#well first he's hiding his scar so you have to use the bracelet and also you find out about the seal on his hat using that. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The Tumblr office adopted Tommy, an 11-year-old Pomeranian.

#well first he's hiding his scar so you have to use the bracelet and also you find out about the seal on his hat using that.

luciddaydreamsstuff · 27 days

Text

Desert Duo Doodles! I am in way too many fandoms to count, including content creators and whatnot. It wasn’t until a doodle of some CCs that I realised how many were MCYTs. But I wanted to draw these two cause I liked how I drew Scar in the other original doodle and have drawn Grian a bunch but constantly changed the design. Now I have one that I like.

Under the cut are the individual drawings plus stickers that I forgot to add to the original but decided fuck it it’s done, plus some explanation about design choices and headcanons. (Does anyone even care about that?) Idk and idc, I’ll ramble anyways.

(you don’t have to read the stuff, I don’t really care, but you can if you want)

First off, this one was annoying since it was supposed to be a hug. I was too lazy to draw the Third/Sercet Life outfits, so they are in their default outfits with crowns representing the fact that they won at least one of the Life games.

Ramble: For Grian’s design, I wanted to keep the bird/avian hybrid but also reference other series or past friend. The Life series has the poppy has memorabilia, the blue and red bracelet represents YHS/TS, and the eye necklace is for Evo. The tail is more so a mix of Watcher magic and Avian DNA, bird feet cause why not. The wing ears are hidden to look similar enough to his regular hair, I like to imagine that wing ears are a rarer trait and to not draw too much attention, he would use Watcher magic to change the colour of the wing ears to match his hair. The freckles are based off of the idea that Angel Dust’s freckles are actually just eyes (which were shown in the show), and I liked that idea. He didn’t have freckles before Evo but after in Hermitcraft he did, they are just eyes that are always closed though he can see out of them. It’ll be clearer in the next piece, but his eyes are based off of some bird eyes so a black sclera with coloured pupils. Grian just hides his eyes under his hair since they are more sensitive than normal. Also I didn’t wanna draw his eyes cause it was one of the things I kept changing before.

I’ll go into Scar later since it’s just a half body but he goes by the same rule of his outfit showing where he’s been. So the poppy and lavender for Third Life and the heart necklace for Secret Life. The earrings are based off of the crystals from Season 7.

Alter Egos! Or at least Hot Guy and Arianna Griande. Not much here, but you can see what I meant with the eyes beforehand.

Also, I can’t be the only one to notice or at least point out that Ari and Cute Guy have like the same or a least a very similar colour palette of pink and white.

Final one, and the two are taking a much needed nap. This could take place anywhere though I like to imagine somewhere in Double Life or somewhere between Season 7 - 10

(also I find it very funny how close these two’s bases were for Season 6 - 10. both were near each other in the futuristic district of season six, then next door neighbours at the start of season seven, I don’t need to mention much besides boatem in season eight, again near the start and most of season nine with Scarland and Grian’s timejump build, then finally again in season ten with Magic Mountain. just funny to me for some reason)

Ramble: Scar is like a hybrid between an elf/fae creature and a cat centaur (that I cannot remember the proper name for). The cat half is based off of Jellie, RIP, and his body is scarred because well I mean the dude is accident-prone it’s bound to happen. I imagine that Scar would wear slightly baggy outfits, like they hang off just a bit to not hug his figure. His hair is more based off of Season 9 with him leaning into the whole elf aesthetic, and I both hate and like the hair but whatever. Idk, I kinda just wanted to make him centaur based cause that visual isn’t something I see often. I imagine that hind legs are weaker than the front so he would switch between a cane and a wheelchair that you would see for animals. I might draw that later idk, but yea

If you actually took the time to read this incoherent mess, idk comment a content creator you like, no matter how niche they may be

47 notes · View notes

chain-link-smut · 8 months

Text

Hello Beautiful Beasties!

Smut-tember 23, Day 18: Twi x Reader(Fem) -continuation of Day 17- Rut

Summary:Meeting all the night dwelling creatures that you now live with, there was one that held back from you during a specific time of the year. Time has to teach the ways of a Werewolf's rut so Twilight can stop denying his and causing himself pain by doing so. After all, a rut is only once a year.

Content caution: Knotting, nothing heavy just simple smut. Twi having a knot is my personal HC for him.

Word count: 2,384

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost four months into living in a mansion full of mythical creatures, you became very familiar with all of them. They all had their own quirks, hobbies and desires that you participated in. none of them were as you thought they would be or how the old myths told. The first day you had met the Deity, Vampire and Hybrid, a few days later you were introduced to the rest of them.

The Dragon: Wild was shy at first, hiding the left side of his body from your view. Beautiful blue scales shimmered along the back of his arms, outside of his legs, tops of his feet and hand, most of his back, his neck and ears. The scales size became smaller as they got closer to smooth skin lining the rest of his body, including his neck and face. On the right side of his face, small rounded scales lined his cheek bone, eyebrow and the beginning of his jawline. But what he hid on the left side was burnt off or partly destroyed scales. His left ear was only scars and he hid himself away until you convinced him to give you a chance. Once he came out of his shell, you had to wonder if he needed to be called the Succubus instead of Warriors. Wild knew how to heat things up, literally… he's a fire breather… His skin was much warmer than anyone else's and his nether region was no different. The extra heat sliding in and out of you added to your stimulation and the ability to relax. He had no shame in where he wanted to lay you down and treat you like treasure.

The Mer: Grumpy, moody, prickly and instigator were all the words that came to mind when meeting Legend. On two feet he bantered and messed with the others like an older brother would, but kept a stony expression. He got a kick out of ruffling Warriors feathers the most. It seemed like everyone knew that this was his way to show he cared, yet still keep them at arm's reach. Under the mansion was an underwater cave system for him to thrive when he got tired of two legs. When he 'secretly' asked you to join him, his sweeter side came through. You did protest at first since you couldn't breath underwater or keep up with him. He fished out two bracelets and a necklace for when you got into the waters. With the jewelry in place, two legs became a long, dramatic, shimmering black and teal tail. It reminded you of a Betta Fish Tail. Gills along your ribs allowed you to breathe and you got to mark off 'sex in water' off your bucket list. You honestly didn’t know why Legend ever left the water.

The Fae: Hyrule seemed too sweet to be Fae, but then again the only things you had heard about his kind were that they were scary creatures that only lived in the forest. They coaxed adults to the woods for more of a pleasurable reason and or just to take things of value, giving them the nickname Woodland Sirens. Well, the stories you heard weren't wrong. Hyrule could be scary when he wanted to be and he had a voice that could lure anyone into the darkness of the woods. He didn't use his voice for himself though, he used it to help the Vampires in the house. You allowed him to use his voice on you, and it worked similar to the charm spell, but without the pain blocker it had. He also liked to take things that belonged to you, antagonizing you to follow him. What happened when you got to him was a sweet frenzy of flirty lust.

The Shadow: Four was something no one could prove and less could explain. He was what the rest called a Shadow Jumper. If his own shadow was showing, he could fall right into it and if there were other shadows being casted, he could move into those even if his own wasn’t there. It made you question when he was there or not, but Four was modest and respectful… outside of the bedroom. He wasn’t much of a physical contact kind of person and it led to some funny pranks, but mentally wore him down. If Four jumped into someone else's shadow to hide or travel undetected, he could feel that person's emotions fully. Putting that with the dislike for contact, your time with him alone was very different than the others. He slipped into your shadow and could feel you. You obviously made sure that your own emotions were in check when he needed a safe place to decompress. This isn’t to say that you two never became intimate in the way of sex, but your connection was at a different level of intimacy while he dwelled in your shadow, absorbing your state of relaxation, feeding off of it to feel whole.

Fallen Angel: The heavens lost a good one the day Sky fell to the surface. He was devoted to his duties, but his worldly desires were too great of a temptation. All his once golden covert feathers were ash gray and black and it was taking over his secondary feathers. His primary feathers would soon be the same. Day to day his eyes were a beautiful blue, but when his desires rose, they were solid black, no whites to be seen and teeth would be sharper. He was the rougher of the nine men since he was fighting himself to have you, but you loved it. It meant that the passion was more fierce and damning the moment he let go and stopped fighting himself. He never hurt you, but he didn’t play nice either as he pinned you down under him, restricting all movement as he selfishly sought out his wants. The first time he did this with you, he was mortified and sounded like an old record repeating his apologies. You just wished he would shut up and do it again.

There was one left… Twilight, the Werewolf. He and Sky were probably the biggest sweethearts, but Twilight locked himself away from the world nearly a week ago. He had done it a couple of days after you arrived, bringing confusion and worry to your mind.

Time found you sitting alone in the morning sun, mug full of coffee untouched. Expressing your concern over Twilight, he smiled and shook his head, explaining what the problem really was. “Twilight is a Werewolf, Sweetness. He goes into a rut once a year and he doesn't want to scare you away by it.”

A rut. It didn’t make sense at first until the details were shared. Twilight had the need to breed and it was nearly irresistible. Denying the rut was painful for him, even if he took surppressants, but he was terrified to hurt you. The second you saw Twilight that morning you dragged him outside by his ear so you could give him a piece of your mind over the situation. Of course you won, with Time’s help. Twilight had one condition though: Time needed to teach you what to expect. Twi would have done it himself, but with a recent denied rut, being with you could cause it to come back stronger.

When the day arrived for you to help your dear Werewolf, Time escorted you to the other’s room. He gave an encouraging smile, kissing your cheek. “Why can’t you come with me?”

“Not that I don’t want to see you all blissed out, but he won’t react well to another werewolf in the room, even if I am only half now. The rut changes the mind and any threat to him from another can lead to violence.”

“But you aren’t a threat to him.”

“Normally no. He will see you as his and me as competition. He is still him and is gentle, but this is a dominance need.” He looked you over. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to, just don’t know if I’ll be enough.”

Time laughed softly, “Believe me, you are enough. Go on, I’ll make sure no one tries to come in.” With that, you walked into the dimmed room.

Taking a moment for your eyes to adjust, you could smell the heady musk smell of Twilight. It wasn’t a nasty odor, but a smell that affected you biologically. Time warned you of it and how it would make your mouth water, heart rate rise and begin to make you aroused. He wasn’t kidding… Eyes adapted you saw the state of the room that was once perfectly organized now disarrayed with Twilight nowhere in sight, but the feeling of eyes on you had you frozen in place.

From the shadows at your back was where Twilight lingered. Silent feet stopped behind you and the feeling that you were prey grew. His forehead rested on your crown, nose pressing into your hair while inhaling deeply at your neck. Two strong hands slid onto your hips, pulling you closer to his burning body. Those hands found soft skin to hold under your loose shirt, gripping you tightly.

Twilight nipped at your neck and shoulder, grinding his rut induced erection against your ass, seeking friction from you. His voice was deeper when he spoke. "I- You- stop me if-"

You pressed further back, rolling your hips against him. "Don't hold back."

He had a rumble deep in his chest when you moved your hair off to the side, scenting you to cover up anyone else's. His hands wondered, leaving a pleasant trail of warmth to your chest, then all the way down to your shorts, cupping you from the outside.

Turning around in his arms you meet his eyes, pupils blown wide, nearly taking over all the blue. He looked to be in pain with his brow scrunched. You soothe his worries with a lip-lock, getting him to advance.

As if your clothes were mere paper, he tore them off of you, making you smile and moan. He apparently liked the carefree sounds you made because he gave another rumble in his chest as he walked you backwards to the bed stacked with pillows.

Lying back, Twilight nosed his way between your legs, teasing along the way with his mouth to your inner thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath when he came face to face with your sex, already wet and wanting. He took a deep breath in, inhaling the sweet scent of pheromones. His tongue licked across you, forcing a sigh of relief that he finally had his mouth on you. He earnestly licked you open, lapped at your folds and devoured your clit as fingers made sure you could handle him, all , of him.

Time had shown you how a knot worked, but Time’s own knot was not as prominent ever since Fierce bit him. You felt so full when knotted to Time… Twi was going to split you in half in the best way.

Being so devoted between your legs, Twilight got you to cum and slurped you up until clean. Crawling back up to cover you with himself, you spread your legs apart and up. He growls at you presenting yourself to him, slowly losing himself to his own needs.

He took himself in hand, hissing at the contact and rubbed his tip just enough between your folds to get him slick. Both of you moaned as he penetrated you, working himself in as far as he could. He was huge, taking the air from your lungs and thoughts from your mind. His raspy voice was the only thing residing in your head as he said, “You are mine… Mine. ”

The immediate thrusting following his words were encouraged by the moans, hollers, chanting and begging. Hearing the begging made Twilight think that he wasn’t doing good enough and not meeting your needs even though he was the one in a rut. He pulled out much to your dismay and protesting, but had you turned over up on your knees and elbows. He had you truly exposed for his eyes to gaze at. Twi grabbed ahold of your hips to place you at the height he wanted your hips to be, then started to fill you. In this position he was hitting the perfect angle to keep constant attack on your tight walls with his swollen cock. At this rate you were going to cum again, especially when you began to meet his thrusts.

Nails and teeth latched onto you as you felt his knot begin to inflate, catching the rim of your entrance. He snarled and bit down on your shoulder when the knot stretched you wide, filling you to the brim and locking you two in place. Warmth could be felt spilling into you as Twilight came for the first time since his rut came along. He kept himself draped over your back as he laid you two down onto one side so the knot wasn’t tugged on. His fogged mind gained some clarity while you gave praises on how good he did for you and that you were proud of him finally letting go, even if it was only a little bit. Time assured you that with each round that took place, Twi would fall into place with his instincts.

A happy rumble was made behind your ear as he laid soft kisses there. Nearly unable to use words, Twi wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck, giving one or two words before exhaustion took him.

You squeezed in curiosity around the knot feeling the size difference from his shaft and the bulb at the base. You covered your mouth as a wave of intense overstimulation went through you. And he wanted to keep this away from you? Never again. You wanted this. There was no rush though, especially since the rut would be lasting days and multiple rounds a day, each one becoming more desperate to breed you.

In a house full of creatures that wanted you in every way, you were never going to go unsatisfied and you were going to repay that favor in full ever chance you had.

Keep it Naughty you Beautiful Beasties!🖤

#loz smut #purely smut #smut-tember #st23 #18+ only #twilight x reader #twi x reader

98 notes · View notes

sunofpandora · 1 month

Text

Virago: Chapter 3 part 2

Neteyam x fem na’vi!omaticaya!reader

Characters:

Ka’lik- (like you would pronounce “Malik”) Y/n’s father, deceased, a warrior and hunter of the

omaticaya clan. A teacher to young warriors undergoing iknimaya.

Zensira-deceased, Y/n’s mother, spider's adoptive mother, a strong hunter and the best singer in the omaticaya clan, and a teacher to young hunters.

Kailo-(Y/n’s ikran. Your ikran is a male)

Popiti-(tuk’s best friend according to the visual dictionary)

(Also idk how many of you know this but Jake’s ikran’s name is canonically ‘Bob’.)

(WARNINGS!

Sharing a sleeping hammock with the opposite gender (non-romantically)-

Neytiri hating on spider/ mentions of insecurities, heartbreak, war,/ fluff/ angst/ mentions of hunting, killing animals, mentions of therapy, military, ptsd, romance, pining, use of military terms/codewords/ Let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note:

This is part two of the chapter 3 trilogy. ‘Aim your arrow at his heart as he holds it out for you to ruin.’ I wonder what happens next?

V I R A G O

Chapter 3;

Aim your arrow at his heart as he holds it out for you to ruin.

Part 2

Y/n’s pov-

Word count: 28k (split)

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n’s pov (still hunting with jake)

“Killer shot, kiddo. Two for one.”

Jake chuckles as he ruffles your hair, carrying the yerik meat in the sack thrown over his shoulder.

Before he can pull his hand away, it gets caught on one of the stray hairs in your braids. You wince, squeezing your eyes shut. You were always a bit tenderheaded.

“Ow-”

“Oh shit. Hold on, kid.”

Jake quickly untangles his bracelet with your hair, smoothing down your braids for good measure.

He chuckles as you keep walking, matching his pace.

“Sorry about that, kiddo.” You shrug, your eyes now focusing on the culprit that laid on Jake’s wrist.

It 5rtga bracelet, but not like any kind you’ve seen before.

It was woven with a leather string that looks like it was falling apart at the seams, and the small, braided fronds that held some sharp looking crystal chips. Worthy of impaling someone. Especially the extra long, jagged, one that stuck out on the left side of his wrist.

You weren’t at the thought of just wearing something like that the thought of the poking and pushing of the sharp edges into your skin, almost seemed unimaginable.

You would think, after being in his life for the last 18 years, you’d by now have a complete understanding of the inner workings of Jake Sully.

That would include his wardrobe choices.

To your knowledge, Jake didn’t usually wear some thing unless it had a functional purpose. So why on pandora would he wear this death trap on his wrist?

“Where did you get that?” you ask, attempting to make your burning curiosity not sound interrogating.

Jake Glances down at his wrist before looking at you.

“ oh, this? Tuk gave it to me. Just a few days ago.”

Well that explains it.

It slips out of your mouth before you can actually stop yourself. One thing about you that not many knew is that you were quite impulsive at times. It’s faded throughout the years. Disappearing under where age drew some extra lines and scars on your skin. But mostly? You got better at hiding it.

“That looks painful.”

You slap yourself mentally before you can even apologize in Jake chuckles.

“It is, but I promised her I wouldn’t take it off.”

You figured, and you admire that about Jake. His ability to keep his promises.

Being a dad meant sacrifices. Alas, what kind of love didn’t?

You don’t think it’s a real love unless it has you scrambling to reach your redemption.

Love is envious of the granted calmed magnitude of simple pleasures.

You hopped over a rock as you kept pace with Jake.

“Well, you aren’t the only one wearing Tuks threads.”

You show off your wrist and the bracelet Tuk made for you, when you first moved in the high camp, and started living with the sully family.

The patterns clearly juvenile, evident in the mismatched colors and diversely shaped beads. Vibrant and loud.

Jake feigns a scoff, a smug smile drawing it’s place on his lips.

“Oh, I think I win this time. I have her latest piece.”

He mocked your movements, showing off his own wrist as he placed the sack on the ground next to him, retiring to sit on a ledge as he refilled his water flask by the small creek. The sounds of water trickling down the stream make your wears twitch with the familiar symphony.

You take a seat next to him, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t think you’re special. the poor child is probably just taking pity on you. A mighty war hero, such as yourself should be given newer things to make up for his old age.”

Jake splashes water on you, and you lean back into the tree. Your laughter refreshes the air, disrupting the once quiet aura.

Jake can’t help but crack a smile. He fidgets with the monstrosity of a thing. It truly was painful to wear. The way it poked and prodded at his skin he even had a small cut on the back of his hand from where the extra large crystalline bead had abnormally stuck out of its place.

He looks back at the sky as your laughter dies down the air, regaining its quiet wholesomeness.

“one of the things I love most about the Navi, is their appreciation for one another.”

You blindly scooted forward. Your peaked interest is now obvious. Thrashing like a freshly hunted fish in the hollower corridors of your brain.

The blazing white raw rays of the sunlight now hued itself a muted golden through the canopy of the rainforest, as the cerulean of the sky darkened ever so slightly with the fast approaching afternoon.

“Back on earth, humans don’t wear jewelry made by their children. Hell, they don’t care much about things like that at all.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, before speaking once again.

“What were your parents like?”

Jake’s eyes widen a bit, as his gaze focuses on you.

Something or someone made of old memories and coppered flesh awakens in Jake.

Ruins of something, perhaps someone crippled and crinkled in the cramped corners of Jake’s mind.

Like the skin of a shadow. A story with a silenced narration. Transparency and uncertainty.

Jake Sully sometimes swore he saw ghosts.

It kept him up at night.

The lingering smells of smoke and ash, blood and sweat, the once radiant green of the short plains surrounding hometree withered in a gray dressing gown of grief.

Before he learned to see.

He grasped the essence of life: the immunology of pandora. The power, the secret to growth, a true appreciation for the relative importance of things, order, and balance. For Jake, time was dwelling itself on a melting clock. Things change when your sent light years away from your home planet. You realize you're living the very days your younger self once dreamed of, or you're still waiting for that fabled, future time.

Not too late to forget the sins of his past.

Some say ‘to sin is to be a human’

Well. I guess that doesn’t really apply to poor Jake. Does it now?

With the corpse of a culture now forgotten, the fallen hometree rots.

Jake prayed to eywa his memories could rot with it.

Ghosts aren’t real. Are they?

If they are, they certainly aren’t a figure under a white sheet that make spooky noises and only appears on Halloween, no.

Ghosts are lingering souls who cling to the youth of their nostalgic memories.

Ghosts don’t belong in the light because they can reminisce in the past far easier in the darkness.

Ghosts don’t like the day time.

The daytime is filled with the vexatious luminescence we call sunlight.

Sunlight provides close to no sanctuary from the world.

No shadows are cast, no contingent comfort in the darkness.

The stars that scatter across the sky carry memories.

The rain travels throughout the dreary dark skies. Scorched with mist.

Jake still wakes up in a cold sweat, after memories of hometree’s destruction haunts his dreams. He could still hear Mo’at’s low wails ring in his ears, Grace cursing under her breath as each breath drew out like a shaky pencil line drawn on a concrete surface.

Besides seeing them, Jake might as well have been a ghost.

A shell of something he once was.

Jake swallows before leaning back a bit more.

“I don’t remember much about them.

My father’s name is Damin. My mother’s name is Camille.”

You nodded. trying to visualize a human family. Ones who walked, talked, breathed and looked like spider.

“Didn’t you have a brother?”

Jake nodded.

