#th: sorcery
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a few vague thoughts re: galdr vs seiðr in marvel's asgard, by someone who hasn't looked into this in about a year but is too tired to do a bunch of research right now:
my personal default approach is fairly close to fanon - i tend to count all magic as one category, and gender it all feminine - except for the fact that i prefer not to use the term seiðr because, if you get rid of the distinction, i don't really see the point. "magic", "sorcery", "enchantment", etc are the words used in canon, and they work perfectly fine.
(and somehow it just feels a little weird to me to use a non-english word in english to make something seem "exotic" or "unique" while not really integrating the cultural context around it? idk. maybe i'm being overly superior here and i'm no better, esp since i often fail to communicate that i know there was a distinction and i'm choosing not to use it because this is a fantasy world, but... idk.)
one benefit of this approach is that it helps synthesise a few different gendered associations:
(some) magic is feminine and therefore sinister; being clever with words or "silver-tongued" is feminine and therefore sinister; hence it's just kind of tidy if language-based magic is feminine and therefore sinister. but in actual historical associations, iirc, galdr was rune magic, so the more language-based version, and it was masculine.
BUT. something that occurs to me now is that, if you accept that marvel's asgard has gendered baggage around magic at all, then it actually DOES seem to have double standards about magic and masculinity - because one form of magic that is absolutely never seen as effeminate is wielding mjolnir.
i think you'd probably have to stretch some definitions / get creative with your worldbuilding to make marvel's perception of magic line up properly with ON gendered expectations, especially since there's so much that probably wouldn't fall in either category... but it could be a really interesting reading to try.
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On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.
On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.
For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:
Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.
Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.
Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.
Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.
Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.
"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.
Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:
Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.
Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.
Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)
Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.
Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.
You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.
(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)
So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!
#gaming#tabletop roleplaying#tabletop rpgs#dungeons & dragons#d&d#worldbuilding#taxonomy#phylogeny#media#literature#history#literary history#death mention
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the Chicken furthermore tries to convince you to practice sorcery in a fun and fulfilling way
There is a difference between practicing goal-oriented practical sorcery, and placing the entire value of your sorcery on whether or not you achieved the goal. One of these things is soul-crushing.
Practicing sorcery should be it's own reward. The actual steps you are performing should be stuff that you like, or thrills you, or captures your fascination. As an activity, practicing sorcery should be satisfying regardless of whether or not the spellwork manifests properly.
If the sorcery on your plate is not satisfying, compost it and return to the endless buffet and try a different type of sorcery.
If you do not have the things you need, your first step to a spell becomes innovation. What is the purpose of the thing in the spell, and how can it be replaced?
A spell can be cast with a length of string, or a paper and pen. Or with a bit of crayon. Or a dead fly. Or with just you.
Sorcerous knowledge tends to reveal itself when the clutter of correspondences is placed aside, so having few things to practice with is not a curse.
You do not need an interpersonal spiritual friendship with every single spirit you want to work with in magic. YOU DO NOT.
Interpersonal friend relationships with spirits should probably be reserved for very special spirits in your "inner court," the beings with which you choose to share your life and that you honor as teachers and guides.
Many spirits are pleased to assist with magic, but have no interest in getting to know us personally.
Imagine if everyone in your askbox wanted to ask you for help on something you're knowledgeable about, but instead of just asking for help, they first wanted to DM you for a few weeks to make sure you're comfortable with being asked for help, meanwhile on your correspondence chart pinned post it says "I can help with [topic]! Just ask!"
Asking spirits for help in magic is a good, valid way to start building a relationship with them.
Repeatedly calling on the same spirit or type of spirit over and over in spellwork is a fantastic way to deepen your relationship with them.
Working with a spirit in magic does not mean you are obligated to build a shrine to it, venerate it, talk to it outside of spellwork, or any of that.
Practicing sorcery is not the same thing as casting a spell. Practicing sorcery also means practicing the composite skills which come together to make a spell.
A spell is like a completed painting. But to make that painting, the artist needed several skills: the ability to sketch the scene, knowledge of how to apply and work with their paint, color theory, an understanding of how to render landscapes, and so forth.
As a sorcerer, your skillset might be imbuing intent, raising energy, centering and grounding, practicing trance, practicing psychism or divination, etc.
As you gain familiarity with these things, spells become less like an imposing stranger, and more like someone you're sure you've met before.
Practice can be it's own reward, but discipline is often required for progress.
Raising energy once a day, forever? I think not.
Raising energy once a day for seven days? Or, dedicating to doing it a total of ten times this month? Perhaps so.
An artist may not be in love with every single step of the process, and sometimes a sorcerer may have to get good at a skill that's not their favorite. But if no part of the process sparks joy, then something is wrong.
Sucking at something is the first step to being kind of good at something. Be reasonable with yourself: does the beginner artist doodle a landscape, then look at their work and declare that their art "doesn't work"?
Not every witch is talented at every sort of sorcery. Not creating a potent prosperity spell after five tries doesn't mean you're bad at magic. It might mean that your current understanding of prosperity magic precludes good results, or that you are casting on one very intransigent situation, or that your true talents lie in destruction and chaos instead of peaceful growth.
Set practice goals, give it an honest go, and move on when the time is right: "I am going to practice raising Fire energy and putting it into this stone using the Pore Breathing method. I'm going to do it fifteen times."
(3 months later): "That sucked and it never worked, but I did it all fifteen times. Next I'm going to do a grounded roots visualization and use it to channel water energy to cleanse my room."
(10 days later): "That was awesome, I want to do it more than 15 times."
Play around and be silly with it. Taking your path seriously is not the same thing as taking your path somberly.
Sports teams practice drills to be ready for game day. Sorcerers are wise to take a page from their book, because when real-life game day arrives, it feels much better to deal with it when you know you've been having pretty good success with channeling water energies, so maybe it's best to do something with that, because you can't move fire for dick.
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The King of Qarth II
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Qartheen f!reader (use of third perspective)
PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST
Warnings: mentions of child sexual abuse, mentions of child bride, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, grinding, handjob, knife kink if you squint, self indulgent use of sorcery
Word count: 11k
Author's note: Aemond and the Salt Queen gets to know each other and do some good ol' bonding on shared trauma(s).
English is not my first language.
Taglist: @zae5 @arcielee @multyfangirl @zaldritzosrose @succnfuccubus @kckt88 @venmondiese @mariahossain @miraclealignertlsp369 @ilikechocolatemilkh @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs @alphard-hydraes-blog @gemini-mama @freyaniobe @toodlesxcuddles @youngestxhearts @helen06dreamer
“Don’t run from me, kori” he screamed as she ran into the night “Please! Come here!”
He tried to chase her but her feet were faster, barely touching the ground as the nine-year-old girl ran away from the Palace of Dust.
She felt she could run forever, that she could not stop, not until she had forgotten what she had seen. What were those invocations? Why was that woman naked and screaming? Why was her father slaughtering animals on a stone altar and drinking their blood?
“Knowledge comes with a great cost.” was all Fydor repeated when the jarring rumors about what was being done in the House of the Undying reached her young ears and her mother, when the Shadow of the Evening had already stained her father's lips and fingernails blue for good.
“What does it mean, Father? What knowledge?”
“Any kind of knowledge, kori. Everything that was, that is. Everything that could be.”
But she did not want to know. Knowing had cost her her mother. She just wanted to run, but the black-barked trees with blue leaves seemed to envelop her like shadows in flesh, a labyrinth changing its thousand deceiving paths with every step she took.
For a moment she turned, her father was running after her but he was far. Until he wasn't.
She went crashing into him as the other Fydor continued to run behind her. He had done this before, all the Warlocks of Qarth did, appearing in several places at once.
White as a sheet, she watched her father lower himself toward her in that strange embroidered tunic like one who performs a ritual. Even in the darkness of that labyrinthine wood, the blue stood out on his lips and in the sclerae of his eyes.
“You don’t have to be afraid...but why? Why did you come here?”
“I heard the screams.” the little girl said with her lower lip trembling “When is Mother coming back?”
“She won’t, kori. It’s only you and me now.”
It was the first and only time she set foot in the Palace of Dust. Visits to her father were rare, although he longed to see her. Sometimes she could swear she could hear him talking in her head, telling her that the shadows protected her, that he protected her through them. Other times she would give in and invite him to the Palace of Salt, almost glad to see him but not quite.
There were always two opposite grooves in her lips when she looked at him. He was the man who avenged her and lost his tongue for it; he was the man who drove her mother to flee, abandoning their daughter.
She felt like that right now as she walked away, as she ran away from him, just like when she was nine. She could hear him echoing in her eardrums, as she left the courtyard with Prince Aemond, with the voice of the past, as if he had regrown his tongue.
“What did he say?”
“Trees wail…leaves are bleeding…” she hears, not the Prince speaking.
Aemond pulls her arm and feels her tensing at his touch, blinking at him as if she wasn’t there up until now. “What?”
“Your father. What did he say before we left?”
"Nothing of your concern.” She says lightly and resumes her walk. He stands still for a moment, sure, as he is sure of the noble blood in his veins, that whatever the warlock said through his hands, did concern him.
Unfortunately, he’s forced to set that thought aside as they leave the Palace; Aemond halts his stride, narrowing his eye at the strange wheelhouse waiting before him. A wheelhouse without wheels, and not even a carriage; more like a bed waiting to be moved, with veils and curtains on each of the four sides. A palanquin, he recalls the word from some book he read. This is how aristocracy moved in the East.
He turns his head as air shifts behind him, and a moment later he’s almost growling at one of the Sorrowful Men, bold enough to lay hands on him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Salt Queen rolls her eyes and walks to him. “Leave it. I’ll deal with the Prince. He’s already accustomed to having my hands on him, am I right?” she says with a tight, luscious smile, and oddly enough, but perhaps not so much, he doesn’t flinch as she starts to search his blue silks for any weapon.
Her hand slips beneath the soft fabric, gliding on his bare skin, chest and ribs, and she stares at him deliberately, just like him. “Perhaps your Highness just couldn’t wait to get her hands on me again.” he retorts with the ghost of an obnoxious grin.
She says nothing, staring at him as she searches his waist and then through the blue folds underneath. “Ah.” she tuts at one point, slowly drawing his faithful dagger. “And here I thought you were just pleased to see me. You won’t need this.” she says, keeping the blade. “Unlike you, I don’t bite. Unless asked of course.”
He hears the stretch on the word asked and nods slowly, plastering a fake, chastened frown. “I see. My deepest apologies. I didn’t think I had to ask since you have been throwing yourself at me at every corner. Speaking of which, your husband seemed quite proud of your performance earlier at breakfast. Will you be rewarded for your noble services?”
She only blinks at his vitriolic remark, but there is not a trace of outrage on her face. “Someone might say it is not wise to insult someone, especially a woman, when she is armed.”
“Why, do you know how to use that?” he asks, lowering his gaze and tilting his chin to point at the blade.
“No, but how difficult could it be considering how little it takes me to get you to let your guard down? Just like any man, I might add.”
He has no time to bite back, annoyingly moving his jaw at being deemed an ordinary man who crumples at a woman’s touch, while she turns her back and moves the curtains aside to enter the palanquin.
Aemond follows and finds himself cursing internally as he tries to adjust inside that odd, restricted transport. He wouldn’t even call it that. It’s nothing but a mattress with soft cushions on it.
Were Qartheens accustomed to doing everything lying on those damn cushions?
He might just sit, but he is too tall, and the canopy of the litter is too low, greeting his head with a slight bump. The Queen stifles a smile, already settled on the cushions with her legs tucked under her, and she watches him sigh deeply, resigning himself with clear annoyance to lie down on the cushions, holding onto one elbow.
Aemond tries to look at ease, not bothered by the woman and how much she's close to him, as close as if they were to confide a secret to each other, and just as he thinks he has settled down, the Sorrowful Men are lifting the litter, and he is jolted forward, slightly on top of her.
She lifts her arm to hold him by the shoulder, and in that split second, Aemond ties his hand around her arm to keep his weight off her. She tenses, just as before, just as she did the night before in his room. To her misfortune, she is now the one who suffers from too much proximity, or rather, a total lack of space. She feels the long single braid dangling on her, tickling her chest. She can see the specks of blue in his iris, the small cleft on the tip of his nose, the way that vicious mouth flaunts a perfect shape.
If only she could actually read minds, she would know that that last thought mirrors in his head.
He shouldn't care, he shouldn't even linger on that thought. This woman has done nothing but trample on his pride, has done nothing but mocking and taunting, and she seems quite adamant on keeping doing so. But perhaps it's because her mouth is close now, and for once silent, slightly open; an offering hiding a thousand more. And he had not taken it. In the throes of rage and pleasure, he had not kissed her. And he wishes. He wishes to know. Would she taste sweet? Tart?
Would she taste like salt?
The thought slips to the back of his mind as she clears her throat and straightens up, forcing him to distance himself, although they are still uncomfortably close. With one hand she knocks twice against the canopy, and the Sorrowful Men start walking.
Aemond leans better on his elbow to curb the swaying of the litter, and sighs glancing at the woman beside him. “Never heard of horses in this part of the world?”
“Horses barely survive in the desert, ask any Dothraki. Besides, what you Westerners do with those poor beasts is barbaric.”
His eyebrow is raising, ready to rebut, but as he opens his mouth, she offers him a small plate full of dates and dried figs. He moves his hand to dismiss it, causing her to frown. “Do you ever eat?” she takes one fig between her fingers and bites. “You should try one. Perhaps it’d make you less…bitter all the time.”
He glares at her but in doing so, he stumbles upon her mouth and the saccharine juice pasting her lips. She reads this as if he is reconsidering, so she stretches the half-bitten fig, and given their closeness, it takes her little to bring it to his mouth.
Aemond tilts his head back to decline and sighs. "Do you always think about eating here?"
"God no, we have much more pleasant pastimes." she says, chewing the other half of the fruit. "Would you like to hear about some of them?"
Aemond is not looking at the woman, and yet he can feel her luscious smile like something vivid, prickling his skin. "I can imagine."
"Can you? It doesn't seem so."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, perhaps our intimate encounter misleads me, but...you seem that kind of man who fucks his wife only on all fours, to feel in power and all those manly excuses."
"I am not." he hisses.
"Really?” She tilts her head curiously and looks at him closely. “Ever let her be on top? Ever been tied up? Blindfolded?"
He looks away at that, scoffing. "So, it's either eat or fuck."
Aegon would have thrived here, he thinks dimly.
"Fine. What should we talk about then?"
"Why do we have to?"
"The war? I, for instance, think it's only your father's fault. He wanted a son, right? And he had three. People unfit to take a decision should not be allowed to rule, if you ask me. On the other hand, though, what your mother did upon his death—"
"Keep my mother out of your mouth."
She hears the threat in the hissing way the words come out of his mouth, so she hushes, and turns her head toward the bustle of the city blurred by the veils and curtains of the litter. “Silence it is.”
And silently, he thanks the Gods for a moment of peace, free of this constant enquiring and teasing. That same silence though, only makes him think of Alicent. Is she still in chains? Is she wondering about him day and night or did she choose to banish him from her mind as he banished her?
Perhaps now that he is in a rather civil city, he could send word to her? Let her know he’s alive and that he was…what was he doing here?
But even if he did know, he could not trust any of these people.
“What is exactly your husband’s plan now?”
“What do you think? You promised them dragon eggs. They won’t let you go until they have their little lizards to play with.”
Aemond scoffs, glancing distractedly beyond the curtains “Do you think you can fool me? Speaking of them as if you are not into it as well.”
“I am not. We may have different customs, but even here women are pawns in the hands of men. Men choose what we shall do, who we shall marry…how they shall fuck us.” He drags his eye back on her at this, watching her as she adds “But I have no interest in keeping you here, or having a creature spitting fire as a pet. I prefer cats, if you must know, or snakes.”
“I see. So, you just follow his orders? He tells you to fuck whoever is housed under your roof, and you obey?”
“I fuck who I wish to. And if you don’t want to taste how sharp your dagger is, you might want to stop addressing me as a whore.”
“Who you wish?”
“Yes.” She catches a glimpse of his eyebrow raising in a rather boastful way and looks away, huffing. “Quit it, dragon prince. You might be handsome, but it wasn’t that special.”
“Why? It was hard to tell in the midst of all that begging.”
“Because I don’t like to feel like I’m ten again.”
The smug expression on Aemond's face disappears as quickly as the Salt Queen speaks those words, wrinkling his forehead as he grasps their meaning. But she looks at him with a passive face, and she speaks of this person, herself, and yet another, with the distant tone with which one speaks of the dead.
“I was raped when I was ten. Bent over my small table while I was painting seashells.”
Aemond looks genuinely startled, and why wouldn’t he? He is not sure he can trust this woman’s word, but something in the back of his mind, namely the way she was tensing like steel as he took her from behind, tells him she’s speaking the truth. After all, it seems her tongue is made of nothing else.
“Don’t look at me like that.” she says “I’m not telling you to make you say you’re sorry. Everyone knows. There is no such thing as secrets here. It helps the trades, makes for more honest negotiations.”
The litter stalls as Aemond barely registers they must have reached the walls, but he doesn’t move, staring at the woman, cautiously, enquiringly, as something unfolding right before him.
“And what are we trading?”
