Facial recognition picked him up eight blocks from his home building, moving slowly. Approximately nine minutes and thirty-four seconds ago, he entered an alleyway without any available security cameras. To my knowledge he has not yet emerged.”

Ben couldn’t say when exactly he got to his feet, but he suddenly finds himself standing next to Stark, hands clenched to keep from shaking. The other man meets his panicked gaze, and a flicker of understanding passes between them. “Show us, J.”

A holographic screen pops up. Footage plays. Ben barely pays any attention to Captain America stepping closer, too focused on the little figure helpfully highlighted by Jarvis.

(Peter isn’t even wearing shoes.)

“What, did he feel the need for a Delmar sandwich?” Stark grumbles, before the image zooms in. It becomes abruptly clear that Peter isn’t feeling suddenly better - his face is tight with desperation, mouth open to breathe, and every few steps he pauses to lean against a wall, eyes screwed shut. Ben feels a vice grip squeeze his heart, especially when his nephew staggers between two buildings, disappearing with his head down, arms tucked in close.

“Yeah, he’s not doing so hot,” the other man beside Captain America states.

“Understatement of the year, Wilson. Alright, everything else is on pause, I need to go get him-”

“I am faster.”

They all turn to stare at the boy still standing halfway behind Wanda. Even she looks surprised. “Pietro?”

He shrugs, a small nonchalant twitch, belied by the concern in his eyes. “I am faster. Show me a map from here to there, and I can pick him up without attracting attention.”

Ben glances at Stark. The celebrity offers back a flat smile, face carefully blank. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Speedy Gonzales here could probably run to the other end of Long Island and back in a couple of minutes.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, and then- “Your call, Mister Parker. He’s- your kid. First and foremost.”

...after a long, painful moment, Ben turns back towards Pietro. “Please.”

---

It feels like his life is just one big mistake after another.

Arguing with his uncle, distracting him at exactly the wrong moment, and paying for it with a funeral. Ignoring Mister Stark’s orders, almost causing all those people on the ferry to die. Not pushing harder to get a message through to Happy, almost allowing the plane to be stolen.

Grabbing the first two Infinity Stones to go flying past his face, in a room full of aliens trying to steal them and Avengers trying to protect them. Peter can still feel the burning in his hands, like catching a pair of electrified cables except dialed up to eleven, and every time he tries to take a deep breath it just gets worse. Not even the spider bite had caused him to hurt this much.

Wind whistles, short and sharp. A train going by- or maybe just a single car? No, wait, that didn’t make any sense-

“You are Peter, yes?”

Slowly, agonizingly, he manages to peel one eye partly open, and squints at the guy crouching in front of him. Familiar, but- not in the way that meant Peter had seen him somewhere before. “Y-yeah?”

“I am Pietro Maximoff,” the guy says. “Tony Stark and your uncle are upset you left home.”

Ah.

Well. On the one hand, Ben clearly made it to the Tower. On the other, Peter’s probably going to be in a lot of trouble for this. On the third- on a metaphorical third hand, Peter hurts. He can’t even bring himself to say so to this guy, Pietro- Maximoff, does that mean he’s related to Wanda- and instead whines, hands pressing tighter against his head.

“I am going to take you to them,” Pietro goes on. Peter lets his eye squeeze shut again, and jerks his head in a short, shallow nod. Hands carefully drag him out from his hiding place between two dumpsters, and then he’s being picked up, cradled close like a much younger kid. Normally he’d protest, insist that he’s sixteen- or thirteen- but honestly, Peter can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a distinct lurch, and a thousand sounds bombard his ears, horns and voices and wheels turning and doors opening and it’s way WAY too much too many too soon-

-and he checks out.

---

Ben doesn’t quite stare at his watch the entire time Pietro’s gone, but it’s a near thing. Steve Rogers takes a moment to introduce himself, along with Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff, but thankfully none of the Avengers try to force any strained small talk. Stark barely makes a sound at all - he keeps on staring at the blue-tinted holographic screens, eyes glued to the replaying clip of Peter stumbling into that alleyway.

It’s a relief when Pietro blurs back into existence in front of them, Ben’s actual physical nephew held securely in his arms.

But only for a split second.

Because Peter looks awful.

In the time since Ben left their family’s apartment, his kid has somehow managed to slide from pale to almost ghostly white, tremors wracking his entire body. He doesn’t react to Ben or Stark calling his name, eyes screwed shut and fists pressed hard against both ears, breathes coming short and shallow.

“Jarvis, vitals,” Stark orders, gesturing for Pietro to set his burden down on the nearest sofa. Peter whines when the young man lets go, but Ben slides right in, one hand carding through his nephew’s hair while the other presses flat against his scrawny chest. He doesn’t pay attention to whatever the AI relates to Stark; there’s just Peter, and his ragged breathing, and his pounding heart.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ben murmurs, soft but hopefully loud enough for the kid to hear. “We can make it through this, and you’re going to get better, if only so I can ground you until you’re eighteen.”

Peter’s next breath comes out more like a huff than a gasp, and one corner of his mouth turns up, just slightly.

“Only eighteen?” Stark leans a little over Ben’s shoulder, not quite intruding though it’s pretty clear he’d like to. “I’d make it twenty-five, at least.”

“M- Mis’er S’ark-”

“Hey, kid. Fancy seeing you here, when you should be tucked up at home in a nice warm bed. What’s the idea, huh, giving me and your poor uncle a matching pair of heart attacks?”

Peter coughs weakly, eyes still closed. “Wrote- wrong. Fuh-friday, not- Jarvis.”

Ben sees Stark stiffen in the corner of his eye, and holds back a sigh. “Friday’s the name of another AI?”

“Back-up for Jarvis,” Stark mutters. “I would’ve switched to her in a few days, if we were still following the original timeline.”

That manages to make Peter’s face scrunch up with confusion. “-what?”

“We all came back in time, kid. Whatever the hell you did with those Stones, they picked up every Avenger plus a few bonus people and tossed our minds back to the good old days before we’d even heard of Thanos. Possibly those Guardian idiots too, but we haven’t been able to make contact with them yet.”

“Oh,” Peter croaks, finally cracking his eyes open. “Good?”

Rather than answer, Stark sucks in a startled breath, and Ben feels his stomach swoop unpleasantly. From the abrupt silence behind them, where the others had been murmuring amongst themselves, he figures everybody’s equally stunned.

Peter’s eyes are glowing.

The kid just stares upward for a moment, obviously aware something’s wrong. “...Mister Stark? I don’t- feel so good.”

To Be Continued...

#marvel #avengers infinity war #fix-it fic #peter parker #ben parker #tony stark #irondad's gonna have a hard time in this one #I haven't figured out the happy ending yet hence my cliffhanger there #but I'm sure Peter will be fiiine. Eventually.#wip

94 notes · View notes

revenantlore · 2 months

Text

OC in 15

tagged by @illarian-rambling to share fifteen quotes from one of my characters that shows their personality. This time I am going with Dakota from Devil in the Details which I still need to edit down the size of the wip banner so I can actually post it on my intro

1. “Why so interested in what gets me off, McCoy?”