“Thomas. Well, we called him Tommy.”

You leaned back with him. Taking a swig out of the water flask he offered you.

“You’re younger sibling. Just like me.”

Jake nodded, raising his flask in a celebratory manner.

“Cheers to that.”

You gazed up at the trees, your fingers tracing the patterns in the foliage above.each leaf, each ray of light that slithered past the cracks in the quilted hues of green.

“Do you ever miss him?”

It comes out as a whisper. it’s soft spoken.

There’s a displaced sense of comfort that swallows Jake. Like a sheen of a cold Summer Sun encompassed the air.

“Sometimes I think I see him. When I see Neteyam, and Lo’ak.”

Brothers are interesting creatures.

Like a plant forever tangled at the roots. Siblings can be soulmates. Not the romantic kind.

Someone to forever reminisce in ‘remember when’ stories and sun bursting fresh patches of grass, trampled by a children’s feet.

Invisible strings unsevered.

“Guess I’ll always carry a piece of him with me.”

Jake awkwardly chuckles as he gestures to his body. The body that was meant for his brother.

“Seems to be a common theme with you.” You reiterate. Gesturing to Jake’s uncomfortable bracelet.

He nods, pointing to his beaded leather necklace. Much neater than Tuk’s handiwork.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jake take it off. Ever since you were a child.

You knew the small green beads were from when Jake was training for his Iknimiya, gifted to him by Neytiri.

You couldn’t help but think how sweet it was that he wore some thing of hers. Even after all these years, the beads must’ve been worn out, lost a bit of shape. And yet, he wore them with pride.

You start to remember kiri’s words from earlier. How she said you reminded her of the stories she would hear about her adopted mother in her youth. The stories of her bravery. Her courage, her defiance, her days of battle and heroism during the war.

You had always idolized Neytiri. When you were a small child, your favorite stories were the ones of her, your mother, and Sylwanin causing trouble around the clan’s hometree as a child. Your mother told you that you were just like Neytiri during her childhood. Always the wild child who came back from playing with sticks in your hair and mud on your elbows.

It wasn’t just her rebelliousness you mirrored, apparently.

She carried herself with constant bouts of compassion. For her people, her home, the forest. She was made of a fire that could never truly be extinguished.

Violence was never a delight, but for you and neytiri, it was a familiar sentiment. The substances of your souls were intertwined with grief-ridden impulses that were strengthened by agony.

War was no excuse for turning people into weapons. But in all it’s horror and fire hazard, something as beautiful as you was forged from the flames.

You and neytiri were stories woven by the same threads. Both of you Losing the people you love most, then seeking vengeance with no bounds.

“What was she like?”

You whisper, leaning towards Jake a bit more.

“Neytiri. What was she like when she was younger?”

Jake scoffed. Putting his hands to rest behind his head, his elbows stretched on either side of his head.

“Oh boy. Where do I start, kiddo?”

You shrugged, getting comfortable in your spot.

“Wherever you see best.”

He thought for a moment.

“What was your very first impression of her?”

You prompted.

Jake was silent before blinking.

“Uh….oh.

Intimidating.”

Your face went blank. Expecting something similar to a story or a thousand words of her beauty and strength.

“Really? That’s it?”

Jake shrugged.

“For lack of a better word. Yes, she was intimidating. She scared the shit out of me.”

You huffed. Crossing your arms.

“C’mon. I want the details.”

He chuckled.

“Well, she made quite the impression. she tried to kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And that was attractive?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

You thought of a younger neytiri. Trying to place yourself in the shadow of a once looming star.

Jake cleared his throat, speaking again.

“You know, I think I really found out what love meant when I met her.”

His words sink in for a moment. An unfamiliar shudder that’s not quite discomforting travels up your spine.

“How so?”

You ask. Jake thinks for a moment.

“I never wanted kids back on earth. I never wanted a wife, or a white picket fence life.

Well, I did at one point. Then I met war. And war wasn’t friendly. Because war showed me that some people fall in love, get hitched, have kids, and fight to protect for the people they love when they end up dying in a war anyways. And somewhere on the other end of that spectrum is an enemy staring at you through the scope of his sniper. And when he kills you, he kills a father, or a mother, or a sister or a brother. And then it just repeats.”

War was no unfamiliarity. War made you who you were now.

And you didn’t like who you were now. Something trapped in a shell of a static shade of white. Convulsing with hunger. Thrashing with anger and agitation.

The worst thing about war is that once you live through it, you never really live past it. You can survive war. That doesn’t mean the war ends. All your potential was bred from destruction and the absence of stability in your life. Everything being ripped away burned or killed. You start to purge yourself with thoughts of violence that is sickeningly soothing. Gutted in the lament light of a scorching moonlight, forever aching for the tethered tenderness of the sun.

“No one wins in a war.”

You mutter, leaning back, your head resting on Jake’s forearm.

He nods, patting the side of your waist.

“A was a marine. A dumb grunt who thought the na’vi were just talking to trees and praying their own damn brain cells away.”

You fidgeted with your bracelet, and stared up at the clouds,

Jake spoke again.

“Your a warrior. I’m a soldier. But we both have blood on our hands.”

You stared at your palms. Much smaller, slimmer, lithe hands compared to Jake. Yet, scars still littered your skin.

“I don’t see it. The blood.”

You whispered.

Jake gently rubbed your back.

“Sometimes it doesn’t what to be seen.”

You blink up at him. Gazing at the taller man.

“I thought love was my greatest enemy. Because I was afraid I saw too much shit to love anyone properly. Why do that to them? Why waste their time?”

That hit harder than you wanted it too.

Love was your greatest weakness.

But was it, really?

War had made you unloveable. Because you watched people love each other only to loose one another in war.

Because you loved before a war, and he weakened you.

And then he stopped loving you before the war, and that weakened you.

Because your parents died when the war returned, and that weakened you.

And weakened, afraid, angry, broken, and sprawled and stretched bones far too thin to be soothed. Cussing, growling, a primal cry of violence and grief with shocking fluidity.

Unclenched and hinged on arrowheads and bowstrings.

You found yourself unloveable.

Because who would ever love something broken?

Something made of stone?

Unclenched and hinged on arrowheads and bowstrings

Jake chuckled to himself his eyes fluttering shut. It’s not a happy sound. It’s hollow and thin.

But there’s a small sliver of silvered-sunlight under the heavy hued grey.

“ I will never forget. One day we were training, she was making me practice my archery targets. The clan was out and about, doing their chores, weaving foraging all that jazz.

She was giving me instructions, and then suddenly her voice just…Trailed off. I looked where she was staring and her eyes were locked on these two little girls. Two sisters playing in the Stream chasing each other, laughing and splashing and wrestling around.

And for the first time ever, I saw this…this woman..

This beautiful, blue, powerful, stoic- alien of a woman who I thought was just..perfection in every single aspect of the word, looked so…

Fragile.”

It’s the last word you would ever use to describe Neytiri. But when he utters it, a certain string of a an unfamiliar note melodically tugs in place of your heart you didn’t know existed.

“Fragile?”

The words come out soft and surreal, hoarse as you whisper it.

“Like, the entire time I had known her, she had been wearing this…mask. A disguise. And when she looked at those little girls…the mask fell.”

He continued without an ounce of hesitance.

“And I realized that this woman was once a girl. A child. A child who had been through war and war was the one who forced that mask on her in the first place. Really, she wanted to protect what she had left before anyone dared to take it away. That beneath all that anger and resentment was someone who was shy, and laughed loudly and deep down beneath her confidence and attitude she was still that child, really just a girl who missed her older sister. Her favorite smell is rain and she especially loves it when you can see the small cracks of sunlight through the trees, and she had this game with her sister where they would see who could walk the farthest in the forest by only stepping into the patches of light. She loves it when the flowers bloom a shade of yellow, and she’s kinda insecure about herself sometimes and fuck I really don’t know how she could ever be, she’s just so perfect-“

Jake stops himself, realizing he’s rambling, a moment of silence goes by and he rubs the back of his head..

“I guess it’s that I always thought war made me so ugly. And that no one could love me romantically. And then I met her, and she had lived through something so terrible and traumatic, and even after the war she was beautiful and worth loving..maybe I was worth loving too.”

It was more than you ever bargained for. War didn’t always ruin. Sometimes it rearranged.

Somewhere in Jake you saw someone else. Someone besides yourself. Burdened by war and suffering.

You saw a man. A man who loved a woman so much he gave up everything he ever knew to be with her.

Something erased into nothingness and replaced by shifting shadows embedded in an unfamiliar idealism that frightened you because it didn’t feel safe.

Eternally devastating. A tormented romance of a man who holds a woman by the hips and trails a line of grievances on her skin with his lips while she holds a knife to his throat.

A woman who only held that knife because she had seen so many things shaded in a blood stained red, any other color seemed unfamiliar to her.

A woman who abuses herself by endlessly denying herself any ounce of affection because she believes with her whole heart she will never be worthy of his love. Even more so, because she was afraid of it.

Or worse, she’ll ruin it.

Afraid of how badly his touch stung her the first time to ever love again.

Afraid loving because what good was love if war would just take it away from her?

Bred to fight.

Born to protect everyone but herself.

But it’s never satisfied. Is it? The thoughts that thirsted the back of her mind. Thoughts of him.

Fears. Thoughts. Lust. Love.

This wall around you was a survival mechanism.

To protect others from coming in. To protect yourself from coming out. From loving again.

In this story you saw a man who unraveled every shade of rarely rested red that sensed her suffering and entrapped her in this self loathing pattern.

You saw a man that said he loved her even as she threatened to end his life.

Because he knows the only reason she would end his life is because she feared he would end hers first.

Not by killing her. By worshipping her every breath. By begging her to love herself the way he does. And what happens then? When she loves herself?

Who will judge her? Who will keep her in line? Who will call out her every hitched breath? Her every fumble and stutter? Who does it better than her?

What will she be if she loves herself? His? No. No she belongs to herself and her own loathing.

But would her fire refuse its reign of radiance in the confined cage of his love?

Maybe some enemies are only enemies because one of them thinks that they’re enemies.

Maybe lovers are only lovers because love is a sacrificial abstraction.

You could never find love if you never knew loss.

All of this was really just a coincidence of meaningless metaphors that cluttered your brain but why did you keep coming back to thinking about that man.

That man who was one his knees for you. That man who said the same thing over and over as you held a knife to his throat.

“I love you.”

Why? Why does he love you? What is there to love?

Deprivation, burdened accountability, self hatred and inadequacy, all of deaths favored methods.

You turn to Jake, detaching your thoughts for a moment.

“How did she ever forgive you? For how you hurt her?”

Your words are rushed and spoken in a hitch of a breath.

Jake shakes his head, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, can I give you some cold, hard truth?”

You nod.

He speaks softly.

“Love ain’t easy. It’s not real love unless you fight for it. And sometimes loving someone who feels unloved and broken isn’t easy. Its especially not easy when you screwed up so badly you lost their trust once. Because trust is a fragile thing.

It’s delicate. And once someone gives it to you, you never, ever do a damn thing to harm it.

But we’re flawed creatures sometimes.

We make mistakes that sometimes seem unforgivable, and walls are built to keep us out.

But you wanna know a secret?”

You nod, waiting.

“Loving someone who feels like no one could ever love them takes time. And protecting someone who protects everyone but themselves isn’t easy.

Sometimes it’s all about letting them climb your walls until you decide it’s safe again.”

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

Neteyam’s Pov:

Lo’ak is stacking up the now empty baskets to the side corner, while placing his and spider’s finished arrows for y/n in a new basket.

Spider went home a few hours ago, and y/n and my father have not returned yet.

Tuk jumps up and down twice, tugging on my arm, a slight whine in her voice.

“Where’s mom?”

“She’s in the hut with Grandmother, she will return soon.”

I try to gently push her to the other side of the tent.

“Go play with your toys. Or, go have Lo’ak sharpen your knife. It’s probably in need of it anyways.”

Lo’ak shoots me a glare. Clearly not very pleased with the fact that I’m putting him on babysitting duty for once.

Tuck grabs her hexapede toy y/n had carved for her a few months back, shoving the infamous Toruk toy in Lo’aks hands.

That old toy has seen better days, I’ll be honest.

“Here Lo’ak. You be the Toruk.”

She huffs, still not very satisfied with her lack of people to play with at the moment.

“No way. Go play with Neteyam.”

Lo’ak swats Tuk away, glaring at me.

I glare back, gesturing to the new basket I was busy weaving.

“I’m busy right now. C’mon Lo’ak just play a quick game with her. Kiri will return soon.”

Lo’ak rolls his eyes before turning to Tuk.

“How about a story time?”

Tuk clap’s excitedly and jumps up once.

“Yes please!”

Lo’ak clears his throat, crossing his legs.

“Did you know, that looong before your time, mom found you in an egg in a nest and stole you from a bird?”

“Lo’ak! Don’t tell her that!”

Tuk gasps, a whimper that’s barely audible following the sound.

I smack Lo’ak on the back of his head.

“Mama did not find me in a nest!”

“Uh yeah. She actually did.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did NOT!”

Lo’ak shrugs, casually checking his nails and shifting on his feet.

“Oh yeah? Where do you think mom and dad found Kiri?”

Tuk crosse her smaller arms,

“From Grace Aju-Ages-Agun-Agis-“

“Augustine.”

I pat her back, correcting her gently.

She nods, proud of herself for trying.

Lo’ak shakes his head.

“Nope. Mom found you in a nest and she found Kiri too.

And, 7 years ago you came out of the woods, and they’ve been trying to domesticate you ever since.”

It’s a moment later when a familiar presence enters the ensuing chaos between the two youngest of my siblings.

“Grandmother!”

Tuk runs to our grandmother, who stands wearing her usual beaded red and yellow shawl that drapes over her elbows and falls to her waist, the long detailed interweaved maroon colored loincloth falling to her shins.

She embraces Tuktirey, patting her on the head with her other hand gently placed on her back.

I’ve always had a close relationship with my grandmother.

I am her first born grandson. The first child she watched her daughter love.

When I was small, I loved watching my grandmother work in the Tsahik tent while I sat with her, eagerly listening to her stories.

I loved my parents' stories of moving forward with our clans pain, and the moral compass they provided.

But truth be told, I always preferred older stories. The ones my grandmother told me, quietly as she worked.

Times before the humans interacted with our clan. Stories of the powerful past generations of olo’eyktans before my father and grandfather, stories of hometree before it’s annihilation. Stories of great na’vi warriors and ancient battlements.

My grandmother and I had one, very particular trait in common.

We loved gossip every now and then, alas very shamefully.

It’s frowned upon for respectable clan leaders to partake in such things indistinguishable to gossip and rumors that flutter around the clan on feather-like whispers.

It’s easier to hide something when you hide it with someone.

Every now and then I get ‘scraped up’ on one of my hunts. Usually an arm or a skinned knee, and I end up having to visit the Tsahik of our clan, and I may or may not take the time to exchange little fragments of ‘scandals’ that I hear around, sometimes even in other clans.

Is it a good habit? No.

But my grandmother often finds ways to make up for the both of us. Everyone needs to indulge a bit once in a full moon.

“Grandmother, Lo’ak told me mama found me in a nest!”

My grandmother gasps dramatically.

“Lo’ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan! You know better than that.”

The whole tent is silent for a moment, all except for the gentle thuds of Turk’s tail flicking against the ground triumphantly as she sticks her tongue out at Lo’ak, and the ever so quiet mumble of ‘snitch’ leaving Lo’aks lips, until my grandmother speaks.

“You know we were saving the news for when she turns 12.”

Lo’ak rolls on the ground laughing and Tuk races out of the tent, screaming for our mother in distress.

Lo’ak stumbles over to our grandmother, swinging an arm around her, slightly off balance due to all of his laughing.

“Eywa, grams. Did I mention that your my favorite grandmother.”

“I am your only grandmother, boy.”

“And you’re still my favorite.”

Mo’at swats him away and hands him the basket on her hip of freshly grinded herbs for him to tend to.

“Put this in the back, on your mother’s spread of salves for me.”

Lo’ak nods, still snickering to himself, taking the basket and quickly turning to complete her request.

She stretched out her arms, getting ready to sit down, a small wince appearing on her face.

“nìktungzup, (careful) grandmother, let me help you.”

I gently hold her arm, assisting her to sit cross legged on the ground.

She scoffs.

“I do not need assistance. I survived raising your mother.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, and she eventually thanks me.

My mother enters shortly after, carrying a distressed Tuk in her arms.

“Lo’ak. Did you tell your sister she came from an egg?”

Lo’ak shakes his head, shrugging.

“No. I told her you found her in a nest.”

My ears perk flicker when I notice Kiri emerging from behind my mother, tucking under the tent flap wearing a blank expression.

My mother places Tuk down, who jogs over to my grandmother. Mother then freezes for a moment, sniffing the air, her tail flicking.

“Lo’ak-

Did you bring that sky demon in the marui!?”

“He was helping me make arrows for y/n’s hut tonight!”

Lo’ak throws his hands up in defense, still evading my mother’s mercy.

“For eywa’s sake! Have you no respect for the rules I have in place!?”

She hisses in annoyance, and as the bickering starts to simmer into background noise, I find myself watching Kiri. The one I’ve been looking for all day.

She clears her throat, shifting on her feet.

“I’m gonna go for a walk..”

She trails off, her eyes flickering between Lo’ak and my mother, neither of them sparing her even a blink of attention.

Grandmother calls for her, but she’s already escaped out of view from any of us.

As she walks away, I see my opportunity to speak to her about y/n’s words last night trail behind her.

My grandmother looks up from where her and Tuk sat, her eyes following where Kiri once stood.

She sighs.

“Neteyam. Can you accompany her please-“

She doesn’t even finish before I grab my knife off the small table and jog after Kiri.

Kiri turns a few corners, weaving around the now settling down high camp as sunset teased its way onto the forest of Pandora. Unleashing its blanket of warmth and violent colors with its army of clouds and weapons forged from a painted sky attacked the world above. The warm afternoon set onto my shoulders as I skipped over a few rocks unevenly coating the ground of the stronghold. The light cowers just shy of the tops of the mountains as I follow her outside, onto on of the small outstretches of a grassy valley, side by side with the back of high camp’s inner cave.

With the noise and exerted liveliness now sinking into the mere substratosphere of my senses, my attention is now on Kiri.

She finally takes notice of my presence, turning around to face me.

Her eyebrow raised as she stared at me, a bit puzzled.

I clear my throat.

“Mind if I join you?”

She shrugs,

“Not at all.”

Kiri gently brushes her fingertips across the petals of some stemless flowers, peaking through the vines that now forged themselves to grow on a natural stone boulder.

Watching Kiri interact with the world around her was fascinating.

Sometimes she touched the plants so gently, so attentively and fragile as if they were speaking to her, and she never dared to interrupt.

I shifted on my feet, trying to figure out a way to start this conversation that was probably not going to end in my favor.

She notices the flick of my tail, side glancing at me before turning her back towards me. I smile sheepishly.

“Is that a new anklet? It’s beautifully-“

“What do you want, Neteyam?”

I frown when she catches onto me faster than I predicted.

“I’m just complimenting you. I compliment all my siblings.”

She gave me a blank stare, clearly unimpressed.

“Uh huh. Sure.”

I sigh, leaning on the boulder closest to me.

“Okay, I give up.”

Kiri scoffs.

“Before you’ve even tried? That’s not very mighty warrior behavior.”

She rubs my shoulder playfully, now stepping forward to occupy the place next to me.

“C’mon. You can talk to me.”

I’m quiet for a moment, as I finally make eye contact.

“It’s about Y/n.”

Kiri stiffens for a moment. Something invisible taking the shape of armor climbing her skin. Some urge to keep your heart out of reach from me, I assume.

She internally mediates on my words for a moment before groaning softly.

“Neteyam. I’m not speaking to you about this-“

She starts to walk away, before she’s stop at my almost frantic movements.

“Wait- please. Kiri. You’re the only one I can speak to. It’s been killing me inside all damn day.”

She takes a breath before turning around, facing me once again.

“Okay. Fine. But don’t waste me time. On with it, then.”

She gestures for me to talk. it’s very rare occasion that I talk before I even register the words leaving my mouth. Maybe it’s because I’m panicking.

“I heard you and Y/n speak last night-“

She cuts me off right there. A hand smacking my chest as her eyes widened.

“You. Did. What?”

I gulp, looking down.

“Kiri, listen please.”

“Eywa begone with this bullshit-! You stalker! What are you, watching her now while she sleeps!?”

I wave my hands around to try and regain the more rationalized attention.

“No! I’m not stalking her. Just listen, please-“

There’s a rather common misconception that Kiri doesn’t take after either of my parents simply because she was not born of either my mother or my fathers love. But damn, if she didn’t have my mother's protectiveness.

She crossed her arms, glaring up at me.

“I’m not letting you hurt her again, Neteyam”

I wince, taking a step back.

“Kiri, please. Just listen. I want to fix things-

No. I want to fix everything. I’ve been hating myself for what I’ve done to her. I don’t deserve anything less than everything you are saying to me right now, I know better than anyone. I never, ever meant to hurt her..”

Kiri paused for a moment. Her eyes softened ever so slightly as I mentioned how much self-loathing this has inflicted on me.

She sighed, rubbing her palms down her face.

“Then what happened, exactly. Because the way I saw it, you acted as if she didn’t exist for months and then all the sudden her parents die and you feel bad about it.”

I shook my head, my shoulders slumping as I defeatedly sat down on a rock.

She hesitantly sat next to me, her voice softer now. Absent of the anger she once expressed.

“What happened, Neteyam?”

I sigh, thinking about where to begin.

“I loved her. I loved her so much, Kiri. I still do. My entire world has been spiraling around with her as its center. It swallowed me whole, it drowned me-“

I paused, gazing up at the now darkening sky.