She was starting to move to get out of the palanquin, but she halts at his question, raking his half-lying figure with her eyes, the long slender hands laced together on his abdomen, the little smooth portion of chest peeking from the blue silks. “It depends on what you are offering…”
They share a long earnest look, unwavering on both parts, until the curtains are moved. “Your Highness, we have reached the walls.”
The woman blinks and takes a light breath. “Let’s go, shall we? Before your lizard starts chewing the walls.”
She barely moves and he’s seizing her wrist, drawing her eyes back on him instantly. The Queen witnesses something new curling his features, cracking his mouth open and then shutting it back—a reluctance, almost a regret that does not settle well on that ever-so-strict face; it seems unwanted, rejected, and yet it keeps coming back, twitching his mouth twice. “Had I known…I would’ve behaved differently.” He says staring down, whereas she stares right down at him, at the grimace twisting his lips, as if tasting salt. “I know how it is…to feel—”
“Powerless?”
In more ways than one.
He doesn’t utter the words, but the way his eye pierces through her is nothing but a confession.
“You could have stopped me.”
“Yes, I could. That’s what troubles me.” She says in a hushed tone, and now she’s the one staring down, grimacing. “I didn’t want to.”
Being a dragonrider, one might think Aemond should be used to deal with strange creatures. And yet, his brow is furrowing steeply as soon as they’re out of the city walls. There are some men waiting for them, common men dressed in dark robes, acting as keepers for a four-legged animal that Aemond has never seen in his life. A camel.
The Salt Queen fakes a frown upon reading the confusion on his face and says “Surely you didn’t think we would walk in the desert.”
“Because it’s hot or because it goes against all the lying around you do here?”
She bursts into a short laugh, drawing his eye to her, and says “It seems you have found your humor. I’m glad. I like men who can make me laugh.”
It was not really his intention, rather a mere observation, but he says nothing, lingering for a moment on her lips curved up, before returning to look at the creature before him, slowly ruminating something as it stares at him with two dark, waning eyes.
“I don’t know how to ride this—thing.”
“Ah, it’s a bit tricky. You see,” she goes to stand right beside him, leaning against him so that he feels her bare shoulders against his arm, and as she gestures towards the camel, she says “You have to get on it and keep yourself balanced on the hump with one knee. Very dangerous, I must warn you. Most men die by merely trying.”
She turns to look at him with her lips cracking in amusement, but as she sees the earnest, not at all amused, face he’s wearing, she sighs deeply. “And it’s lost again.”
“It’s just a bit slower than a horse.” She explains taking a step away as one of the Sorrowful men hands her some blue fabric, like a scarf. Aemond sees her handing one to him and she speaks before he asks about it. “For your skin. To shield you from the sun if you don’t want to peel your face off because of burn blisters.”
He grabs the cloth, unfolding it between his hands as, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Queen wrap her own around her head, leaving only a crevice for her eyes. He tries to mimic her gestures, but his braid gets stuck, so she walks to him raising her hands, and without a word she helps him, wrapping his head and face in blue.
“Come. Since it’s your first time, you’ll ride with me.”
Then, she moves towards the camel, while the armed men will follow on foot, dragging the cart of dead pigs and goats. With silent relief on his part, Aemond finds out that it seems even easier than riding a horse. At first.
The camel kneels on the sand on his four legs, and Salt Queen straddles it, sitting in the saddle. She swings each leg on both sides of the creature, her silks gliding like water, effectively baring her skin from the ankles to her thighs; she makes room for him, turning her head to beckon him to sit behind her and, inevitably, she sees him staring down at her bare legs. “So, you found something else to stare at other than my breast. Good.”
Aemond looks up and then away, moving to get this over with. He sits on the saddle, behind the woman, their bodies barely touching, at first. As she grabs the reins, she slightly turns her head saying “Follow my lead.”
She pulls at the reins and since camels stand up with their back legs first, Aemond is jolted forward, colliding against the Salt Queen who promptly instructs him. “Lean back…”
He does so, and she does too, resting her shoulders against his chest. “And now forward.” She adds when the animal gets onto its front legs. Aemond lurches forward, and having no handhold, he grips her left side not to crash his body on her.
“Pigaí.” She says in Qartheen and, slowly, the camel starts walking. Aemond briefly looks behind, watching the Sorrowful Men move accordingly, four of them dragging a wooden cart full of carcasses, but soon he finds himself too occupied with keeping balance to spare a glance behind.
A camel’s walk is nothing like the gait of a horse. It’s odd, irregular, jerky; it keeps jolting him backward and then forward, each time forcing him to bump against her back, to hold onto her, sometimes her arm, sometimes her hip, her thigh even, like a toddler who's just learning to walk.
Hearing his short and clearly annoyed sighs, the Queen smiles behind the tajel, keeping her gaze fixed on the dunes at the horizon, and softly shakes her head. “Always so rigid…”
“What” he asks without even intoning the question, because the camel and this hiccup-like swinging is getting on his nerves, not to mention the heat, sticking the silks on him, or the woman's body which, for all the right reasons but rather inconvenient under the circumstances, is making his blood flow down too fast.
“You are too rigid.” She says, slightly raising her tone. “You have nothing to prove to this poor beast, or me.”
She takes his hand that he held like an iron clamp on her side and turns her head a little, enough to catch his eye. "Let yourself sway, don't fight it."
Keeping his eye on her, his grip lessens, just as all the stiffness in his body. She feels him sway, brushing naturally against her without tensing every time their bodies touched. And yet her throat stiffens as he keeps swinging against her, and she’s glad she’s giving her back and wearing a tajel, so he cannot see her lips parting as air hitches in her mouth.
The camel’s hooves avoid human and animal remains in what is nothing but a Garden of Bones; the sun is scorching, the air so humid, heavy, it feels like cotton when swallowing. But fortunately for them, she is not late to come into view amid those white dunes.
"By all the Gods..." The Queen cries out in disbelief, widening her eyes as she sees a huge black spot in the middle of the yellowish-white desert; a mountain, of flesh and fire.
The camel must sense her agitation, or perhaps he’s wise enough to know what he is up against. He starts to flail, to paw, and the Queen is forced to pull on the reins, unbalanced back and forth. Aemond holds her by the arms with his eye strained on Vhagar, but the quadruped seems to have no intention of staying there a minute longer.
He screeches to the point that both Aemond and the Queen are thrown from the saddle, landing on the sand, one on top of the other. The camel flees, despite one of the Sorrowful Men attempts to catch him.
That little cackle, however, awakens the dragon, or perhaps she simply sensed her rider. Vhagar raises her huge head from the cat-like crouched position she was in, her amber eyes wide as well as her giant wings. Aemond is barely in time to stand and help the woman do the same when the earth beneath them shakes as if in an earthquake.
The Queen of Salt whitens like a sheet as she sees that terrifying beast advancing from a distance, a distance that drastically runs out because each stride of the dragon covers miles.
She freezes on the spot, her mouth wide open, because the dragon keeps advancing, and for a moment she seriously thinks she is breathing the last breaths of her life.
Aemond shields her with his body, and Vhagar stops, opening her mouth wide and roaring so loudly that the queen has to cover her ears. Even Aemond scrunches his face under the scorching gust that sweeps over him, so scorching that the glimmer of flames ignites at the back of her jaws. She's not happy to see him. Or rather, she's not happy about being abandoned to starve in the desert, even for one day. Ageing makes even beasts more irritable.
“Lykirī, Vhagar!” the Prince shouts “Lykirī!”
But she does not listen, not immediately at least. She continues to roar, intent on voicing her disappointment. Then, finally, she closes her jaws. The Queen looks at her with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling quickly, her hands laced firmly around Aemond's arms. Vhagar lowers her head toward him, still showing her fangs, and flares her nostrils, smelling something, someone, foreign.
“What is she doing?” the Queen asks in a whisper.
“Hush.”
She tilts her head back, looking at him from behind and still whispering, says “Need I remind you my father is a warlock? If your dragon eats me, I will come back to haunt you.”
He doesn’t bother to retort, even more so because Vhagar makes a sudden movement, turning her head sharply as her nostrils smell what she has been craving for too long. Aemond follows her gaze, barely having the time to register the Sorrowful Men on the right, at a good distance but not far enough for a starving dragon.
“Get away from there!” the Prince warns them “Move!”
As soon as that last word leaves his mouth, Vhagar moves with impressive speed, given her size and age, but hunger quickens her limbs. Her head sinks on the cart as the armed men scurry away without logic, raising a cloud of dust and sand as her fangs pierce wood, flesh and bone.
She perches on the sand to enjoy her much-needed meal, which disappears by the second under the gaze of Aemond and the Salt Queen, still pale as a sheet and stunned by what she's witnessing, flinching every time she hears jaws snapping and bones cracking.
“Where are you going?” she asks as Aemond tries to take one step.
He turns, glancing at her hand gripping his arm, and looks at her for a moment before raising his eyebrow “Scared, are we?”
She gives him a flat look as if he has just informed her that the sky is blue. “Self-awareness is not cowardice.”
Aemond moves, circling the beast, and the woman dims it wisely to never leave his side, keeping a constant eye on the beast, unaware she’s still gripping his arm as she moves. The Prince stops somewhere near Vhagar’s left wing and the Queen watches as he seems to inspect it closely. Out of curiosity, she does the same, spotting a large wound toward the right end, healed but not quite. Aemond places one hand on the scales but as soon as he does that, Vhagar turns her head sharply, blood coating her jaws and fangs, and growls, clearly still annoyed with him or maybe just unhappy to be bothered during her meal.
“She’s just like you, isn’t she?” the Queen remarks “Sour and petty.”
Aemond ignores her, taking a step back, momentarily resigning not to tend to his dragon, as long as she’s in that mood. “Perhaps you could stop gripping me so hard now.” he says at one point, feeling the Queen’s nails digging through the silk.
She looks lost for a moment, and then withdraws her hand, looking away. She finds though that all she can look at is Vhagar, her giant dimension blocks her view entirely.
“How did you manage to tame such a monster?” she asks at some point, eyes full of dread, and yet wonder.
“She is not a monster.”
“No, of course not. She’s as sweet as a kitten.”
She observes the beast, her green and bronze scales, battered in several spots and frowns. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and I rarely am, did not dragons take decades to grow? She seems very old and you...” pausing, her eyes scan him from head to toe “you don’t look older than twenty-five?”
Aemond keeps his gaze fixed on Vhagar as he answers, that empty egg made of nothing but stone lost somewhere in the back of his mind. "My egg didn’t hatch. I claimed her when I was ten.”
"Ten?” she asks, disbelief and awe running together on her tongue.
He turns his head and tilts his chin down, and then up, as only pride can do. "Ten.”
She looks at him, not able to hide a righteous gleam of admiration, but then she’s crinkling her forehead, in that peculiar way of hers.
"Was it worth it?” she asks, upon acknowledging that new piece.
"What?”
"The exchange. Was it fair? Your eye for a dragon.”
Do not mourn me, Mother. His mouth twitches as he remembers, almost relives it. It has been years and yet, he can almost feel the right side of his head numbed with too much pain, the stench of his own dead flesh. The needle going in and out but not actually stitching anything back together.
“How did it happen?” she asks, and her tone is different now. That constant veil of mocking in the way she phrases her questions is nowhere to be found.
“Do you want me to believe you don’t know yet?”
"I told you twice. I cannot control this…power, it comes and goes. I must admit though, it is coming quite often in the last few days…I wonder why…”
Aemond looks at her, sees her search on him a mystery to which he has no answers in the first place. He learned this from Alys.
Magic repels answers, it must live and thrive on mystery.
On chaos, you mean.
And what’s the difference? That’s what you really yearn for. Chaos.
He sighs to cast her out, and says “My nephew took it with a knife.”
"And you killed him. This is why they call you Kinslayer, is it not?”
She cannot see his expression behind the tajel, only his good eye, still, cold and unwavering, like a star, and beautiful in the most cruel way.
"We may have shared blood but he meant nothing to me. And he got what he deserved.” he said, trying a flat empty tone, but she hears the edges quivering, crumpling, like salt eroding rocks.
"And what about that boy? Did he get what he deserved?”
"What boy?”
"The ten year old you.” His eye seems to glow with new light at her words, like the sun catching the flashing steel of a blade, and even with the blue scarf hiding his face, she knows his teeth are grinding. "I was never one for revenge.” She concedes, turning her head to the desert. "It may be the sweetest morsel, but somehow it never leaves you sated.”
"It sounds like you have tasted it.”
"Yes.” She admits, turning to look at him. "But it’s stuck in my throat.”
Aemond doesn’t need to ask, because as she said, there are no secrets in Qarth.
"You must have wondered why my father cannot speak.” she tells him, looking away, dredging up from her mind, from her memories, traces of a child who is no more. “There’s an ancient tradition here, when a wedding takes place. It’s called the sacred exchange. The bride and the groom can ask each other for one favor, anything, and they cannot refuse.” She returns her gaze to him, and says “My husband asked for my father’s tongue as my sacred gift.”
“Was it him?”
"No, not him…the night before our wedding, Irryo, Xavos’ brother, came into my room to give me his wedding gift. The purest silk I’ve ever seen. He made me wear it, stripped me bare with his own hands…said he wanted to see how I looked...”
She doesn’t need to utter the words. Aemond sees a little girl, a child, painting seashells, unfinished, falling from the table in a clatter of tinkles and choked cries.
"The wedding took place in a hurry an hour later. I said my vows with my silks still stained with blood. They were scared of my father’s wrath, you see. But it came anyway. Irryo died during the wedding feast. His eyes burst into his skull.”
“Your father’s doing.”
“Perhaps." she shrugs "I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, as I don’t know what to make of it now. I didn’t ask him to avenge me. All I wanted was for him, anyone, to say they were sorry for what had been done to me.”
Did he not want the same?
Apart from punishment, and then revenge, did he not want just one word of kindness from his father? Some sort of regret from Lucerys?
She feels his eye on her, even if he’s not really looking at her, perhaps at some ghosts locked in his mind, so she glances at Vhagar, quite contented after her meals and currently resting on the sand. “We should go back to the Palace before it gets too hot out here. I will give orders to save more dead beasts for your dragon.”
The journey back to the walls is a silent one. It spreads, silence, like an oil stain as they climb back onto the litter; each of them has caught something of the other, something similar, different cracks etched with the same cruelty, and matching.
Their gazes match, as they remove the tajel from their heads, as she hands him some water. She looks around distractedly, but the curtains are closed and even if they weren’t, the sound of water rushing down his throat brings her eyes on him, and then closely, she watches his tongue flicking outside for a moment, she watches a drop of water running down his chin. And wishes to lick it off with her tongue.
Somehow, it’s like he can hear what she’s thinking, locking his eye on her. They don’t speak, it’s almost as if both of them are waiting for something.
"Your braid needs to be redone." She says at one point, and he turns, not looking at her face, not at first. She sees his eye trailing slowly over her until he speaks.
"Is that your offering?"
Closely, she rakes her eyes on his chiseled features, and she is not even aware she is imperceptibly leaning closer. A moth to a flame, they say. But she has always been the flame. And now, she finds she’s the one willing to bathe in the light, or burn.
“If you wish."
It comes out like a whisper, drawing his eye on her lips, unearthing that same desire from earlier, the thirst to know what she tastes like. "What If I wish for something more?"
“Such as?" she asks, raising one hand to touch his braid and undo it, smoothly, as if she had done this countless times before.
"Don't be shy now. Everything is a trade in Qarth. Even pleasure."
Swiftly, he clamps his hand around her wrist, stopping her, drawing a slight wince beneath her skin.
"Pleasure is not something to be traded.” He says, and it’s the flame now that is moving. “Only taken."
The short intake of air she breathes on his mouth is a seal. His lips meet hers abruptly, they part instantly and ravenously, like a starved man tasting a morsel, and then loosening to taste it, to taste her. Perhaps it’s desert, perhaps it’s herself, but she does taste like salt. She’s bitter on his tongue, in his nostrils; she muffles his ears until he hears only her sweet sighing in his mouth as he slips his tongue inside.
And he wants more of that, just as she wants more. He feels her unfolding beneath him as he towers over her, so differently from the previous night. She’s not tense. She’s loose like water, he feels her seeping in everywhere, around his neck and shoulders, in his mouth when her tongue darts in, in his blood when she softly rubs against him. His breathing becomes heavy, from lack of air, from hardening, and maybe he shouldn't, maybe this isn't really the right place. They could wait until they get back to the palace, but then she lies back on the pillows and reclines her head, offering her neck. Without thinking, he lowers himself down on her, in fact lying on her, and she instantly makes room for him by spreading her legs wide.
She gasps softly as he trails wet kisses on her neck, growing greedy as he travels down, to what he’s been secretly coveting since the first time he unapologetically landed his sight on.
Cupping her bare breast with his large hand, he holds it firmly, humming pleasurably as he takes the hard nipple into his mouth. Accordingly, she bucks her hips against him, feeling his hardening tease her center through that thin layer of silk. Between that and the swirling of his tongue, hot and wet around her nipple, she is panting, spreading her legs wide to cage his hips and push him against her, desperate for more friction.
Despite his ache for the same and more, he glances up, still torturing her nipple, hard and slick at this point, watching her as he grazes his teeth over that darker spot of skin, forcing a choked, loud whimper to escape her mouth.
“Careful, your Highness” he teases “lest you want to give your peasants a show.”
“What do you think these curtains are for?”
“You want me to fuck you here? Now?” he asks with a playful scorn in his voice, but she can hear his breath creaking, his tone lower and throatily.