2. “You sure? I’m pretty convincing with my mouth.”

3. “I’m not a whore, McCoy ... but nor am I disinterested.”

4. “What’ve I got to be nervous about, darling?” Dakota flashes him a lazy grin, pats a hand to his chest. “Big strong man like you by my side, I can take on anything.”

5. “Aw,” he drags a finger down Ronan’s arm as he pouts, “here I was looking forward to another date with Mr. McCoy.”

6. “You grow up on the streets, live with a drug dealing uncle up to a point … kinda have to know your way around a knife, a man’s throat, his weak spots.”

7. “It’s fucking murder and it’s fucked up—you’re fucked up.”

8. “These fries taste like ass,” he says around a mouthful of cold, soggy fries. Watches for Ronan’s reaction but the guy gives none, expression blank as he focuses on the road. “Wanna compare?”

“What?”

“Fries to ass, you wanna compare? I’ll hold onto a handful for when we get to the hotel room, just in case.”

“I’m not going anywhere near your ass.”

“Mm. Your loss, darling.”

9. “Darling, if you wanted me out of my clothes so bad, all you had to do was ask.”

10. “Unless you wanna turn me on,” Dakota says through a wince, “I’d get your damn hand off my throat.”

11. “I’m scared, that if I don’t die on the job, I’m gonna do myself the favor of—“

12. “First you’re gonna take my drugs, now my coffee? What next, McCoy?”

13. “I don’t deserve to be here.” [said in a heartbroken crack post-near-suicide attempt]

14. “Could vent it out on me,” Dakota says, a familiar spark in his eyes. He hesitates before adding, “Two birds, one stone. Know the quickest way to shutting me up is with your dick, darling.”

15. “Frankie highly recommends it,” Dakota says, pausing before he adds, “says the bumps and ridges are especially … pleasurable.” [when gifting his best friend a glass dildo]

tagging @wintherlywords @winterandwords @andyswritings @thatndginger and @writinginslowmotion

#oc : dakota ramsey #tag game

16 notes · View notes

writtenonreceipts · 2 years

Note

first of all THANK YOU for the prompt list, it is marvelous!!

secondly, i feel like you could do something completely brilliant with #23, Hold my hand, it's almost over.

idk what it is but prompt lists are so fun for me. i'm not the best at them, but i like seeing what i can do with them, lol. i hope they provide some inspiration :)

as for the prompt...how's about some elorcan?

Canon, in which Elide is determined to finally heal her ankle.

Warnings: depictions of extreme pain/distress, mentions of potential miscarriage ~2.4k words

…

There Now, Steady Love

Searing hot pain rippled up Elide’s ankle and to her thigh. It was unlike anything she’d experienced before as it drove not just into her muscles, but her very bones as well.

She screamed around the rag that had been stuffed into her mouth to try and prevent her from waking the dead. It wasn’t working. In fact, Elide wondered if calling upon Anneith would be more helpful than the damned rag. Death sounded like better relief than to keep enduring whatever this was.

“A little longer,” Yrene’s calm voice informed her.

Elide groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. This was hell. It had to be.

After over a year of preparatory probing and research, Yrene and Elide had finally determined the best course of action in healing Elide’s damaged ankle. Yet no amount of work could ready Elide for feeling as though her entire body were being ripped apart sinew by sinew.

The pain wasn’t just limited to her leg. No. It extended through every nerve ending, every muscle, every ligament. It was all she could do to keep from passing out.

“Almost,” Yrene said. Her voice somehow pierced the clouded haze of Elide’s mind. The promise of relief was not very comforting right now.

The healing had been long discussed and anticipated ever since Yrene first recommended it. Even with waiting until after Yrene delivered her baby and had time to regain strength—they’d both been eager to see what they could accomplish on the matter. And then Elide had been busy rebuilding Perranth and making sure the peerage was settled in their new duties. Not to mention attempting to tame Lorcan into behaving around the lot of them. The time just hadn’t been feasible to make this actually happen.

Elide had been waiting years for this and she would endure the pain. Because once this part of her life was over with—she could truly move on from her past. Even if she’d come to terms with her parents' deaths and her uncle's treatment of her, Elide knew that being able to walk (for herself) was a stepping stone she needed to pass.

“Alright,” Yrene said, withdrawing her soft hands from Elide’s burning foot.

The relief wasn’t immediate, pain still lanced through her leg and pulsed with each heartbeat, but Elide could finally take a full breath.

“Mala above,” Elide gasped, spitting out the makeshift gag. “Are you sure you gave me enough laudanum?”

“I can’t have you completely delirious,” Yrene reminded her.

It had been a long, arduous discussion especially after Lorcan had gotten involved.

Elide felt a new round of tears prick her eyes as she caught her breath. Hadn’t she cried enough? Wasn’t there a point in which the pain would finally numb everything away?

She looked to the empty stool beside her bed. She’d wanted this—for Lorcan not to be there. Even if his magic would have helped her endure the pain. He would have forced Yrene to stop hours ago and insisted they could go again another day.

Elide loved that brute of a demi-fae but she knew what she wanted. Still, she had betrayed him in letting him go off with Rowan, Fenrys, and Vaughn for a respite in the mountains. The males of the court were antsy for something to do other than organize treaties and listen to badgering farmers. Vaughn had been the only one she’d told about her plans because he was the only one she could trust to keep a secret.

It was the perfect opportunity to start the healing process.

But as Elide rubbed the muscles of her leg and wiped her nose on her shoulder—all she could feel was guilt. She knew that, despite his protestations, Lorcan wanted to be here for Elide. He wanted to help her with the pain and recovery. Elide loved him for it. Loved him for that ferocity he had. And she couldn’t help but wish he was there now. Damn her.

“Are you ready?” Yrene asked as Elide slowly sat up again. “I’ve gotten past the callouses built up on the bones, we can move on to the muscles with more focus.”

Elide cursed. It already felt like her entire leg had been torn apart, what more could she take.

Yrene smiled grimly. Her thick, dark curls spiraled out from beneath her headwrap and sweat stained her brow. “You can do this, Elide.”

“What about you?” Elide prodded. “Regretting your life choices yet?”

“After delivering a seven-pound baby,” Yrene said dryly, “I’m fairly certain I can withstand this.”

Elide snorted a laugh. She’d helped Yrene when the time came for her delivery, the two having grown close during the war and Elide’s small dabbling’s with healing. If there was ever a woman who knew strength and endurance it was Yrene Westfall.

“Alright,” Elide finally said. She grabbed the gag-rag and refolded it. “I’m ready.”

Yrene moved her hands back to Elide’s outstretched legs. When nothing happened, Elide shifted slightly.

“What?” she asked.

Yrene looked up, her honey gold eyes wary. “Are you sure you don’t want Lorcan here?”