“I was 15. I was stupid, afraid, and anxious.

Because for my entire life everything has always been one step ahead of me. I’ve known what to say, how to act, how to think, how to feel..when to sit, stand, talk, stay silent..

when I was with her, nothing was foreseeable. It felt almost destructive and unfamiliar…not having control of something when you feel like your entire existence has been under control just the same.”

Kiri looks at me with an emotion I can’t quite place. A distant memory that decomposed under external complexities.

“I was afraid. Afraid of what she would do to me, to my heart, to the heart of the future olo’eyktan of this clan. What If the son of Toruk Makto could do everything when it came to training, preparing, learning and studying the ways of being a leader, but couldn’t keep his mate happy? I can’t live with that, Kiri.

More importantly, why would I make her live like that?”

There’s a silence that draws between us. Neither of us speak.

Sometimes redemption is just a false hope. The spectacle of contemplating interchangeable acts of the past is a waste of time.

Emptiness, ecstasy, addiction, love, it all falls under a hollow shell of someone you hate. Someone you used to be.

Finally, Kiri speaks.

“You’re a stupid, Stupid man, Neteyam. And I’m probably even more stupid for trusting you to try again.”

My tail flicks, my ears upturn towards her, my entire face falling for a moment in pure shock.

I go to speak, but she cuts me off.

“You cannot start all that romance shit with her again. Our family can’t afford another one of your little spiels. It’s not about just you and her anymore. She’s dad’s right hand woman. His best student. Definitely better than the other warriors I’ve seen and that includes you. I won’t let you take that away from her. She has a future in this clan. But it’s not in your bed.”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to openly be in love with Y/n.

But I am no stranger to sacrifices.

Love is nothing without sacrifice. My mother’s words spoke the truth. Love is sometimes loud, impatient and hungry. Thrashing with convulsion.

The sun disappears every night so the moon can thrive in the darkness.

I would forget my entire existence If it was convenient for her.

I sacrificed for my parents. For my brother. For my sisters. For my home. For my morals. For my wants. My desires. My pain and my happiness.

There is always an atonement of sacrifice.

I shake my head.

“It wasn’t about that, Kiri. I just don’t us bad terms anymore. She’s like a sister to you, Lo’ak, and Tuk. She’s apart of our home now too.”

She nods, staring off for a moment.

“What about Lo’ak?

I shake my head.

“I’m not going to court Y/n. I just want her back in my life, normal again.”

She pays my back, standing to her feet once again.

“You have my blessing. And my advice if you need it for later.”

I can’t help it when I hug her, so tightly her feet hover above the ground for a moment.

“Ugh! Neteyam! You’re getting your male germs all over me!”

Kiri huffs when I finally put her down.

”you’re my favorite sibling, you know that, sis?”

She waves me off, and I can’t help but laugh at this new warmth that blooms in my chest at having another chance.

Before I start walking back to highcamp, I’m grabbed roughly by my armband by my sister once again, her voice dark and low as she speaks.

“If you fuck this up, so help me Eywa-

If you so much as become the cause for her even dropping a smile, I will make dad summon Toruk again just so I can feed it your remains and than wear you as a new shawl. Are we understood?”

I nod, before hurriedly running back to camp as we both hear the horn, alerting my father and Y/n have arrived.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆

authors note:

I hate tumblr. But hopefully the chapter 3 trilogy will post smoothly.

taglist:

Taglist

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange @thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

@0stargirl0

@heavenlysstuff

@dayyzlol

@iheartamajiki

#avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #jake avatar #neytiri #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar fanfiction #neteyam x you #kiri sully #lo’ak x reader

32 notes · View notes

milccyx · 2 years

Text

diluc headcanons

✧˖ genre: fluff, fluff and more fluff!!!!

✧˖ character: diluc x gn!reader

✧˖ tw/cw: mentions of scars because well its diluc, kaeya appeared once, suggestive, making out, muscles, diluc’s yummy ass tits, crepus’s grave is mentioned once, grammatical errors because I wrote this half asleep, not proof read

✧˖ a/n: first fluff fic! had so much fun writing for our favourite flaming hot man <33

adelinde and elzer is like family to diluc so he was extremely nervous when you were going to go visit him for the first time since the both of you started dating, he was afraid they won’t like you but it was still no surprise to see you get along so well with the both of them with your outgoing personality

you tracing and kissing diluc's scars while asking about the stories behind them and his face was flaming red the whole time because he was always insecure about his scars, he was afraid that his scars were going to scare you away and disgust you

adores it when you wear the clothes he bought you during your dates

secretly loves it when he sees you get along and interact with kaeya because eventhough after what happen between the two of them, kaeya is still his dear brother and bestfriend ever since they were little

diluc has a high body temperature because of his vision so he gets very hot most of the time due to wearing those thick ass layers of clothing, that’s why he likes walking around his mansion in a sleeveless turtle neck and a pair of sweat pants while also flustering you with his delicious meaty muscles

a very good cuddle buddy during the winter because he is very warm and you get to use his tits as your personal pillow but do not sleep in the same bed or room as him during the summer because you are going to die from heat stroke /hj

likes to push you against a wall and have your thighs wrapped around his waist while the both of you are making out

goes to crepus’s grave almost everyday to put a fresh new bouquet and to talk to him about you and all the small things the both of you did together, even mentioned about marrying you once or twice but got embarrassed at the thought of it

lets you style his hair everyday even though he grumbles about it while trying to hide his reddening ears, if you ask him to keep that certain style for the rest of the day he would quickly protest but when seeing the eyes you are giving him, he gives in almost instantly

during the rare mornings that he is allowed to stay in, he loves to thread his fingers in your hair and pepper kisses all over your shoulder

loves to kiss your fingers whenever he sees you as a greeting or a goodbye, if the both of you has matching promise rings, he would kiss the ring as a silent promise to be yours forever

loves to have matching stuff but will not even admit it with a gun to his head, matching clothes? yes. matching bracelets? yes. matching rings? yes. matching necklaces? yes.

625 notes · View notes

kaihuntrr · 10 months

Note

I saw your latest drawing! And wanted to share a list of things I noticed! I wrote this all in my notes app beforehand with how much back and frothing I had to do lol.

Anyways. Pearl and Scott seem to have a matching bracelet(Pearl) and necklace (Scott) in their humans designs(though you did point that out in the descriptions), *however*, in the latest drawing, Scott doesn’t seem to be wearing his. The necklace he *is* wearing and is grasping in its length is too long to be the one that he has that matches with Pearl. It *does* however seem to match the necklace that he keeps hidden under his shirt in length. Scott doesn’t *only* match Pearl though.

I’ve noticed you like to have characters match sometimes to establish a connection. I’m a flower husbands shipper, and I also noticed in the first post of Scott and Martyn’s original designs, that Scott has an earring from a previous partner. Doing some zooming in, Jimmy’s earring seems to match Scott’s. Also while zooming, Jimmy seems to have some kind of necklace under hist shirt hmm? Also a similar length to the one Scott hides and is clutching in the recent drawing. Jimmy’s tattoo also seems to resembles a flower somewhat from what we can see. Jimmy isn’t the only one to have a tattoo on his neck though, because Martyn also has one, though his is a crown.

Crown assumedly is referencing/in memory of Ren and looking closer at the locket, it also seems to be a crown engraved into it, either that or mountains, both being symbolic of the red army. And the trinket from the first monster he killed as a boy looks to be a tooth. It isn’t very big, so it was probably something more human sized. That along with the scars on his chest I believe further prove my point. Also what I’m guessing is meant by “Is he ready to love again, even after what happened to Ren?” And the necklaces being referred to as a *trinket* instead of a *trophy*, I have reason to believe that Ren was the first monster he had to kill. Ren was likely a werewolf as that would have claws and be more human sized, and also, well, that’s just a common depiction of him. Him having a “trinket from the first monster he killed as a boy”, I imagine implies that he and Ren were lovers a far amount of time ago.

BACK to Jimmy though, it is assumed that Jimmy was killed by a Prince. While it is mentioned that Scott likes toying with his food and gets upset if he’s hungry, I don’t think Scott would’ve attacked the ship. *Pearl*, however is described as “[loving] to stir chaos and [wrecking] any ship that passes her domain.” The journey that Jimmy was supposedly killed on was described as being in “uncharted waters”, and, well, to chart waters, one has to come back to share what they charted *alive*. And you can’t really come back alive if your ship is wrecked, huh? Also, in that same info dump post, there’s this one bit “perhaps the prince was only using its limbs to knock it over” and “Somehow, I’d bet Joel was able to hit a spear into the prince’s tail”, quick bit before I go on, but taking a piece of an injured Prince is referred to as a *trophy* here instead of, say, a turnkey.

Anyway! Back on topic! Though we only have Pearl and Scott for reference, *Pearl* is depicted as having not only her human/humanoid arms, but *also* more lobster/mantis shrimp like limbs. So I’m thinking it’s likely *she* was the one who attacked their ship. The Prince who attacked their ship and, maybe potentially kinda most likely, killed Jimmy.

So why did she toy with them instead of outright wrecking the ship for being in her domain? Or just leave them alone in fact? Simple. In the Princes post, it says, “A specific hunter group catches her attention as Chromia seems to be interested in them. What was so interesting about them? All she saw were nuisances. It would be a fun chase, she was sure of it.” She knew Scott was interested in that hunting group, but not *why* he was interested in the hunting group, assumedly. She describes a chase with them as fun. So she wants to try and have fun, but uh oh, She probably got hit by a spear from Joel and she’s decided she’s had her fun and now she’s upset and stops playing. And then Jimmy goes overboard. I’m not sure what to say on how/why the waters calm after that, maybe Scott was nearby hunting for food and saw Jimmy fall overboard and then tried to stop Pearl or something? I’m not sure, but that leads to, I think, my last point.

The most recent drawing/post. I’m not the most adept at reading facial expressions, but while Pearl is crying, she also looks confused, as if she really doesn’t get the big deal over what Scott is yelling at her for. Scott, who is clutching a necklace not hidden by his shirt that has a similar length to the one Jimmy has under his shirt. Scott is upset and distraught. It could be thought that if Scott was hunting nearby when it happened, then he was hungry, and Pearl saw his reaction as him just being fueled by “hangry” feelings rather than genuine hurt. Pearl doesn’t see the big deal, still. She wants to reconnect with Scott but… “There seems to be a problem there, but she'll fix it. It shouldn't be that bad.” Which, again, highlights how Pearl thinks of humans. She didn’t have the emotional connection that Scott had with them and, again, sees humans as “nuisances”.

She doesn’t get the big deal and why Scott is so upset. It was just a human. A nuisance. And Scott was hungry at the time so she thinks he was just upset and overreacting because of hunger, and may not think farther than that. She may think Scott is just being petty and prideful. She thinks fixing the problem won’t be “that bad” because, in her mind/opinion, the issue that it sprung from wasn’t a big deal… I also feel the need to say that while Pearl *is* in the wrong here, I can sort of understand her mindset in a way. Humans to her are like ants are to us. Most don’t get attached to humans and don’t really see or understand each individual one’s significance. So, while I don’t agree with what I believe she did, I can understand/explain her mindset.

Now, Scott. In the Prince post, it says “When his eyes are set on a specific hunter, he starts to question everything around him.” And in the character post, it says “He’s hiding something. Maybe he’ll tell Martyn his secrets one day?” I’m guessing that what he’s hiding is that he knew Jimmy, the person who was once part of Martyn’s crew and died at sea. Also, “a specific hunter”, being that Martyn knew Jimmy well. Scott is hiding that he knew Jimmy and who killed Jimmy. Last bits I think. When in reference to humans, Scott thoughts are that “they're small, fragile, and annoying.” Small and fragile likening to Jimmy’s death or extreme injury since there’s also that “… or is he?” Line. “Annoying” referring to Jimmy being “impulsive, stubborn, but a wonderful and simple person all around.”

ANYWAYS. Those are all my thoughts pulled from the posts that are already given that I have pieced together somewhat. I couldn’t figure out what/who Jimmy’s braided bracelet is tied to, nor did I really figure anything out for the ones I didn’t mention. Also, I noticed as well that Pearl is wearing at least one earring in the drawing depicting her and Scott’s falling out. I couldn’t find anyone having a match, *but* I also noticed that Grian seems to be the only character besides Pearl to have his ears covered. So maybe there’s something there? Potentially?

Ahaha, anyways, these are the thoughts rattling around in my noggin. This turned out way longer than I anticipated. Maybe tell me how close or far I am to somethings? Or not tell me cause of possibly confirming spoilers? Or just a really vague answer lol? ~~I seek validation~~ But maybe tell me of how you think my brain works? Or a general of what my analysis makes you think? 🥺👉👈

Hello anon! First of all, I’m genuinely impressed you managed to get all of that through all the posts, you have a good eye. Putting all of your thoughts in a notes app really shows your dedication to this and I think you’ll love what ends up happening in the story! I love the effort, and if anyone else has theories in the works as more things are posted I’d love to see them 👀!

The way I word things in the posts is something I make deliberate so it absolutely fascinates me with your analysis. Can’t confirm anything of course, but perhaps your theories would change as more of the characters are designed and introduced ;)

Connections are important. They serve a good chunk of the story; the characters turn to specific people and have their own ups and downs that may or may not be seen in what they wear and how their thoughts are explored. Maybe some could be because they like wearing it, some could be worn out of sentimental value?

And who knows what happened to Jimmy, and Ren for that matter? All up in the air, but those are some interesting thoughts you have there, anon :D!

I’m excited to see what you (and others!) can pull from the remaining designs, and what it could possibly mean for the story ahead.

Oh! And because you mentioned Pearl and Scott’s shell bracelet/necklace, I figured I’ll put them here :D they have each other’s eye colors on their shell hehe

#kai answers #the sea prince au

22 notes · View notes

silvercatwithnoname · 1 year

Text

FNaF AU Part 2

Chapter 2 Daytime

As Michael stepped out of the door, he was greeted by the sunrise, he smiled, he liked the sun. When he arrived at the pizzeria, a tired Leon was getting into his car. “Hello!” the nightguard smiled at him, he was a nice and reliable person. Leon was about the same size as Michael, was twenty years old, had blonde hair, green eyes and very pale skin, most likely a side effect of sleeping most of the day and only leaving the house when the sun either goes down or rises. “Nothing interesting happened tonight, honestly, the most interesting thing that happened was you waving at the camera. How is it going with the new animatronic? Will he be done soon?” Michael frowned “No, I can’t get that thing to function properly, I don’t know why, I’ll return to working on the racoon, maybe I’ll even use some parts of the bunny animatronic, buying new materials all the time gets expensive. Hey, is Nicolas there already?” he asked but Leon shook his head and yawned “We’re lucky that Nico comes on time on most days, I don’t think he’ll ever be early.” He laughed “I’m going home alright? I feel like I could sleep for days…" a smile appeared on Leons face "Don't worry, I won't miss my shift. See you later.” the nightguard yawned again as he got into his car and drove home.

Lara, the pizzerias cook was already working in the kitchen and made a lot of noise, this reminded him of the old Freddy’s restaurant he worked at, the constant clattering of pans, and other kitchen utensils the robot found in there. He decided to say hello to Lara before fixing the stage lights, at yesterday’s show he noticed that they were slightly off and wanted to readjust them before opening. “Hey Mike.” Lara said and smiled at him, she always was cheerful and positive. She was a bit smaller than him, had long dark hair and always wore a necklace with a pendant that showed her zodiac sign, Gemini, she also wore two pink bracelets, one on each wrist. Though she takes the bracelets off when cooking. “Do you think that today will be busy?” she asks while searching for something “No, most likely not more than usual, it’s impressive though how quickly we got so many customers.” Michael has opened up the pizzeria about seven months ago, before opening, he worked in several different Jobs, mostly jobs where he wouldn’t get into contact with many people. He saved the money, which was way easier than expected, after all he didn’t have to eat, and he still lives in the old house his parents owned. He bought material to build animatronics in his father’s old workshop, and managed to get someone to rent him the building his pizzeria was housed in. At first, he managed everything alone, which didn’t work out too well until he hired Nico, Lara and lastly Leon. Nico helps him during the day and sometimes with the animatronics maintenance. Lara cooks and Leon is the nightguard, Michael has to clean up every day by himself, he couldn’t afford to hire a janitor yet, but he didn’t really mind. At daytime, he would keep an eye on everything, but would make sure to not interact to much with the guests, though sometimes he has to talk to customers, this wouldn’t be a problem, if he didn’t look like he came straight up out of a nightmare, he always was afraid that someone would see through his disguise. All it would take is that his make-up was smeared, and his rotten purple skin was visible, or his scarf to loosen enough to reveal what was left of his neck. The rest was fairly easy to hide, he could just keep his right eye closed, when his hair moved, he can keep his mouth shut most of the time to hide his pointy teeth, or just look down when talking. His one purple eye, he could explain as having a very rare eyecolor, the gloves cover his one hand and there is no situation anyone would see his foot or his scars. Michael hated hiding himself like this, but he didn’t have a choice, and when he saw the children laughing and running around in the pizzeria, or being amazed by his animatronics, he thought the whole effort of hiding himself to keep this place running was worth it, sometimes he wondered if his father felt the same, and if he regretted what he did, what he gave up, by becoming a cruel killer. Even though making kids happy wasn’t Michaels only reason to open up his own animatronic restaurant, his main goal was to attract someones attention, the only person that could help him find the remains of his family and put them to rest once and for all. He headed to the stage and turned the lights on, he activated the animatronics and tried to find out what the exact error was, once he found it, he brought a ladder and tweaked the positioning of some of the spotlights until he was happy with the results. Michael opened up the doors and about half an hour later and welcomed the first guests of the day. The place smelled like pizza and Nicolas was wandering around and talked to costumers. He was a tall and slim twenty-three year old, with light brown hair and amber colored eyes. He had his head in the clouds most of the time, at least he seemed like he did, but somehow Nico always manages to pay attention to what was happening around him.

Michael went to his office and saw an advertisement, in two days there would be an auction which would sell some stuff from the old Freddy Fazbear’s. Old decorations, some monitors, chairs tables, everything that was still remotely intact. Even parts of the old animatronics “Someone destroyed those things? I guess it was about time…” he murmured. Then he saw something that sent a chill down his spine, on one of the pictures was the old golden bear, the springlock suit, and the one that had caused Evans death, well, Michael himself caused his death, and he knew that, but it was the animatronic that crushed his little brother’s head. That thing still existed. If he still had a heart, it would be beating faster at the panic he felt when he remembered. He left the room and went outside, he had to calm down, Michael hated the memory of his worst mistake, he hated to be reminded that he himself killed and bullied Evan. “Hey you stormed out of the building, is everything alright?” Somehow Michael didn’t notice that Nicolas approached him “Yeah, I’m alright, I was just reminded... of something terrible and stupid I did.” Sighing he sit down on stairs leading up to the entrance, Nico sat down beside him, but looked the other direction, he knew that Michael hated being looked at. “Everyone does stupid things.” Nico tried to cheer him up, he always tried to make others happy, he was the most positive person he knew, but Michael knew that his mistake couldn't be undone by kind words “Usually, stupid things don’t end in someone dying…” his voice was faint, he wasn’t sure if Nico even heard it. After a while of silence Nicolas said “Sorry…” He got up, not sure what to say “I… I really don’t know what to tell you now. I guess I can only offer that you can talk to me about it, if you want.” A smile appeared on Michael’s face, even though Nico couldn’t see it “Thank you, come on, let’s go back in.” He said and got up, Michael was really glad that Nicolas didn't try to force his usual positivity on him, or asked more questions. Back inside, everything seemed to be how it should be, the animatronics performed their show, the guests were happy and once again he wonders how everything has gone wrong with Freddy’s. He wonders how everything would have turned out if his father hadn’t gone crazy. Michael was sure that he was part of the reason that he lost his mind, after all it didn’t really help that Evan died, and Elizabeth... Well her death was another story, definitely something that would haunt him just as much as Evans death haunted him.. He wandered around the pizzeria and saw a group of children drawing pictures of Jumper, the kangaroo was seemingly the favorite animatronic of most of the children. He headed to the workshop, on his desk were some planned animatronic designs and blueprints. He took one of the raccoon blueprints and made some notes at the side of the paper. Then he looked around the room, his eyes stopped at the unfinished bunny animatronic “Some part of me really wants to get you to work properly, but another part is just creeped out by you… But I already put so much work into you... I guess I’ll try it one last time.

The timed passed by as he tried to finish up the endoskeleton of the bunny, he even built in one of his limiters, Michael developed those to restraint their strength. The animatronics were still technically capable of killing someone, or bite their head off, but the limiters locked parts of the endoskeleton in show-mode, so they weren’t able to use this strength on stage. In case someone got the same stupid idea as him, when he was a kid, or if one of his animatronics had a malfunction. The limiters were build in on the jaw, the fingers and the hands, Michael guessed that the animatronics were safe with the limiters on those places, but he built the endoskeleton in a way which allowed him to use more limiters if needed. Another thing he worked on was an AI for the robots, he tried this with a few prototypes, but it didn’t work yet, so he deactivated them and put them in the workshops small storing room, he only put those with AI in there, if one was activated somehow, it wouldn’t be able to make a mess in his workshop. He tried to give the bunny an AI too, but it acted weird, Michael left the necessary electronics and parts in, but they were turned off for now. Right now, the bunny is the only animatronic with AI that was stored in the workshops main room, just because Michael didn’t want to drag it from point A to point B every night, at least as long as he was working on it. He made progress and it seemed that the bunny wasn’t a hopeless case, if everything worked fine, he would be able to finish him by the end of the week.