She raises from the cushions, holding on one hand while the other slips between them, hovering on his groin, brushing feathery. “I believe you want to.” She breathes on his lips, parting as soon as he rocks his waist to catch her palm.
“We could wait to be in the Palace but…” she takes his hand and brings it between her legs, on that thin layer of silk, damp again his knuckles. “Would you be so cruel and leave me like this, for so long?”
He swallows something close to a growl upon feeling how wet she is for him, how her cheeks are barely flushed as she exhales heavily, her face scrunched lustfully for the little, shallow pleasure she finds from his fingertips.
Curtains or no curtains, Aemond is deaf and blind to anything else around him. With his fingers, he moves the fabric and twists his wrist, so that his palm is straight against her pulsing core. She sighs hoarsely as her wetness coats his hand, arching just as slightly, goading him to do more. She has been watching and coveting his fingers once too many times, the thought alone of having them inside her crumples her face in a pleading way, and she has no shame in voicing it. “Please, Aemond…”
Upon hearing his name, spoken in that exotic and alluring way, he bares his teeth and harshly slips not one, but two of his slender fingers inside, watching her tilt her head back, her mouth open and out of breath, but she’s looking at him and she’s quick to regain air, barely curving her lips up. “So you do know how to use your hands…”
“You never shut up, do you?”
“Well, make me.”
His cock twitches on its own at her words, and he kisses her, roughly, flexing his hand to start pumping his fingers in. She moans loudly on his tongue, lacing an arm around his neck, still holding herself onto the cushions with her other hand, angling her back so he can reach that special spot more easily.
“Oh God—yes---” she moans when he does, rocking her hips to meet his deft fingers in a sweet lewd sound that muffles any other coming from the fuss outside that litter. Her breath grows short and labored, mewling obscenely every time he curls his fingers, his gaze on her fixed and focused like on some holy mission.
He desperately wants to bury himself inside her, right there; he’s almost thankful for the much more loose clothes they wear here instead of the constricting breeches he was used to, even though he feels his flesh on fire, and he’s practically panting on her pleasure; his own is of no concern to him right now, not when she’s so close, not when he can watch a little more of her face distorting with wanton abandon, her neck lumped with sweat, the way her breast swings with her motions.
But she, on the other hand, seems eager to end this torture, and start another. The tensed muscle in her arm gives away, making her back fall on the cushions once more, but the other is still tied around his neck, so she drags him down with her and then she’s rummaging through the blue silks, eager to free his length, but he grips her wrist and holds it firmly above her head. “No…I have a score to settle with you.”
“What? You proved quite enough you know how to use your hands.” She says breathlessly, cracking half a smile “I swear on all the Gods, yours and mine, I won’t doubt you again.”
Aemond is just about to retort but suddenly the palanquin stops, and they are abruptly brought back to the reality just outside those curtains. They hear a male voice and he looks enquiringly at the Salt Queen who visibly rolls her eyes and says something in Qartheen which, given her tone, Aemond is sure is some kind of curse.
She fumbles with her thin gowns, covering her nudity while he takes some distance, returning to lean on one elbow with once more clear annoyance, this time much more justified. And once more, he’s thankful for the loose silks, able to hide his otherwise plain arousal.
The Queen sighs deeply, to keep herself together, to stop the ringing in her ears and the aching stir below her navel; then she opens the curtains and smiles warmly. “Syradhor! I thought I recognized your voice.”
The man in yellow silks, with several sapphires embroidered in the fabric and worn on his fingers, bows for a moment saying, “Your Highness.” He takes her hand that she promptly offers and lightly kisses her knuckles, trailing his eyes on her with two eyes blind with admiration. “Any man who finds himself in the presence of such beauty can count himself as the luckiest in the world. What a blessing for me to be granted such fortune once more.”
Aemond is staring at the man, unimpressed, doing all he can not to scoff at the love sonnet-like speech, and a rather dull one. “Prince Aemond. A pleasure to see you again.”
Aemond recalls the man as one of the Merchant Kings who greeted him at the walls two days prior, but his face is all he remembers. “Which one is this?” he deadpans to the Salt Queen, evidently not happy to have been interrupted. She hears the annoyance in his voice and stifles a smile saying “This is Syradhor, the Ore King.”
The Prince barely tilts his chin down to greet him and the man in yellow takes a step forward, addressing the Queen. “Your Highness, since you are here, I am gladly extending my invitation to you as well.”
“Extending?” she asks.
“I—Yes, I was expecting Prince Aemond today, to formally receive him in my Palace.”
“Were you?” he drawls.
The honeyed benevolence leaves the man's face like a summer storm, because that's the way he is, as eager to please as he is quick to anger. “What is meaning of this? Did Xavos not inform you?”
“Of course.” Of course not, is what she means to say. But before she can utter another word, Aemond speaks. “Well, I’m afraid we have to delay this formal reception.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Syradhor.” The Queen steps in “you must understand, the Prince is new to our customs. He’s not aware of our welcoming traditions. As it happens, that was precisely what the Prince and I were discussing before you interrupted us.”
“Were we?” he says lifting his eyebrow.
She flashes daggers at him and continues with a broad smile. “I told him not to delay his visit to your Palace, for if ever a foreigner refused to visit one of the Thirteen—" she looks directly at Aemond, informing him at that very moment. “It would be considered the highest of insults.”
Aemond looks at her, unblinking, before sighing deeply, and deciding to play along. “Yes, I do recall now. Her Highness was quite vocal on the matter.”
She keeps smiling, for reasons entirely different from what the Ore King might think, and then he raises one hand towards the crowded street. “Please. My Palace is just around the corner.”
Aemond comes out of the litter, being careful to let the silks fall over all the right places.
“I hope you have a good time, my Prince.”
He whirls his head watching the Salt Queen stay still on the cushions and the Ore King looks just as stunned. “Will you not delight my Palace with your presence?”
“I am afraid I can’t, Syrhador. I was just asking the Prince for advice on some urgent matters I desperately need to attend to.” She pointedly looks at Aemond with a ghosting smile and then she shrugs, lightheartedly. “I suppose I shall take those urgent matters into my own hands.”
Her words and what they mean, stir something within him, more annoyance at the mere thought of wasting time with this little man —his shoulder reaches just above Aemond’s ribs— when he could be fucking her senseless on that litter, on his bed, hers, he’s not picky at this point. And more giddiness, making his blood boil at mere thought of her chasing her pleasure with her own hands.
But then she’s shutting him out, shutting the curtains, and ordering her men to move.
The sky is of a delicious pink-red shade when he returns to the Palace of Salt.
Four hours, that was the torment he had to endure in the presence of Syradhor and his family. Four hours in which he barely opened his mouth, and when he did, all that came out were monosyllables uttered from time to time in a manner closer and closer to snarling.
The Ore King had embarked on a soliloquy about alum, a precious mineral useful as mordant for dyeing wool, embalming animals and human bodies, and making wood fireproof. It would’ve been interesting for a former scholar as Aemond was, but it was difficult to think straight amid the chattering, duck-like squawking of Syradhor’s daughters, and even more difficult when he had brought the cup of wine to his mouth and sensed her intimate sweet-tart smell stuck on his fingers, awakening all the wrong thoughts.
In the end, he was so sick of the whole affair that he had curtly refused to be escorted to the palace of Xavos on another litter, and the Ore King had sent four of his guards to walk with him, along the streets of Qarth.
His spirits when he crosses the threshold of the Palace of Salt are at an all-time low. If only he didn't have to face another litter trip lying on cushions after spending four hours sitting on those same fucking cushions, he'd go straight to Vhagar. He's always been a solitary creature, just like her, and all these talks and pleasantries, fake or true, were like pouring a barrel of water into a narrow vase. He was toppling over.
Surprisingly though, as soon as he sets foot in his chambers, his foul spirits seem to instantly improve as he finds his room lit with candles, and not at all empty. The Salt Queen is sitting comfortably in an armchair, with her legs dangling graciously over the left armrest; a little book is clutched in her hold.
“My Prince.” She greets him as he lingers on the door, lifting her gaze from her reading.
Aemond closes the door, never tearing his gaze off her. It betrays nothing, only the faint irritation for the four hours wasted, but not the way his lungs swell upon seeing her.
“Did your Grace have fun?” she asks with sheer curiosity, closing the book with a light thud.
“Fun?” he repeats, as if she had just suggested she had proof unicorns from Skagos were real.
“Surely it was not that bad? I mean, yes, Syradhor is boring and yes, he has that annoying habit of touching you as he talks, but he has a great collection of wines. I should have told you. There’s no other way to survive him.”
“He has a litter of daughters” Aemond sneers, walking to her “each of them duller than the other.”
“Well, that happens when you fuck your relatives. You, above all, should know that.”
He looks at her questioningly and she leans forward to place the book on a little table, the soft fabric of her lilac gowns slips on her skin just as his eye slips on her bare thighs, glowing as gold under the candlelight. “His wife is his niece.” She says, looking up and catching his staring.
His eye trails slowly over her until locking her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“You forgot this.” She says, raising her hand with his dagger held between her fingers.
Aemond stops before her, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at her “You were waiting for me, to give me back my dagger?”
She takes a good amount of time, while looking at him, feeling his eye, darkened due to the dim light and boring into her, to utter a simple “No."
“Then why?”
She rises, handing the blade, and says “I believe we had a score to settle.”
Aemond takes the blade from her hands, nodding slowly, and then circles her to go sit where she was a moment ago, placing the blade on the armrest, along with his hands. “And what was it?” he asks with a faint smirk. If she’s keen on playing games, he will let her play this one. “Somehow, it’s eluding me now.”
She watches him cross his long legs, tilting his head as he awaits, and she says “Your braid needs to be redone.”
“Hmm.” Aemond looks around, almost amused, and sees his bed, not exactly in order as it was when he left, but slightly crumpled.
Did she lie on his bed? Did she touch herself and peak, writhing on his sheets? The thought alone tickles his spine, but still, he betrays nothing, only the faint tapping of his fingers against the armrest. “You’ve been here all this time to give me back my dagger and redo my hair.”
She watches his fingers moving and she’s moving. She would like to take his hand and pick up where they left off, but she just sits on his lap, forcing him to uncross his legs, and spread them a little to make her room. “I deeply cherish my guests and their welfare under my roof.” She jests, although it’s partially true.
The only difference is that she never spent hours waiting for one of her guests, or any man, nor fantasizing about all the ways that man could take her, not as fervently as she did as her hand moved relentlessly between her legs, finding but a mere flicker of the pleasure he had just started to spill from her.
“And did you…” his tone is coarse, so he pauses to swallow. He hates that his voice is coming out so low, he hates that this woman can reduce him like this in a matter of minutes, that his cock is already stirring. “Did you eventually take that urgent matter into your own hands?”
She takes a long lock of silver hair between her fingers, running them through it while she quietly answers
“Twice.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” She looks at him, while her fingers start to work on that lock, making a little braid using only one hand. “Disappointing.”
“The room or your hands?”
“Oh, the room was quite fine.” she lets the little braid rest among the other locks and trails her fingers on his chest, and a moment later underneath the silk, like tentacles. “I only wished I had your hands inside me.”
Her touch licks flames on his skin, on his chest, collarbone, and neck; she touches him with intent, as if she wishes to know what he is made of. “You could have come with me.”
“I didn’t lie, I had some matters to attend to. Besides, coming with you would have left us in quite a situation.” She reasons with diplomacy, not making a blink as her other tentacle slides over his stomach, disappearing underneath. “Sneaking around the Ore Palace to find a place to fuck.”
Aemond exhales heavily as she takes hold of him, parting his lips as she palms him thoroughly.
“Did you think of that while you were with those pretty girls?” she asks, watching his eyelid flicker “I know they’re pretty. Dumb, but pretty.”
He has no idea who she’s talking about. He rests his head against the armchair and opens his mouth as her ministrations grow cadenced and yet unbearably slow.
“Did you think of me?” she asks, softly panting along with him for the mere sight “of taking me in some hidden corner? Of putting your hands on me if I had been there?”
His nails dig into the armrest, around his dagger, until his knuckles go white. Truth is that he did. Sipping that cup of wine, the smell of her on his fingers only made him think of her, and how she would squirm if he touched her right there, under the table. How she would bite her lower lip to swallow her moans as she came all over his fingers.
“I did.” She admits with almost religious honesty. “I came twice thinking of your hands.”
Not a moment later, they are both growling with need as he slams his mouth on hers in a mess of tongues and teeth, and then she gasps, because his hand is on her core, moving already, gathering her wetness and spreading it. “Did you think of this? Hmm?” he croons, watching her closely, rejoicing upon seeing her face scrunching just as it did earlier, wantonly, pleading.
“No…” she mumbles.
“What do you mean no?”
Her hand slips behind his neck, in order to keep his head firm and his face glued to hers. “Inside…” she cooes urgently “I need them inside.”
It’s almost shameful for a proud man like him, how swiftly he obeys, but even if he didn’t want to, she’s so wet for him, dripping and coating his palm, that his fingers would’ve eventually slipped inside.
He sticks them all the way in, flexing and curling, hitting that spot and spilling a loud moan from her, who instantly sinks her hips down, rocking to goad him to start moving. He grants her this other little mercy, pumping nimbly with a squelching sound, going rock hard as she arches on top of him, keeping one hand clamped around his neck and the other on his knee, to find the right angle.
“There you go…” he rasps, watching his fingers disappear inside, feeling her spongy walls hot and squeezing “’Tis what you wanted?”
She is too occupied with trying to catch a puff of air to be bothered to answer, but he wants one. He stops altogether, winning a whine of protest and a flashing glare before her face wrinkles with desperate need.
“Not talking now?” he mocks and then swiftly, he is curling his fingers in a cruel way, drawing a choked whimper out of her throat.
“Yes. Yes, it is what I wanted.”
“Hmm. Go on, then. Take it.” And he spreads his legs a little more to give her room “Fuck my hand.”
Exhaling a small breath of air, she talks almost to herself. “A woman must do everything these days.”
“You won’t be saying that later.”
“Why, what happens later?”
“I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk.”
“That sounds a bit pretentious.”
“And you should have learned by now not to doubt my word.”
And doubt him she won’t, not now. She starts to move, swaying her hips and arching her neck as soon as pleasure washes over her. She would like to savor it, to take this slow, as she likes it, but her low muscles are so tensed and aching; she feels the peak near and can't do anything but run towards.
Aemond watches with labored breath as she rocks and grinds on him desperately, growing frantic by the moment, feeling her arousal down to his wrist, dampening his own silks, spilling a faint unbearable pleasure from the way her flesh grinds against his cock. And he finds himself moaning out of pleasure and pain as she draws near to her peak, gripping his neck hard, pulling at the roots of his hair while emitting a string of short and sharp cries next his ear, until she’s trembling all over, coming with a free and loud moan on his hand.
She tries to regain some air, panting in his ear as she rides the last throes. This, this is what she’s been fantasizing, even dreamed of it. No man has ever made her feel like this, a pulsing heart pounding in every inch of her body, a living flame bathing in fire.
Slowly, she tilts her head back and he takes his hand off her hot, pulsing flesh. She looks down, at her pleasure wrinkling his fingertips, and then up, straight into his turbid eye. He brings his fingers to his mouth to clean them, to taste her, but she snatches his wrist and, staring at him, she engulfs his index with her lips.
He’s tempted to look away, and not wonder how her perfect lips would close around his cock, but he keeps watching as she keeps tasting herself, on his middle finger, and then the ring one.
“How do you taste?”
“Me? Oh, this is not me.” She draws close until she nudges her nose against his and says “Pleasure tastes like the ones we desire.” She kisses him, slowly, darting her tongue in his mouth until he’s humming, tasting bittersweet. “This is your doing.”
A moment later she gasps, holding onto his shoulders because he rises abruptly, lacing his arms around her to hold her and take those few steps that separate them from his bed.
They fall on the soft mattress and her hands fly to his silks, willing to tear them apart until he’s bare. And he helps her, moving his lean shoulders to let the slippery fabric fall. She had thought Qartheen silks suited him perfectly, but now she thinks she’d rather have him like this all day. Her eyes roam freely on his lean body, dented in a few spots by burns and scars of war, a soldier’s body and yet not burly: he’s all refined and graceful, like a sculpture. It makes her mouth go dry, pushing her eyes down, on the thin waist and the prominent v-shape of his muscles.
Willfully, she grasps the soft belt cinching his waist, but he stops her wrists.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks with short breath, and the candles around catch the flashing steel of his dagger, held in his left hand.
“Valyrian steel?”
“The sharpest blade in the world.” and deftly, he twirls it.
It catches her eye for a moment, but then she drags her gaze back on him, relaxing on the sheets with an ounce of challenge in her eyes. “You will have to show me.”
Something wild bursts in his eye, wide and piercing. “Are you offering?”
She cracks a half heated, half cunning smile and says “I’m demanding.”
Aemond lies beside her, holding himself up on one elbow, and with bated breath, she watches his other arm move, bringing the dagger, and its pointy end, to the lilac woven shielding her torso. Slowly and cautiously, he slips the steel under a stripe of silk, locking his eye on her as she startles from the coldness of the blade. He flicks his wrist up, and the steel cuts the silk instantly and smoothly. But he doesn’t stop there, dragging the blade down, cutting all, unraveling her body, and not missing the way her stomach jolts, her breath hitches, and not out of fear.