Had her entire body not been thrumming with pain, Elide would have launched out of the bed. Instead, she settled on a scowl. When she shifted, her leg hummed with pain that felt like someone were plucking her ligaments like a bowstring.

“I told you, it’s fine,” Elide insisted.

Even with the guilt in her heart, Elide was still a little mad at Lorcan. She had no reason to be of course, not really. She’d known he was fiercely loyal and protective. Even a year after the events at Skulls Bay, she knew his actions still affected him. But sometimes the male drove her insane.

The last time Yrene and Elide were determined to set about the healing had been interrupted when a lady’s maid had made the incorrect assumption that Elide’s courses were late. Right where Lorcan could hear.

Even with Elide’s continued assurance she wasn’t with child, Lorcan had remained staunchly alert of everything Elide did and insisted they hold off on the healing process. Her cycles were irregular in any case and there weren’t any of the tell-tale signs of pregnancy. Besides, she’d simply known. Perhaps it was terror at the thought of having a baby or simply feeling that it couldn’t be possible. They’d been careful with tonics and everything. Not to mention they were not even a year into their marriage—they wanted to wait. In any case, Lorcan had taken a note out of Rowan’s book and become fussy and overbearing on what could have been. The effort and bodily fatigue of the healing process simply wouldn’t have made a pregnancy viable. Elide understood that and if she had been pregnant that first time, she would have agreed with her husband.

“He’s your mate, Elide,” Yrene said, “he could help with this.”

“It’s fine,” Elide insisted. Her chest seized just a little at the thought. Her mate. The person who knew her better than anyone. She still wasn’t convinced of that fact. But sometimes when Lorcan looked at her she could feel that thread of love wrapping around her heart.

Yrene pursed her lips. “You get to deal with the angry demi-fae.”

Elide stuck the rag in her mouth in answer. She could handle her husband. She’d waited long enough for her ankle to be healed.

Rolling her eyes, Yrene ran her hands over Elide’s ankle again. This time the pain came immediately. A dull ache throbbed in Elide’s ankle. The heavy pain rolled slowly up her leg settling just above her heel. It remained there for several seconds before inching up beneath her skin bit by bit.

Elide fisted her fingers into the sheets of the bed. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in a day or else she was convinced she’d make a mess of herself. The pain worked its way higher up her calf now. Her muscles were quivering with being rearranged and adjusted like this.

The pain was getting so intense that Elide felt a sharp tug burrow deep in her chest. Snarling against the gag, she nearly arched off the bed at that.

“Breathe, Elide!” Yrene barked. The order was laughable. How the hell could she breathe right now?

As stars burst behind Elide’s eyes and a low hum began in her ears, she was certain she’d passed out. She couldn’t focus on anything beyond that pain. She needed her husband. That much was certain. Elide could take a hit to her pride at that. She didn’t care.

And then, just as the thought wormed through her mind—there was a sliver of ease among the hurt. It was bare, soft and gentle as it soothed over her and Elide could finally suck down a breath.

She didn’t have time to consider what had happened when a large, warm hand curled around hers.

The sense of relief the oozed through Elides muscles was immediate and a new wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. She was surrounded by the warm scent of cinnamon and she knew Lorcan was there.

He was saying something, but Elides ears were ringing and she couldn’t focus on anything but remaining conscious. There was a steady cadence to his words and Elide was certain he was only offering support. His magic ran along Elide’s body like cool tendrils and more of that deep hurt thrumming in her body disappeared.

“Okay!” Yrene shouted, breaking through the haze of pain in Elides mind.

At once the ache eased and all that was left was Lorcan’s easy magic running over Elide’s leg.

“Mala above!” Elide snarled, spitting the gag out. She cursed several more times, rolling onto her side, closer to where Lorcan was.

One of his hands went to her cheek running along her jaw and into her hair. She leaned into his touch, desperate to have him nearby. When she finally blinked through her tears, Elide looked up to her husband who gazed anxiously down at her.

“You didn’t wait for me,” he murmured.

“You worry too much,” Elide said. Her words didn’t have as much bravado as she wanted. Instead, her voice was raspy from screaming.

Lorcan bowed his head down to press his forehead to hers. His onyx eyes gleamed as he held her gaze. She could feel the worry and hurt emanating from him.

“I could feel the minute it started,” he told her. The hand still entwined in her fingers squeezed tightly. “You scared me before Vaughn told me what you’d planned.”

Elide would whack Vaughn for his betrayal later. For now, she took a shaky breath. “I knew you’d try and talk me out of this.”

Her husband let out an unamused bark. “You are the most stubborn woman I know, Elide. I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk you out of this. But I don’t have to like the pain you’re putting yourself through.”

“I can take it,” she replied. She frowned up at him, earning a wry chuckle.

Lorcan pressed a kiss to her nose. “I know you can, heart. But will you please let me help you?”

Taking a few deep breaths, Elide rolled onto her back again and spared a glance to Yrene. Her friend was pretending to not be listening to them as she took a long drink from a water skein.

“Thank-you,” Elide whispered looking back at her husband. Lorcan smiled, something soft and far sweeter than she ever saw from her. Her heart seized at the sight.

Yrene cleared her throat softly. “I see a bit of scar tissue built up along the muscles. It’s going to take some work to clear up. But once that’s done, I’m sure it should be a bit easier going forward.”

Sitting up a little bit more against the stack of pillows behind her, Elide nodded stiffly.

“Then let's start.”

Lorcan shifted closer to her and Elide wondered how much longer it would take before he climbed up on the bed beside her. And if she were being honest, Elide wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Hold my hand,” Lorcan said, offering his hand once again. “It’s almost over.”

Elide did so, gripping his fingers tighter than before. She stuffed the gag in her mouth again and braced for the pain again.

…

Elide had no idea how long she’d slept for. It could have been hours; it could have been days. All she knew was that when she woke up her leg pulsed with an ache.

Whimpering, Elide tried to roll on her side. Tried to because her husband lay next to her with a heavy arm draped over her that prevented her from moving too far. At the sounds she made, Lorcan stirred. His arm tightened around her. His nose nuzzled into her neck and his breath was warm against her skin.

“Elide?” he murmured. “Are you awake?”

The question had her wondering how often she’d spent in a delirium of pain unable to actually speak.

“Regrettably,” she told him.

Lorcan propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her. His frown made deep grooves appear on his brow as he considered her words.

Smiling, Elide raised a hand to smooth over her jaw. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Her words didn’t convince him as he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm.

“Are you hungry?” Lorcan asked.

Elide shook her head. She felt nauseous and was more than willing to lay in bed.

“I just want to stay here,” she said.

Lorcan settled back beside her and pulled her tighter against him. “We can do that.”

His magic was a steady thread around her that Elide could have easily fallen back asleep.

“Thank-you,” she sighed. “For believing in me.”

Humming, Lorcan ran a hand along her side. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“It was something I needed to do.” She said the words softly, carefully. Lorcan had always given her leave to run the house, run her life, as she saw fit. He often came to her to ask for advice as well. Still, she could understand his protective nature.