Chapter two, thanks for reading.

#fnaf au #michael afton

2 notes · View notes

paint-lady · 1 year

Text

Exalted Secret Santa 2022

Happy Calibration Everyone!

This year my Exalted routine has changed a lot. I’m still a player in a chronicle as Cathak Red, but now my partner and I are Storytellers for 5 newbie solars! So this year I offer two major NPCs in the chronicle:

1. K’Tai the sidereal, chosen of Journeys 2. Jinora, human (voted by my players)

K’Tai

Chosen of Journeys

Age: Mid 40s in appearance

Gender: Female, she/her

Hair: Greying at the roots with dark brown curls. Her curls are so tight they keep her hair appearing shoulder length. She has two long, thin braids that come in front of her ears. They always have some sort of star iconography or jewelry braided into them.

Eyes: Her left one is a soft hazel green. Her right is a similar tone with a silvery scar running through its center- severing her pupil. Its likely she cannot see out of this eye.

Distinguishing Features: A scar of 3 claw marks across her face. The damage has healed long ago, but the indents in her skin are lined with silver. It cuts through the center of her right eye.

Expressions: A soft genuine smile when she is proud of someone. Covers her mouth when she laughs. Will give you some of the strongest side eye if she disapproves of something. In her eyes is fear- fear that there’s always something she can’t spare her loved ones from.

Body Build: Ktai has carried children to term and does not hide how it has altered her body. Her arms are toned and accustomed to holding a crying toddler til they fall asleep.

Clothes: Lots of jewelry, extremely well polished. K’tai wears a lot of golden items. Her favorite are ribbon like bracelets. Her braids are adorned with gold as well, but these include starlight iconography. She is typically seen wearing a comfortable robe dress, adorned with delicate patterns and deep colorful dyes. She likes being barefoot, feeling Creation under her own two feet, but has a set of fashionable sandals for tougher terrain.

Weapons and Gear: K’tai is a practitioner of Obsidian Shards of Infinity Style- her jewelry hides twin daggers she keeps exceptionally well polished. She carries a bag full of useful items- ranging from first aid supplies to candies to her hand-crafted prayer strips.

K’tai’s most common resplendent destinies are The Gull (a character called Bardo), The Mast (Dori), and The Rising Smoke.

History: (If you are one of my players reading, spoilers ahead.)

K’tai is old. So you’d think she’d have more sway in Heaven. You’d think she’d have delegated the field work of concealing brand new solars. But instead we find her guarding the circle her first age self betrayed.

K’tai was swept up by her elders at a very young age, and grew up training rigorously- a story many sidereals share. Her purview was beginnings and new starts- which Creation desperately needed after surviving the Great Contagion. She spent her early decades doing field work, message delivering, and caravan watching. There was little free time, her sifu also had her studying hundreds of parables and history of the First Age, but she spent her remaining minutes with her lover, Gadarra.

Over the course of centuries, she and Gadarra formed a sidereal circle, consisting of her sifu, Geari (Serenity), and Sonnak (War). The five became more than a circle- they were a family. Despite their different colleges and disagreements on specific politics, all five worked together harmoniously.

However, terrible omens and luck began to accumulate. When their sifu died, they could not find his new incarnation. The new star that glimmered in the loom of fate suddenly vanished. Other sidereals couldn’t find them- even Lytek, god of Celestial Exaltation, stopped being petty (though he is completely justified in his pettiness) for three seconds to offer his condolences and confusion to the shattered family.

Shortly after his passing, K’tai began to dream of the First Age- relentlessly. Whenever she shut her eyes, she would see flashes of the solar circle her past incarnation served. They had made Creation so beautiful. Anger festered. Her teachings were true- these sweet memories and dreams are harsh reminders of what they were- not what they’d become.

In her waking hours, K’tai spent a lot of time searching for her sifu’s new incarnation. She’d spend hours looking at shattered mirrors of fate. Finally there was an answer- a thread in the loom she could pull on- and she leapt to follow it (despite Gadarra’s warnings and attempts to stop her). This led her to the edges of Creation, where the snow and ice from the North met the unending vines of the East.

The boy lay bleeding in the snow. The greater sign of Jupiter flickered weakly in the sky above him. Before K’tai could stop the bleeding, his assailant emerged- a chosen of Luna old enough to remember what the sidereals had done. The fight was gory and vicious, but K’tai escaped with her sifu’s new incarnation and a scar that would never fade.

Image Refs:

Jinora

Age: 13

Gender: Female, she/her

Hair: Pale White/Lavender Tones. Its tied back into two loose braids that extend a little past her shoulders.

Eyes: Ice Blue

Distinguishing Features: Jinora wears clothing that is typical of Marukani folk, but her features are distinctly Northern. She can be easily spotted among the White Company with her pale features. She has a noticeable gap between her front two teeth.

Expressions: A toothy grin. She sticks her tongue out when she is concentrating. She seems at her most free riding horses.

Body Build: Scrawny. This is a child that has seen a few rough harvests and survived them.

Clothes: Jinora has the smallest deel the White Company Riders could offer. Deel are traditional Mongolian clothing- and plenty of herders still wear these today. Its a vibrant blue.

Weapons and Gear: Jinora is an incredibly skilled rider for her age. She usually is carrying a bridle for her horse, Saffron (aptly named for the mare’s yellow mane). She also frequently hides snacks- for her and the horse. These are typically carrots and apple slices. Since she has joined the White Company, she has begun some spear training, though she is showing more promise with a bow.

History:

Jinora was born to a family of ranchers along the Grey River in the Scavenger Lands. Life was fairly mundane, until the night she awoke to the sounds of desperate combat. Before the sleep was cleared from her eyes, her father was bundling her onto his horse.

“Ride Northeast. Find the White Company. Warn them: Zombies on the Road to Lowhill.”

He pressed a bag of coins into her hand and kiss on her forehead, then shouted to the horse, “Saffron! Go!”

Those were the last words she heard her father say.

The White Company’s leader, Valere, would exalt 24 hours later, defeating the Abyssal that Jinora led them to.

Since then, Jinora has joined the White Company as their first...errr... squire? Valere of the Dawn is not entirely sure what to do with their new charge. But Jinora is eager to learn, and the entire company has excitedly taken up training her. What fate has in store is unclear, but a Solar Exalt’s first protege is surely destined for greatness.

Image Ref:

#exalted secret santa #exalted #steph plays exalted

5 notes · View notes

herculesgarcia · 1 year

Note

[ trail ] i watch as you trace one of my scars, asking me about it.

— f

The first time Hércules had noticed Unmei's scars, he hadn't even been speaking to her, mostly stalking observing from a distance.

The blonde girl was accompanied by one of his sisters, Cass, and they were giggling quietly, but excitedly, about something. Knowing them? Probably they had stolen a surgical blade from the infirmary, or a gun from a militant and they were now abusing the fact that they had a weapon in order to get whatever it was that they wanted that day. New clothes? Better food? Make up? Nail polish?

His eyes had wandered over Unmei's body, as they usually did. He had never tried to hide how attractive he found her, and Hatter's dress code didn't leave much for the imagination. Besides, it was not like she had never caught him staring. She had, and judging by her reactions, didn't seem to mind.

If she had minded, Hércules would have stopped, because contrary to what people tended to believe, he did care about others. Their feelings, their thoughts, their opinions. He would feel awful if he had made someone uncomfortable, although he would have simply tried to mask it with a joke or two, a laugh, a flip of his curls, a charming smile and an apology that deep down would have been very, very, heart-felt.

After eyeing Unmei up and down a few times, all the while praying Cass wouldn't look in his direction because she'd definitely use that as leverage for some other time, Hércules' dark eyes had found the scars. On the blonde girl's thighs, faded, barely visible, which was the reason why he hadn't noticed them until then.

He had seen marks like those before. He even sported a few of his own, on his left forearm, that he regretted more than anything in his life, if only because of all the pain they had caused Andro and Cass and that he tried to keep hidden with countless bracelets. Both, so that he wouldn't be asked about them, and so that his sisters never needed to be reminded of them again.

Hércules tilted his head towards his right shoulder, still examining the girl in silence. He would have loved to ask, curiosity running in the family as much as curly hair and brown eyes did, but he wouldn't do it. Not now, at that particular moment.

He did, however, feel more seen.

Even if Unmei hadn't even looked at him once.

───⋆☆─────────────

Hércules' long fingers drew shapes on Unmei's pale skin.

Random things — a little monster, a ghost, a star. It was something the three García siblings tended to do when they were comfortable, feeling at peace, or when they were thinking intently about something. Just like all of them also stuck out their tongue when they were concentrated, or had a slightly lopsided smile.

They were family, after all. Really close in age, as well.

It was then when his index finger went over the slight bump of one of the girl's scars. And stopped there, on her upper thigh. For a second.

His eyes found Unmei's. Icy blue, so cold they reminded him of winter, but burning him all the same. Making him feel like a bull had charged at him and stolen all the air from his lungs. Impenetrable. It was impossible to know what was going through her mind.

Carefully, he traced it. And then moved on to the next one. And the next one, doing so until he had lost count, his eyes never straying from her face, which he could only see part of, now, as the girl's eyes were following his hand's every move.

'I don't need to know, but I want to know.'

A throaty voice, from not having spoken in the last hour or so.

'What happened?'

#prosopagn0sis #[hope u like this!!! <3<3<3]

1 note · View note

redorich · 3 years

Note

(Hermit Canyon AU)

Eventually, the Hermit seems to get attached to Puffy. It makes sense- it's been trading gifts with her for months now, and has even shown itself to her a few times, albeit while invisible.

The other SMPers don't think much of it at first. The more curious members ask Puffy questions about The Hermit sometimes, but she knows little, so they quickly give up. Occasionally someone will try to explore the ridiculously trapped town, but they give up once it's obvious they're not getting in.

The trades grow more and more valuable, and one day Puffy opens her barrel to find a beacon, and enough iron to fully power it. She's stunned, naturally. To think the Hermit is so capable it can kill a Wither just to give a beacon away- she can barely believe it.

(In actuality, they cheesed it on the Nether roof, but she doesn't know that)

She does try to hide it, but word gets around, and after another few failed raids on the town (and some rumours that the Hermit can teleport), things settle down again, as much as they can on the SMP.

Then someone steals Puffy's beacon. {You decide who, because I. don't actually watch DSMP, admittedly.}

Puffy, naturally, is devestated- she can't imagine the work the Hermit put into getting it for her in the first place (the most time-consuming thing was getting the Wither skulls, and it wasn't even that bad). But there's not really much she can do, so she carries on.

Except, the next day, the thief wakes up to find their house full of chickens, Puffy's beacon missing, and every single empty space in their chests filled with strategically renamed light grey stained glass panes.

They go outside to find the entire contents of a cave spider spawner on their front lawn. Alongside a ravager. With speed potions. Renamed Pamela's Revenge.

(Cue half the SMP trying to find out who Pamela is)

Puffy, meanwhile, wakes to find her beacon back in its rightful place, and a beautifully terraformed garden outside her house (Scar accidentally detonated a creeper and naturally had to fix the hole...and then went a little overboard. But it's fine.)

op i want you to know that i considered just posting your ask, because it’s already So Good and practically a fic on its own, but i really wanted even more content so i wrote it myself. ANYWAY here’s sapnap’s terrible horrible no good very bad day xD

It’s risky, doing anything on the wide open Nether roof where anyone can see. Hell, using a beacon at all is risky for the Hermits. Still, they’ve got all sorts of farms and copious amounts of materials at their fingertips. They’re past early game, stuck in mid-game while they wait for Etho to scope out more locations, while they build the second Upside Down (which Grian has named the Upside-ier Down), while they build their joint bases miles out from civilization.

Having a beacon would make the process faster, they reason to themselves. They certainly aren’t risking being discovered just because they’re bored and getting a beacon is an excuse to do something. And hell, Tango made that giant, super-efficient wither skeleton skull farm right next to his double blaze spawner farm, so they might as well mass-produce Nether stars by killing multiple Withers. It’s not that difficult.

On another note, it’s after they gift Puffy one of their many beacons, in addition to a kit of iron blocks for powering the beacon that the Hermits realize that while their gifts are increasing in expense, Puffy’s are... not. So, if Puffy’s around average in the Dream SMP economy, they’ve figured out where most players meet their limit. She hasn’t stopped dropping by, though, which is nice. Her gifts become increasingly handmade, in lieu of upping the ante on material wealth. The Hermits suppose that hand-crafted items have a value that extends past money. Each and every one of them has something that she’s made for them, whether it be a shawl, a blanket, a set of earrings, a bracelet, or a pair of socks.

Apparently the beacon is more of a Big Deal than the Hermits thought. After all, the rainbow castle has several. However, the Hermits realize that they’ve been shortsighted. While it is true that the rainbow castle has several beacons, the castle is the only place that they’ve seen any beacons.

Sapnap steals the beacon. He doesn’t particularly need it, but he wants it, and stealing is fun. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll even start another minor war over it. He hasn’t fought Puffy very much. He wonders if she can put up a good fight.

Puffy’s-- not distraught, but she’s upset. That was a gift from the Hermit, a friend who she’s been pulling out of its shell. She doesn’t have much use for a beacon, but then again, neither does Sapnap; he’s just a dick. Just in case, Puffy leaves a note with the rest of the items she leaves in her barrel:

Dear Hermit,

I’m very sorry for losing the beacon you gave me. I made the mistake of keeping it in a normal chest instead of an Ender chest, so Sapnap stole it. I should have seen that coming. I’ll try to get it back, but if I don’t, please know that I didn’t throw it away.

Thank you,

Puffy.

Sapnap wakes up in the middle of a lake. His mattress is floating, and when he tries to paddle back to shore (once he’s done screaming), the mattress tips over and he receives an unpleasant fishy wakeup call. He trudges into his house for a shower, and finds that the showerhead, as well as all his faucets, have been stuffed with ramen noodle seasoning.

He looks in his chests for a bucket of water. The first chest he checks is not only full of light gray glass, but also trapped. When he opens it, pufferfish fall out of the ceiling and bounce around. He dies to their poison twice before they finally die. The next chest he opens also has light gray glass, no water buckets, and a trap. This one, though, only releases a metric fuckton of chickens into his house. It’s fine. This is fine.

As he looks through his chests, he realizes something. They’ve got glass in them, sure, and they’ve been raided of water buckets, but... the beacon is gone. None of his other items, like enchanted netherite tools or literal diamond blocks, have been stolen. Just Puffy’s beacon.

Whoever pranked him missed a bucket, so he promptly dumps it over his head in an effort to smell less like pond scum and spicy chicken noodles. It takes the whole day to get his base back in order: he’s got to clean out all the faucets, empty all the glass from his chests, throw out all the dead pufferfish, and slaughter chickens by the dozens.

He can’t sleep. Are you fucking kidding. He can’t sleep. A soft hiss catches his attention, only audible now that the quiet of night has fallen. Is there somehow an unlit cave under his base?

Nope. As he steps outside onto his front lawn, he sees a daylight detector near the door that he missed when he came inside this morning. The daylight detector seems to have released approximately fifteen bajillion cave spiders onto his lawn, and they’re all angry, so he shuts the front door in their faces and goes back inside. That’s a problem for tomorrow’s him.

Horns spear the wall right next to where Sapnap was standing five seconds ago. He yelps. What the fuck is a ravager doing on his front porch? And why the FUCK does it have speed potion particles?!

<Georgenotfound> who is pamela’s revenge

<Sapnap> ;RVAER

<Sapnap> HELP

<Sapnap> RAVEAGER

<Georgenotfound> good night sapnap :)

<Sapnap> GEORGE OYU BITCH HLEP ME

<Georgenotfound> zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

-------

Puffy sees a whole lot of nonsense in the chat when she wakes up in the morning, and promptly decides to ignore it. She goes about her morning as usual, heading out to her front porch to sip a cup of coffee in peace.

She... has a garden now. Hm. That wasn’t there before. And come to think of it, neither was the beacon she lost.

“Thanks, Hermit,” she says with a smile.

-------

Stress sips a cup of tea, having breakfast in Grian’s rustic sitting room with a few of her fellow Hermits.

“D’ya think we went overboard?” she says.

“...Nah,” Cub says.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #goodtimeswithscar #ethoslab #grian #tango tek #sapnap #georgenotfound #stressmonster #stressmonster101 #cubfan135 me.cpp #rayveewrites

672 notes · View notes

gwynrielsupremacist · 3 years

Text

FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS

Read at AO3

(if you want to be tagged in the series, let me know!)

"Now you must pass the blue thread under the black one, stretch hard to leave them together and finally place the red one above the other two." Gwyn explained as she turned the strands around and around, weaving them over and over until she got a decent bracelet.

However, the threads between the Spymaster's fingers weren't decent at all.

The priestess began to laugh softly, watching as the male next to her struggled to keep all the strings in order, failing at it, of course.

"I give up" He growled, undoing the little development he had achieved in the two hours they had been together, the shadows that were on the tips of his wings descending on his neck.

She already understood their behavior a little in front of the Shadowsinger. She knew what they were doing at that moment was comforting him.

"It's not that complicated." she murmured, grasping the edges of the threads, slowly starting to weave them, showing him the process step by step. "See? Pure practice."

But it was true in the two hours they had spent trying, Gwyn had already made more than six bracelets, while Azriel had not finished his yet.

Azriel leaned back on the sofa in the House of Wind, closing his eyes and ruffling his hair, irritably.

"I can't believe I’m not able to do this" He announced, grabbing the thin edges of the filament again, trying to interlock them, but failing again. "I quit" He said, leaving the colored strands on the table and getting up from the couch, earning a soft chuckle from Gwyn.

"I can't believe you're not capable of making a simple bracelet!" the priestess teased, grabbing her six bracelets and putting them in a small drawer, where were the different crafts she did when she couldn't sleep, or didn't want to sleep.

"I'm not as talented as you," he recognized, his voice coming from the kitchen near the living room where they were. "Do you want sugar or milk in your coffee?"

"Both!" she bellowed, hearing a laugh from the Shadowsinger.

"I imagined it," he replied, bringing in his hands a tray with two coffees, a jug of milk and a sugar bowl, while his shadows circled the tray, excited. He left the tray on top of the threads, then sat on the sofa, careful of his wings, while the shadows settled back in the crook of his neck, although some of them ran to where Gwyn was, surrounding her playfully.

"So why do you ask if you know what I'm going to answer?" she questioned, grabbing the coffee Azriel passed her, grabbing the milk and sugar to serve herself.

"Just in case you had changed that horrible taste you have" he hinted, reaching for his coffee cup, and without adding any sweetener he took it to his mouth. Noting the amazement with which she was watching him, he asked, "What?"

"Aren't you going to put a sugar cube in your coffee?" the female recommended, adding three sugar cubes to hers.

The Spymaster denied, raising the cup to his lips: "The coffee is better without anything."

Horrified, the priestess replied: "That's a lie, black coffee is just disgusting, it is very bitter." some shadows located with Azriel went towards Gwyn, as if by this they implied they agreed with her.

"Do you understand I am your master, right?" he snapped, looking amused at his shadows.

She laughed, letting the shadows entwine around her fingers, spinning rapidly.

"Maybe you don't like it, priestess, but I prefer it that way" he continued, putting the coffee down on the table and looking at the edges of the threads sticking out of the tray.

Carefully he pulled out three, one blue, one black, and finally one purple, and went back to trying to braid them.

For the first few moments, Gwyn thought he had finally learned how to make them, since he was weaving them together well, but the moment they joined one another, they became entangled.

He snorted, put the bracelet half on the table and crossed his arms, disappointment in his eyes. Some of his shadows passed around his neck, staying there.

She chuckled softly, then got to her feet and, looking at him, questioning if she could sit next to him, to which he nodded curiously, dropped to the side of the Spymaster, grabbing the edges of the bracelet and releasing them onto the ring, middle and thumb fingers.

"May l?" She asked cheerfully.

With surprise, the Shadowsinger understood what the priestess was looking for, therefore he nodded, silently asking the shadows to stay in the arc of his wings, moving closer to her and leaving his fingers flabby, for her to manipulate as she wished.

Her proximity to Azriel seemed strange to her. Someone who kept so many secrets and didn't like people occupying his personal space was allowing Gwyn to do so, and also allowing her to take his fingers and use them to create the bracelet.

The fear in Azriel's eyes when she noticed the scars on his hands made her think that it was not a good idea, that he felt uncomfortable for her touching his hands, but when his eyes met hers, Azriel nodded slightly.

She slowly stroked his palm and the back of his, earning a strangled sigh from the male.

She wondered if his scars hurt or bothered him. It was clear that something had happened to him, those marks did not occur overnight, but if he did not want to explain it, she was not going to be the one to ask.

She grabbed the ring finger and the index finger and began to tie the knot at one end of the thread so that it would be attached. Then she took his other hand and with it passed the violet through them, creating a small circle. Finally, she took the black thread and passed it through the center of the circle, holding it, while with the other hand she maneuvered to tie everything under the blue thread.

Although she didn't say anything, she did notice Azriel's irregular breathing, and Gwyn didn't know if it was because she was hurting him or if he was trying not to think that someone was touching his hands, and therefore his scars. Or if he too felt that strange sensation in his chest, as if something was slowly glowing deep within him.

She tried to compose herself, and went through the same process over and over again, trying not to touch Azriel's hands too much just in case he felt uncomfortable, until she finished the task.

Between her hands and the Spymaster's scarred hands was a perfectly made bracelet the size of a male's wrist.

When she looked up, satisfied with the result, she almost choked on her own saliva.

Tears fought to get out of the Shadowsinger's eyes, while he struggled to prevent it, without much luck, of course, preferring to lower his head, trying to make the female in that place not see the state he was in.