He trails his eye all over her body, glowing under the candles, lingering on the soft patch of hair below her navel; his mouth goes dry and his mind blank. He lets the blade go and drifts down, grabs her legs and forces them open, hardening impossibly more upon seeing her previous peak still coating her cunt in a glistening veil.
She sees him hovering right on her center, anticipation quickens her breath but perhaps also a faint reluctance for what he’s about to do. She would complain about it with Dora, saying most of her lovers just sat there lapping at it like some thirsty dog in the desert. Once, she had even opened a book while having a man’s head between her thighs.
It is therefore with great shock that she abruptly gasps, out loud, when he slams his mouth on her cunt, raising his eye to watch her. She tastes sweeter than he’d expected, and he’s not one for sweet tastes, but this one, he wants it all.
His tongue swirls up and down her folds, circling slowly, making her back arch, her jaw slack open. “Oh God—” she moans once, and twice, unconsciously pushing her hips against his face, feeling the sharp bone of his nose nudging her bundle.
“If you have to sing my praises, then do it properly.” he rasps against her flesh, stopping, but not quite. He brings one hand on her apex, circling it with his thumb, torturing but not as she wants. “Please—” she begs freely, writhing beneath him.
“Please what?” he teases, licking his lips “You like to talk, don’t you? Then use your words.” He presses his thumb deeper and faster, and she whines, in pleasure and protest. “Please—with your tongue”
“Please…?”
“Aemond—”
“Again.”
He has half a mind to make her say his name until she loses her voice, but at the second time she utters it, her vowels even more open given her debauchery, he caves and grips her thighs harshly to keep them as spread open as he can. What happens next is a string of cries and choked moans as his tongue licks and sucks and pierces inside; he eats her thoroughly humming with sheer delight and occasionally groaning as, without being able to avoid it, he grinds against the mattress to gain some relief.
Pleasure coils in her belly as it never did before. She’d never been able to reach her peak like this, whether the occasional man was not that good at that practice or maybe because she’d never longed for anyone as she longs for the Prince. She’s not able to control her voice as she comes straight into his mouth, she’s not able to control her muscles shaking all over, nor her hand, flying into his hair, pulling and pushing him against her as she practically rides his face in the last spasms.
She lies there for a moment, ears numb and heart pounding like a hammer, but she has little time to come to her senses; he moves, leaning on top of her, mouth and chin slick. It makes her strangely proud to see it. This time, her hands are free to roam, discarding the last silks until he’s completely bare. Aemond slips between her legs, hissing at feeling her moist flesh against his. He cannot wait any longer, as he moves to angle her hips and bury himself inside her, she grabs his face, forcing him to look up.
“Show me.”
It takes him barely a moment to get what she means. He freezes on the spot, and looks down with a grimace.
“You saw mine.” She says sofly. And it’s true. Even if he didn’t know, he saw, he touched, her wound.
And maybe it’s because he did, and he knows it to be true that this time there’s no reluctance, or rejection choking down his words. “I am sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter, you couldn’t—”
“No. Not about last night.”
All I wanted was for him, anyone, to say they were sorry for what had been done to me.
Air hitches in her throat as she stares at him with wide eyes. He has that unwavering stone-like look on his face and she knows he means it. No second purpose could ever force his tongue into saying that, because he doesn’t have any. He had her already, and he would have her again, whether he had spoken those words or not. But he means it. He chooses all his words too carefully to waste them on lies.
All she knows now, is that she wants him. A foreign, fierce willing like the one that possessed her the night before, urging her to stay right where she was, to goad him to take her harder, instead of begging him to stop.
She grips his neck and surges to kiss him, moaning with liberation into his mouth, swallowing his soft growl as her hand slips between them, grabbing him and guiding him against her entrance. He pushes in ever so easily, and she throws her head back on the sheets, gasping at the stretch while he rests his forehead on her chest, struggling to breathe as he buries himself inside her.
The bushes pierce through his feet, bleeding on the ground, a pain he is well accustomed.
One must walk barefoot in the Wood of Shadows.
The long blue robe rustles in the wind; it is loud in his ears, wailing, as it does nowhere else.
He stops next to a black barked tree and leans his ear against it. Glancing up, a mantle of dark leaves wave in the sky, bleeding blue.
He hurries up, resuming his path. His right hand trembles incessantly as it always does next to it. Fortunately, he holds the little vial in his other hand, safe.
The Palace of Dust is covered in dark, not even a torch lighting the way. They say there are no walls or ceilings there. They say there is no such thing as time in the House of the Undying.
He opens one door and enters a round room, clothed in dark, except for one, faint white light coming from a hole in the ground. A water well, translucent; soft waves curl the surface, rippled by no trace of wind.
There is only one man standing in the light, looking into the water. The others are scattered around the room.
“Is he Seeing?” asks the man with the trembling hand.
“Hush. Did you bring it?” answers another, coming into view under the faint white light.
“Here.” He hands over the vial. “I’ve never seen so much of it. Leaves are bleeding as we speak. It’s like an awakening.”
“It is awakening.” says the other, his eyes barely visible under the cloak.
“But why?”
He receives a long scornful look. “You are weak. That is why you’re reduced like that.” the other says, glancing at his hand “You cannot bear it.”
“We are awakening.” Says another voice from somewhere “We awaken in the presence of the most ancient and powerful magic.”
“Fire?” tries the trembling man.
The one with the vial turns his head, nodding. “And blood.”
He walks to the man standing before the well. He is looking into the translucent water. He doesn’t blink. Seems like he’s not even breathing. But there’s a strange curve on his blue lips, hardly visible. Almost a smile, a fond one.
“Fydor.”
Only then, the man blinks and turns his head.
“Freshly collected.” the other lifts his arm, showing the little vial. Under the well’s light, the liquid shines with a vivid blue.
The mute warlock takes it and swiftly lifts the cap. The other hurries to take a step back, while the one with the trembling hand widens his eyes with almost dread. His fingers start to shake maniacally, as he watches the man in the light drinking the Shadow.
All the others, at once, seem to emit a choked snarling sound, as thirsty men in the desert upon seeing a pool of water.
The empty vial falls to the floor, breaking in little pieces, the water in the well moves as rippled by an opposite wind, and Fydor makes a choking sound; his eyes rolls over like in a seizure, and then they stop.
The pupil is gone, all is left is the white, but it is not white, not anymore. Too much Shadow of the Evening. His lips, nails and white of his eyes are blue for good.
At times, it lasts for hours. Others, it’s barely a minute. But there’s no time in the House of the Undying.
When it ends, it could be morning outside, they do not know, and they do not care.
“Fydor?” the same one asks when the warlock’s pupils are back in their place.
The man looks at him for a moment, and then starts moving his hands jerkily. “It is time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to act.”
“What about your daughter?”
For a moment, Fydor looks into the well. “Kori is on her own path now. I cannot interfere. She won’t let me. But seeds must be sown.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Keeping his blue eyes on the water, transfixed, he moves his hands. “What do you do with an old forest so new trees can grow?”
“Burn it.”
The man with the trembling hand looks between the two, warily. “What does it mean?”
Fydor turns, slowly, a shadow falling on his face. “It is quite simple, acolyte. For there to be order, there must be chaos first.”
thank you so much for reading!! 💕💕
#the king of qarth#liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x you#ewan mitchell#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond
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Fiery Love
Warning !
Vox Akuma x Reader x Shu Yamino ; The use of Vox's 2.0 and 3.0 fit , Shu's 2.0 fit ; Unestablished Polyamorous Relationship
The world I created in this fic is not canon ! The world takes in the Past timeline !
A/n !
I see some wanted to see me write for these two again ! Yes again, I have wrote about these two in Polyamorous relationship before !
If you're new here, This is the first fic i wrote about them !
➶◜◝➴
One who's afraid of his own sorcery, never trusting his own powers. One who never talked about himself, also avoiding talking about his past.
There is some rumors going around the village said that if you ever went into the forbidden forest, you'll be eaten alive by demons, yokais, evil spirits.
Some said there is a Demon that have inhumane height, big wings, accompanied with a Sorcerer that have a high intelligence of dark magic. Some said that they're both are always together, if you see one, the other is definitely nearby.
And you were quite curious of that, some said it's a myth, some said it's true. You thought that it would be a good idea to see if it's true or not.
Here you are now, walking down the path, bought nothing but yourself and a lantern. You thought you'll just go through this forest for an hour or so before going back to the village, and everything goes according to plan !
Nothing happened,
You did got lost for quite awhile, but you manage to return back to the village in one piece. You're a bit disappointed upon the discovery, nothing happened when you entered the forbidden forest.
So you went to visit again the next day, the same exact hour, and again you walked out still disappointed. Nothing happened, you went on doing it for a whole week, and all of those days you wasted at night only filled with disappointment.
One day, you were having a quite hassle at your workplace. Not only that, even in your household. That is your worst day in the week, you went out to take a breather at night, you didn't even realize where your foot is taking you until you're standing in the middle of an open space in the fortunately familiar forest.
You turned, to see you're surrounded by trees, and trees. Of course, because you're in a forest, until you realized that a path slowly opens before you. The trees moved, opening a path for you leading to a well kept house at the distance. You hesitantly walked down the path, as you get closer, you didn't realize the trees behind you closed the path behind you.
The moon shines bright above you, shining down upon the house and you. Who' standing before the house, entranced by the beauty of the surroundings. Sakura trees bloomed around the house, rocky path before you leading to the sliding door, the side is a small wellspring where people usually wash their hands and mouth for to purify themselves before approaching the shrine.
You can hear the water flowing, the sakura trees rustling against each other. It was so peaceful, it made you don't want to leave this beautiful place.
Until you heard a loud thud behind you, soon followed with a low growl. Your body frozen, refuses to move, your feet refuses to take a step, you slowly turn around to see a tall, large being, staring down at you, his lips parted slightly, emitting smokes, and his large wings flapping slightly on his back made your body shiver.
Your eyes met with the beast, the Demon. It approaches you, oh so slowly. Making you falter, and fell down. Earning another growl from the Demon in front of you, soon you felt your back hit something. You look up to see a figure looming down over you, smiling.
"Well well, an unexpected guest..!" The male with a beautiful, long, raven hair slowly slides over from his shoulder, some hitting your shoulder, he leaned away and whispered an apology for his hair.
"Apologies, my hair is quite a hassle," He started as he kneeled next to you, looking at you curiously. "You know you could've got consumed if I came late" The male with a long raven hair, that have a rather unique iconic yellow hair at the left side.
His eyes are violet, it's so enchanting to stare at. The long raven haired male glanced over at the beast who had stopped moving, 10 feet away from you. "You should thank me for coming at the right moment before you're consumed by him" he chuckled before slowly standing back up again and stared down at you.
The demon took a step next to the long raven haired male, "I believe you already know what we are? Especially from those, rumors going on around your village" His violet eyes stares back into yours. He smiled, his smile is quite unique. It made your heart skipped a beat.
And then realization falls before you, you stared at the large figure behind this beautiful man who have such a long raven hair that's mixed with purple, pink and yellow.
These two are the two figures that the villagers mentioned,
The Demon and The Sorcerer.
"I, I'm sorry for disturbing you two, I," You glanced down upon yourself, "My head was in distraught, I had a bad day today. I didn't even realize where my foot is taking me" You started rambling. The two didn't say anything, they just silently stare at you.
"Shu" You glanced back up, "Huh?" "Shu Yamino, that's my name" He introduced himself. "And this," his hand extended to the side, pointing at the figure near him. "This is Vox Akuma." Shu introduced the other, "We'll let you stay, just for tonight since it's dangerous for someone like you, a human to wander around this forest at night"
Soon, the large figure behind Shu, Vox, slowly getting engulfed by smoke around him. And then when he stepped out, he is a whole different being. His golden eyes pierced into yours, his two horns on his forehead made him look appealing.
"Truly, I would've eaten you up if it was not for Shu stopping me from doing so." Your body shivers when you heard his low husky voice, "Go rest Human, Tomorrow morning you should be already in your room" Vox said before walking pass you, and stopped a few steps behind you.
"Don't think we don't know what you're doing last week" He said before disappearing into the house, Shu who had been standing quietly finally let out a small chuckle. "Apologies, he usually don't act that way, perhaps he just doesn't want to repeat the same incident" He said as he helped you get off from the ground.
"Incident?" The Sorcerer smiled agitatedly, "Whoops, I said too much," he said as he then start walking towards the house, "Come, I'll show you the room you're staying in for the night."
You hesitantly followed Shu, walking down the wooden floors, sometimes it creaked sometimes it doesn't. As you followed him, you noticed that this house is pretty decent, like how houses should normally be.
These type of houses usually would be owned by rich people, but to see such house in the forbidden forest made you wonder, your train of thoughts was come to a stop by a voice coming from the male before you.
"Stay curious, but try not to find out about your curiosity." The Sorcerer turned his head a bit, looking at you over his shoulder, his identic smile appeared once more. "You should be thankful you're alive right now, you could've been a whole feast for us" he chuckled softly at his questionable statement, "O, Okay" You replied, and then Shu slides the door next to him, "Here is your room, do avoid to wander around the house, okay?" He said as he wait for you to step into the room.
"Then again, humans are stubborn, if you want to wander around, go ahead," He said, his violet eyes no longer look friendly, "But this time I do not guarantee your safety." He said before his friendly face appeared again within a blink. "Well then, Goodbye, human" He said as he bow slightly before sliding the door close.
Leaving you alone in the room, it looks pretty cozy, with the table in the middle of the room, and then a vase on it, along with a futon folded up at the corner. The moon shines through the window, making the room look quite. Lonely.
You sat near the window and looked up at the night sky, at the moon who high up in the dark sky. Accompanied by the stars around it,
It's beautiful.
Your thoughts now goes back to those two, The demon and The Sorcerer. They look like they're not quite fond with humans, especially Vox, he seems to despise you.
Shu seems more friendlier, but he, there is something wrong with him that doesn't click right on you. It's like, he is physically there, but also not there.
Your eyes slowly gets drowsy, but before you fell asleep on the window, you get to the futon, opening them, and you just scoot into the futon. The moment your head hits the pillow, you're out cold.
. . .
Birds chirping outside, you opened your eyes to see a familiar ceiling, you looked around.
It's your room.
It's exactly like Vox said, you're now back into your room, you don't know how they did it, but one thing is that, You want to see them again, will fate let you see them again?
Will they let you see them again? Question after question kept on appearing one after another, you want to see them, but do they want to see you?
You sighed at the thought and went on your day with them plaguing your thoughts.
. . .
Night arrives and your stubborn self standing outside the forbidden forest, holding a latern. But before you step into the forest, you heard a familiar voice.
"Foolish human"
"Haha, you're a stubborn one, I thought the warning is enough, don't you value your life?"
You turned to see where the voice coming from, nowhere, and then you look up at one of the trees, you see a familiar raven purple hair dangling, then a violet eyes staring back into yours from the dark.
Then under the tree there's a piercing golden eyes looking back into yours too, but then those eyes slowly turned pink, and then there' smoke emits from the dark.
The familiar large figure looms out from the dark, you didn't realize your hands clenched onto your latern so tightly, "Do you know what you're getting yourself into, human?" The demon's voice growled as he stand tall under the shades.
"No, I don't, or maybe I do" You said as you look at these two who's in the shades, "Turn back, don't make things more difficult than it already is." Shu's enchanting voice demanded, "You wouldn't want to know what's going on inside this forest now" he continued and let out a chuckle.
"Let them be Shu, humans are stubborn, if they want to die then let them die." Vox turned around and walked away, soon Shu jumped down from the tree and stares at you, smiling. Though his eyes isn't.
And then you blinked, and Shu is standing right before you, his face right next to your ears, making your breath hitched. "You are nothing but food to those beings in the forest, if you want to be feasted on that badly then go ahead. Both I and Vox told you to stay away for your own safety." He leaned back a bit, you both stared at each other.
Shu's gloved hand touches your chin, "Someone like you doesn't belong in this hellish place," he whispered, his thumb glaze along the lines of your chin. "But Humans are stubborn by nature, when they want something, they will get them no matter what, no?" He leans dangerously close to your lips.
But then let out a small laugh as he stepped away and walked away from you like he did nothing wrong, leaving you breathless, dumbfounded on the spot.
"If you still insisting on going then go ahead, because this time they're no longer hiding." That is the last thing he said before leaving you alone, you looked around, your legs almost lost it's strength after what the Sorcerer did.
You couldn't forget his scent, he smells rather sweet, and intoxicatingly addictive.
. . .
That night you didn't enter the forest, you turned your back on the forest and walked away, you can't forget what Shu did to you that time.
It plays on loop on your head, he was so close to you, you can feel his breath, his scent strokes your nostrils to the addictive amount, his voice sounds enchanting.
Ugh, he is so intoxicating.
. . .
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. You didn't visit the forbidden forest like how they wanted you to be, but you'll be lying if you didn't miss them.
One night you went to the forest again, and the same incident happened once more.
"Just when I thought you'll stop coming back forever, of course you're going to return." A familiar husky voice echoed through your eardrums, you tilt your head to the owner of the voice. "Vox.." You whispered his name, as you do he walked out from the shades, taking a few steps before stopping a few feet before you.
His golden eyes bore into yours, he then approached you, closer, and closer. To the point he's so close to you that his figure is looming over you, "Leave," he started.