“I know,” Lorcan said. He kept up his soothing ministrations along her side. “How’s your leg?”

“Not the best,” Elide admitted. She nestled into Lorcan though, and sighed. “But you’re here.”

“Always,” he promised, “my heart.”

And that was all she needed.

...

tags: let me know if you’d like to be added/removed.

@morganofthewildfire // @aelinchocolatelover // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @fangirlprincess09 // @highladysith // @tillyrubes10 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @rowaelinismyotp // @sheharahu // @1islessthan3books // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @vanzetanze // @foughtconquered // @acciowests // @cassianscool // @thegreyj // @story-scribbler // @jesstargaryenqueen // @amoretheiwa // @jorjy-jo // @danibutterr @live-the-fangirl-life // @foreverfallingforthestars // @pastasiren // @whimsicallyreading // @infernoqueen19 // @mis-lil-red // @lemonade-coolattas // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @rainbowcheetah512 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @swankii-art-teacher // @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @goddess-aelin // @liars-lmao // @emily-gsh // @rowaelinrambling // @bookcide //

#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #post-canon #hurt/comfort #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #fanfiction #yrene towers #yrene westfall

227 notes · View notes

noellie-writes217 · 3 months

Text

Unemployed and Uneducated

Summary: Peter is desperate for a job after months of living on his own

Warnings: none really, just a few mentions of loneliness and a lost relative

“Peter Parker?” A woman from the unemployment office calls into an overall dejected lobby. Peter looks up from holding his head in his hands as his knee bounces anxiously.

The same few thoughts flood his brain:

* I’m pathetic

* I can’t do this much longer

* I can’t do anything

* I need help

- Who the hell could I ask?

- I’m fucking alone!

- I couldn’t save May, who else can’t I save?

* I am so fucked in the head

- Lost everyone

1. First my parents

2. Ben

3. Tony

4. May

5. Everyone else, including my best friend, my doppelgängers, and of course, the love of my life

Man this shit is gonna give me a complex

* I am so depressed

- I should get medication

- I can’t afford medication

- That’s why I’m at a fucking unemployment agency

* And I’m back to being pathetic

“Here,” Peter pushes away all of those invasive thoughts for the next fifteen minutes in that woman’s office. She types his name into her computer and pushes her glasses up, as if that will change the astonishing lack of… anything.

Peter sits there, awkwardly, eyes darting around the room as if he has no clue about what she’s seeing— not seeing on that screen.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I think we’ll just have to “build your resume on print.” The red haired middle aged—Gina, Peter reads the name on the plaque on her desk— grabs a pen and some paper.

“So where did you graduate?”

“Oh, I uh… I had to, uh… dropout…?”

Gina nods and writes something down on the paper. She kinda reminds Peter of a glorified guidance counselor… but maybe a little meaner. “Look Peter, I’m not gonna lie to you, this isn’t looking good for you. Without a GED and a diploma shits gonna get real difficult. I seriously recommend you getting that GED. I can’t give you some entry level jobs to start until you get that degree.”

Now it’s Peter’s turn to nod.

“So tell me about what you like to do.”

‘Apparently, I like to self sabotage a lot.’ He filters himself so he doesn’t projectile word-vomit all over this stranger’s office.

“I wanted to be an engineer. I had my sights set on MIT before I had to drop out.”

———

Trying to think of a time before a traumatic event is extremely difficult. A victim of rape can be triggered by something that once was innocent, like a lemonade stand; a son who used to be pushed by his father on the football field might not be able to play football ever again after they stop talking to their father; a victim of domestic violence might not be able to respond to sudden movements from their partners the same way. And for all of those people, looking back on their memories before the abuse might be difficult to do with a totally unbiased opinion.

Something’s you never forget, like the way Aunt May felt in Peter’s arms just before she died. Or the words she spoke in those final moments, the same words his uncle Ben said when he died.

‘Nothing will ever be the same.’

Peter can’t afford flowers for May’s grave, but he still visits her grave three times a week on average, no less than two in that span.

And that’s where he is right now. Sitting across from her grave stone with his journal between the hedge and him.

“So I’m still looking for a job, and I haven’t really had time to make friends, but it’ll get better soon…” as soon as he feels a tear fall down his right cheek, he sniffles, blinks. And uses his sleeve to wipe it all away.

“Good God, May. Why didn’t you tell me it’d be so hard to make it on my own?” He chuckled somberly, the same way anyone would when they were trying to hide their emotions.

“I don’t want to keep going.” He cries. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice says from behind him. “She’d want you to.”

It’s Happy.

Peter closes the journal and stands up as fast as possible for him.

“Sorry,” Happy starts, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Peter hides his face and can’t even bring himself to self to glance at Happy even by accident, “No no, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I should probably leave anyways.” He starts to step away but Happy takes hold of his jacket sleeve.

“Wait, let me take you to get something to eat,” He smiles, “please. My treat.

Tom takes a moment to consider the offer. The most surprising thing about his moment of hesitation is the fact that he thought about saying no.

“Why would you want to take a stranger out to eat?” He asks.

“I don’t know. You just remind me of someone that I can’t quite place.”

Peter smiles with a glint of hope in his eyes.

— — —

“So,” Happy starts as Peter munches on his cheeseburger, “what’s a young kid like you doing visiting someone’s grave instead of going to school?”

Peter puts down the burger, “I had to drop out actually.” Happy leans back on the booth bench.

“It’s not drugs or anything,” Peter reassures the older man, “I just don’t have the money for anything and I need to earn money for rent.”

“So was May helping you with that before she died?” Happy asks.

Peter debates being forthcoming about his past, but decides against it because he doesn’t have the strength anymore. He lost that at the Statue of Liberty.

“Yeah. My parents died and she always managed to find someway to help me.” Peter smiled.

“I was her boyfriend,” Happy begins, “she never mentioned you. Peter, are you hiding something?” Peter gets a l little nervous.

“I went to the soup kitchen after school. She helped so many that she probably had no idea the effect she had on me.” He covers his ass.

Happy is still suspicious but doesn’t push. “Well, Peter, you seem like a good kid. I’m sure everything will work out eventually.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hogan.”

“So where’s the first place on your list?” He asks.

“What?”

“You said you’re looking for a job, tell me where you’re looking and I can give you a ride.”

“Stormy’s Autobody.”

#tom holland smut #peter parker angst #spiderman no way home #spiderman nwh #spiderman x black cat #spiderman #tasm spiderman #black cat #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #peter parker #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield

18 notes · View notes

jones-friend · 2 months

Text

GOT THERE

After some advanced maneuvers I have finally completed FFXVI. Overall the game is an outstanding experience and motion sickness aside its one of my favorite games.

As someone who grew up with FFX and FFIV it brings my heart joy that FFXVI is good. The game is a series of well thought out decisions inflated with side quest packing peanuts. Its a mix of flashy spammy combat and showy setpieces. The centerpiece of the plot, the relationship between Clive and his brother Joshua, is very well executed and made me feel feelings.