Gwyn didn't know what to do, he had never seen Azriel, not the Spymaster or the Shadowsinger, but Azriel so heartless and broken.

She had froze, trying to make room for her brain to understand what she had done wrong.

"Have I hurt him?" She wondered herself, alarmed.

The shadows, seeing the state of his master, went to his hands, hiding them in a mist of darkness, while others melted in his neck, reassuring.

She didn't know how long he had spent in that position, she sitting, staring at the shadows and at the Spymaster, worried that perhaps she had spoiled everything they had.

Suddenly, the shadows disappeared from his hands, reaching Gwyn's neck, and slowly they stayed there, licking her skin, getting her to calm down, even a little.

Impromptu, Azriel's right hand moved towards hers.

She didn't know if she was misunderstanding the situation, but she knew that, if she were in his situation, she would want to. So she grabbed his hand, entwining it with her fingers.

He sighed, running his free hand over his eyes, ruffling his hair and finally connecting his eyes with hers.

"I'm sorry you had to witness this" he apologized as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

She shook her head: "You've seen me in a worse situation, I think it's okay to see you having a mental breakdown" she laughed, watching his reaction, relieved when a snort left his lips.

They were silent for a few minutes, the only sound was the movement of his thumb across her hand.

"It's because of my childhood" he began to explain, stopping the movement of his finger, sighing.

"No ... You don't have to explain it to me if you don't want to," Gwyn exclaimed.

"I think, I think I owe you an explanation as to why I have behaved like this" Gwyn tried to interrupt him, but he raised a hand, indicating silence. "I'm not going to tell you the whole story, maybe another day, because I don't feel mentally stable right now to tell the whole story," he began to explain. “My mother worked as a maid for an Illyrian lord, and let's say the lord abused her. Well, I was the result of the abuse. I lived with my step mother, father and step brothers, and they locked me in a cell, denying me, among many things, human contact." Gwyn's eyes watered, and she tried to keep it minimally hidden, but it was impossible to keep an emotion hidden when the Spymaster was present. "Please don't cry, I don't think I'll be able to go through with it if I see you cry." He announced as he wiped her tears away with his index finger. “As I was saying, they denied me practically everything, and they only let me see my mother once a week. She was the only one I allowed to touch me, because when the other members of my family came to touch me, it was to attack me. I ended up being afraid of anyone's touch other than my mother's.

Gwyn's heart was squeezing little by little. She could not fully understand the behavior of the Spymaster, but she could understand that he had been a beaten, abused child, and that only the gods would know what had happened to scar so bad an Illyrian with healing powers.

"When I was dropped off at Windhaven at eleven, I would back off when they tried to touch me, and sometimes now I even refuse physical contact if it's not exactly necessary." he explained, as he began to caress her hand again. "When you have put your hands on mine, I have not felt disowned, but I have remembered in your hands the hands of my mother, always kind."

That male, known for how brooding and terrifying he was, had just admitted that he had started to cry because his touch had reminded her of his mother's touch when she was the only one who was not going to attack him.

Tears came out of her eyes, trying to hide them, but it was too late. Azriel had already seen them.

"By the Cauldron, don't cry." He said with a grimace, laughing and crying at the same time as her.

"Don't say such nice things, Shadowsinger, that way I won't cry," she replied, getting a laugh from him.

He nodded: “Okay, Berdara. If you promise me that you will do the same with me.” she chucked softly, quiet for a moment until Azriel said: “That, and don't tell anyone that I'm so fucking bad at making friendship bracelets, because holy gods, I'm terrible.”

Gwyn's laugh must have been heard by the gods themselves, earning another laugh from him.

They were silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, lost in each other's gaze, until Gwyn came up with something,

"I hope I don't look like a damn stupid." she thought to herself as she spread her arms, silently asking for a hug from the Spymaster of the damn Night Court.

Azriel stared at first, puzzled that he didn't really know what the hell she was doing.

Until he realized what she was asking for.

Gwyn was about to drop her arms, embarrassed, but at the last moment Azriel threw himself into her arms.

She froze.

She didn't think he was going to react that way.

“This male has spent 500 years craving physical contact. And he hadn't found anyone who didn't fear him and knew him as Azriel. Not like the Spymaster or Shadowsinger of the Night Court, but Azriel." She thought as her arms, taking care of his wings and his shadows, that she did not know when they had gone from her neck to the hollow of his wings, entwined around her back, stroking softly.

And there, with Azriel in her arms, in the House of Wind, it was when she realized that, at last, she had come home.

TAG LIST: @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel

#gwynriel #gwynriel fic #my fic #azriel #gwyn

86 notes · View notes

nikethestatue · 3 years

Text

The Heirs of Shadow

Prompt: here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Language and Fluff

Part I

Calanmai

The shadows danced along the obsidian walls of the chamber, jumping and fluttering across the marble floor and the intertwining carved beasts that scaled the width of the room, waving across the walls and the ceiling.

Behind the doors, Elain could feel the pulsating throb of the revelry that was taking place in the opulent halls and loggias of Hewn City. Fire Night. Calanmai. Beyond the onyx-black bowels of the city, up, up, up somewhere in Night Court, the night skies were streaking with falling stars. Starfall.

Starfall was somewhere else though—they had glimpsed it, taken in its beauty, but now, Calanmai was in full swing.

Azriel’s powerful, muscular body strained over hers, his arm gripping her hip so hard, she was sure that it would leave bruises. Not that Elain cared—she loved the marking of his love on her flesh. She loved the lilac bruises that he left on her neck with his lips and teeth, and the outline of his hands on her thighs, her waist, her…everywhere. For a man who was known for his self-control, and who embodied cold, calculated sophistication and cruelty to all those who did not know him well, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, loved Elain Archeron with an uncharacteristic degree of unrestrained passion and blind, all-encompassing adoration. He was not above kissing her with uninhibited ambition in public, or slipping his scarred hand into her jacket and cupping a handful of her soft breast or pinching her behind when fancy struck him. It struck him frequently. His love was reciprocated, at last, and there was no limit to his indulging of his gorgeous female. His betrothed and his Lady. The glittering band of her betrothal bracelet was testament not only to their mutual love, but also his wealth and the degree to which he was willing to spoil her. In fact, he had picked out every diamond, every amethyst, every pearl that comprised the intricate flower design of the bracelet himself. Gone were the days when he had to hide his love and desire for her, when the only acceptable gift was a dainty necklace of stained glass. In fact, he designed a very similar necklace for her yet again, only instead of glass, it was rubies and pearls and pink diamonds.

The glint of the necklace in fact, bounced against her creamy skin, the pendant sliding between her swaying breasts. He kissed her, slow and hot, watching her body arch beneath him. The kiss was slow, but not gentle, their mouths fusing together in desperation, as if they’ve been apart for too long, that the previous 500 years were unbearable for him and he needed to fill his lungs with her, with her breath, her very soul, as he sucked and sucked on her lips.

Elain’s nails sunk into his broad, thickly muscled shoulders, and Azriel dipped his head, groaning into her throat, dragging his tongue from her hot, pulsating vein back to her lips, sliding back into her mouth. She kissed him back, sloppy and heated, her lips swollen and ruby-red, before pressing the heel of her palm into his chest and pushing at him.

“I want to look at you,” she moaned, her eyelids heavy with want.

He pulled up and did as he was told, settling on his knees and allowing her to trace the skin of his cobbled abdomen with her fingertips. He was running hot and volatile, his dark brown skin gleaming like dirty bronze beneath the faelights, his wings spayed and open behind him, casting shadows on his sculpted, inked shoulders. His soft, inky-black hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to his damp skin, and she smiled at him and rubbed her thumb between his eyebrows.

His thick cock glided in and out of her tight glorious heat and he pushed inside of her with an obscene, wet sound, feeling the smooth thrust of his shaft in her.

“My good girl,” he murmured, extracting loud, explicit moans from her parted lips, while his thumb settled on her pulsating, engorged clit, rubbing firmly, with precise, firm pressure. Elain’s head rolled back, her honey-golden hair fanning out over the dark-gray satin of the pillows. She felt overflowing, torturously stuffed with him, which was the most glorious, gorgeous fullness that she could ever imagine.

“Open up for me, beautiful,” he ground out, “so I can ride you like you need,”

Elain obliged compliantly, wordlessly splitting even further for him, as Azriel gripped her thigh and pulled her deeper onto his shaft, while hoisting her leg onto his shoulder.

“Look at us, my love,” he urged, thrusting harder into her, his gaze gluttonous with pleasure and utter satisfaction. Elain could barely lift herself up on her elbows, but she looked between their bodies, watching her splayed pink folds, his member disappearing in and out of her, glistening with their arousal. His long brazen finger thrust alongside his shaft, the fit impossibly tight, but so wonderfully pleasurable.

She squeezed her breasts in her palms, absently fingering her nipples, watching the explicit show between her legs, while Azriel smiled at her and kissed her foot that rested on his shoulder. She bit her lower lip, enjoying the indecent scrutiny with which his eyes skimmed over her body, as both of them watched the workings of his cock inside of her.

“Do you want to taste, my sweet?” he offered, his midnight voice smooth and sensual, encouraging even more debauched behavior from her, and she nodded eagerly.

Licking her lips impatiently, she murmured, ‘yes’ and he rewarded her with a smile, while slowly pulling out of her stretched passage.

“Az, my love,” she moaned, emptied of him, instantly missing the presence of his thick, long member in her, her hole twitching at the loss. But he pulled her up gently by her back of her neck and instantly fed the shaft in her mouth, thrusting deep and far into her throat. She choked softly around him, but swallowed compliantly, sucking his length down into her mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he approved, holding the back of her head and pumping between her lips, watching her watch him. Her eyes, the color of milk chocolate, blinked rapidly, as she struggled against the girth of the member, but sucked on his bravely and eagerly. He enjoyed the sucking, noisy and wet, her tongue working on him constantly, licking their intermingling juices, but then he patted the corner of the bed, and Elain knew what he desired. She scooted over, and lay back on the cool sheets, never releasing the cock from her mouth, holding it tightly in her hand, as she lapped on the broad head of it, playfully dipping the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit.

They’ve been at it for hours now. Calanmai. Fucking, eating, drinking, fucking, fucking. That’s what people did on Calanmai. Elain figured that perhaps, this would be her new favorite holiday. Always to be celebrated here, in Hewn City, her new home.

The Lord and Lady of Hewn City, feared and venerated—that’s what they were. Who would have thought that Elain would love Hewn City, its obsidian beauty, its marble and granite lined ‘streets’, its unbridled opulence, its soaring columns, its ceilings lit up with faelights that were ensconced in chandeliers that were dripping crystals and silver.

They had begun today’s festivities by following its ancient custom of the Great Rite. As the Lady and Lord of the Underworld, they did not need to ‘choose’ each other, for they were already chosen—chosen the moment the Darkbringers acknowledged Azriel as their Commander General, and Rhysand how no other choice but to pass the crown of Stewardship to his shadowsinger. With Keir dead, all assumed that the magic and the power of the Hewn City and the Darkbringers would pass on to Mor, or one of the sons, yet, it skipped the family entirely. The magic of Hewn City left the bloodline of the High Lord, moving over to Azriel’s line. And just like that, Azriel became Prince of Velaris, the Lord of Hewn City, and Elain, his chosen Lady.

Today was the first year they presided over Fire Night, and while Azriel worried about Elain, she reminded him that she was the Lady of Hewn City and therefore, would participate in all rites and rituals, just like Feyre participated in them as the High Lady of the Night Court.

The entire population of Hewn City, tens of thousands of them vibrated and pulsed in anticipation, gathered in the Great Hall, hundreds spilling outside, thousands crowding the balconies and terraces above.

For Elain, it was the initial walk that was the most nerve wrecking. Naked, she was expected to enter the hall and await Azriel’s arrival. But she squared her shoulders, and draped in nothing but jasmine and moonflowers that cascaded down her unbound hair she made her walk, regal and unhurried, as any queen. When he’d arrived, the new Lord and master of the place, the place shook with a different kind of energy.

And then, they joined together on their throne, in front of their subjects, and Azriel rode her long and hard, until she barely remembered that she was being watched by thousands of eyes. She was eager and willing, taking him in any position that he desired, until he filled her with seed and spilled the rest of it upon the stones of his domain, signifying the start of Calanmai.

The insemination was met with wild cheering and Elain felt nothing but prideful satisfaction after the ritual was concluded and his seed dripped down her thighs, for all to see. She was their Lady, the benevolent one, the kind and just one, while Azriel still inspired fear and trepidation in most. The seed that filled her and poured out of her as she walked through the throngs of people, all of whom looked at her with admiration and excitement, was a sign of good things to come. After centuries, perhaps millennia of stagnation, Hewn City would rise again to its former glory. Lady Elain would be the catalyst for it.

Azriel settled atop of her, her head thrown over the edge of the bed, and rubbed the head of the member over her lips, tugging on it slowly, his eyes wide with the anticipation of pleasure.

“I love Calanmai,” she vowed with a joyful sight, and he laughed.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, licking the tip of the member. “You aren’t tired?” he asked, for they’ve been entangled for a while now. She shook her head no. “Tired? Until you, my lord, render me unable to walk tomorrow, then I might consider myself tired!”

“Is this what you want, my girl?” he asked, his voice gravelly and breathy with lust. Beads of liquid dribbled onto her tongue from his straining member. She whined with anticipation, nodding impatiently, while he guided the shaft into her mouth, her position allowing him to slide deeper and deeper and deeper.

There was nothing that Azriel didn’t love about Elain. Nothing. There was no word ‘no’ in his vocabulary when it came to her. She was his strength, his rock, the one person in this world who offered him complete understanding and acceptance, who supported him gently and lovingly through every peril and cataclysmic change that had taken place in their lives.

Sexually, Elain was brave and tolerant, experimental and curious. Every part of her was enticing and sensual, but nothing excited him more than her willingness and ability to take him in her throat, usually, without him even asking for it. Elain surprised him daily, but her voracious sexual appetite was a marvelous, unexpected gift for him. Because it matched his own perfectly.

He gently cupped her hollowed cheek and rubbed his thumb over the warm, flushed skin of her face, murmuring, “you feel so good, my love. So wet and ready for me.”

Elain hummed against his member and gasping and panting, and the vibrations of her mouth against the head of the member had him moaning, his head thrown back. She stroked his muscled stomach, running her palm over the hard, defined ridges, while he began thrusting between her lips, the tip striking the back of her throat with each push. He gingerly cupped her head, her soft, messy locks a tangle in his fingers, and kept it steady, while she allowed him to use her mouth the way he liked it.

Azriel was not a talkative man, and because he was quiet and reserved and cerebral, most assumed that he was a tender lover. He was not.

So when he plunged into her mouth, it was not gentle, though he was always considerate and acutely aware of all her emotions and reactions. Spymaster, after all.

“My good girl,” he began a litany of praise, “you feel so good. My sweet, beautiful Lainey—are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he looked over his shoulder for a moment and a smirk played on his lips. She was clenching her thighs in desperation, gurgling and panting softly around his member, and he pumped harder, clasping her jaw and muttering, “is sucking my cock making you even wetter?”

She attempted to nod, but it was virtually impossible, though he didn’t need confirmation seeing her rosy folds bathed in her arousal. Taking pity on her, he slipped three fingers in her, and they slid in easily and fully, the walls of her sex clutching at them strongly.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asked, his hand working inside of her with quick, deep thrusts, while he used her mouth brutally, watching tears spill down her cheeks from the pressure. She did not respond in any meaningful way, indicating that it was up to him to find his pleasure within her, wherever he wanted. He smiled and caressed her sweaty, flushed face, while she chocked lightly against him, stroking his balls with her usual tenderness. He moaned, especially when he glanced lower and gritted through his teeth, “Love, I can see my cock in your throat,” he gasped, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness, cloaked in oily lust. Every time he pushed, the member bulged and imprinted in her throat, and he couldn’t help himself and gently lay his scarred hand on the spot, feeling the vibrations of his dick against his palm. He almost came right then and there, himself panting and gasping for air, and even if this certainly wasn’t the first time he saw his cock protrude in her throat, it never failed to cause some instinctual male reaction in him. His wings flared and snapped open, uncontrollable, guided by nothing but base instinct to show his female who was inside of her. By the Cauldron, if he could stay like this forever, he would.

Alas, he could hold back no longer and with a few well-placed thrusts, he felt Elain’s throat contract on him and that was his undoing. His release swept like a tidal wave over him and came in her mouth, making her groan with feral pleasure as he spilled and spilled into her. He was thinking that maybe Calanmai was his favourite holiday as well.

He collapsed alongside her, his wings a mess beneath him, but he didn’t even care. His breath was ragged and heavy, but she lovingly fed her nipple between his teeth and he sucked, tucking her beside him, murmuring an endless string of ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ into the soft, wonderfully comforting globe. She held his head against her breast, moaning sweetly, delighted at his steady sucking, wiggling against him to get more.

Once they’ve calmed down a lit, she kissed his neck, while twisting her wrist before her eyes, watching the sparkling and gleaming bracelet explode with a thousand tiny lights in the shadows of faelights and the fire in the marble fireplace.

“Do you really love it?” he murmured, kissing her hand.

“Being yours…your bride and your Lady is all that I want,” she admitted, “but,” she smiled, “yes, my love, I love it. Isn’t it stunning?!”

He nodded, “I think I did well.”

“I can’t believe that you designed it yourself!” she kissed his chin, then his lips. “What other incredible talents do you possess that I am not aware of?”

He turned onto his back, rearranging his wings in some semblance of acceptable order and tugged her next to him. Running his finger over the bracelet, he said, “well, let’s see—I sing.”

“Uh-uh,” she pouted. “But never in front of me!”

“One day, my sweet, one day,” he teased.

“What else?”

“I enjoy building things…carving wood. I think that deep down, I am just a humble carpenter.”

Her brow furrowed, “have I seen any of your work? Or are you being stupidly humble as usual and refusing to show it to anyone?”

He laughed, amused by her indignation.

“No, I don’t believe that I am stupidly humble when it comes to my work. You might have seen it. Most of it is at Rosehall,”

“Oh, speaking of which—I promised your mother that I would visit!” Elain snapped her fingers, frowning at having forgotten.

He kissed her brow and said, “I am sure she’ll understand. Her daughter-in-law is a Lady of Hewn City,”

Elain smiled at the title.

“Even though,” she insisted, “I love her and I want to visit her. She said that she and the girls had made spice blends and mulled wine over the winter break and she wanted us to have it. And she also promised gifts for Calanmai,”

“You are my gift for Calanmai,” he whispered tenderly and kissed her. “My gift for every day. My gift for life.”

Elain cupped his cheek and kissed him back, running her tongue over his lower lip. She smelled and tasted of him, and he shuddered from the sensation, from the realization of how thoroughly his she was. His gift indeed.

Remarkably, it also made him hard.

Elain smiled and ran her finger down his chest, then his stomach.

“I am sorry, Lainey, I know you are tired,” he scrambled quickly, embarrassed by his response to her. Even by Fae standards, he was no spring chicken—not a green youth to be hardening at every kiss of these sweet, soft lips. Yes, he was a male in his prime, but,

“Once more?” she requested softly, batting her lashes at him and he grinned.

“Whatever my lady wishes,” he nodded with a courteous flair. The he kissed her and whispered into her lips, “tell me what you’d like, sweetheart?”

She chewed her lower lip, contemplating, the action making him ever harder. She found that very hardness at the ready for her, and wrapped her hand around him, rubbing him tightly, as she settled in the crook of his arm and he kissed her again.

“In my bottom, please,” she requested shyly.

Her secret, intimate pleasure that only Azriel was aware of. It thrilled him to know that she found pleasure with him, in him, in many different ways—from the simplest and most mundane, to the very intimate and personal, and only he could provide it for her.

“If that’s alright with you?” she added and he laughed, bringing her closer to his chest.

“I don’t think that I need to be pressured, sweetheart,”

She smiled and he parted her thighs, settling just behind her, muttering in her ear, “will you be a good girl for me? My good girl?”

She nodded, breath hitching in her chest, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation and she flicked her plump nipple with his fingers before biting it softly. She squirmed and her legs fell apart of their own volition, while he pressed his thumb into her clit and ground into it, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure, while he lined his member with her little opening. It was well-stretched from their previous bout, as he’d taken her everywhere in front of their Court, and then again, when they returned here, to their private quarters.

He pushed into her, easing slowly and carefully, and her back arched in his arms, as she pressed her face into his neck, moaning loudly. There was always a bit of pain, especially in the beginning, at the initial breach, and the sharp bite that he received on his clavicle was an indication of just that. She gripped the immense muscles of his shoulder, grunting and moaning into his neck, squeezing his arm so hard, it was sure to leave bruises. He was inside of her, his cock enveloped in such mind-boggling tightness that he ceased all movement, just to avoid coming at once.

He clasped her jaw and made her look at him. Her eyelids were heavy and a love-addled, blissful look settled on her face, while he lightly kissed her parted lips.

“Does that feel nice, my girl?” he asked, finally sliding a bit deeper, each shallow, easy thrust opening her up a little more.

“Az, Az,” she groaned breathlessly, “I can’t…it’s so…ohh,” she swallowed his thumb, still wet with her slick, needing to suck on something while he plunged forward, rocking his hips into her.

“Elain,” he hissed low and winced at the sweet, torturous friction that the walls of her bottom offered to his invading shaft. He pressed her to him, slowly bringing his hips against hers, and finally settling fully inside, while she went still and pliable in his arms.

The ache inside of Elain was particularly wonderful right now, even if she felt like she was being split inside—it always happened for a few moments—while her body spread to accommodate him.

“I fucking love you,” he moaned into her mouth, pulling his thumb out so he could ravish her with his tongue, while he returned back to her clit and stroked steadily.