"While I asked nicely." His eyes soften a slightly, but it disappears as quick as it appeared. "Why do you keep insisting on me leaving, Vox?" You asked him, he' silent. He didn't say anything, instead he leaned his face closer to yours.
"You really want to waste your life? "
His golden eyes stared into yours, filled with so many emotions. He then take a step back and walked away, "We're just trying to not let you waste your life as food, but of course your kind doesn't care and proceed on coming here and become free food to feast on." He said before stopping on his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, "Though if you do want to be food that bad," he trailed off "I could feast on you, and you won't be feeling any pain."
"Ha, how ridiculous Vox" "Tsk, well nevermind then" Vox sighed softly as he eyed Shu who innocently walked out from the dark, smiling at you and then him, "Well, it's nice to see you again human, I thought you're already getting feasted on" he laughed softly.
"It's good to see you still in one piece" He glanced at you, "Though, you came at the worst timing" Shu said as she shove his hands into his sleeves, "Tonight is Red Moon, they're going out to find humans to feast on" he said casually, both his violet eyes glistens under the moonlight, along with Vox's golden eyes staring at yours.
"Well? Do you want to be feasted on? Or do you still want to live?"
"Turn and walk away if you still want to live, or You will be eaten alive right here and now"
"Haha, that sounds so brutal Vox, you could've been a bit more subtle about it"
"Hmh, ..So, what do you choose?"
But before you could have a moment to think, you hear footsteps coming closer to the three of you, all of you turned to see who's approaching.
"Oh.. Uninvited guests" Shu said as he took a step before you, shielding you away from the 'uninvited guests'. Vox at the other hand summoned his katana, "Well I have no plan on sharing." The demon said as he stared at the distance, "Haha, well at least you're sharing with me?"
Both of them talked about sharing and you have no idea what exactly are they talking about, both of them then stopped talking and look back at you.
Shu's violet eyes narrowed, as he smiled at you.
Vox's golden eyes coldly stares into yours, looking at you, like, you're his prey.
Oh dear, what's going to happen to you?
©fakesimp . 2023
Splitting this into parts, how are you guys feeling? Yaminions? Kindreds? How's the fic? You like it? And boy I did not intend to write the fic this long lol.
|| Part 2 ->
A/n !
Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated !
Get this fic to 300 notes, and I'll write the second part.
#nijisanji en x reader#nijisanji en#nijisanji x reader#nijisanji#luxiem x reader#luxiem#shu yamino x reader#shu yamino#vox akuma x reader#vox akuma#➴ fakesimp writing for you#fakesimp writing
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Genie's lamp - Part III
The proof of the pudding is in the eating
Despite being an apprentice of the dark arts now, Lex nevertheless chose to also continue his studies in economics. He couldn't eventually simply tell his parents and friends that he was abandoning his studies to pursue a career as a dark sorcerer.
So, one day he found himself in the dimly lit locker room of his college. The air heavy with the musky scent of sweat and testosterone, Lex dawdling finished changing after his PE class. His unbuttoned shirt and varsity jacket gave him the appearance of a typical college student. Unaware of his dark sorcery apprenticeship, his peers saw him as just another face in the crowd. As he was about to exit, a figure caught his eye — Ferris, the epitome of an alpha-male and captain of the college baseball team, sat stark naked on a bench while chugging water from a plastic bottle.
A smug grin etched on his face as he taunted Lex with words meant to provoke, "You've gained some confidence, huh? But remember, in this realm, I'm the man!" Ignoring the jabs at first, Lex's expression turned stoic as Ferris' taunts grew more explicit. "We both know your confidence is a front, fag. You want to kneel and worship a real man like me, don't you?" Ferris jeered, his voice dripping with arrogance. Without a word, Lex knelt down before the naked jock, his actions defying logic and expectation.
The unexpected move caught the baseball captain off guard, his alpha facade momentarily faltering as Lex's tongue traced a path along his inner thighs. Confusion mingled with an unexpected rush of … pleasure?! Normally, Ferris would have yelled at Lex to stop this 'gay shit'. However, the sensation of being licked, worshipped, held an intoxicating allure that Ferris couldn't defy. Moving with purpose, Lex's explorative tongue ventured further, grazing over Ferris' sensitive skin until he reached his balls. A maddening pressure built within Ferris' balls, intensifying with each flick of Lex's skilled tongue. And then, in a burst of ecstasy and confusion, Ferris climaxed, his cum erupting onto his stomach in a messy release. But as the white liquid pooled on his skin, a strange transformation began to take place. His balls, once so full and heavy, began to shrink, deflating like a balloon losing air until they were no more. Ferris blinked in astonishment, his hand instinctively reaching down to where his testicles should have been. But instead, there was nothing but smooth skin, a void where his masculinity once resided. Instead of the rage and indignation one might expect, a peculiar calm settled over Ferris.
Lex, unfazed by the sudden turn of events, dipped his finger into the sticky mess on Ferris' stomach, bringing it to his lips in a brazen display of dominance and tasting it with a wicked grin. "Your offsprings, which will never be born, are really delicious, Ferris!" His words dripped with a dark amusement, relishing in the power he wielded over the once-proud alpha. Awaiting a violent outburst that never came, Lex chuckled to himself, a cold calculation in his eyes. "Interesting how a man's demeanor changes once his manhood is taken away," he remarked to himself and mused with twisted satisfaction "Ah, the wonders of eunuchs - calm and loyal, just as Jafar told." Now Lex towered over Ferris, his commanding presence casting a shadow over the former alpha-male. "Eunuch, into the bottle with you, where you will transform into my guard!"
The once proud and arrogant jock watched in disbelief as he and his gym bag dissolved into a swirling mist, vanishing into the drinking bottle he had held moments ago.
Within the bottle, a transformation unlike any other began to take place. His pants, neatly folded within his gym bag, dissolved into a shimmering ribbon that slithered out, curling around his legs with an eerie precision. "Wh...what's happening to me?" Ferris stammered, feeling the strange sensation of the ribbon wrapping around his lower body. The sensation of the soft fabric against his skin should have elicited a familiar thrill, but this time, there was no spark of arousal - and there will never be again. The ribbon continued its ascent, molding into intricate harem pants that adorned his muscular frame with an otherworldly grace.
Not far behind, his hoody burst out of the gym bag, its sleeves and hood fading into oblivion, leaving behind a sleek vest that fluttered gracefully towards Ferris. The vest draped itself upon him, embracing his form with an air of mystique. Finally, his cherished baseball bat shimmered and shifted, transmuting into a gleaming saber that now rested at his side. The transformation was disorienting yet strangely exhilarating. Feeling a surge of loyalty towards his master, Lex, Ferris was overcome with a newfound purpose - to protect and serve the enigmatic sorcerer prince at all costs. His thoughts and desires now aligned with Lex's will, his former sense of self fading into obscurity. With a sense of calm acceptance, Ferris accepted his fate as a devoted guardian to the one who had wielded such power over him.
With an air of nonchalance, Lex tucked the bottle into his backpack, a smirk playing on his lips. Without a second glance, he sauntered out of the locker room, heading to his next lecture.
As evening fell, Lex proudly presented the bottle to Jafar, anticipation dancing in his eyes. However, Jafar's reaction was not what he expected. The genie's gaze darkened, a frown creasing his brow. "You still have much to learn," Jafar's voice rumbled disapprovingly. Lex's confidence faltered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
Jafar's next words cut through the air like a knife. "A cheap plastic bottle? It seems like you snagged your slave from the discount bin of a dollar shop. We must refine your sense of style, my apprentice." Lex couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected critique, acknowledging Jafar's point with a shrug, "Fair point, Master."
And so, under Jafar's guidance, Lex's journey as a sorcerer prince continued, his magical prowess growing with each lesson learned, all while striving to match the genie's impeccable standards of sophistication and flair.
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Heeeeeeey! Sliding in just to mess up everyone’s day with another crack pot theory!
Every Targaryen after Aenys descended from a bastard.
Aegon the conqueror had two wives. Rhaenys and Visenya. Rhaenys having paramours was no secret. There were rumors of Aenys being the son of a singer or one of her other lovers. He was also noted to have a lovely singing voice and not take much after Aegon at all.
After Rhaenys’s death in Dorne, there was only one heir. Visenya was thought to be barren, and was more advanced in age. She also dabbled in sorcery, though. Which is likely how she conceived Maegor. All through the conquest and even before, no children. Only after the heavy lifting was done and Rhaenys was surrounded by other men did she have Aenys. Visenya had to resort to magic. It makes more sense for Aegon to be sterile and for Rhaenys to have had a child by someone else and for Visenya to resort to magic to conceive, than for both his wives to only have one child each, despite laying with them often.
The thing is, Aenys had the traditional Targaryen looks. No one could prove that he was not the son of Aegon just by looking at them. So no one dared to question it, as they could prove nothing.
Rhaenyra wasn’t the first Targaryen woman to pass off a bastard as trueborn. She is the first one to do it poorly. Jace was born with Harwin’s looks. Anyone with half a functioning brain wouldn’t risk anymore children by him. She didn’t need to have one in the first place. Before the time jump, she is against having children. Next thing we know, in the very next episode, she has 3. She had two heirs before Jace was even born. Aegon and Aemond. Just like Daemon was heir before Viserys named Rhaenyra to prevent Daemon from becoming king. It would have prevented the entire dance, but for some reason, even after she realized that Jace looks like Harwin and that people are talking, she decided to have two more children. With Harwin.
Also, Laenor doesn’t gladly accept them as his own. He plays his part. He even scoffs when Rhaenyra refers to them as ‘their’ children. He is willing to play his part, but he doesn’t accept them as his. He is just compliant. We see what Rhaenyra does when Laenor tries to do something she doesn’t want. She uses her station to command him. Him agreeing that the children are his in public isn’t the legal standing ground you think it is. It’s Laenor being coerced into agreeing when Rhaenyra says they are his. Not him ‘accepting them as his’. He does his best to play the role and love them as his, but he never accepts them as his children. Playing along isn’t the same thing as legally declaring them your trueborn sons.
She is also horrible to Luke. She is literally forcing him to take an inheritance HE DOES NOT WANT and furthermore HAS NO RIGHT TO because if he doesn’t, it will expose her treason. She could have had the grace to allow Vaemond to inherit Driftmark, but she was too busy ignoring her son telling her he doesn’t want it. He is 14. He’s not a young child like he was when he first told Corlys he didn’t want to inherit Driftmark. All these years, his mind never wavered. But his mother decided to traumatize everyone in the room and end a man’s life rather than just listen to him.
“I would like to thank the court for its time. I have been in council with my second born son, Lucerys Velaryon, and he has made it known that he does not wish to inherit the Driftwood Throne. He wishes for it to instead pass to Corlys’s brother, Vaemond Velaryon. We will not waste any more of the court’s time.”
Problem solved. Why is she making him take an inheritance he doesn’t want? Because of her own pride, if I had to venture a guess. Why show any ounce of diplomacy and, I don’t know, LISTEN TO YOUR CHILDREN, when you can have a man killed for fighting for what is rightfully his? She could have made many allies and shown herself a smart, cunning, caring ruler. Instead, she showed herself to be a greedy tyrant. Don’t worry, though. She doesn’t get any better later on. Maegor with teats. Except Maegor’s cruelty and madness was caused by magic and severe brain trauma, but that’s another post.
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Have you ever gone into possible hobbies that Nanami has vs Higuruma? I'm disappointed we never got to see his likes and hobbies 😭😭😭
Welcome back to another HiguNana analysis by Bree!
Unfortunately we don’t ever get to know very much about the personal interests and hobbies of Higuruma and Nanami throughout the show. They already have very little screen time and what we do see is usually pertaining only to the world of sorcery. But something that Higuruma and Nanami nation have decided is that both of these hunky men are wealthy and wealthy men have hobbies.
Like usual, these are my personal head-cannons please don’t be mad at me.
Hobbies that HiguNana have in common:
They are men of style and class, both wearing luxury suits and splurging on nice cars and watches. They adore shopping with you. They’ve worked hard in their careers to be able to afford their lifestyle and they both have the love language of gift giving. Those two things combined equals shopping trips for the two of you. They love dressing you up, watching you spin around for them. They can put their money where their mouth is. When you can’t decide which dress to buy for their work party, they say, “Just get both, darling. You can use one for a date night and one for the party.”
In a similar vein, they love traveling. And they love bringing you along. Even if it’s just a weekend getaway somewhere you’ve never been, they will book a last-minute trip and pack your bags for you. They already know your essentials and favorite outfits so you can expect your bag to be packed as soon as you get home.
Nanami’s hobbies:
Starting off with the most obvious, something we do know about Nanami is his love for reading. Before his death, he mentioned all of the books he never got around to reading. I like to think he has a home library and a wide range of taste in books from historical non-fiction to fiction fantasy books. In the mornings, he brews a cup of black coffee and sits outside, reading whatever current novel he is on before getting dressed and ready for work.
Something that we don’t have any clues for but is something that I can see fitting his character very well is a love for baking and cooking. He seems like the type of man to insist on cooking for holidays like Valentine’s Day, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. His love for pastries only signifies that he at some point has dabble in baking. Plus, he would look just adorable in an apron.
Maybe this is just me self-inserting myself but as an avid plant mother Nanami has the type of personality to be a loving plant father. He’s patient and gentle and would take the utmost care of a garden or home jungle. He could use his own fresh vegetables in his cooking!
Now, this might tie in to the shopping hobby but we all know Nanami is a man of funky ties. I could see him collecting fun ties. Shopping for other items and coming across a new pattern he has never seen before, he can’t help himself. He has a drawer only for his ties and picks them out for every occasion.
Nanami is a white collar man and who do all white collar man love? Golf. Nanami is a man of golf. It only makes sense that he would have a section of his closet dedicated to his golf attire. Many times, business deals and business meetings are done over a game of golf.
Higuruma’s hobbies:
Higuruma was much more difficult to identify some hobbies but after some deliberation, I think I’ve found a handful that I would coin. Maybe I will even write them into future Higuruma fanfics.
The first one would be poker. You can’t tell me you can’t imagine Higuruma, cigarette in mouth and whiskey on the table playing poker with a group of other lawyers in his firm. After a long and stressful day of being professional, they undo their ties and relax over a game of poker. They have enough money to make the stakes higher by adding bets and money on the line.
To me, Higuruma strikes me as a music type of guy. More specifically, old music. He has a collection of vinyls that he will pull out and show guests and more importantly, you. Weekend mornings, he heads down to the local record store and thumbs through the new albums they have in stock. He has a well up-kept vintage record player, only the finest machine to play his collection.
I honestly can’t remember if it was ever made evident in the manga that Higuruma smoked or if we all just collectively gave him that head cannon but Higuruma is a smoker. Not only a smoker but he collects cigars. Rarely does he smoke his fine cigars, only pulling them out for special occasions such as weddings or other important events.
Similarly, Higuruma is a bar hopper. Not in the same sense as a twenty-something college kid but as an established lawyer with a wealth behind him. He finds new and fun bars with good live music to sit and have a few drinks at. His favorite thing is bringing you along. He gets to hear about your day, listen to the smooth local band behind you and have a nice drink. It’s an excuse to see you dressed up in your shopping spree outfit.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#fanfic#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jjk nanami#nanami kento#higuruma hiromi#higuruma x reader#hiromi jjk#kento nanami x you#kento nanami x reader#nanami fanfic#higuruma x you#jujutsu kaisen higuruma
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hesitate ━ nanami kento
Kento moved away, refraining from looking at it any further. He didn’t want to spoil himself too much with knowledge about the upcoming book. Kento had liked to read his lover’s works for the first time on paperback. From the moment she debuted as a novelist, he had bought copies for himself and had kept it precisely arranged in the front of his book shelf - where people could view the hard work and wonder that existed in her marvelous head. That’s why he did not mind seeing her busy this time around, as long as they were together. That’s all that mattered.
GENRE: Post - Return to Jujutsu Sorcery, Late 2010s;
WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, Comfort, Sudden Marriage Proposal, Marriage, Late Night Office Romance, Acts of Love, Nanami Kento Being Devotedly In Love, Satoru Gojo Being A Really Good Friend;
main masterlist
what a wonderful world masterlist
listen: hesitate by jonas brothers
snow flower | hesitate
next: malmö i mitt hjärta
NANAMI KENTO HAD NOT EXPECTED THAT HE WOULD EVER SEE HIS LOVER IN THE STATE OF WEARINESS AS HE ENTERED HER OFFICE, LOOKING AT THE TIRED ASSISTANT WHO LED HIM INTO THE RAVAGED ROOM. The assistant bid Nanami goodbye, telling him that she would be going. Thanking her and seeing her off, Nanami had decided that it would be time to see his lover. Removing his gloves and putting it away onto his coat, he could not help but wonder what had happened in these past few days.
Coming back into the office space, Nanami looked around, finding that ink was scattered all over in the form of papers, diverged with scribbles and doodles. Metal cans of cola and energy drinks were all over the place, along with the bags of take out orders, packed away in the corners of the room. It had been a few days since he had seen her, having been left at the house to rest after a long arduous time travelling across Japan for missions as a sorcerer.
Putting down the box of cake onto the small coffee table, he could not help but sigh at the state of his dearest, sleeping with her head flat on the workstation, her hands filled with ink and the pen on her right on the side.