When I previewed Eikon fights (the big kaiju battles) I thought they would be unfun QTE’s. I’m happy to say I was wrong and the eikon battles ended up being showstopping victory laps after the actual boss battle took place. Oh my god are the late game eikon fights incredible. They do such a good job preserving a sense of scale through them and make controlling Ifrit feel much different than Clive so you really feel the weight of each punch.

The combat system really kicks into high gear after the game’s midpoint and you can have vastly different experiences in combat. My friend would set up defensive arrays and traps to trigger damage where I would cloak myself in damage and limit break with aggressive counters. I’m very impressed with how simple but deep the combat was for this game.

The music for this game is also on another level. Oh my god. Early onset alltimer’s disease with this one. Heart of Stone, All as One, Away, On the Shoulders of Giants. There’s some big brain mixes of modern electronic elements that work really well too. The Lion and the Hare is a really good example of it.

The game did have a few things I was not a fan of. I already mentioned motion sickness. Helldivers 2 started to fuck with me but after I widened the vertical FOV by 15pts I was fine. Sidequests flood you in the end half of the game, and after I stopped feeling like they gave me anything meaningful resource or story wise I skipped all the basic sidequests. Side characters and female characters also aren’t the best in this game, they have weaker design/writing.

Except Uncle Byron. He was a wonderful injection of humanity in the middle of the protagonist’s fatalistic brooding. 11/10.

If I could widen the FOV a bit and reduce camera movements during attack animations this would be an easy 10/10 for me to recommend. My issues aside, FFXVI is a very strong entry into the FFXVI series and I hope the team who made it gets to make FFXVII, or even their own personal project. They’re making good work and I’d love to see what they want to make next.

#Final fantasy xvi #final fantasy 16

9 notes · View notes

windona · 8 months

Text

I saw Blue Beetle last night, and loved it! Jaime looks great- the practical effects and costuming has come a long way since Smallville took a crack at it. Khaji Da is very much treated as a sentient being and even has character development. And of course, they have the family incorporated in a way that is very 06. Spoilers under the cut.

I admit, I love what they did with Victoria Kord. She's very much a revamped Jarvis Kord- Jenny's evil aunt instead of uncle. I liked how the incorporated the weapons manufacturing versus Ted and Jenny shutting that part down. It is interesting how they tied Victoria in with what looks like (to inexpert eyes) Operation Condor and the general US interventionism in Latin America. Carapax's origin story is tragic, and I do like how his end was his choice, given how important choice no matter the situation is to Jaime's themes.

I am curious who Jenny's mom is. I'm betting on Tracey. And beyond that, Jenny is interesting. She serves a bit of a Dani role- person connected to a previous beetle that gives the details- but she's a very different character and has her own life. She certainly wasn't there to be a love interest but to have her own story, and as such is a welcome addition. That brings up another point- I like how the romantic side plot was there, but not distracting or overwhelming.

I do wish we had more of Jaime's parents- Alberto is obviously an emotional touch stone, but sadly Jaime's mom seems the least developed and focused on of Jaime's family. Milagro is good, being bratty but also supportive in a fun way.

Overall, I recommend it! Though I do have one question: why move it to Florida from Texas.

#Blue Beetle #Blue Beetle movie

16 notes · View notes

deadqueernoldor · 4 months

Text

End of Year Fic Recs!

I got tagged by @camille-lachenille for this, and boy I havent had time to read fic in a hot minute but this was literally the perfect opportunity to go through my ao3 and tumblr bookmarks again! Also I feel really bad that I couldnt get 5 for the first 3 categories, so pls dont take it personal if I forgot. My tagging system is a mess and idk if it works but if you want more tumblr writing recs go into the "writing that has me foaming out the mouth like a rabid dog" tag I have at the top of my account.! There's so many good drabbles and ficlets i couldnt possibly name them all! Also i likely could have tagged other author's tumblr accs but i didn't feel like looking bc I'm exhausted. I love these all sm

Also I cheated with the self rec bc one is from 2022 but I didnt want to rec only my OC lol

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Beneath a Boundless Sky by @runawaymun — ongoing — Rating (M)

Summary: Elrond’s two new wards both struggle to feel at home in Rivendell. The wounds from their slavery in King Frumgar’s court are still fresh, and the scars are deep -- and they’re not the only ones. Maglor is home at last, but each day he lives he is haunted by guilt and grief. Elrond is nothing if not patient, and he is certain that given enough time in Rivendell, all three will heal.

I am always frothing at the mouth at OCs and world building and this work *and the prev work/part 1 of the series* is SO good

dare you see a soul at the white heat? by millyfaraway — ongoing — Rating (M)

Summary: Lómion is reembodied, but struggles to cope. His uncles try to help.

BABY BOY GETS FAMILY THERAPY ABBY BOY SLOWLY GETS CONFIDENCE AND PUPPY LOVE SOBBIG ITS WHAT HE DESERVES anyway go read

The Last Heir of Fëanor - Part Two by Astrance — 87k — Rating (T)

Summary: This is the second part of the tale of the surviving child of Celebrimbor of Eregion and how she fared through the Ages of the world. From the Fall of Ost-in-Edhil to Imladris and the vastness of Second Age Eriador, the fight against Sauron seems never ending. Plans have been set in motion across the Misty Mountains, but, in Lindon, many tasks await.

Have I mentioned how much I love OCs? This is literally one of the best OCs I've read, flaws and all, and the way the whole thing is written is chefs kiss. Cant decide if I'm sweating from the amount of sobbing I've done with this work *and the previous/first part* or because of the delicious angst.

and rain will make the flowers grow by @swanmaids — 800 — Rating (G)

Summary: Glorfindel and Idril; on the Helcaraxë, in Nevrast, in Gondolin.

THEM. THEM. THEM. That's all I have to say. bUT THEM!

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

your veins are empty of dust by @echo-bleu — 1.7k — Rating (G)

Summary: Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. Nerdanel is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion.

The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones.

Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life.

(Across the sea, her sons lead a funeral.)

Frothing. Gnawing. I love the writing. The angst. Fucking mourning. Gimme all and then hurt me some more.

Babysitting #01 by @lordgrimwing — more chaps likely, atm oneshot

Excerpt: "She brought her children."

"Who did?”

"That Elwing woman, the pro bono case Celegorm talked me into."

Modern!scenario fix with Exhausted!lawyer!maedhros. He's tired and that's very sexy of him. Maglor is secy. They all are. Idiots. But very sexy. Elrond and Elros best boys. No argument.

Dreams of Doom by @camille-lachenille — 3.8k — Rating (M)

Summary: “She runs in the dark, alone. Where her feet carry her, she knows not, and her heart is heavy with dread. Someone - something - is watching her.”

Niënor from the moment she arrives in Brethil to her death.

THE ANGST THE LOVE THE TENDERNES THE FORESHADOWING I AM BITING THIS BC I CANT FIND GLASS TO CHEW.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies.)