He did not set an unreasonable pace, but rather moved languidly and deeply inside of her, kissing her to his heart’s desire. She nestled into his arms, stroking and kissing him lovingly, mewing and panting against his thorough, merciless thrusts.

“You feel sublime,” she confessed, watching him squeeze her breast, toying and tugging on the nipple.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked, placing light, tender kisses all over her face. She laughed. “About a minute ago.”

“Good. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Az,” she wrapped her arm around his neck, and then shuddered in his embrace, stuttering into his shoulder, “yes, yes, yes…like that…”

“You like that, my beauty?” he pumped harder now, knowing that the discomfort and pain were gone and she stretched wonderfully around him, taking him to the balls.

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, eyes shut, pleasure settling and growing somewhere inside of her. She milked and squeezed his cock frantically, urging him to move and give her more, and he did, pounding deeper into that marvelous tightness, against the lush silkiness of her quivering, trembling behind.

“Azriel,” she almost screamed, and then turned and swiftly straddled him, impaling herself with unstoppable determination, her wet, gleaming sex played widely in front of him, her other opening swollen and bursting around him.

Her plump tits bounced as she rode him, unconcerned about anything at this moment, her hair hanging limply over her body, her nails dug into his chest, her hips undulating on his cock.

“Baby, come for me,” he urged her, mesmerized by the wantonness of her creamy, pale body atop of him, the rhythmic bounce of her beautiful ass on his thighs, her determination to take what she needed from him.

With a roar that awoke the beasts, she shuddered and trembled over him, her rectum twitching and squeezing him so hard that he was unable to even work her through her climax, as he arched beneath her and his ecstasy was complete, as he spurted hot and thick inside of her. She went limp and he caught her in his arms, gently squeezing her against his chest and then waiting until the waves subsided for both of them, before kissing her hungrily.

He lay her down and then carefully withdrew, dragging his seed out of her with one long pull.

“Happy Calanmai,” she giggled and kissed him.

“Happy Calanmai, my love,” he stroked her damp hair.

He took her to the bathing chamber then, and they cleaned each other up quickly, for even the stoic Azriel was tired and all he wanted was to snuggle with his love and sleep. With her, he slept. She was his miracle.

By the time they returned to the bedroom, the bed was remade, the sheets changed and the subtle scent of jasmine perfumed the air. The wraiths who served at their court were nothing but efficient.

Elain’s beasts, two creatures who sat in stone for millennia, while Hewn City awaited its true master, and slumbered in its decadence, under the rule of the Night Court’s High Lords, awoke when the magic and power descended upon Azriel.

The creatures, and there were many of them here, awoke. But two, the ones who guarded the entrance to the City, were touched by Elain’s hand and released first. She freed them all, though some she put back to slumber, to be awoken when needed, though unlike before, they fed regularly, as opposed to once a decade.

But the two—Asterin and Sorrel—were Elain’s perpetual companions. The great fanged beasts, with powerful slithering bodies clad in impenetrable scales and with massive claws, not to mention keen intelligence and perfect understanding of language had made even Azriel a bit uneasy at first. Asterin was more physically powerful, but also playful, if volatile and temperamental, while Sorrel was calmer, if more brutal, and extremely overprotective of Elain.

Hewn City, especially during the transition of power, was not the friendliest of places, its new Lord well-known, disliked, feared and resented by a swath of its population. Even Elain, with her kindness and good-natured character, was not immediately successful in turning the tide of public opinion. Therefore, Azriel was more than concerned about leaving her here, if he had business elsewhere, but with Asterin and Sorrel, even his worries were put to rest.

The beasts were not exactly wyverns, or dragons, but creatures of their own. Like Rhys, they were able to summon their wings at will, which was perhaps something specific to Rhys’s bloodline, or somehow connected to Hewn City, but whatever the reason was, it was very, very useful. Elain had noted that having not one, but three winged creatures in the bedroom would be…excessive. Hence, when she and Azriel went to their palace atop the Court of Nightmares’ mountain, the beasts were free to fly and frolic about as much as they wanted. They also offered winged transportation to Elain.

At last, all three sisters were able to fly. Feyre simply summoned wings just like she always did. Nesta received her white mare pegasus, which she named Marena, from Helion (who still held out hope that she and Cassian would join him in some erotic escapade), as a mating gift. And lastly, Elain flew on her fanged beasts. Their three males could barely keep up.

Luckily, the beasts also went into hibernation when ordered, becoming stone-like, just like the sculptures that they once were. Because they insisted on sharing the quarters here, it was rather imperative that there was some privacy—because Azriel did not need to suddenly glance at a pair of slanted green eyes while licking Elain’s pussy.

Azriel deposited Elain on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hearty hug.

The shadows had returned—they left when they sensed that their master was about to engage in something private with the mistress—while Asterin and Sorrel coiled around the bed.

Even though their private apartment was located far inside the Hewn City Night Palace, they could still hear the partying occupants of the underworld Court. Azriel rolled his eyes and Elain laughed in return. He threw a shield over the bedroom, blocking the noise.

“Who knew that you’d fit right in, with Calanmai becoming your favourite holiday?” he muttered, squeezing her behind.

“I suppose the Cauldron doesn’t only make stupid mistakes,” she shrugged. “And once in a while gets something right.’

Part II

The Heirs of Shadow

Spring was in full bloom across the Night Court territory, slowly but surely crossing into summer.

The wind in Elain’s hair was sweet and scented with roses and pine. Asterin was like an enormous scaly snake-like puppy, swooshing through the air, making all sorts of unnecessary maneuvers beneath Elain’s saddle. “Hey! I will be going on Sorrel when we return,” she warned her beast and Asterin gave her a petulant snarl, but slowed down. The flight made Elain queasy and she was glad to see the cypress and pine-covered hills, and beyond them, a flower-covered meadow and a glittering, turquoise lake.

The stucco-covered villa stretched along the banks of the lake, one wall covered in ivy, and the other, in pink and white roses. As Asterin and Sorrel approached the villa, two children rushed out of the wrought iron gates, waving their arms in the air, jumping and yelling. Elain smiled at them, waving back.

“Elain, Elain,” the children rushed towards her the moment Asterin touched down, “we missed you so much! You came! Can we play with the wyverns? Can we go flying?”

Elain dismounted and squatted in the grass, opening her arms and then getting tackled onto her back, once the two children slid into her arms, hands and legs flailing about, smiles and at least one mouth with missing teeth grinning at her. She kissed soft cheeks and thick black hair, so alike to that of their oldest brother—Azriel.

“You two are such hooligans!” she laughed, finally managing to sit up, but they wouldn’t let get up, so they remained in the grass.

“Where is Az?” asked Nataliya, playing with Elain’s braid and closely inspecting her emerald earrings. “These are pretty! Do you have presents for me?”

“Nat, it’s rude to ask that!” at nine years of age, her brother Riad was the voice of reason and propriety. More than any other child, he reminded Elain of Azriel—a uniquely handsome boy, with a contemplative and scholarly attitude and yet remarkably swift, agile and fast. She’d watched him climb the old oak tree that grew on the property in under a minute. Sometimes, he and Azriel would go for a run, and the boy would keep up the entire time, without complaint, steadfast and determined, just like his brother.

“Why it’s rude if I want a present?” demanded Nataliya, shrugging. Elain kissed her head and said, “Lucky for you, I do have presents for everyone!”

The girl squealed, her round face breaking into a happy smile. “That’s good. I want them! You wanna see our baby?”

“Of course,” Elain nodded and then gave each one of them a hand and they tugged her upwards.

“Come on, Elain! You can do it,” Nat encouraged her, grunting.

“Is Az gonna come?” asked Riad quietly, once Elain was up, and they walked towards the villa, holding hands.

“Not right now, my loves. He is very busy,”

“He is High Lord!” exclaimed Nat, squeezing her chubby hands in delight. “He is busy, Riad!” she added confidently, “so he can’t come visit.”

“Maybe you can come and visit us in Velaris?” proposed Elain.

“Be careful what you ask for, darling!” a laughing voice interrupted their conversation.

Azriel’s stunningly beautiful mother was smiling at them, standing by the gate. Her lustrous black hair cascaded in rich, ebony waves around her, and the bright green eyes were in fine contrast to her dark golden skin. Her eldest son inherited her sensuous full mouth and every time Elain laid eyes on the woman, she could see Azriel’s visage in her face.

“We’d love to have you all,” insisted Elain, throwing her arms around her mother-in-law.

“Ma, we gonna go play with the wyverns!” announced Riad.

“Yes, with wyverns!” Nat nodded immediately. She was not yet five, and basically repeated everything that Riad did and said. “Which one is good?”

Elain chuckled, “they are both good. Asterin, the green one, likes to swim, so maybe you can go to the lake with her. And Sorrel, the gray one, she may even fly you about, if your mother permits,”

“Ma!”

Rosamunde winced a bit, but Elain murmured, “they’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Alright, but,”

Before she could even finish her sentence the two ran off towards the beasts.

“Ellie, you look wonderful,” Rosamunde locked arms with Elain and they slowly made their way inside Rosehall. A riot of flower beds greeted them and Elain sighed with delight. Who would have thought that she and her mother-in-law possessed the same interest and passion? Though Elain felt that Rosamunde’s gardens put hers to shame.

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking around.

The villa was a tranquil and stunning place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by low mountains and crystal-clear waterfalls. Azriel had purchased the estate long ago, while he was in love with Mor and had hoped that they would have a blissful future together. While he knew that they would always be tied to Velaris and Hewn City, he had imagined that Rosehall would be their escape, their private place to enjoy.

It was stunningly picturesque, with a mild tempered climate year-round, and a town a few leagues away, which supplied the estate with everything that it needed. However, things did not go as planned and instead, Azriel gifted the house and the lands around it to his mother, for her wedding to her life-long and long-suffering lover, partner, friend and the male who had waited for her for a century, and ultimately helped to rescue her from the clutches of Azriel’s father. The male was now an elected mayor of the town—a long way to come for a humble hunter who had once fallen in love with an Illyrian laundress and loved her for all the days of his life.

“So do you!” exclaimed Elain, breathing in the fragrant air and smiling widely. She loved Rosehall. It was a serene and gorgeous place, full of delightful smells and exquisitely stunning scenery.

“Come, come,” Rosamunde pulled her by the hand and they entered the house. It was cool and dim, but once they made their way down the terracotta-tiled hallway and stepped into the opulently enormous kitchen, light flooded the place. This kitchen was Elain’s inspiration for her own home—grand and open on three sides to take advantage of the glorious views outside, it was also homey and cozy, a place to accommodate a bustling, busy family. All the doors were open and a pleasant breeze wafted in and out, bringing in the scent of flowers and mingling with the smell of freshly baked tarts.

“Sit, sit,” Rosamunde offered and immediately sat a tall glass of lemonade before Elain.

“How’s my Azzie?” the mother asked, joining her at the long butcher block that stretched in the middle of the kitchen. A mother’s privilege, to call the famed shadowsinger, the feared spymaster, and now Lord—Azzie. Even Elain didn’t dare, though she teased him with it at times, causing many dramatic eyerolls in response.

“He is good,” Elain smiled a happy, satisfied smile which did not escape Rosamunde’s notice. Her charming daughter-in-law looked blissful and for some reason, it made Rosamunde’s heart ache with joy and pride. “Works too much,” Elain continued, sipping her lemonade, and helping herself to a peach cake which Rosamunde supplied promptly. Like all mothers, Rosamunde was convinced that both Azriel and Elain were too thin and did not eat enough. Hence, each time they visited, they returned laden with bushels of food, treats, jars of preserves and gods only knew what else. Now that there were two wyverns to carry the care packages, Elain couldn’t imagine how much she’d be given. Not that she minded.

Azriel had introduced Elain to his mother just after the betrothal and they had come here and spent a few days getting to know each other. Rosamunde had four children then, besides Azriel—Enid, who was over three hundred years old, and who was married to an Illyrian General (not an asshole, as Azriel explained), and then, hundreds of years later, she birthed four children almost in a row—unheard of in Fae society—Rafael, Riad, Nataliya and finally Ellena, with whom she was pregnant when she and Elain met.

Ellena now sat up groggily in a little play crib that stood in the corner and looked around, having just awoken from her nap. Seeing Elain, she immediately stood up and extended her arms to her.

Family. Elain had loved her father, but…family…

There used to be a family, but it was never quite normal, cohesive. Her mother only doted on Nesta, their father was frequently absent, Feyre was a solitary, quiet, dreamy child and Nesta was a formidable creature of her own. Elain learned how to navigate the dynamics early on, floating quietly between all of them, playing the peacemaker, being the good daughter. And while her sisters, and her nephew were her blood family, this—this was her new family, the one she loved. Her Azriel and all her new little nieces and nephews, and her mother-in-law, who was both a mother and a friend, and her father-in-law—an enormous, gregarious male who reminded her of Cassian, but who was even larger than the Illyrian General. When she came here, she felt in place, happy and cared for.

Rosamunde watched from the corner of her eye how Elain and Ellena hugged and cooed at each other, giggling and whispering, and she already knew that Elain wouldn’t let the baby go until it was time to leave. The three of them, well two, since Ellena mostly stuck her hands into things and smooshed food around, prepared lunch and then went outside, slowly walking down the path that led to the lake. Riad and Nat were using Sorrel as a slide, climbing on top of her and then sliding down her scaled back into the water, shrieking and screaming with joy and excitement, while Asterin lounged next to them, sunning her hide, watching them with lazy amusement.

“You smell like Az,” Rosamunde murmured suddenly, as they took off their dresses and waded into the water, because Ellena was throwing a fit and wanted to slide off Sorrel as well. Elain only allowed her a little jump off the wyvern’s tail, but Ellena loved it and screamed with delight, falling all over the place, while to two of them tried to catch her.

Elain, her shift irreversibly soaked, glanced at the female, as she helped Ellena climb up Sorrel’s tail. It was an unusual comment for Rosamunde to make. They were very close, and even though Rosamunde was over 700 years old, she looked like a woman in her early 30s, which made it easy for them to become friends, because on the surface they looked like they were almost the same age. And Azriel was born so, so long ago that Elain hardly ever thought of them as a mother and son. However, some conversations were off limits, and they certainly never discussed her and Azriel’s intimate relationship, even when they talked about males and their ways around the bedroom, giggling and joking over a few glasses of wine.

“Well, I,” Elain began saying, feeling a blush spreading over her chest and neck. “We…”

Yes, of course they’d made love in the morning, before she came here. They made love every morning. Every evening.

Rosamunde waved her hand at her, laughing, “Oh Cauldron! Please spare me the details!”

“Oh,”

“All I am saying is that your scents—they’ve amalgamated. I,” she sniffed delicately, “recognize him within you…Not just on your skin,”

“Really?”

Something passed across the female’s face, a small smile of recognition. Then she nodded, her face remaining unreadable, much like her son’s.

She nodded, “Yes. The cedar and the jasmine. A lovely scent indeed.”

“You smell good Elain?” Nat barreled into Elain’s arms, wrapping her arms around her neck.

Elain kissed her wet hair and said, “I guess I do. Are you ready to go and eat lunch?”

“No! I want to do this more!”

“Why don’t we come back after lunch and you can play more?” Elain proposed, somehow managing to convince the unruly bunch to actually get back into the house. While they walked, Nataliya declared, “I wanna be High Lady!”

Elain chuckled, “Yes? Why? What will you do as High Lady?”

Nat thought for a second and then said, “Gonna wear pretty dresses,”

“You already wear pretty dresses,” countered Elain.

“More pretty,” insisted the girl. “And eat cake!”

“So as a High Lady you’ll be wearing pretty dresses and eating cake?”

Nodding, the budding High Lady hooked her little finger over Elain’s bracelet and added, “Will wear this too! And crowns.”

“Well, well,” Elain laughed, “all good things.”

Nat seemed pleased by the prospect of her High Ladyship and skipped ahead, dreaming of crowns and cake.

“You know,” Rosamunde’s voice was thoughtful and quiet, “she may sound silly,”

“I think she is adorable,”

“She is, but even if she is only dreaming of nice dresses and cakes now, I am glad that she is able to dream like this at all. It wasn’t available to us—females—before. There were no High Ladies—not for a very, very long time. So much so, we’d forgotten that we could be one. It’s ironic that it took a human woman to bring the practice back to the Fae world. Now it’s you, and Lady Feyre, and Lady Viviane…I never thought I’d see this.”

“But your son is also a Lord,” reminded her Elain, gently pressing her lips to Ellena’s damp curls. “Was it a surprise?”

They’d never discussed the power transfer—not at any length. It was all very sudden and there hasn’t been time or perhaps even desire to talk about it.

“No,” Rosamunde shook her head, “not exactly a surprise. We hail from an ancient race of Fae—from a Court that no longer in existence,”

“Dusk?”

“Yes. They say that when Dusk was destroyed a few hundred families managed to survive and escape. They were the original inhabitants and builders of Hewn City. Over the centuries, bloodlines thinned, some mixed with other Fae, some with Illyrians…My bloodline is pure,”

Elain shot her a surprised look. Azriel had never mentioned this before.

“Azriel is a true and direct descendant of the Dusk Court nobility—through me—and perhaps even their High Lords…So, no, I was not particularly surprised. That’s why Keir and that family were always ‘stewards’, and not Lords.”

She sighed and looked ahead, as they approached the villa.

“My son,” she said softly, “has had a difficult life. An unhappy life. A life of incredible violence and heartache. A life without childhood, or love, or anything positive or any light…That he is a shadowsinger is not a good thing, you know…It’s a curse, not a blessing. But,” and she glanced at Elain, her sad, soft face, “now he has you. Gods, Elain, you have no idea how happy you make him.”

Elain blushed, a tear-touched smile on her face. “I,”

“Elain, love, you will never know,” Rosamunde wrapped her arm around Elain’s shoulder. “He isn’t a man of many words, but believe me when I say this—I would have been heartbroken if he was granted this burden of power without you at his side. It would just be another weight added onto his shoulders, and I wouldn’t want that for my son. But you came along, and everything fell into place…You and him, and how the Power chose both of you,”

“We aren’t mates,” Elain reminded her quietly, knowing how much importance the Fae placed on the bond.

“And? Perhaps you are even more than that?” Rosamunde shrugged. “Believe me—I’ve seen some happy matings, Rhys and Feyre, for example, but I’ve seen some bad ones as well—Rhys’s parents come to mind. Your own mate bond ended up being faulty…What if you have more than a bond? Not just a bond of love, but that of power? Think about it…” she cocked her brow.

Elain hadn’t considered that option, but now she pondered the suggestion, the implication of it all.

“And you?” she asked instead.

Rosamunde smiled and looked back, towards the town which nestled under the mountains, leagues away.

“And I am an example that bonds don’t matter. No one can possibly love me more than Finrod does, and seven hundred years later, I still get weak in the knees at the sight of him—just like I did when I beheld him the first time, when he won an axe throwing competition and then flared his wings with more gusto than Cassian would,” Rosamunde began to laugh and then Elain joined. But then, her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Wait—Finrod doesn’t have wings!”

“I have wings!” yelled Nat, as she entered the house, and Rosamunde called after her and Riad to go and dry themselves and change.

Surely Elain wasn’t losing her mind. None of the family had wings. Her expression must have been so apparent that Rosamunde chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder, “We do,”

“But…what?”

“Do you know how Rhys can summon his at will? As does Lady Feyre?”

Elain nodded, so confused she felt like she was in some kind of out-of-body experience.

“That’s because Rhys has Hewn City blood. From his father. His mother was fully Illyrian. Us—we are the opposite. I am of Hewn City stock, but Azriel’s…father…” she grimaced, “was Illyrian. So Azriel has permanent wings. We—my children, and Finrod—can summon them at will. I don’t use them much, though they could be useful. Mine are mostly vestigial—I can hardly fly and,” her beautiful face darkened with sorrow, “and…”

Elain squeezed her hand in support and acknowledgement.

“I couldn’t save my baby,” Rosamunde choked, tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t save Az…They probably would’ve caught me anyway, but I might have had a chance…But, but,” she sobbed and stopped, burying her face in her hands, “I couldn’t…I can’t fly. I couldn’t save him…I couldn’t save my boy…”

“Mam, ma,” Ellena babbled, seeing her mother in distress, and Elain brough her arms around the two of them, kissing both of them, the three of them crying together. For a little boy who couldn’t have a childhood and couldn’t be saved.

…The rest of the day wasn’t as eventful. They had lunch, with Nataliya demonstrating how to summon her wings and ripping her dress in the process, which caused a flood of tears, and laughter from Riad, and then Nataliya smacking her brother in retribution, and him scowling and pouting for the rest of the meal.

“You two are clearing the table,” ordered Rosamunde, and Elain had to hide her smile at their indignation.

“Az mentioned that he works with wood and that you have some pieces that he’d made,” she remembered. “Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Of course! Come,” they grabbed Ellena, who wouldn’t let go of Elain anyway, and walked through the house, with Rosamunde pointing out beautiful pieces of carved wooden furniture and decorative pieces.

“After Az was sent to the camp,” she recalled, “they allowed him to apprentice with the carpenter there…Because of his hands and his inability to fly, the Commanders didn’t think he’d be useful, and would ever be able to fight. So they figured that he should learn some kind of trade, if he didn’t make it as a shadowsinger for the High Lord, and it also allowed him to work with his hands and fingers, because he still had trouble with them even after 3-4 years after…” her voice faded and she didn’t finish her thought.

Elain ran her fingers along a beautifully carved mirror frame and murmured, “he is truly talented…”

He mother nodded. Then said, “I think he might carve something for you soon…”

“What?”

“Something for the house, I am sure.”