Her computer safely kept away opposite of her, along with a stack of papers. Leaning in, he found that it was the last chapter for the new novel she had worked on which was due later today.
“Oh….a romance novel.” Nanami whispered under his breath as he scanned the papers. He blinked. “I wonder what this is about….”
Kento moved away, refraining from looking at it any further. He didn’t want to spoil himself too much with knowledge about the upcoming book. Kento had liked to read his lover’s works for the first time on paperback.
From the moment she debuted as a novelist, he had bought copies for himself and had kept it precisely arranged in the front of his book shelf - where people could view the hard work and wonder that existed in her marvelous head. That’s why he did not mind seeing her busy this time around, as long as they were together. That’s all that mattered.
That had been the best part of his life, his day to day. His every holiday season. Nanami Kento had the love of his life with him, smiling and crying together. Living this life together, come what may. That was all that mattered in the end.
Smiling, he could not help appreciate how their relationship had been cultivated by winter. It meant the world to him to know that their love blossomed through the cold harsh winter winds, to form a loving warmth that no one else could match. Those winters with her had made him the happiest, the happiest he could have been in his entire life.
Memories flooded back in a warm winter spring, a warm flower blossoming into this heart at the wonder that he had found with having first kissed her in winter, he had admitted to her his love for her in winter. And now, he breathed the warm air around her sleeping figure at the cusp of cold winter outside this space they now claimed. Kento gazed at her warmly, his fondness never leaving his eyes at the calm he felt at her moment of sleep.
Her hair was striking upwards, as though thunder had made it puffy. She looked almost like a poodle. Her long sleeved sweater was no longer prim as it warmed her body, wrinkled. Nanami had disliked that sweater, he found it ugly with its overabundance in bright bold colors.
But she liked it so much, because it was unique and new. Gojo had given her the gift, promptly handing her the designer paper bag with a grin. It had been earlier this year, when he had come to visit the two of them all of the sudden after returning from an overseas trip.
She laughed so hard, calling it beautiful soon after. Gojo had made her promise to wear it sometime this Christmas and send him and his wife a picture. But Nanami had tried to coax her not to wear it, but she insisted. The blond could only sigh as he eyed his lover.
Nanami had always found that eccentric nature attractive, even though he had a hard time comprehending the things she likes as beautiful at times. True love doesn’t let those quirks ruin what is so beautiful. At least that’s what he believes.
“You really are something..” He couldn’t help but smile at her sleeping figure. Taking his coat off and placing it on top of her body, he watched her face move slightly, lips mumbling. She was still so adorable to him in this state, the serenity of the workplace made her shine even more. His finger touched her cheek. “You worked hard this year, min elskede.”
Nanami smiled once more before standing up and stretching. He had gotten off work late last night, perhaps it was even morning already. He could not recall, as he was more determined to get it done as soon as possible, eager to spend time with his lover on the special day.
He wasn’t supposed to even be on call yesterday, preoccupying himself with sending off a homemade meal for his lover and soon deciding to plan what they should eat for Christmas. But having received the call from Gojo as he was shopping around for ingredients - he quickly rushed home and put the dishes away and changed into his work attire.
Patiently going through work and reporting it back to Jujutsu High, Nanami Kento had found that she had not messaged him back and not even read his messages. Getting home, he took a moment to shower and soon after, dressed and rested for a few hours. When the blond opened his brown eyes, he realized he had to come and cook dinner for the two of them.
Usually, the two of them spent time across the seas into the very depths of the Danish countryside with the rest of their families. Kento had missed Denmark from time to time as much as his lover. The wonder in the quiet, one could feel at peace. There was something about waking up together, seeing snow lovingly onto the figure of spruce trees.
The winter flowers blossoming beside the cold. Kento missed walking across the frozen landscape to play with his nieces and nephews, while his lover giggled at the sight of him being such a playful bear, with his arms wrapping around the children as he chased them.
The warmth of being together as the family sang carols together with the strumming of guitar strings and the light tapping of feet across the strong wooden floors. His hands intertwined with hers, giggling together as they danced to the old records his grandfather had put on.
But there was nothing that could be done. Life goes on. As he blended the chicken onto the luscious greens, he told himself off and should not lament. They could go next year. There will always be time. Besides, Kento was sure that their apartment would have enough space to dance to some Vera Lynn too. They can still sing Christmas carols and be happy together. It would be more than enough to be happy. As long as they are together.
By the time Kento finished the dishes, he realized that they had no cake yet. Checking his watch, he also realized that his lover should be home by now. Brows furrowed worriedly as he took a deep breath. The blond removed the apron from the confines of his body and hung it over into the hook. He should go pick up the cake on the way and find his lover and take her home.
Which is why he was here now.
Nanami did not have the heart to wake her. She looked absolutely tired, groaning in her sleep - which she usually only does when she was overworked. Kento moved to find paper bags in one of her storage cabinets, where he put the cans away, arranging them as neatly as he could. They could put them away later in the recycling bins on their way home. Carefully, he gathered the lunch packs he had sent her and put them in the eco bag. He’ll wash it at home.
The rest of the takeaways, he put it away into the trash bag and arranged them properly into it before tying it tightly and putting it beside the cans. He put away the papers on the coffee table, near the paper bag which contained the strawberry cheesecake, which was her favorite. Grabbing some wipes at the storage cabinet, he eagerly removed the mess of the ink and threw them away into the trash bin. Marveling for a moment, he felt proud. His lover will have a good environment to wake up to.
As Kento cleared his hands clean with alcohol, he heard the small hum that echoed across the quiet and realized that his lover was now starting to wake up. When she lifted her head slowly, he could feel the tired shifting of her eyes. Soon enough, those beautiful eyes gazed at him, standing there with a small smile. Eyes widened at the sight of the blond man, wearing a warm turtle neck long sleeve and comfortable black chino trousers. Sitting up, his lover felt the coat softly fall against the chair as she straightened her back.
“Ah!” She squirmed in a panic, fearing that she would wrinkle the coat. Kento let out a small laugh. She always disliked seeing anything wrinkled. Her pout was evident as she took it and tried to ensure the straightness with her soft hands. “Don’t laugh at me! I don’t want this wrinkled!”
“It won’t make a difference. You slouch too much too, you wrinkled your sweater.” He points out, earning another sound of panic from her. His lover stood, rushing to the wall mirror where she forced the cloth to straighten. Her eyes widened at her looks. “It’s fine, you don’t have to obsess with it. You still look nice.”
“I need to fix myself! Ahhhhhh, what do I do? I look like a tired hag!”
“You seem fine to me–”
“You’re used to seeing this monster, the world isn’t!” He watched his lover reach for her bag, which rested on the small couch. Taking out her make-up pouch, Nanami caught her wrist. She looked at her lover, her face in a panic. “What? I need to fix myself for a bit! You need to let me go!”
“We’re the only ones having dinner anyway….besides, you look pretty like this to me.”
“We’re going to call our family, I need to look nice. My brother will be teasing me for looking so tired if I don’t!”
“I can tell him off, don’t worry.” He pulls her close, wrapping her arms around her small frame. He felt her body turn warmer when he placed a kiss at the back of her neck. “You worked hard these past few days after all, min elskede.”
“Still…..I need to–” She frees herself from his grasp, face hidden against her makeup bag. Kento watched as she managed to rush towards the bathroom space, locking the door hastily. The blond was confused at her sudden action, body still aching the loss of her warmth. He sighed, lowering his hands onto his sides.
Kento could hear her cry out in embarrassment as she told herself off. Piercing his lips into a flat line, he could not help but feel a bit sad at the thought that she had to feel embarrassed that she looked like that. In his head, he found nothing imperfect about her. Not her sleeping face, not her eccentric quirks. Nothing. He loved her for everything. Everything about her is what turned his shape into love.
When he had told her about his involvement in the world of sorcery, she had reassured her that even though she did not understand, she would be there for him. To hold him if it got too hard and his heart bled with sorrow. If his scars would come and drain him of his strength, she would do all she could do to heal him. She did not care. Only that he came home to her at the end of the day. That’s all she asked.
He could feel his heartbeat jump at the thought of her.
That’s why when she had gotten out of the bathroom, he had wrapped his arms around her as he did earlier. But this time, it was tighter. Without the semblance of desire to let her go.
“Kento….” She whispered, feeling the blond’s chin rest against her shoulder.Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes slightly to meet his. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t have to feel embarrassed about anything. You are so beautiful to me, min elskede.” He told her softly, as he felt her lean her head against his cheek. “You worked hard these few days. This entire year. You are so amazing. That’s why whatever you do, it’s beautiful to me. It’s worth loving you everyday to me.”
His hands slid onto her arms and soon intertwined with hers. Soon enough, she could feel her heart rumbling into such a thunderous rush at the feeling of his body against her. At his hands loving the etches of her own. Her thumbs brushed against his loving skin, declaring her love softly with every brush of her touch. A small breath rushes out of her as he kisses her shoulder.
“I want to take care of you, every day.” Kento admits to her, a tone of tenderness escaped him. “I’m not always around and I fear everyday that maybe, I will never come home to you–”
Her eyes filled with despair suddenly at his words. “Don’t say that! That’s not going to happen.”
“But…” He continues, not letting her words fester more feeling. He wanted her to focus on her love for him. On her love for their love. His thumb consoles her skin in return. “I want to love you every day. To show you my devotion. Here, helping you and taking care of you after a tiring day at work. It’s part of that too. You do that for me too. So don’t be embarrassed about anything. I’ll love you, whatever happens. Everyday, I’ll love you.”
There were no words that came out of her. Only small breaths, trembling ensuing across her skin. Nanami turned his eyes toward her as he lifted his chin from her shoulder. He worried that she was about to cry. His fears were confirmed when he felt the tears fall onto the flooring. He turned her around and wrapped his arms around her.
“Oh, min elskede.” He cooed softly, rubbing his hand against her back. He felt the tears stain his clothes, but that didn’t matter. It will dry on its own. “Let it out. It’s okay.”
“You’re not leaving me. You aren’t allowed to leave me. I won’t let you.” She whispers, huffing away her tears. “You’re gonna be with me until your hair turns grey.”
He laughs at her words, nodding happily. “Of course I will be. I’ll continue to hug you like this every day even if we’re old. I’ll take care of you like this too.”
“Tomorrow….” She mumbles as Nanami releases her and looks at her face. He wiped away the remaining tears from the face he had come to love with all his heart.
“Hm?”
“Let’s get married tomorrow.” She tells him, determination in her eyes. He blinked, taken by surprise. She took his hands into her own.
"Huh?"
“I know we haven’t talked about it….but I…I want to do it. I want to have you forever by my side. On paper, with the ring, with the vow, with the name. I just want you. Forever…..and if you aren’t ready, we can wait. I know this might be out of the ordinary but I just–”
He had shut her up with his lips meeting her own. Hands bringing her face closer, her arms naturally wrapped her body closer to his. It was everything, that moment. The sweetness of so many years of love blossoming so wonderfully as a garden only for them.
In the passion that passed through them, Kento felt so many thoughts and then none – but all he knew was that he loved this woman. He loved her so much. So tenderly, so lovingly and he could not let her go. Never could he let her go.
When they let go of each other, catching their breaths, they could only stare into the universes that came with the deep seas of each other’s orbs. Hearts beating as one, there was only that as a rhythm to dance to.
It was the best melody, the only sound to forever dance to. This love was the best music, the best art, the best creation. He felt his lips echo a giggle, the happiest one he let out in his entire life. Her own laughter, the wonder of nature, made him even happier.
“Yes.” Kento echoed, resting her forehead against his with his hands. “Yes. Everyday, yes.”
Her giggles intensified as she used her arms to capture him once again onto her warmth. “I love you. I love you. So much.”
Nanami Kento laughed heartily. “I love you too. Always.”
Kento remembered his grandfather saying that there were always three chances in this life for every human being. Kento took that to heart when he was a young boy, sitting on the lap of the elder. He believed that, truly.
Kento figured out at that very moment what his chances were.
Meeting her.
Getting to love her.
Marrying her.
Nanami Kento was not one to hesitate.
Smiling at her, he had no regrets set in stone.
He was happy.
WHEN KENTO HAD ANSWERED THE DOOR, HE FOUND A BOX ADDRESSED TO HIS WIFE. He could not help but let out a small smile at the thought of people, including him addressing her as such. His wife, his darling. His min elskede. As he carried it in, the shine of his wedding ring glistened against the dimly lit entrance to the house.
Putting his house slippers on, Kento promptly entered the main house again. He rarely wore his wedding ring, wearing it only when they were together. He feared that he would lose it when he would go off into battle. It was one of his most cherished treasures. So he takes care of it, as though he was a servant of the heavens, keeping the altar of the gods safe from the fine dust.
Placing it onto the table, he wondered what it was. Usually, his wife would tell him if she had purchased something and when it would be delivered. But as she lounged in the shower, coming home after meeting up with her team to celebrate her nuptials, Kento would have to wait until she could confirm what it was.
So he decided he would start with making their dinner. After all, it was his turn to make her feel full with nourishments when she had been cooking all week for him. He had been going overtime at work again, unfortunately.
Their wedding had been an affair that only the two of them and a few were privy to. After spending a happy evening engaged, eating the food Nanami had prepared for the two of them, they had a wonderful night just embraced in each other’s arms. They made arrangements, calling Gojo and his wife who came by early that day to cheer them on and celebrate.
It was thanks to Gojo that the process had been rushed, managing to help out with the paperwork and signing on as a witness to their marriage.
Waking up the next morning, Kento wore a navy colored suit and his fiancee - a simple white dress. Hand in hand, grins reaching from ear to ear - the pair went to the Danish embassy to fill out some forms. His fiancee was excited, eagerly signing much of the paperwork with a smile on her face. The staff felt the jubilance that echoed from the couple, handing them the document and wished them all the best on their marriage.
She had been surprised about how quickly it all went. They submitted much of the paperwork and were greeted by the registry office staff kindly. Many people were there too, marrying just like they were. But despite that, much of the day went smoothly and about an hour later, as they both spoke of the upcoming future as husband and wife, it all became reality.
Though they came back a few weeks later about paperwork, that did not matter. As they stood together, giving each other a magnificent silver band, the two of them were declared husband and wife.
Their parents were jumping up in joy as they declared their marriage to them over a video call, as the two ate the food they both cooked that day when they got home from the registry. Especially the fathers who made a bet about when it would happen.
Kento’s father groaned loudly, handing a thousand kroner to his new in-law, who was laughing as he waved the money. They talked quite about what happens now, especially with where they would live and joint bank accounts. Living arrangements wasn’t going to be hard as they lived together, but now much paperwork was done to change certain things like names.
The newlyweds talked with their parents about marriage ceremonies, now that they were officially married in the eyes of the law. The parents suggested a traditional wedding to happen in Japan and in Denmark, but the married couple are still trying to work things out especially with their work and the logistics of bringing people in and out of the country. They postponed that idea for now. What mattered was that they were married.
“Oh, you started.” She tweeted happily as she hovered behind her husband, wrapping her arms around him. The smell of curry danced around the apartment, the spices enticing her senses. “Wah, what a husband I have!”
“I’m happy to take care of you, wife.” He replies to her, causing her to giggle and kiss the small of his back. “You had better dry your hair well. You’ll get a headache.”
“Yes, yes, spouse of mine.” She saluted at him, showing him the small towel which she used to dry the dampness away.
“Oh, a package arrived for you. It’s on the coffee table.”
“Ohhhhh!” She cheered as she rushed to the couch with a pair of scissors. Sitting comfortably, she sat down and used the scissors.
“Please be careful with the scissors!”
“Yes, husband of mine!” She giggled, opening the package wide and gasping happily, taking out the item from the box. “It’s here!”
“What is it?” Kento came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her upper body. She turned to him with stars in her eyes. She kissed his cheek. “You’re excited.”
“Because it came!” She says, patting the empty space beside her. “Come here!”
Kento obliged his wife and sat beside her comfortably. She handed him the item – a book, causing him to look at her. She grinned at him, pointing at the printing in the front. Looking at it carefully, his eyes widened like an owl in the wilderness.
His eyes gazed at her, love emitting widely for his magnificent bride. He put the book back onto the coffee table and wrapped his arms around her.
“You changed your last name? You didn’t have to, min elskede.” He asked her as she nodded against him. “When did you do that?”
“When I did the residency paperwork.” She grinned at him once they parted. “Then I contacted my writing agent and they let me change my last name here too!”
“This is just….” He sighed, before smiling joyously. “This is just a wonderful present…. You didn’t have to.”
“I did it because I love you. And I know you would be happy. Besides, it makes me happy to know that we are one, even in name. I wanted people to know that too…” She picks up the book and opens it, resting her hand onto the page. “This story, it’s about us. I didn’t use our names of course and some things are different, but this is about us. This is the story of us. About how we didn’t hesitate and how we just let love win.”
Handing it to Kento, he grinned at his wife and she urged him on, to read the paragraph.
‘To my husband, the moon and stars, my everything;
I love you very much. Thank you for choosing me everyday.
I choose you too, everyday.
Jeg elsker dig!
わたしは、あなたを愛しています!’
Nanami Kento felt like he was going to cry right there and there. His heart was beating out of his chest, as though it was flying to the glorious sun where the beauty of all life shone. His hands took his wife’s chin, urging her closer and placed kisses all over her.
She laughed happily, feeling her senses feel so much adoration. Kento soon let his lips gather against her own, with her joy letting her push and kiss him back with just as much love and passion.