Those Peaceful Hours by SpaceWall — 3.9k — Rating (T)

Summary: At the end of the Third Age, faced with her impending return to the home she left before the sun, Galadriel seeks out the one person who will understand her fears and grief.

It's so well written and the premise as a whole is so great!. Compelling and Galadriel characterisation is just so very sexy to me.

Their oath will drive them, and yet betray them by musing_and_writing — 2.2k — Rating (G)

Summary: Elrond had hours to spare, and if Maglor wished to spend the short time they had together reminiscing, he would not blame him for it. As Maglor began singing, Elrond settled himself across the clearing in his own bed of autumn flowers. Maglor’s voice resounded in the clearing, clear and powerful, just as it had upon his fortress’s ramparts as he pushed back Morgoth’s forces with a Song, just as Elrond assumed it must have echoed before the poisoning of the Trees in his family’s halls as Feanor crafted his cursed jewels.

Hehehehehe cryptid mf with a heart I love it the angst the tenderness it's just so *holds gently* while also *bodychecks maglor*

Double The Baggins, Twice The Took by fogisbeautiful — 138.5k — Rating (T)

Summary: The Baggins twins, Briallen and Bilbo, have spent their whole lives taking care of each other. So when the world outside makes an (uninvited) appearance, only one thing is certain. Not for wizard or king or mountain or dragon will the two of them part. Not if they have one word to say about it.

And besides, as Gandalf points out: It never hurts to have a spare burglar on hand.

I'm a sucker for Thorin x hobbit, and you give me a fic with bilbo's sister who's so lovely characterized? I'll kiss you sloppy style

The One With All The Birds by clothonono — 46.5k — Rating (G)

Summary: Would it never end? Would there always be one more mother standing on the shore, looking out to sea, full of a grief made more terrible by hope?

Elwing and Nerdanel in Valinor in the Fourth Age; a story about children coming home.

I think swanmaids recc'd this to me once upon the time when it hadn't been finished and I want to kiss their forehead for it. It's so good! Go read bc I lick my screen every time I re-read it.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Bitter end — 6.4k — Rating (T)

Summary: Maglor has one brother left.

Both have one more fight in them.

The ghost you dress up as (knows how to haunt) — ongoing — Rating (M)

Summary: Maedhros was not the first Finwëan to be captured and taken to Angband, nor did he remain there the longest. Ranyatinwë, twin of Caranthir, was the first.

She escapes.

(Series) Old Maggie Took — 7 works — 402k — all Rating (G)

Summary: The headcanon about Maglor, second son of Fëanor, lives hidden in the Shire? Yes.

#tag game #here's the tag for even more tumblr fic recs #writing that has me foaming out the mouth like a rabid dog in a positive way #i hope it works somewhat bc its been a fucking pain to find it with how broke the system is #thank you for the tag besties!

9 notes · View notes

zhnnveuxpasdrmir · 2 months

Text

that first season of Blakes7 was so much smarter than even most of its fans give it credit for.

The first episode tricks the viewer so deftly into imagining what the story will look like. The second lectures with a brief demonstration that there isn't going to be any plot armor. The third explains what's really meant by interstellar distance, in terms of human continuity, relationships, and norms.

Each long term character is resistant to fascism their own way, while their new friend Zen is a product of ultimate System, an artificial personhood. It takes several episodes for the 7 to fully assemble. Cally, the Spock of the team, is alienated from her people & her adopted human family was just wiped out by the same Federation that Captain Kirk and the gang are so proud of.

Subsequent seasons never reached the potential that Terry Nations envisioned, but the final ep overrides all the silliness, returning one last time to that first glimpse into space-nihilism.

Lots of shows would one day revive and pay honor to Blakes 7; if you watch it you'll see where Farscape came from, where The Expanse got its mood cues from, and the core of a lot of that good Canadian sci fi.

#blakes 7 #gallumphing about the universe #stoned uncle recommends

12 notes · View notes

rockislandadultreads · 2 years

Photo

Book Recommendations: Classic Horror Novels

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

First published in 1959, Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House has been hailed as a perfect work of unnerving terror. It is the story of four seekers who arrive at a notoriously unfriendly pile called Hill House: Dr. Montague, an occult scholar looking for solid evidence of a "haunting"; Theodora, his lighthearted assistant; Eleanor, a friendless, fragile young woman well acquainted with poltergeists; and Luke, the future heir of Hill House. At first, their stay seems destined to be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable phenomena. But Hill House is gathering its powers - and soon it will choose one of them to make its own.

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again..."

With these words, the reader is ushered into an isolated gray stone mansion on the windswept Cornish coast, as the second Mrs. Maxim de Winter recalls the chilling events that transpired as she began her new life as the young bride of a husband she barely knew. For in every corner of every room were phantoms of a time dead but not forgotten - a past devotedly preserved by the sinister housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers: a suite immaculate and untouched, clothing laid out and ready to be worn, but not by any of the great house's current occupants. With an eerie presentiment of evil tightening her heart, the second Mrs. de Winter walked in the shadow of her mysterious predecessor, determined to uncover the darkest secrets and shattering truths about Maxim's first wife - the late and hauntingly beautiful Rebecca.

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

Georgetown, Washington D.C. Actress and divorced mother Chris MacNeil starts to experience 'difficulties' with her usually sweet-natured eleven-year-old daughter Regan. The child becomes afflicted by spasms, convulsions and unsettling amnesiac episodes; these abruptly worsen into violent fits of appalling foul-mouthed curses, accompanied by physical mutation. Medical science is baffled by Regan's plight and, in her increasing despair, Chris turns to troubled priest and psychiatrist Damien Karras, who immediately recognizes something profoundly malevolent in Regan's distorted features and speech. On Karras's recommendation, the Church summons Father Merrin, a specialist in the exorcism of demons...

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

For those who still dream and remember, for those yet to experience the hypnotic power of its dark poetry, step inside. The show is about to begin. Cooger & Dark’s Pandemonium Shadow Show has come to Green Town, Illinois, to destroy every life touched by its strange and sinister mystery. The carnival rolls in sometime after midnight, ushering in Halloween a week early. A calliope’s shrill siren song beckons to all with a seductive promise of dreams and youth regained. Two boys will discover the secret of its smoke, mazes, and mirrors; two friends who will soon know all too well the heavy cost of wishes…and the stuff of nightmares.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

By the comforts of a blazing fireplace on a cold Christmas Eve night, guests at a holiday party share stories of phantoms and ghosts of Christmases past. Yet one guest delivers a tale of sheer fright for which no one listening was prepared. As the story goes, after losing both parents, a young boy and girl move into a large wooded estate to be held under the care of their uncle. Wanting nothing to do with raising the children, the uncle hires a young governess to attend to their care. Yet the governess never could have anticipated the horrors that await her discovery. When it becomes evident that the children have some supernatural connection with a deceased former governess and her lover, the young governess finds herself scrambling to regain control of two children slipping away from her grasp.