Azriel landed in the front lawn of his estate.

It was a large, rambling cottage that became available after the war—the family that lived there moved to a smaller place and the house sat unoccupied for a year. Azriel’s been eyeing it ever since it became vacant, but he didn’t need a place that big for himself and back then, he didn’t think that he ever stood a chance with Elain.

Asterin and Sorrel were lounging on the grass, lazily chewing on Elain’s roses, pretending to smell them. At seeing Azriel they immediately shifted, feigning innocence and acting like they weren’t gnashing on the bulbs just now. He shook his finger at them and they turned away, ignoring him.

He was forever thankful that unlike Hewn City, the cottage, while large, couldn’t contain two enormous, fanged beasts. So, they stayed outside. He reckoned that everything fell into place when Elain entered his life, including the location of this house—far away from everyone, secluded in brambles and weeping willows, it was just outside of Velaris, with stunning views all around—the city on one side, and the sea on the other. His presence made people nervous enough, even back when he was just a shadowsinger and spymaster of the High Lord, and an Illyrian with seven siphons. Now, as Lord of Hewn City, with a Cauldron-made betrothed, two fanged beasts in tow, and Bryaxis who loved visiting as well, having befriended Elain a while back (since two monsters as friends weren’t enough), Azriel did not make for a desirable neighbour. Thankfully, there were no neighbours around. Therefore, if Bryaxis felt like sitting in the garden, wrapped in dark shadow of terror, it didn’t result in a pile of bodies who died of pure fear.

“My love, are you home?” he called out, shucking off his jacket and weapons, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I am here!” Elain’s voice sang back and instantly his heart gladdened. That voice was like a balm on his soul, sweet and welcoming, and Azriel had to mentally pinch himself to remind himself that this was real. This was his life. This was his home, the one he built with the only woman that he ever truly ever loved and who loved him unconditionally and with an undimming, everlasting passion. His Elain. His Elain who chose him against all odds, and who promised to walk with him side by side, regardless of what befell them in this life. And with her next to him, he felt no fear.

“Holy gods, what are you doing?” he cried, when he entered their vast kitchen and saw Elain balance herself precariously on her toes, on the top step of a stepladder, reaching for something on the top shelf of their pantry. “You couldn’t have waited for me?!”

She laughed at him, kissing the air in greeting and said, “You are fussier than your mom!”

“What are you doing?” he came closer, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“She gave me so much food, I am trying to arrange it all,” Elain giggled, “I think she thinks that we are starving.”

He snorted a laugh.

“I felt bad for Sorrel who had to haul all these baskets on her back,”

“I imagine that Sorrel managed just fine.”

He came closer and playfully pecked her bottom through her gauzy skirt, and she squirmed with enjoyment.

“My Lord Azriel!” she admonished him playfully.

“Lady Elain,” he slapped her buttock lightly and said, “get off that stool and give me a kiss! What smells so good?”

“Dinner!”

He went to the cupboard and started pulling out plates and wine glasses and setting the table.

“Six jars of pickles! Three jars of jam,” she was counting out loud, “Three jars of marinated peppers. Six baskets of dried mushrooms…Azriel, if I see you tucking into those blackberry tarts before dinner, I swear,”

In the next moment, she was swept off her feet and into a pair of strong arms, his mouth descending on hers in a savage kiss. She screeched and laughed, clutching at his shoulders, before softening against him and draping her arms around his neck. Her lips opened in invitation and he swept his tongue inside, gently overpowering her with his kiss.

“I love you,” she moaned into his mouth, running her hands through his hair.

“I’d like to hear the rest of your threat,” he invited with a chuckle, “about the blackberry tarts,”

“I’d make love to you,” she whispered into his ear, lightly biting his earlobe, “if you eat a blackberry tart,”

“Then perhaps I should have two?”

“Perhaps…”

“And if I eat a pickle?” he proposed, returning to her lips, placing small, loving kisses on her mouth and her eyes.

“The punishment remains the same,” she breathed.

He breathed in deeply, with satisfaction.

Then stilled, abruptly.

Elain looked at him in surprise when he pulled away from her mouth.

His hazel eyes blazed—blazed like the green forests of Illyria, like the obsidian of Hewn City, like the stars of the Night Court. Those eyes devoured her. His perfect, beautiful face, usually so tanned and golden, paled. She’d never seen him pale.

“Az?”

Confusion and fear were written on her face.

“El,” he sobbed.

He…sobbed.

Azriel’s gorgeous eyes filled with tears, huge and thick, the eyes brimmed with them before spilling onto his face.

“Azriel,” she cried in alarm, cupping his cheek.

“Elain,” he gasped, his voice so choked with emotion, so raspy, she could barely hear him, “my love. Elain. My love,” he kept repeating, as if in shock, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Az, I love you, please, my darling, what is,”

“We are going to have a baby,” he blurted out.

Her eyes widened and his hand instinctively went to her stomach. He lay his heavy scarred palm on her belly, setting her down on the floor, and dropped on his knees before her.

She pressed her hand over his, still disbelieving his words, as they stared at each other, both in some kind of stupor of complete elation and doubt.

“Are you certain?” she begged softly, her eyes pleading with him for confirmation, for this to be true.

“I smell it…it’s so clear,” he inhaled again, and then again, “you and I and someone else in there,”

“Oh, by the Cauldron,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, “you mother…Oh…”

“What?” he pressed his cheek to her stomach, wrapping his arms around her hips.

“She knew. I think she knew…She commented on our smell,”

“What did she say?”

“That we amalgamated into one scent,”

He chuckled softly, kissing her hands, her stomach, whatever his lips could reach, “We certainly amalgamated. I think it’s a bit more than just a scent though,”

Suddenly it dawned on Elain. It all came crushing at once and she wept, squeezing her face, a smile on her face so wide, it hurt her cheeks.

“We’ve made a baby?” she gasped, “Az, we’ve made a baby.”

“We’ve made a life together,” he murmured, awed. For a male who was so used to taking life, whose very existence was dedicated to war and blood, the thought of creating one, of creating something pure and good along with this female that he loved beyond reason, was simply magical.

“On Calanmai, you think?” she marveled, remembering the Great Rite, and everything that they did that night.

“I am certain,” he nodded.

“Our magical baby,” she grinned through her tears, looking down at him, at her stomach, and their hands, cradling it together.

It was a warm summer day, with the sky of the clearest blue and the sun beating down.

Azriel had worked up a sweat, but he loved it. It was quiet around their house, other than for the chirping birds and the rustling of leaves. Out as far as the eye could see stretched the azure sea—this view was one of the reasons Azriel bought this specific house. It was absolutely glorious and he loved the gleaming amethyst brilliance of the water, the smell of salt and brine in the air. One side of the house overlooked the city skyline, in the back, the towering mountains, and ahead, the vast expanse of the sea. When he was old and gray, he imagined that he’d be sitting out on the terrace, with Elain on his lap, and never tire of the view or of her. Not a Lord, not a spymaster or an Illyrian with too many siphons, but Azriel. He’d never tell her, but he already knew what he’d have written on his tombstone, if he ever had one ‘Here lies Azriel. He loved Elain, who made him happy’.

He looked up from the piece of wood that he was polishing. In their beautiful garden, the whole menagerie of their creatures napped or lounged. Deep in the shadows of the two weeping willows was a smudge of impenetrable darkness—Bryaxis came to look at the sun and smell the flowers. Around it, Azriel’s own shadows fluttered and floated. It was a little too bright for them out here, so they hid alongside Bryaxis, nestled in his darkness. Azriel figured that they could talk with each other, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what the topic of their conversation would be. Asterin was cooling off in the pond, while Sorrel was sleeping on the grassy bank, sunning her wings. He supposed that he was also a strange creature, just like them, with his wings, that he was also presently sunning and his unnatural power. Perhaps, only Elain was the normal one amongst them, though probably not.

Elain was crouched in the flower bed, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring her face, even if her thin sleeveless shirt allowed a very generous and tempting glimpse of her unbound breasts under the unbuttoned collar.

“You look like a cat who just drank all the cream,” she noted, without moving her head or looking at him.

“And you are acting like an expert little spy,” he laughed, and walked over to her.

His scarred hand crawled under her hat and he squeezed the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she hummed, leaning into his hand.

Then, with a smirk, she complained, “I am hot.”

He chuckled and stooped over her, his palm migrating from the back of her neck to the front, squeezing her throat lightly and tilting her head back. The hat tumbled on the grass.

“Can I help you remove some of this offending clothing?” he offered, leaning deeper over her, his face ghosting hers in the barest of touches. He whispered and her tongue darted out and licked on his lips quickly.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please…”

He snapped his fingers, without taking his eyes off her and then said, loudly, “Hey! All of you! Find somewhere else to be!”

The monster, the beasts and shadows all made an indignant noise, and attempted to turn around, but Azriel shook his head, “No. No. Go. Leave. Come back later. All of you.”

His shadows flew closer to him, in hopes of being spared, but he flicked his wrist at them.

Elain was laughing.

“You are a terrible host!” she murmured, when he slid on the grass next to her.

“I am a stupendous host,” he countered, stroking her throat, before tilting her head the way he wanted to and placing his lips on the thin, smooth skin. He kissed. Softly. Unhurriedly. Up and down, from her ear to her shoulder, while his deft fingers unbuttoned the few buttons of her shirt.

“Stupendous, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he breathed against her neck, and parted her blouse, sliding it down her arms and then arranging it so she could lay her head on it. “They lounge on my lawn. They swim in our pond. They eat your flowers. They terrify the neighbors,”

“We don’t have any neighbors,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You hate people,”

“I don’t hate people,” he corrected, kissing her nose and then her lips, “I care about people. That’s why I don’t have them around, so they don’t die of terror should they come upon Bry or your sweet beasties,”

“You are my sweet beastie,” she whispered, stroking his face.

Azriel smiled, and agreed, “That I am. And, you’ve been very naughty, tempting me with these all morning long,” he cupped her bare breasts, which always fit so well within his palms and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples. Now, a month and a half into her pregnancy, they began to fill out, growing just a bit heavier and fuller almost daily. It fascinated him and, well, he couldn’t deny that it made him quite happy as well.

“You can play with them,” she offered.

“Yeah?” he leaned into her and wrapped his mouth over the nipple, pulling hard and deep, teeth and lips clamping on the sensitive tip. A violent shudder rushed through her, and she tugged on his hair, pushing his face into her soft breast…and if he was going to suffocate now, he’d die a happy male. But she released her hold on his head a bit and he sucked deeply and steadily, while working her out of her skirt. She wiggled out of it and kicked it with her foot, while going for the ties on his trousers, pulling on them impatiently. He laughed over her breast and then looked up at her, “eager, are we?”

Elain flipped him on his back and muttered, panting lightly, “Az, I need you,”

“You have me, love,” he assured her, as he pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. She looked down, hunger in her beautiful brown eyes, her lower lip between her teeth, body almost shaking with anticipation.

He wrapped his hand over her hips and nudged her forward, murmuring, “come, my baby, take what you need.”

Elain didn’t have to be asked twice. The horrible ache in her core was becoming unbearable and there was only way to soothe it. While Azriel slid his trousers down his legs, finally getting naked beneath her, she straddled him and guided his thick cock inside of her.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, her eyes closing and head lolling to the side, pure, ravenous bliss written all over her face. She sunk on him slowly, for no matter how aroused she was, how wet and ready, his size did not allow for a singular initial thrust. It always had to be a tempered, gradual push, which they both loved, for it only heightened their senses, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

His fingers dug deeply into her thigh probably adding to an existing bruise, but Elain loved carrying his bruises on her body. Beneath her gauzy dresses, or the more daring, risqué outfits that she wore in Hewn City, or her gardening dungarees, or the simple skirts and shirts that she wore at home, her lovely, curvy body bore the marks of Azriel’s love. It was their secret, just like the bargain tattoo that was hidden on her thigh—only for him to know.

The moment he was situated in her, he set an ambitious pace, his hips working almost against his rational inclination, but the way the walls of her sex gripped him with such sublime strength and clenched and pulled him in every time he made a move was so overwhelmingly pleasurable, he stopped, just to gather his thoughts for a moment.

“You take me so well, my girl,” he grunted, “so tight,”

“Az, move,” she pleaded desperately, her palms pressing into his chest, her hips grinding onto him. “Faster…”

He sat up, biting his lower lip, his palm gripping her breast almost painfully, as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, twisting it harshly. She panted loudly, the bit of pain always being something she craved, something he offered and she chased.

“Anything you want, baby,” he finally calmed himself enough to begin thrusting into her in earnest. Even when she was on top, she liked for him to do most of the work, and he did not object whatsoever. He lay back down, letting his eyes roam over her gorgeously lush body, mesmerized by her bouncing breasts, as they bopped and swayed with every thrust of his hips. He cupped her soft, pert ass and gently spread the cheeks, mashing them in his palms, his fingers pushing occasionally against and around her other little hole, eliciting pleased moans and cries from her parted lips.

“Az, my love, you feel so amazing,” she breathed. “Why does it feel so good?”

“Because you were made for me and I was made for you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes,”

His eyes drifted down her body and he buried himself inside of her, thrusting to the hilt and holding still. She moaned loudly, her head rolling back, unbound hair ticking his thighs. He ran his hand over her torso, her throat and her breasts and then paused at her stomach, pressing lightly to her lower belly. He could feel and see the small bump—not that of their baby—but his cock that was so deep, it pushed out from inside of her.

Azriel groaned loudly, wondering if he’s ever been so hard before. He has. But every time it felt new and different, the sense of possession almost indescribable.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the same spot. Her eyes widened with lust mixed with amazement and she rubbed the cock that was pocking her stomach.

“El, fuck,” he swore low and hissing, “fuck it feels nice, baby…” he held her hand right there, and she moved and stroked her stomach. “You are so tiny, I can see myself moving inside of you,”

She grinned, “You like that, bad boy?”

“Yes, my sweet, this boy really, really likes seeing you take my cock!”

Cassian could barely breathe.

He loved Elain, but the flowers…Her garden was gorgeous, a feast for the eyes, a work of art—and torture for his nose and eyes and throat.

Azriel and Elain had been holed up in their luxurious secluded cottage for over a month.

He saw them here and there, they visited once, maybe twice, and then there was the dinner at the River House, which they declined to attend, citing Hewn City business.

“Go check on them!” ordered Nesta.

“Why don’t we go together?” proposed Cassian, but she said, “I don’t want to ambush them. Just…it’s casual if it’s just you.”

So here he was, being casual.

Somehow even Rhys found out that he was going to visit them, and the High Lord ordered him to report on their well-being.

The two wyverns, or whatever they were, flew over the sea, flipping and diving into the water.

Cassian landed in front of the house and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again, harder this time, but was greeted with silence.

It was a nice day, so he figured that the two of them being in the garden was very probable. Elain with her flowers or berry bushes, and Azriel just watching over her like a hungry wolf in love. The male was so obsessively in love, Cassian figured that if he could spend eternity watching Elain garden, Azriel would be perfectly satisfied with his life.

Rounding the corner, Cassian was faced with the most disturbing scene that his 543-year-old eyes had seen—naked Elain, grinding on Azriel…riding his cock.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

His sister. His little sister. That’s who Elain was to him. She was his little petal, his sweet flower girl. Riding Azriel’s enormous cock. How that thing even fit into her was a miracle.

Oh gods. His eyes. He pressed his palms over his face and ran back. He slammed into something, refused to open his eyes, and ran until he was well out on the front law on the house.

Mother’s tits! Why were they outside? He knew why they were, because it was a nice day and it was perfect time for lovemaking, but gods, did Azriel have to do it with her?

Breathing heavily, Cassian shot up in the air. He’d fly around, for a few hours. A few hours should be long enough, right? Maybe a few days?

Yes, theoretically, Cassian knew that Elain and Azriel were lovers. They were betrothed and swore their love and loyalty to each other before a priestess, and one day, planned to perhaps marry, as humans married—Elain’s idea, though she was cooling off to it, no longer concerned about the human rituals and their ways. But they were both reserved people, rarely displaying overt affection towards each other and somehow, it was difficult to imagine them in more intimate situations.

Azriel had scented his brother nearby.

Elain was whimpering atop of him, as he was pounding into her and right then, his brother was of no concern to him. He wanted to bring his girl over the edge, and she was close if the fluttering of the walls of her pussy around his cock were anything to go by. Her breath came out in deep, hoarse sighs and she stretched over him, her hair draping over her breasts and his chest, swooshing and tickling his chest. She squeezed her breast in her hand, rolling her nipple, as she plunged down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Close, sweetheart?” he held her hips tightly, angling her so that her clit ribbed against his pelvis, while kissing her mouth. She nodded breathlessly and fell atop of him, sinking her teeth into his neck and sucking, as she thrashed and moaned into his shoulder, whispering how much she loved him.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he murmured into her hair.

Azriel was working on an intricate carving in the piece of wood, chiseling slowly and carefully into the plank. He might have planned too complex a design, if he had to admit it, but he had eight months to complete it, so with some perseverance he figured that he’d be done just in time.

“I know you are there,” he said without raising his eyes from his chisel, “stop being weird.”

Cassian stepped in front of him, sniffling and hacking, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Were you hiding there long?”

“You know I wasn’t hiding,” Cassian sneezed, “I just flew in.”

“Flew back in,” corrected Azriel, smirking.

“My eyes did not need to see what they saw earlier,” Cassian sat heavily on a bench, shaking his head. “And stop smiling!”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so modest and easily perturbed,”

“Umm, I am not easily perturbed at all,” he interrupted, “unless I see my sister doing all those things with you,”

“Well, she is my betrothed female and my Lady,” Azriel reminded him casually, “so we do ‘do those things’ as you call them,”

“I don’t need to be reminded!”

Elain appeared—thankfully dressed—with a smile on her face, and exclaimed, “Cass! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She skipped towards him and threw herself into his embrace. He swung her around in his arms, and kissed her head.

“I’ve missed you, petal!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

“You look—stunning,” he had to admit, giving her a once over. “Gods…you are glowing!”

She smiled shyly, ducking her head and then playfully slapped his shoulder, murmuring, “such a flatterer,”

Azriel was observing them silently, still carving the wood, though Cassian sensed some tension in his brother. Azriel was never jealous, especially not of him, but just in case, Cassian stepped away from Elain and sat back down on the bench. Azriel reminded him of a newly mated male, and for a moment, he wondered if they had a mate bond snap for them, which would explain their absences and secrecy.

He watched them exchange a quick glance, but a bout of sneezes interrupted his puzzlement at all of this cagey behaviour. Could Elain have been given two bonds? Elain was mysterious, her power still not entirely revealed, her Cauldron-given abilities developing and unraveling bit by bit. Her power matched Azriel’s in many different, intricate ways, most of which Cassian could not understand. Even Rhys had trouble comprehending what the two of them were capable of, and how vast that power reserve actually was.

“Cass, let me get you something for your allergies,” Elain offered. “Do you want lemonade?”

“Don’t fuss Lainey,” he began, but she waved him off. “Lemonade for my brother is not fussing. I have an ointment that will help you,”

She went back into the house and Cassian draped his arms over his knees, looking out at the sea. This was a damn nice view! No wonder they didn’t want to leave. They split their time between their four residences—Hewn City palace, Azriel’s apartment in Velaris, occasionally they used the palace on the mountain, but typically only for formal meetings, but this—this was their home.

“You are quiet,” Cassian noted, glancing at Azriel.

His brother seemed to have relaxed a bit, even his wings snapped not as tightly as before, and he shrugged in his usual Azriel way, saying nothing.

Cassian finally glanced at the wood that Azriel was working on and he nodded towards the fine carvings, “it’s beautiful…what is it?”

Azriel drew his scarred finger over the wood, and after a moment, said, “it’s headboard for a crib.”

“A crib? Really? Who asked you to make a crib?” wondered Cassian, cocking his brow.

Then he stilled, his eyes widening, “Shit?! Rhys and Feyre? Are they having another baby?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel chuckled, amusement in his eyes, “they haven’t told me.”

“Who else?” pondered Cassian. “Don’t be an asshole! Tell me!” he whined.

“Maybe you?” Azriel winked at him.

“What?” Cassian paled, “wha-…Nes,”

“Oh gods, no!” groaned Azriel, laughing, “I am kidding. Can’t you smell anything?”

“I can’t smell shit!” Cassian wiped his nose, “I am all stuffed up. What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Elain.”

“What about Elain?”

In the next moment, Cassian tackled Azriel in his hug, both of them landing in the grass, a scream of joy ripping from Cassian’s chest.

“Elain?” he cried, tears springing in his eyes, “a baby…a baby for you,” he rocked Azriel against his chest, and for once, Azriel gently, easily embraced him back.

“Az, I…” Cassian, for once, was speechless. ‘”I am so happy…I am so happy for you,”

Azriel grinned, emotional again, his chest heavy and tight with joy.

“Actually, I need to make two cribs,” he said. “Care to help, uncle?”

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #my writing #the heirs of shadow #azriel #elain archeron #elain #azriel and elain #elain and azriel #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction prompt #fanfic prompt

126 notes · View notes

collisiondiscourse · 3 years

Text

battle scars || a deku & class 1-A drabble

(A quick drabble talking about members of class 1-A, the scars they share, and the love that heals them. TW for descriptions of violence and both external and internal injuries.)

There isn't a single hero that Deku knows of who doesn't have scars.

They aren't stigmatized, no not at all. No one who's ever seen a hero in action before thinks that scars are ugly. In hero society, scars are celebrated. Admired, adored, worshipped--whatever connotates the wearer to something positive. In a world where suffering and self-sacrifice are glorified, scars are a mark of beauty.

Even then though, Izuku Midoriya can't help but think that his scars are better off hidden.