Life was good.
Life was happiness.
This was his paradise.
This was his everything.
That’s what he thought at Shibuya too.
Smiling at the devastated Yuji.
‘Ah, I lived a good life.’
writer's notes:
nanami does not die in this series!!! it would be explained in malmö i mitt hjärta and elaborated on in us and them, which is my current gojo fic.
nanami's wife speaks and writes in a couple of languages. but she specifically learned japanese to speak and write more in depth with him. its what got her the job that transferred her to japan.
nanami was the one who encouraged his wife to become a writer. he read her short stories and told her they were very good. she didn't believe him, but she got her first book deal the same year.
as mentioned before, nanami's wife is a big workaholic. i wanted to write more about that. nanami often worries about her eating well during her writing season.
nanami's wife has at least five books published but this book about her and nanami would be her most successful book to date.
gojo satoru and his wife are very close with nanami and his wife, however nanami's wife and gojo's wife, genmei, get along even better. they co-chair the nanami club. gojo satoru is very jealous about this.
nanami respects genmei more than satoru as a senpai and is close friends with her protege, mikoto nobuhiko. they were first years together with haibara.
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk fic#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk#nanami kento#nanami jjk#nanami kento x you#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami kento x reader#jjk kento#kento nanami#jujutsu nanami#jjk nanami
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Terrible Fic Idea #52: Targaryen Restoration, but make it magical
I have approximately a thousand and one thoughts about Brynden Rivers. This is less to do with his position as The Three-Eyed Raven and more to do with all he accomplished before becoming part of a tree - becoming Hand of the King, playing a key role in defeating three Blackfyre Rebellions; becoming Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. In addition to being a master of realpolitik, he is an example of everything Jon Snow could have become in a world where Rhaegar won.
So, naturally, my mind took all the things I love about Bloodraven, mixed in a little TH White, and came up with: What if Brynden Rivers got to be House Targaryen's Merlin - and its King Arthur?
Aka: The Shiera Snowbird Fic
Just imagine it:
Everything in Robert's Rebellion happens as per canon - save Rhaegar gets his Visenya. Or, more accurately, his Shiera, as Lyanna's daughter is born with all of her mother's beauty and a pair of mismatched eyes: one lilac, one dove grey.
Shiera Snow, as she is called, is raised as Ned Stark's bastard in Winterfell. Like her namesake, she becomes a great reader, found more often in the company of the Maester than any of her half-siblings, and by the time of Jon Arryn's death there are rumors she has become a sorceress of the blackest arts.
These rumors are fueled in part by Lady Catelyn, who sees Shiera's great beauty and fears she will use it to seduce her way into Robb's inheritance, and in part because of Shiera herself, who seeks out the Witches of the Wolfswood and keeps no gods.
The truth is rather different - Shiera is a budding greenseer, haunted by dreams she can't explain - dreams of the Long Night and an albino man with a red birthmark crying out to her for help. In her search for explanations, she's dived further into the esoteric than any in the North have in years but found none of the answers she seeks.
When Ned goes south, Shiera heads north, eventually crossing the Wall and reaching the cave of the three-eyed raven. She rescues a surprisingly youthful Brynden Rivers from the roots of weirwood trees and destroys the Children of the Forest who were keeping him hostage, using the magic of his Blackwood and Targaryen blood to hasten the return of the Others and the destruction of mankind.
While canon proceeds elsewhere - Ned is executed, the War of Five Kings rages, Daenerys becomes the Mother of Dragons - Brynden teaches Shiera the secrets of sorcery and reveals her Targaryen ancestry. Together they work to ensure the success of Dany and Young Griff's actions in Essos - and the downfall of their enemies in Westeros.
Dany and Young Griff - who truly is Aegon VI - join forces, wed, and reconquer most of Westeros, which is too divided to stand against them.
Eventually Dany and Aegon make their way North to determine why no word has been heard from the Kingdom since a single bloodied missive was sent to King's Landing by the Boltons some years before - and why no messengers who pass The Neck return alive. They and their armies learn that the Wall has fallen and the Others have overrun most The North.
They're almost equally surprised to find Bloodraven and Shiera - by this point called Snowbird for the snow buntings she wargs into - leading a group of survivors in the ruins of Winterfell.
An extended War for the Dawn sequence follows, with Aegon VI proving to be Azor Ahai reborn, Dany agreeing to die so that Lightbringer can be reforged, and Aegon dying in battle with the Night's King.
Brynden and Shiera, whose magic was instrumental in defeating the Others, are now the last of Targaryen blood left alive. Only they can control the dragons Dany brought into the world. They are crowned King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms somewhat against their own desires, but well aware that the civil war that would follow if they refused would decimate an already destroyed realm.
What follows shouldn't quite be a golden age, but should be an age of great renewal and rebirth - a Renaissance, if the Renaissance included the return of magic.
Bonuses include: 1) Everything about Shiera Snowbird echoing Shiera Seastar, intentionally or unintentionally, with at least half the accusations of sorcery against her in her youth coming more from male fear of an educated woman and female jealousy of her beauty; 2) Unlike everyone else, Bloodraven should find only surface similarities between his half-sister and great-niece, and be repeatedly heard to say they are very different people; 3) Brynden and Shiera's relationship starting very much on mentor-mentee footing, which slowly evolves into friendship and true respect. The romance between them should be very late to the game and only come after Brynden realizes that the relationship he had with Shiera Seastar was deeply unhealthy; 4) As much magic as can be shoehorned into the world, with more magic being capable the more people believe - and the stronger Dany's dragons become; and 5) The triumph of practical, pragmatic politics over all else.
And that's all I have for this plot bunny. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it.
Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother | Rhaegar the Righteous | River Queen | Shiera Snowbird
More Terrible Fic Ideas
#plot bunny#fic ideas#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#female jon snow#jon snow#jon snow is a targaryen#brynden rivers#brynden x shiera#bloodraven#daenerys targeryan#aegon vi targaryen#house targaryen#long night#white walkers#targaryen dynasty#return of magic#azor ahai#three eyed raven#got#asoiaf
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very funny that if we judge by all the things we ever actually see thor use mjolnir (a powerful and versatile magical tool, not just a weapon) for, he knows exactly two kinds of magic:
extremely advanced and powerful atmospheric magic ranging from flying to controlling lightning to summoning tornados
how to change into cooler clothes
#space viking tag#lmao#um no i CANT do magic that's for GIRLS. with two obvious exceptions: killing ppl and looking hot while doing it#meta#ch: thor#th: sorcery#th: mjolnir#th: gender + sexuality
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Jujutsu Kaisen, Chapter 202 Thoughts.
The most interesting aspect of Kenjaku as a character to me, is how much he is a hypocrite to his own stated ideals. He claims that everything he does, torturing Choso’s mother, dragging innocents off into the Culling Games, and even threatening to feed practically every non-sorcerer to Japan into a cursed spirit is because of his desire to see something new and outside of his predictions and control, but Kenjaku himself is a control freak. Kenjaku and Tengen are the focus of this week’s chapter, and they foil each other in an interesting way because they are both hypocrites.
1. Kenjaku the abusive Father (And Mother).
Before I start writing letmeexplain the title. Kenjaku is literally an abusive parent because he abandoned Choso and his brothers after deeming them failures, and also treats Yuji as his expendable tool. Kenjaku is also metahorically an abusive parents, because he’s a representative of a pattern within Jujutsu Society as a whole.
What is an abusive parent, if not someone who is supposed to protect and raise a child, but neglects that duty and harms them instead?
The central conflict of Jujutsu Kaisen, and the ideals that Gojo and his students are fighting for is that the previous generation shouldn’t be harm the youth. Jujutsu Society is one where the children instead of being raised and protected are treated as expendable, and often harmed so the old guard can remain in power.
This is repeated in many of the backstories of the characters. For instance, if you want an extremely direct exmaple Ogi the parent of both Maki and Maiblames his lack of sucess on the family head on his “worthless children.” Rather than Ogi serving his duty as a parent protecting and raising both of his daughters, he thinks his daughters exist for his own sake.
The microcosm of parental abuse in a single household, is also a metaphor for the macorcosm of the ills of Jujutsu Society as a hole, children are continually sacrificed instead of being raised. Children exsit to serve the elders, the elders don’t put any thought into raising the next generation.
The discussion of this chapter consists of Tengen, and Kenjaku, both being entities that regularly use children for their own sake. Tsukumo directly calls this out, Tengen was willing to accept child sacrifices for generations. When it failed however, it turned out she (They?) didn’t even need to do them in the first place that they were capable of living on without sacrifices.
Which means the children weren’t sacrificed because it was an absolute necessity, but rather repeating this pattern in Jujutsu Society that children must continually give up their youths and everything else, to protect the current status quo and the people in power. Riko is the ultimate metaphor for a lost youthin the series. Everything about the current conflict went wrong starting with Riko’s death.
If Riko had lived, Geto would never have become disillusioned with the sorcery world. If Riko had lived, Geto and Gojo wouldn’t have fallen into conflict, eventually resulting in Geto’s death, and Kenjaku taking over his body. RIko is important because she’s a metaphor for Maki, for Mai, for Megumi, for Yuji, for Nobara, for Yuta, for Inumaki, she is another child who just wanted to live out the days of her youth and grow up. Riko had the right to grow up and live in the future and be surrounded by friends just like everyone else, but Tengen considers her ultimately expendable.
Why is Tengen more important than Riko? Because she’s immortal? Because she’s powerful? If Tengen was capable of evolving all along then there was no reason Riko had to die, and yet Tengen simply accepted both Riko and every single sacrifice before her as inevitable, because that is status quo, because that keeps the power in the hands of the powerful.
Toji, the one who killed Riko was also created by the abuse of the previous generation on the next one. If Toji had been accepted by the Zenin clan rather than continually punished for simply being born as he was, he could have been as powerful and as great a sorcerer as Gojo, and instead abused and harassed all his life he turns into the immoral sorcerer killer. Yet another person sacrificed pointlessly, because the old guard wants to resist change.
Here is where, Kenjaku and Tengen might seem to be opposites, but they are in fact exactly the same. They claim to represent opposite ideas, Kenjaku desires a world of unpredictability and change.
But, Kenjaku ignores the fact that he never lets things grow and change on their own. He essentially takes a stranglehold on things with all of his manipulation. He always has to be the one in power, he has to be the one inciting change. He even says he wants to bring up something he can’t imagine, but in the same breath he then says he’s going to put the world back to the way it used to be in the golden age of sorcerers.
Tengen is an all knowing entity, he talks about everything that’s predetermined and destined. Everything is inevtiable. Nothing can be helped.
Kenjaku and Tengen seem to represent opposites, a pre-determined fate, and a future of possibilities and chaos beyond imagination, but they actually do the exact same thing. They are both, continually sacrificing children in the name of a status quo. They both act like all-knowing, all-seeing entities, who really just repeat the way things are. It can be seen in the difference between the way Kenjaku and Choso regard Choso and his siblings. Kenjaku expected great things from them, and then immediately gave up on them and lost interest because they were too normal. He made no effort at all in nurturing them. Choso says he wanted cursed spirits to evolve along with sorcerers, but he literally ate all of his cursed spirit allies, including Mahito, before they even had a chance to change.
Whereas, Choso’s ideals are the opposite of Kenjaku’s entirely, and fall in line with what Gojo is fighting for. While Kenjaku neglects his duty as a parent and sees his children as existing only as tools for his own benefit, abandoning them immediately when they stop being useful, all of Choso’s pride comes from his role as a big brother, and his duty he has in protecting his younger brothers.
Choso argues back, that his role as the oldest to nurture the younger ones that come after him. Whether eh’s superior or inferior, whether he makes terrible mistakes he’s always going to serve as an example, that’s why he does everything he does for the sake of the ones younger than him.
Therefore we have two confrontations this chapter, Tsukumo Yuki and Choso both believe that it is their duty and responsibility towards others to try and protect and not forget the younger and more helplessly lives.
Then there are Kenjaku and Tengen who have already written those people off as expendable. The former is capable of imagining a better world, while the latter will always be stuck and stagnant due to their lack of imagination.
#jjk 202#jjk meta#jujutsu kaisen 202#jujutsu kaisen meta#jujutsu kaisen#kenjaku#noritoshi kamo#tengen#tsukumo yuki#choso
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Class Feature Friday: Diabolic Bloodline (Pathfinder Second Edition Sorcerer Bloodline)
(art by telthona on DeviantArt)
We’re ending off this week with another Second Edition bloodline for the sorcerer class, and we’ve got another one that changed it’s name between editions. So far it’s been Celestial to Angelic, Abyssal to Demonic, and now Infernal to today’s subject, the Diabolic bloodline.
I imagine that the reason for these name changes is purely out of a desire to be more specific about where the power is coming from, particularly if they plan to add other outsider bloodlines to the mix, such as an archon, agathion, and azata bloodline, or an asura or qlippoth bloodline. (They haven’t yet for those examples, but that’s my best running theory since the fiasco with WOTC and the OGL happened long after 2E launched. So it’s not like we’re assuming they needed to change names to future-proof for legal reasons).
In any case, the diabolic bloodline! As the name suggests, this bloodline is the result of the work of devils. Perhaps the sorcerer’s ancestor had a dalliance with such a being, or maybe the ancestor made a dark bargain which bled over into their descendant (and the devil in question might even claim a hold over the sorcerer as an additional beneficiary, regardless if there was anything in the contract that permits this.) Or maybe they were simply born under an unfavorable planar conjuction or near a wellspring of hellish power.
Regardless of the source, these mystics often inherit more than a diabolic silver tongue. They may manifest horns, the smell of sulfer, features tied to a specific type of devil, or perhaps something as innocuous as a habit of viewing social interactions through the lens of transactions and contracts, even when it is to their detriment to do so.
Naturally, however, it is up to the sorcerer to decide how to use their power, and we’ll see exactly what that power can do!
Like other outsider-based bloodlines we’ve seen before, this bloodline channels divine magic, but they also have access to various fire spells, ranging from simple bolts of fire to rolling spheres and even a rain of fiery meteors. They also have several spells that bend the mind to better receive the sorcerer or crush them with despair. Finally, they have some spells that grant them a measure of diabolic senses, as well as the ability to invoke their infernal power with a word of power or aura.
They also gain useful focus spells, such as the flexible power to deliver edicts that bolster allies that obey them or weaken enemies that disregard them, followed by the ability to take on a fiendish aspect which grants resistances to things devils usually ignore at the cost of a vulnerability to flame, and finally, the ability to conjure forth a pillar-like eruption of hellfire to scorch the body and souls of your foes.
Their blood magic is pretty versatile too, allowing them to either lace their spells with additional fire, or empower their words with additional deceit after casting.
Naturally, plenty of sorcerer feats work well with this bloodline. Beyond the obvious ones that improve the bloodline itself, things like Blessed Blood, Counterspell, Dangerous Sorcery, Familiar, Anoint Ally, Enhanced Familiar, Entreat with Forebears, Divine Evolution, Elaborate Flourish, Diverting Vortex, Steady Spellcasting, Soulsight, Quickened Casting, Greater Spiritual Evolution, Interweave Dispel, Reflect Spell, Greater Vital Evolution, and Bloodline Mutation. Of course, other feats may appeal to you and your build.
There are plenty of ways that the diabolic bloodline reflects it’s predecessor, with the fire and hellfire, manipulation, and so on, and I am happy that for the most part the classic 1e sorcerer “first level mildly debilitating melee touch attack” thing has remained in the past. Sadly, it does vex me that it takes being level 20 to get permanent wings, assuming you even take bloodline mutation and not something else. In any case, however, this bloodline for a combination blaster and magical manipulator, so I would recommend building with blasting, battlefield control, and of course enchantments and illusions.
It can be very tempting to play these sorcerers as sinister and Machiavellian, and if that suits you, absolutely go for it. Alternately, perhaps they chafe under the double-speak that others expect of them and are surprisingly blunt. Or maybe they are perfectly honest individuals but make everything sound like a double entendre or clever wordplay as a verbal tic with no real knowledge they’re doing it. That could make for an amusing time, certainly.
Due to a diabolic attack while they were growing a new body, the ghorus seed of Redrose was soaked in diabolic ichor, marking it with fiendish power. Luckily, there was no damage or monstrous corruption, but they returned sporting command over fiendish magic. While still coming to terms with this change, they’ve taken to calling themselves Hellrose now.
The Hellbore, a mighty infernal lance tip or perhaps drill of immense size, is one of the few remnants of an invasion from the infernal plane not reclaimed by the ages. The inside of the weapon still seethes with diabolic power, including several incantations that have broken free of their original purpose as living runes. Most rip apart intruders and explorers with sadistic glee, but a rare few they instead take interest in, and invest their power into whether the mortal desires it or not.
Though he is ancient beyond measure, the First Devil, the ruler of their kind, is not all-knowing, and some important things they have forgotten, such as a tryst with a mortal witch that caught their eye during the earliest days of man, and a prophecy that only a descendant of theirs can truly end their reign. So emerges Koel Pitdas, the one who will defeat the great evil for good, if he can accept the ramifications of his family tree.
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ODE TO THE SALON (BLUE MAGIC)
Washed, stretched, no oils— all plans cancelled for today.
You trek to auntie in old trackies and a beanie with your survival kit:
Earphones and snacks shoved into a bag,
Next to 4 packs of 1b and clear gloss.