#horror #classics #classic horror #library books #book recs #book recommendations #reading recs #reading recommendations #TBR pile #tbr #to read #booklr #book tumblr #scary stories #horror stories #booktok #book blog

63 notes · View notes

olliethescribe · 1 year

Text

Hi! My name is Ollie and I’m the creator of No Crime Only Brooches AU (I usually just call it Only Brooches)! I am the only person in this competition with a Hypnowarren/hippoworm AU and I’m probably gonna lose! But we’re here to have a fun time. Here’s why you should vote for Only Brooches:

It explores Warren and Ron (Hypno) and their relationship! These two are in a canonical (possible queerplatonic but just as likely) romantic relationship and it always bugged me that they only got one episode that focused on it. They mean the world to me (see my other work for more details - yes, I also wrote Nice Day For A Fight Wedding :) - hello leosagi fans!) and I wanted to get into the intricacies of dealing with life as a mutant while constantly cloaking. (Highly recommend chapter four if you wanna see Warren Stone have a gender crisis thanks to being a worm!)

This AU also explores Leo’s interest in magic! He should’ve hung out with Hypno in canon and now he’s the guy’s magical assistant and biggest fan! Leo and the rest of turtles become major parts of Warren and Ron’s lives as time goes on. We’re currently in the middle of the arc that explores that (and Donnie has just sent Warren into a midlife emo phase, whoops)! Leo needed a uncle/mentor figure that would tell him it’s okay to fail and he’s finally getting it.

Lastly, Only Brooches has so much art made by some of the most talented individuals I’ve ever had the chance to speak to and befriend. There’s art in the fic itself (@wispy-ispy has made art for chapter four (love you darling), and @urboned has made art for chapters 8, 10, and possibly more for a future chapter called Blitz! (Love you too Comic /p). Can’t forget the fan art too!

These were made for chapter 10 (the first by the extraordinary @sofiasfanartcollection and the other by my amazing and ever talented kiddo @warrenstonehead) (love you both dearly /p)

So yeah, please vote for Only Brooches! It would mean the world to me and the rest of the hippoworm community - all 12 of us /hj!

If Only Brooches makes it past the preliminary round I’ll post art I commissioned from Ozzy that offers an alternate take on chapter three! That’s a promise!

@rottmnt-au-summit

#There’s so many more lovely artists such as Jules that make amazing hippoworm content if you’re interested btw! Her page is @shslbs!#can’t forget @mrlilrox or @warrenstones either!#propoganda #a vote for only brooches is a vote for me to actually finish writing another chapter of it!#there’s a kissing booth chapter coming up and a school dance chapter! Warren dances to Rasputin by Boney M! It goes poorly #no crime only brooches au #rottmnt #hypnoworm #hippoworm #hypnowarren #rottmnt au #polls

22 notes · View notes

elliepassmore · 5 days

Text

The Scarlet Alchemist review

5/5 stars Recommended if you like: fantasy, alchemy magic, conspiracies, monsters

This was not a book that was on my radar but it came as part of a book box subscription and I'm so glad it did! The idea of jewels being altered alchemically to be something the rich can eat to live forever is so interesting and has such layered connotations to it.

The story opens with Zilan talking with a client about doing a resurrection. We get quite a bit of info on conducting resurrections since Zilan and her cousin's have made this their side business in order to help their family stay afloat. I liked the way the resurrections were described and thought the details of the magic were interesting. I also think seeing a resurrection first-thing helps set the stage for how magic works in this world.

Since magic is based in alchemy, it's drawn from stones and gems, each of which has a different power depending on its properties and elemental alignments. Zilan, being both a resurrectionist and someone who wants to sit for the civil exams, has to know a lot about the different stones. Once Zilan is in the imperial city, we get to see more alchemists and different uses of stones, and I really liked seeing the innovative things people came up with. I thought it was particularly clever the way Zilan would fashion rings out of gems, metals, and stones in order to have a quick source for magic. The imperial alchemists in particular are the cream of the crop and thus are both extremely talented and extremely creative in how they use their magic. I liked the camaraderie amongst the imperial alchemists and thought they brought a touch of light to an otherwise dangerous court.

Zilan is someone who wants to climb the social ladder in order to help her family. She's immensely loyal to her cousins, aunt, and uncle, who took her in after her father left and her mother died. Zilan is a talented alchemist and has figured out the secret to raising the dead after only ever being self-taught. Thanks to her success and renown she's able to enter the world of the court alchemists and have a chance to provide for her family the way they've provided for her. Yet at the same time she feels a sense of unworthiness, of being the child they had to take in due to familial duty, and that leaves her feeling as though she needs to work extra hard to prove she's worth it (of course her family doesn't actually think of her as a burden, but it's hard for her to overcome). Her insecurities about having been taken in, and having a foreign-born father do cause some internal problems for her, which at times translate to spats with her cousins. Regardless, it's clear she loves them deeply and would do anything to help them and ensure their safety.

Yufei is Zilan's cousin/adoptive sister and I absolutely loved her character. She's described as being a classically beautiful girl and their culture's 'perfect wife' material but should anyone say that to her face she'll square up and make them regret the 'compliment.' Yufei is definitely the fighter of their trio and is fiercely protective of Zilan and her brother. I also appreciated her mischievous side and seeing how she could be playful as well as the serious scholar and the fierce fighter.

Wenshu is Zilan's other cousin/adoptive brother and is the cautious one of their trio. He's soft spoken and worries over things like cleanliness and getting into trouble. That being said, I think he and Zilan have similar insecurities, though coming from opposite directions. Zilan worries she isn't loved enough because she's a burden and half-Chinese, Wenshu worries Zilan doesn't love them because she's capable of rising so high and 'leaving them behind.' This does cause some friction between the two of them, but Wenshu loves her and his sister and it's clear his worries simply get the best of him sometimes (that being said, I think he does get upset with Zilan about some things out of her control). At times he acts as a mitigating influence at times to Zilan's desires and Yufei's impulsivity, and he provides some humorous moments as well.

Li Hong is the crown prince who hears of Zilan's renown and asks her to resurrect him after his death. He's a sort of bumbly fellow who does his best but definitely grew up rich and secluded in the imperial palace. While he's faced hardships and loss, he also doesn't totally understand how other people live and the kinds of things that might offend them. But Li Hong is open to Zilan's admonishments and does his best to do better in the future. He's definitely a big softy, and I liked seeing that juxtaposed with Zilan's more hard pragmatism.

The plot was enjoyable, especially since I came into this with no spoilers and so truly got to guess where things were going to go. There were definitely some surprises and twists, and I liked seeing Zilan and her allies/friends work together to overcome the threats looming in the imperial palace. There were also some really interesting things going on plot-wise with immortality, resurrection, and the monsters.

Overall I enjoyed this book and am greatly looking forward to the sequel. All the main characters were likeable and still distinct from one another, and I look forward to reading more about them in book 2!

#book review #book #books #book recommendations #fantasy #bookstagram #bookblr #booklr #bookaholic #bookish #book addict #ya books #ya fantasy books #ya fantasy #fantasy novel #alchemy #asian authors #historical fantasy #the scarlet alchemist

3 notes · View notes

alycu1 · 2 years

Text

Surprise

Imagine saving up for months and taking Eddie to the Sterling NY Renaissance Festival - because you know he’d be head over heals for that sort of thing.

Warnings: Poorly written fluff, and a few swear words - that’s it

A/n: There were many things I needed to do today, instead this edit and drabble happened… 🤷🏻‍♀️ If you’re wondering why Sterling, NY it’s because this story is really just for me, my oc, and the universe I’ve created in my head that no one else knows about. I’m only posting it here since I figure you all might like the edit if nothing else. Highly recommend looking up the festival, it’s so quaint and pretty there! 🥰

It’s about a nine hour drive, ten with stops, and all you tell Eddie a few days before is you are both going on an adventure - a road trip to upstate New York for a surprise. Nothing more. The final destination is to remain secret until you are physically there.

That has him absolutely beaming. The fact that you would surprise him with anything, let alone a vacation, melts his metal little heart. He smothers you in kisses, trying his best to goad you into telling him what the rest of the surprise is. He isn’t successful, but he’s not exactly upset about it. There’s still time.

Much to your surprise he doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the week. Not even when asked where he’ll be disappearing to by everyone at his last campaign before the trip. He just grins and tells them his baby has a surprise for him.

You can tell he’s excited though. There’s an extra spring in his step the day of the trip and he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He thanks you all morning and it makes you laugh because you haven’t even left yet.

Packing the van full of clothes, snacks, and hours worth of music is a good distraction. It reminds him of getting ready for the few weekend trips he’d gone on with his uncle as a kid. You ask him about the places they went as you start out on your journey. But the open road doesn’t offer him as many distractions and it isn’t long before you’re dodging more questions about where you’re both headed. The patience he’s been doggedly keeping a hold of having flown right out the window the moment he hops in the van next to you.

Eddie knows upstate is where you’re from, and while he would follow you anywhere blindly, you only manage to keep your destination a secret for about half of the drive from Indiana to New York. He pesters you, excitedly, so many times you are about ready to throw him out of his own van at one point. But with a few sly tricks and those irresistible big brown eyes of his he manages to get his way.

You spend the rest of the drive telling him all about the festival and the previous times you’d been there. If he seemed excited before, he’s a hundred times more excited now. He’s an absolute chatter box, not that you mind. It makes you happy to see him happy, and that happiness just seems to bubble and grow the closer you get to Sterling. At the last rest stop he practically mauls you, declaring you to be the best girlfriend in existence - loudly and down on his knees - much to the dismay of all the families trying to get around you two to use the facilities.

He couldn’t give a damn about that though, his girl deserves worshiping.

Once you get to the festival, his smile is blinding and he all but drags you through the line to get in. Although you don’t let him get far, once you’ve paid the ticket maiden and he’s charged past the stone towers of the main gate you haul him to a stop. He looks like a kicked puppy when you ignore his protests and hold him in place, but it’s not for long. While his usual band shirt and torn jeans are a favorite of yours, you explain, it’s not the proper attire for visiting 16th Century Warwickshire. Before the two of you explore anything, he needs a makeover and you happily drag him to the nearest clothing stall to give him one.

Eddie tries to dissuade you, but there’s no way your not giving him the full experience you always wish you could have had as a kid. You spend most of your trip money dressing him to the nines as your knight in shining armor, although he insists you dress up too. You are his princess after all.

The shop owner absolutely fawns over the two of you as you try to hide just how flustered you are seeing him get dressed. Cloak, sword and all, he looks devilishly handsome. His roguish smile tells you he definitely knows you’re staring as he fumbles through tightening all the odd straps and he’ll tease you about it later. At least he plans to once his brain kicks back in and he figures out how to pick his jaw off the ground after you step out from the little changing curtain in the stunningly flowy gown you’ve picked out for yourself. You swear you’ve never seen him blush so much when the shop owner points out his awed expression.

He wasn’t sure he was going to but he definitely approves of this new ensemble, for both of you. As you finally exit the stall together he whispers in your ear, letting you know he will be exploiting your outfits to their fullest potential later that night when you’re alone. You gasp and smack him on the shoulder playfully, feeling heat pool in your core. He just laughs and offers you his arm with a graceful bow.

Now looking as if you’re part of the festival cast, you spend the whole weekend traversing the fair grounds. Meandering through the wooded paths to all the stalls and games and performers. Making a new schedule for yourselves every morning so you can catch all the shows you want to see. He loves the wandering minstrels and the raunchy comedy skits down near the Lower Shire Bogges. And the jousting? Actual fucking jousting? Extra metal.

Eddie, unsurprisingly, fits right into the atmosphere. So much so, you even get stopped a few times by other visitors thinking the two of you are a part of the shows. Especially whenever he decides to slip into an old English accent you had no idea he was capable of and gallantly offers to get you food and drink or gets up with a dramatic “m’lady” to offer you his seat. He does an exceptional job of making you feel like a princess and, while you shower your knight in praises for it, you remind him that he’s the guest of honor not the other way round.

It doesn’t stop him. He still lovingly bestows you with little trinkets you find in the market place and chalks it up to chivalry. “It’s not dead here, babe. Let me live in the moment.” As if he wasn’t a gentleman any other time.

You’ve never seen him so happy. Your days spent arm in arm, giggling like the love drunk couple you are in this little land of make believe. Your nights tucked close together, camped out in the van in the neighboring field.

He does make good on his promise the first night. (Lord of the Rings fantasy anyone? 😏) You’re a little embarrassed how much you enjoy it, or him rather, role playing. Even more embarrassed when the people in the neighboring RV glare at you in the morning, having overheard some of your prior nights exploits.

Eddie parks a little farther away from everyone the next night, and the rest of the weekend passes in bliss. Just you and your Eddie, snickering about the ridiculous dresses as you watch the royal procession pass by and betting on which knight will win the tournament. Heckling back at the hecklers as they travers the grounds looking for unsuspecting guests. Or perusing the artist stalls before choosing a tavern to enjoy your next meal.

On your last night there, Eddie whines endlessly about not wanting to leave. In disbelief that your time here was over already. But you promise him it doesn’t have to be the only time you come, you’d happily go again. And you remind him he can still take a spin around the grounds before you both leave in the morning. Make sure he doesn’t forget any last minute souvenirs for himself or the gang back home.

He kisses every square inch of you in gratitude. Once again declaring you to be the best girlfriend - the love of his life. And on your way out the next morning, he sneaks a pamphlet into his back pocket. One you won’t find out about until next summer, when he’s down on one knee. Professing his love and asking you if you’d like to marry him in Warwickshire’s little chapel under the trees.

#I’m a hopeless romantic… emphasis on the hopeless #I just had to get the idea out of my head #Joseph so conveniently provided the perfect image to edit #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things 4 #eddiemunsonedit #eddie munson edit #alycu1 edit #joseph quinn #netflix stranger things #stranger things

116 notes · View notes