The marketplace is only a skeleton of itself when you arrive,
You pass by crates of fresh fruit and fake fendi as the streets pulse to life.
The vendors nod at you as they chat in the frosty morning glow
and you smile back, praying you don’t run into someone you know.
Auntie’s late (but that goes without saying).
You’re seated at her altar, neck braced, playlist loaded.
She turns moses, parting 4c with a rat tail comb
And your open palms face the sky with synthetic hair laced between your fingers.
The small girl next to you marvels at how you stay x-pressionless throughout.
She has not yet learned to swallow pain so yelps and cries,
Envying her brothers who have turned the shop floor into a wrestling ring.
They roll around on a sea of knotted hair, in dishevelled uniforms and overgrown taper fades.
Their mother tries to scold them for half an hour before giving up,
Instead focusing on the tv as her red-black hair is layered and smoothed with molten tongs.
Tendrils of smoke are released with each sizzle and clink,
Curling between her and the pixelated faces of nollywood on the screen.
The smell of burning is a comfort to you now,
Child embraced by the warmth of a village who sets itself alight.
Even fire can be a kindness when welcomed,
She heats hair masks under plastic bags and sears coils straight when asked.
Someone is playing music from home and it rings out tinny from an old samsung.
Lingala, yoruba, patois— bodies sway to the beats regardless.
Your hips are all polyglot in rhythm,
And somehow the crying baby drifts off to this and the sound of a blow dryer.
Auntie says you’re tall and quiet, like her daughter back home.
You realise then why her hands are so tender on your head
And wonder if she always looks for her babies in the scalps of strangers,
Sees a mirage of them in oil flecked reflections as her bones twist coarse tresses day after day.
The blue magic your own mother cast when you were small still lingers.
You notice the teenage boy getting cornrows can’t understand the sorcery in this place.
He stares at the floor as his head is pulled and frowns at all the shouting,
Unburnt ears alien to these sharp incantations of love.
You were the same when first you sat in the chair,
Milk teeth of a wide tooth comb and nintendo to keep you busy.
You flinched at the raised voices, gazing at girls on pretty n silky boxes,
Secretly hoping pink lotion might make you look like them.
You’d sit patiently by the nail bar as your mum retouched,
Nose crinkled at the chemicals while she assured you she’d be done soon.
Sweet fried dumplings and curry goat from next door were your reward and sometimes,
The man selling watered down perfume would spritz the air just to humour you.
Your mum always announced if something hurt her,
And swatted the acrylic capped fingers from her head like mosquitos.
You used to wonder if your voice would grow in after your big teeth did,
But you still hold your tongue when pain comes from hands that could love you.
Now, the cacophony of the salon is a familiar melody and you know the choreography.
Eyes plié when the husband-landlord walks in heavy and italic,
Lowering all chatter to a murmur as he demands cash from his wife.
She hands it over with a painted smile and he slams the door on his way out.
The stony interlude is short-lived because we practise alchemy through laughter here:
Auntie makes a quip about his bad breath and tension surrenders to joy.
In this coven, mens anger is snuffed out like flyaways under clouds of mousse,
Rendered lifeless by protection runes hidden in the creases of weathered palms.
The women swap stories over your head in kintsugi english,
Kissing teeth and gesturing wildly with dollops of shine ‘n jam on the back of their hands.
You understand now that wisdom is being sewn in as well as tracks,
And tuck their fables behind your ear for times yet to come like seeds in damp ground.
Finally, when the sun has melted to dusk, the water is set to boil.
You are placed under the dryer and stretch out your stiff fingers.
Auntie swoops your baby hairs after the sweet olive spray,
And warns you that it’s berry cold outside as you hug.
You leave: braids dripping, scalp sore,
Kink in your neck and pep in step.
At school, your friends would marvel as you showed off the clean parts,
While the other kids asked to pull and prod.
For the next two weeks, you’ll be vigilant with the scarf at night
And not think about the next style until new growth turns the knotless to a blur.
A few months from now, the man in the hair shop will follow you down aisles
And you’ll call up auntie again to hear her psalm, words a mosaic with veins of gold:
I’m fine. How’s mummy?
(I love you)
Which hair you want?
(I love you)
Send picture.
(I love you)
You have the hair?
(I love you)
Ok, come 9.
s.o.
#original poem#poem#poetry#writing#black poetry#black poets on tumblr#spoken word#afro hair#black girl magic#black culture#4c hair#black women#sharloola
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Thanks for answering my last ask, because well… I’ve been going by the book for literally EVERY CARD, pulling muddled readings 60% and then pulling more cards when cards don’t make sense to me, and I’ve been wondering where I went wrong. *obviously I know the whole “your personal method works best” but in this case it’s not working for me* But yeah, thank you chicken, it was really helpful bc I’ve been hitting a wall for a while and I think I needed to hear this.
Here is one way of reading tarot as a simple oracle which does not use spreads.
As far as I'm aware this is my original system. For me, it provides sterling omens that can be arrived at simply enough (once you are used to it) without using the book meanings.
The problem with book definitions is that sometimes they are very difficult to associate to any specific problem, and not everyone can read intuitively.
So perhaps you'd like to try elemental dignities. First, assign each card one of the four Western elements (earth/air/fire/water). This is easily done for the suits. The task is more difficult for major arcana. Lists of major arcana elements can be found.
Or, simply take all the major arcana out of the deck.
Next, assign a few qualities to each element. These qualities may be ones that also make sense for spellwork or other rituals, but remember that here our goal is divination, and it's fine to assign qualities that only make sense for divination.
Here is a starter list if you'd like to use my qualities:
Fire (wands): Very fast (the fastest). Passion and desire (carnal and otherwise). Intensity. Aligns with questions of want, creativity, and fulfillment. The spark of life and what makes us "glow." Force to get the job done quickly.
Air (swords): Fast. The mind and intellectual pursuits. Knowledge, rationality, objective truth. Matters of learning, education, and skills. Aligns with questions of knowledge, truth. Deceit and betrayal. Cleverness to get the job done precisely.
Water (cups): Slow. The heart, subconscious, and the current that runs underneath things. Feelings, poetry, and subjective truth. Matters of emotions, relationships, and bonds that tie. Aligns with questions of motivation, feeling, and wellbeing. Wisdom to get the job done best.
Earth (pentacles): Very slow. The physical bodies of things, and the institutions and structures that we use to care for and manage bodies, and create physical things. Labor, money, wealth, debt. Matters of physicality (a friend being present in body, versus in spirit). Discipline to get the job done completely.
Alright. Now, if you don't work with elements very much, you may actually need to spend some time getting on the same page with them. That's alright - it's part of the fun! (and good exercise if you want to expand your elemental sorcery)
Because next, what you've got to do is assign an element to your question.
I can't remember if you said or not what your original spell was about, that you were reading on.
But let's say that it was a job spell. To me, that would be an Earth question. If it was about a person discovering a career path that they're passionate about, maybe that would be a Fire question. If it was about discovering a career path that is best for their wellbeing, perhaps that would be a Water question.
There is a lot of ambiguity here (is a question about a friend who is a suspected backstabber in the workplace an earth, water, or air question?) but all you've got to do is pick the element you think works best for your question.
Alrighty. So we've cast a Fire spell, let's say, and we need to know how it will go. All the major arcana have been taken out of the deck. Now, find the Wheel of Fortune and shuffle it back into the deck.
Shuffle shuffle shuffle.
Hold the deck face-up, so the pictures are facing you. Pick up cards one at a time and set them aside until you find the wheel of fortune.
The card on top of the wheel of fortune is the best possible outcome for the spell.
The card beneath the wheel of fortune is the worst possible outcome for the spell.
Here is how you judge the omen:
A card that matches your question's element is a very good omen.
If my top and bottom cards are both Fire cards, that is great for my Fire question.
A card that opposes your question's element is a very bad omen.
Earth and air oppose each other
fire and water oppose each other
If my bottom card is Water, that means the worst possible outcome for my Fire question is very bad indeed.
A card that neither matches nor opposes your element is a decent omen.
Earth and water are good friends with each other
Earth and fire are just buddies
Air and fire are good friends with each other
Air and water are just buddies
Suppose my question is will this business deal go well? Which I have chosen to be an earth question.
I shuffle. The cards are as follows:
On top of the Wheel of Fortune (best possible outcome): Cups card
Beneath the Wheel of Fortune (worst possible outcome): Swords card
Now I can see that the watery cups card is good friends with my earthy question, and the best possible outcome is just fine - not perfect, but a good deal.
Unfortunately, the airy swords card opposes my earthy question - the worst possible outcome is very bad indeed.
Perhaps now I'd like to know how to prevent against this worst outcome - I may perform the operation over again, this time instead of the Wheel of Fortune using a card related to victory or protection (perhaps for a business deal I'd choose the Emperor or the Chariot), and choosing new meanings for my top and bottom cards. Perhaps this time the top card will be "best thing I can do to prevent a bad business deal" and the bottom card will be "worst thing I can do."
Because if you'd like a little more detail, you can start accounting for the elemental meanings and the card numbers.
Now, here is a note - if you are just asking for outcomes, it is easy to apply the "opposite element = bad outcome" rule. But if you are asking for guidance, opposing elements can begin to function more as warning signs than bad omens. Let's see this in action below:
Now I ask an airy question - what is the best way to stop this business deal going bad?
And instead of the WoF I choose to use the exact same swords card that was my bad omen the first time around.
I shuffle the deck and find that swords card.
On top of the swords card (best action to take to prevent a bad deal): Page of Pentacles
Underneath the swords card (worst thing I could do; would make the situation worse): Nine of Cups
Well heck! My most positive card is enemies with my question's element. How may this be resolved? To answer that, let's take a look at what to do with the card's position in the suit.
I guess you can use numerology if you want, but we're after something a lot more simple.
Aces may be high or low (that is, an ace card may be weaker than the 2 or stronger than the 10 -- choose for yourself)
Cards gain intensity as their numbers go up (the 6 card is twice as intense as the 3 card)
Furthermore, the court cards gain the following attributes (courts can be tricky, so feel free to remove them from your deck entirely):
Pages function as novices, learners, observers, students, and apprentices; lowest on the social ladder; outsiders looking in
Knights function as competent workers, people who get the job done, the person who goes out and does things; middling on the social ladder; involved in the situation
Queens function as leaders, middle managers, and delegators. The person to talk to in order to get the go-ahead. The person with many answers. Higher on the social ladder; managing the situation.
Kings function as bosses, executives, and rulers. The person who sets the game plan that the queens abide by. May be out of touch or even have fewer pragmatic answers than the queen. The person with the vision. Highest on the social ladder; controls the situation.
Let's mash a couple of things here together to try and understand why being a Page of Pentacles will help stop this Airy situation from going bad.
Because of the element traits of earth (discipline, jobs) and the significance of the page (novice, learner, low on the social ladder), I can determine that in this situation, the Page of Pentacles represents as behaving as a humble student of business is a great outcome for me.
Because of the element traits of water (feelings, connection, emotion) and the high intensity of the number nine card, I can determine that in this situation, the Nine of Cups represents me behaving in an intensely subjectively emotional way, perhaps to try and force a friendship with that business person.
I know that the Page of Pentacles card must reflect something positive and helpful (it is the best thing for me to do!) and that is how I derive the more helpful meaning.
I know that the Nine of Cups must be something unhelpful and perilous, which is how I derive the less helpful meaning.
How do I resolve the Page of Pentacles as being the opposite element of my airy question?
Here, I determine that my ideas of what it takes to succeed are backwards. The way I am seeing this situation is upside-down - by behaving as if I am so friendly to this business person, I would ruin the deal. What they want to see is that I am ready to learn the ropes and be easy to work with.
Well, anyway. I could go on and on as there are many nuances to this method.
If you've made it all the way to the end, now you can have an extra tip! If assigning an element to your own question is too difficult at this time, make the oracle even more simple. Fire is the best possible outcome, air is a good outcome, water is a fine outcome, and earth is the worst outcome.
Interpret only one card - either on top of, or beneath the Wheel of Fortune (as this variation is so simple that drawing 2 cards often doesn't make sense).
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The Next Great Clash Since Gojo and Sukuna
This is an updated subsection from my longer analysis, but with added context and information. This post is meant to be a quick read.
Maki heavily resembles Sukuna in terms of characterization. Both are described as something beyond human, with Maki being called a monster and Sukuna called the same, as well as a calamity. Seeing as how their characters relate to each other so closely, it makes sense that Maki was the one Sukuna wanted to fight the most after Gojo. I have already gone into great detail about the ways Gege has tied their characters together since Hidden Inventory. In this post, I'll quickly go over this connection.
Maki's destruction of the Zenin clan reflects Sukuna's idea of destructive power. She destroyed everything, hungering like a calamity. Her special Heavenly Restriction makes her incomparable to others.
Maki comparing herself to the sorcerers around her literally stunted her growth.
Maki realizing that she couldn't compare herself to others allowed her to reach a new power spike. In a foreboding sense, the closer she became to Sukuna's idea of strength, the more powerful she became. Though, characters like Yuta and Yuji contradict Sukuna's ideology.
While the backstab in 251 cemented the connection between the Toji -> Gojo and Maki -> Sukuna, the fight in 253 developed the more immediate motivations within the narrative between the two. The art and Sukuna's monologue demonstrated how tied these two have become. Toji and Gojo act as a narrative vehicle to foreshadow the events of this final duel. Yet, the events of 253 finally give both Maki and Sukuna a reason between the two of them to fight with everything on the line. 253 provides the appropriate stakes for their clash.
Sukuna seeks to prove the might of jujutsu sorcery over a power that rejects it, and ultimately him as the greatest sorcerer in history.
Maki must end this now. Yuta has been cut down and Maki feels it's now her responsibility to kill Sukuna or things will only continue to get worse.
Visual Parallels
The main (obvious) connections between Toji and Maki
While Naoya was an idiot, his comparison between Gojo and Toji was not random and should be acknowledged. He recognized the two of them as being the pinnacles of strength. Though, Naoya did not have the sense to understand what Toji and Gojo represented: jujutsu and the rejection of it. Naoya could never occupy the space that Toji and Gojo did. Not only due to his lack of power, but also because he doesn't have the same Heavenly Restriction that Toji and Maki share. Moreso, Toji and Maki represent the antithesis of the strongest sorcerer by being the strongest beings beyond jujutsu sorcery.
Toji, and Maki by extension, have been narratively connected to Gojo, who satisfies the fateful role of strongest sorcerer. Toji's connection to Gojo mirrors Maki's connection to Sukuna. The backstab in 251 seals this connection between the two pairs.
The backstab, and the subsequent visual parallels, connects Sukuna to Gojo in a losing scenario.
Gege has been matching Gojo and Sukuna's actions and visuals since Gojo's death. The black flash in 253 is yet another parallel to Gojo! These connections will end in Sukuna's defeat by Maki; she will finish what Toji could not.
Throughout 253, Gege depicts both Maki and Sukuna with shadows obscuring their faces and bodies, demonstrating a shared darkness within them.
This shared darkness represents both their battle hungry natures as monsters. After slaughtering the Zenin and severing all of her ties to sorcery, Maki became a demonic fighter. Gege uses the shadows covering their forms to demonstrate the monsters within.
Gege's recent and more direct visuals connect a losing Gojo to Sukuna. Gojo seemed to be winning in a similar fashion to Sukuna, dominating his enemy and even landing black flashes against them. Still, Gojo lost in the end to his opponent, and I argue Maki will finally end Sukuna.
Gojo thinks of the last time he's ever feared loss, and remembers Toji. I believe Sukuna will have a similar moment where he fears loss by Maki's hands which will mirror these pages.
Gege has left little crumbs throughout the story connecting Toji and Gojo, depicting Toji to be the antithesis to jujutsu, and finally connecting Toji and Maki. While that's commonly understood, I don't think enough people respect the fact that Toji, Gojo, and Maki's connection meets Sukuna in the end. Gege has tied all four of them together in the narrative, and that's sure to have some major payoff.
Their clash will answer Gege's questions about strength, love, and isolation. Neither Sukuna nor Maki allow love to hold them back, but they approach other people very differently. I'm curious to see how Sukuna approaches Maki as an opponent, especially now that she's survived his black flash. He's bound to have a whole new level of respect for her, more than he already did. Seeing as she has placed a burden upon him, what secrets will he unleash to prove jujutsu sorcery's might?
Notes:
They doubted her, but I stayed ten toes down for Maki! I promised she would come back and look at her! We're on the road to Maki ending Sukuna, and I'll be here every step of the way.
Original post here.
Reddit post if you wanna see some misogyny.
Read here for my analysis and explanation to what a serious Sukuna fight looks like.
Sukuna immediately reentered a state of ecstasy when Maki cut off his arm.
Yes, I believe Yuji will be part of the final battle....but this is a post specifically about Maki and Sukuna.
Additions from a friend:
About Sukuna being an arbiter who bestows judgement upon humans really falls in line with him speaking to Jogo and Kashimo in their afterlife scene
Also Mahito's words to Yuji about the clash of truths strengthen your point about proving their ideals since Sukuna stated that he wants to crush Yuji's ideals in ch 248
#jjk#jjk manga#maki zenin#ryomen sukuna#yuji itadori#gojo satoru#toji fushiguro#you all should see those reddit comments#it got BADDDDDD#the dudebros could not handle this post at all
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