He knows, god does he know, that everyone has their own wounds and injuries. Little divots here, the occasional prosthetic there--everyone he knows is marked in some way that reminds the world that they are still human where it matters. They aren't gods or faces off a product--just average traumatized people who unfortunately love humanity more than they love themselves.

Class 1-A being no exception.

Mina, for example, has burns. Big burns, small burns, burns of all shapes and sizes that litter her body like the pattern of the hero costume she wears. A few too many evil scientists with interests in chemistry like to think that their knowledge gives them the upper hand, but the Alien Queen always proves them wrong.

One of her horns is chipped, and when she gets drunk she admits that her sense of sight might be going. Sometimes, the scars sting, but the sweet ache of her body as she nails another dance routine reminds her that there's more to the world than how people look. When she begins to forget that, Kirishima claps loudly as she lands another pirouette.

Kaminari is dotted from head to toe in Lichtenberg scars. It's something that surprises no one, and something the blond feels no shame in showing off at any given moment. The lightning patterned marks are most prevalent along his forearms and palms, every hug from him feeling rough but safe nonetheless.

Occasionally, due to one too many brain fries, he'll have days where his mind doesn't seem like it's all there and memories fade like footprints in the sand. On those days, Denki lays down and Jirou runs her hands through electric blond hair while humming a soft and sweet tune.

Kirishima's scars run like cracks. They splinter and have ridges that look very much like his own quirk. Most of them are very faint and shallow, getting more focused and deep around his chest and forearms as he held firm against countless unrelenting attacks.

After one too many nosebleeds, the red-head finds out that he's way more prone to internal wounds from the way his organs deal with shock absorption less adaptively than his skin and bones do. Eijirou's tense muscles eventually learn to relax under the gentle caring massages from an exasperated Mina.

Iida, on the other hand, has a prosthetic. An unfortunate and horrible incident left him missing half a leg after pissing off a Stain-inspired villain who was a little too much like her idol. He's much less scarred (a benefit of his full-bodied armor), but Deku still sometimes sees the way he struggles to breathe.

Internal scars from internal wounds similar to Kirishima's make his body sometimes forget that he's stopped running. Tenya wears these scars with responsibility and blushes whenever he greets an enthusiastic Hatsume Mei for his monthly prosthetic maintenance check.

Uraraka has scars all over her fingers. Nicks and slices from where people tried to render her quirk useless by taking off a finger. She has a star-shaped mark on the right side of her forehead from where a building caved in and shattered her helmet.

Neat little slashes run up and down her ankles and soles of her feet from lucky shots people had before she floated away. Ochako wears these scars with ferocity and pride, adorning them in pink band-aids that Toga sometimes scratches at when the brunette comes to visit her in jail.

Todoroki is... a little different. The scar over his right eye is a lot more faded, yet still there. It grew up with him, healed and faded at the edges like the wounds in his heart, but not forgotten because of how it made him who he is. He has burns of all types adorned around his body--caused either by his own quirk or others.

He also often gets sick when he overexerts himself like the hopeless workaholic Big Three member he is. Yaoyorozu and Inasa visit him on those sick days, bringing light and chicken soup into his big empty home.

Bakugou's a lot similar to Deku. Their families and friends have noticed that if you put a diagram of their bodies side by side with markings of their injuries, it wouldn't exactly be a mirror image, but seemingly two parts of a puzzle clicking together. The blond had all sorts of scars around his body, a hazard that came with the title of Japan's Symbol of Victory.

There were deep lashes on his back, marks of muzzles and handcuffs from attempt after attempt of kidnappings and ransom hostages. On his forearms were twin bracelet scars, from an especially ruthless villain that attempted to cut his hands off in an effort to eliminate his quirk. Over his torso were two faint pink marks shaped like explosions, both from the first time he sacrificed himself for Deku.

Bakugou had similar aches on his shoulders and neck from overuse and recoil whenever he'd pushed himself too quick and too soon. Kacchan would scoff at the notion of hiding his scars and treat the pain with a quick home-cooked meal, fingers twitching when Deku would plop himself on the counter and ask about his latest shift.

But Deku?

Deku hid well. He hid because it was his habit to deceive and alter his appearance--covering things up with a simple black arm band because in the grand scheme of things there were some secrets best left unseen. Deku wore long sleeves and concealer over his skin like it was a suit of armor, hiding the rawest parts of him because even as he grew and climbed his way to the top, a part of him always remembered that the burden he carries is too heavy to let be seen.

So he hides.

He hides the way burns litter his skin from trying to contain the inferno that is OfA and walking through fire to bring civillians home. He hides the Lichtenberg scars and the way green lightning sometimes crackles hard enough to make him flinch as he fights his way through unbeatable hoards of enemis. He hides the prosthetics, the way his arms gave out on him quite a while ago, forcing them to be replaced and improved. He hides the way people have tried to tear him apart and steal his burden for themselves.

One for All was his greatest gift and most painful curse.

Some nights he trembles and shakes, muscles spasming in effort to just simply keep going. Shivers run up and down his spine because with every injury his blood circulation worsens and worsens until cold and pain is all that he feels. Izuku will sometimes walk around, scars hurting and throbbing hot white under his skin, and look for medication that dulls the ache and makes him go a little less crazy.

Hands mindlessly running over bumps and edges, scars from villains and friends and debris and growth spurts. He would stand in front of a mirror like a house of cards and pull himself apart, reflection making him detest himself from how gnarled and ugly and imperfect he was.

"--No, my boy. Not imperfect." The tall and gaunt figure of his old mentor would tut. Thin and skeletal fingers would grasp the bottom of a white shirt and lift it up, gently revealing a scar so deep it almost looks like a crater. "Not imperfect at all. For people like us, your scars make you far more than just a hero."

Deku, of course, would hum in resignation. He looks at All Might--no, Toshinori Yagi with a skeptical look and the retired hero would smile.

"You are... a miracle."

And just like that, Deku would be brought back to being 14 years old, quirkless and desperate. He's on his knees, looking at the Symbol of Peace in his true form--thin and pale but still oh so powerful. A voice tells him that there is a destiny he has far greater than he'll ever realize, an adventure that awaits him through the old skinny man with unruly blond hair.

Izuku didn't see weakness that day, no.

He saw hope.

So now, even as Pro-Hero Deku hides away the parts of himself that are broken and raw from the world he protects, he finds his cure all the same. In the arms of those who are warm and familiar, Deku sheds his armor, his foundation, his long sleeves--

and he is simply Izuku.

He is Izuku who gets spa days and yoga sessions with Ashido, Denki, and Eijirou that stops his muscles from spasming on days where it gets unbearable. He is Izuku who gets tender massages and hearty midnight snack runs with Ochako and Tenya when nightmares and visions just won't let him sleep. He is Izuku who gets soup and warm borrowed hoodies from Shouto and Kacchan when stress makes him keel over and shudder at the thought of working. He is Izuku who gets big warm hugs and a fierce movie marathon with his loving mother and mentor who is his father in all but name.

He is Izuku, riddled with scars that still heal.

#bnha #mha spoilers #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #denki kaminari #mina ashido #eijirou kirishima #tenya iida #ochako uraraka #katsuki bakugou #shouto todoroki #izuku midoriya #codi.docx #tw violence #tw injury

164 notes · View notes

salsdemise · 3 years

Text

Gundham and Korekiyo in a relationship hcs (separate)

I had fun writing these lol. TW/CW: slight V3 spoilers for Kiyo, other than that none! AU: non-kg/non-despair au Word count: 1,361(kinda long!)

HC’s under the cut!

Kiyo!

-I’ve done some on this but

-he’s a generally reserved person, not opening up about himself much if at all until farther into the relationship.

-His love language is giving you gifts!

-He travels a lot so by the time he’s back its like christmas lol

-if he comes home(assuming you live in the same apartment) at a time he knows ur asleep, he joins you in bed. May not sleep if he’s had tea or something to drink, but he enjoys it when he gets in bed and you almost instantly cling to him.

-Doesn’t like to be touched, that being said he LOVES invading your personal space. He’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders, waist, he’s spinning you around and goofing off, playing with your hair, ect.

-try and do the same with him and he won’t tell you not to, but he will be quite stiff and still. At least at the beginning of the relationship

-Loves 20’s and 30’s music? Like, Button Up Your Overcoat by Helen Kane? That shit slaps to him and if you like it too, then prepare to listen to it often.

-not one for public dates, loves dancing with you in your kitchen. Loves picnics too!

-doesn’t matter if you can’t cook, he’ll eat it even if it’s mostly burnt. He might even figure out a way to make what you make taste edible lol

-He loves taking photos of you randomly doing things. Cooking dinner? He’s got a picture. Drawing? Picture. Reading? He’s got one. Picking flowers on a picnic date? Obviously. You mid scream bc of a horror game jumpscare? He’s got two.

-If you end up asking about his bandages and stuff, he takes them off to show you various scars and marks. If you ask, he tells you about the ‘welcoming’ he got from natives of an area he was visiting. He doesn’t tell you he almost died though lol.

-He’ll make you bracelets n stuff

-He likes falling asleep with you on top of him. Helps him feel grounded and he loves holding you

-Fights are almost non-existent between you two.

-unless it’s about his trauma. But you two don’t often talk about that unless he’s had a day where he can’t stop thinking and even then you just hold him while he cries and talks about it.

-healthy relationship <3

-If you have any trauma he’s more than willing to help you through your issues, making you tea, holding you, calming you down. He’s a listener.

-He wants to know everything about you. What you like, what you don’t like, what makes you happy, what to avoid. He wants to make sure you’re comfy with everything.

-he always asks before touching you, kissing you, entering a room you’re in when the door is closed, calling you ect.

-You do the same. You always ask if you can go into his room, if you can look when he has his mask off, if you can hold his hand and stuff.

-He has a little garden! Mostly roses, but he likes it.

-You’ve made him masks and he adores them. His favorite has roses on the sides.

-Korekiyo loves you sm and you get along very well

-Valentines day you guys just stay inside and watch awful romance movies while cuddling.

-if you really want to go out, get ready because he’s not holding anything back. Gundham!

-Getting into the relationship is a LONG process.

-And I mean LONG

-It probably starts when you find one of his Devas. He’s looking for them and you’re just walking around with them on your shoulder and he nearly runs into you when he sees you have them and he’s like

- “Mortal, halt any further movement and unhand my Deva this instance!”

-ur just standing there with them on ur shoulder so you hold your hand out to it so it can climb on and then hand it to Gundham

-Mans shocked lmao like his devas clearly like you

-it happens three more times, all of them have gone missing once now

-He’s so confused???

-he starts following you around bc “your energy is...interesting, Mortal. My Deva’s truly seem to like you and I'm inclined to see why.”

-just accept it he’s not leaving you alone. Ever.

-if ur free after school he’s gonna ask you to go to the pet store he volunteers at too frequently (half the people there think he works there, he doesn’t but he might as well)

-if you say yes he’ll tell you about all the animals and let you hold them(might get you one if he likes you enough)

-Eventually he asks you out for real, he first asks you to go to the pet store again and you agree. Then he takes you on a picnic near a cemetery (if you ask why not in he says “It’s quite rude to disturb the dead like that, Mortal.”)

-Durning the picnic his Deva’s bring out notes to you while he’s not looking

-they’re little notes with poems saying how much he loves you

-very sweet, very sweet.

-He notices eventually and mans goes RED.

-hiding in his scarf, he tells you how he feels

-obviously you say yes, and you two start dating (kazuichi would be over the moon lol)

-mind you this is like 4 years into the friendship, y’all are almost out of highschool by now

-It takes him a while to initiate contact with you, also takes him a bit to get used to you touching him in general

-one thing he’s used to quickly is having your arms linked. He enjoys it. The devas do too. They can go from him to you!

-He’ll excuse himself 3 times a day to shower. Man has hamsters on him constantly, wears no underwear and is a little paranoid about being smelly since he was bullied for smelling like a hamster when he was younger.

-You don’t mind at all, seeing him with his hair down is amazing every time.

-He likes it when you play with his hair but he won’t tell.

-the deva’s will though-

-when you guys get close enough(7 years friends, 3 years dating) he’ll be comfy with skin to skin. And he adores it when you trace the many large and small scars on him from him training his animals.

-He isn’t someone to ask for cuddles, but when he’s had a rough day he’ll ask to lay down with you. He likes laying with his head on your lap or stomach and his arms around your waist while you mess with his hair.

-He has hard days a lot when out of highschool. So when he comes home from work (he works as a tour guide at a zoo change my mind) he likes to just,,,,collapse into you. He likes when you hold his face and kiss his forehead

-he’s a very affectionate person in private!

-,,,clearly, as written

-Fights are super rare between you two. Like, super rare. If you have an issue you both sit down to talk. You listen and work it out, and then things are fine.

-he doesn’t eat most meats. The only one he eats is fish. He will not eat any other meat.

-meals are easy with him though, you try your best for him and he loves it. You can make meals with meat in them and remove the meat from half of it for him and when you do he’s so happy. You think of him and he adores that.

-Lovey poems, notes, gifts, little things that make you both smile.

-his love language is gifts and notes.

-He’s surprisingly popular with kids at his work, so when you go to visit him with lunch, you’re kinda surprised at first to see him crouched down with a group of 5-8 year olds, talking about birds and lizards.

-You wait till the kids are collected and then go over, smiling

-he’s a little embarrassed.

-Valentines day is a DAY for you two

-he goes all out with it and that’s all I'm saying

#danganronpa imagines #danganronpa headcanons #korekiyo shinguuji x reader #drv3 korekiyo #non despair au #gundham tanaka x reader #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v2 goodbye despair #fluffy #slight spoilers?#i love these men

178 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

can we see chris just having a good day with like some happy stims? he is a huge comfort character for me and seeing an autistic OC who has the same stims i do and stims openly is just. amazing. sorry for no sentence prompt!

Of course, Anon! I know what I’ll do for this one, definitely.

CW: WRU/BBU and some pet whump references but this is pure fluff

Jake looks up, squinting as he hears a sudden thumping from the roof over his head, the kitchen light shaking very slightly. “Good or bad, d’you think?” He asks, and glances over at Kauri, who is leaning his back against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee from a mug shaped like a unicorn, his fingers wrapped around its rainbow tail. One ceramic eye seems locked on Jake.

“Fuck if I know,” Kauri responds, squinting. He’s been awake for twenty minutes and clearly has not had enough coffee yet to join the world under anything but serious protest. “It’s too early for anyone to have strong feelings, Jake.”

“It’s seven,” Jake says, gently, but he can’t help his smile. “You should’ve gone to bed before two, Kaur.”

“Used to be easier staying up all night. When did that change?”

“When you got old.”

Kauri glares at him, and Jake gives him a look of serene innocence in return. “You’re older than I am.”

“Yeah, and I also don’t go to bed at two and get up at six anymore without a damn good reason, now do I?”

Kauri snorts. The thumping starts back up above their heads, and Jake sighs, pushing himself out of his chair.

“Okay, I’m going to go up there and see what’s going on. He keeps that up, he’ll wake up my household, and not one of them isn’t in dire need of as much sleep as they can get.”

“Mmmn. I’m going to finish this coffee and go back to bed.” When Jake raises an eyebrow, Kauri grins at him. “I didn’t say I would sleep, now did I?”

Jake’s kiss is brief but forceful before he turns to head upstairs and see what has Chris making that kind of noise this early in the morning. It could be good or bad - but things haven’t really been too rough lately. Chris is doing fine in school, his friends are good, he and Laken started talking about living together next year... Jake runs through the list and he can’t find anything of concern, not now, not in this odd period of something like peace. Still, he worries.

Part of being somebody’s brother, he supposes, and finds a smile playing across his face. The eternal thought of I’m somebody’s big brother, popping in now and then, to remind him that how he started isn’t where he is now, and never has to be.

Chris’s door is closed and Jake knocks politely, the thumping stopping. Chris flings open the door, eyes shining and bright, wearing only his compression shirt and loose pajama pants, clearly interrupted during the process of getting dressed. Behind him, Jake can see a large blue t-shirt laid out on the bed, from the museum he went to with Laken a few weeks ago. It as some kind of dinosaur skeleton in black on the front, like a T-rex but Jake knows it’s not actually a T-Rex. He can’t remember what Chris said it was. Next to the shirt is his stim bracelet and a stim necklace, a flat black bat today instead of his usual feathers.

As always, Jake hides the wince at the sight of his forehead scar, fading slowly but still too bright and red for his liking. Too permanent. Visible evidence that when it mattered, Jake couldn’t get in to him in time.

“You’re shaking the house,” Jake says, scanning Chris’s expression, but all he sees is sparkling brightness, a smile playing there, fighting his attempts to look serious. “What’s up?”

“He, he called,” Chris says, quick and rushed, and lets go of the door, stepping back, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet on the hardwood floor. “He called, Jake!”

“Who? About what?” Jake steps in, closing the door slowly behind him, leaning back to watch Chris spin and then stop and start bouncing again, almost jumping, his hands flapping rapidly and eyes closed. Jake thinks with a pang of regret about how his longer hair used to float around him like a halo when he was happy like this. Now there’s hardly enough to even move at all.

He’s so fucking excited, though, whatever it is...

“He, he, he-he called!”

“Chris, hey, who called? What’s going on? Is this about getting an apartment? Did Laken hear back from-”

“No!” Chris stops long enough to look at him, breathing hard, but even when he stops bouncing his hands are still moving, almost a blur in the air. He can’t keep his body from moving, and fuck if it isn’t something Jake loves to see. He can still remember the silent statue they’d brought into the house that first rainy night, the frightened, dehumanized rescued teenager that had bloomed into pure sunshine in human form and now Jake watches a grown man who doesn’t police his own excitement. “I mean. No. No, it’s, it’s not... no. Jake, do, do you-... when Laken and I went to to the museum, the natural history museum? Do you remember?”

“Yeah, man, it was a few weeks ago. I don’t-... I don’t follow. How does that-”

“The, the, the Romantic I saw! I, I gave him one of our our numbers, you remember? Do you remember?”

“Yeah... yeah, I do remember you saying-” The full picture hits Jake all at once and he nods, slowly, feeling a smile of his own echo Chris’s expression. “He called? That’s who you mean? The Romantic-”

“Nine texted me,” Chris says, breathless almost, his hands moving, his body bouncing, a low hum coming from him between sentences, fading long enough for him to breathe.

Jake has seen Chris so many versions of happy, but never quite the same as this. The closest is maybe when his college acceptance letter came, when they got the proof that all of Chris’s work for nearly five years had been enough to get him back on track to the life WRU had interrupted.

Not stolen. Not for good. Not now.

“He, he, he he he-he called, he called, they’re gonna go go go get him, they, they, um, they’re gonna go get Rafael, he’s, they’re gonna get him, it worked, it worked it worked it worked-”

Chris flings himself forwards and Jake’s back smacks into the closed door behind him. He lets out a soft ‘oof’ but holds Chris tight, feeling him still moving even now, hands shifting easily into finger-twist-tap-tap-tap on Jake’s sides, his arms. He laughs against Jake’s shoulder, bright and brilliant laughter, and Jake finds himself laughing, too.

“Well, how about that? You did it, Chris.”

“I, I, I did it,” Chris whispers, and he rocks into Jake, and this is so familiar, now, too. “I did it, Jake, I, I did it, it worked, I did it, I, I... I, I helped someone. I, I helped someone get get get get out, I helped someone.”

“You did. I’m fucking proud of you, man.” Jake doesn’t mention that the escapes don’t always go to plan, or how common it is for Romantics specifically to try and go back once they run headfirst into starting over. He doesn’t want to mention it, anyway.

“Do, do, do, do you think I could see him? When they find him somewhere? Do you, you-you think?” Chris pulls back to look up at him, and Jake smiles down. “Will he want to, to see me? Do you think?”

“I think so.” Jake lets him pull back so he can go back to moving, watching Chris full to overflowing with pride in himself and happiness for the other pet, a buzzing energy he doesn’t hesitate, not by now, to allow to find its own way out. “I know I would, if it were me you saved.”

Chris pauses and looks over at him. “I would, too. Save, save you. I would. If it it it were you.”

“I know. What are brothers for?” He’s rewarded with another dazzling smile. “I’ll tell Kauri you need to shake the house for a while longer, okay?”

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Why, why is Kauri up? We didn’t stop watching the-the-the movie until two.”

“Yeah.” Jake grins moving back out the door into the hallway. “And he’s regretting all his choices today. Tell Nine I said hey.”

He closes the door again and moves back to the stairs, unaware that at the end of the hall, Eli’s door is cracked open and the quietest current member of the house stares out at his back, mouthing Nine?

Then Eli closes the door.

Jake gets downstairs to find Kauri staring outside at a tree. “Hey, Kaur, so-”

“I hate that bird,” Kauri says, and takes another sip. “It’s too early to be so fucking cheerful.”

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary

Rafael appeared in these three drabbles

#chris asks #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #pure fluff #original fiction #wru #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #happy stims #erase to control #pet whump references #brief but there

112 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Yandere Bakugou Headcanons

Request: Hi Plush-sama! Whenever you find the time to do it, could I request a soft yandere Bakugou and female darling with a hummingbird quirk? Like, her arms are a mishmash of human and hummingbird wings and she’s got those pretty bluish-green and purple feathers that spread down over her back and shoulders, and Bakugou just adores making her wear lots of really revealing lingerie for him despite knowing how uncomfortable it makes her?

A/N: Plush-sama- I- Im gonna scream into my pillow, i love the term. Darling is just the cutest term too!! I hope you don’t mind headcanons!!

Under the cut

Katsuki isn’t the best at caring for you, but he can surely put up the act. His hands will clasp around your shoulders, and he’ll pull you close, his lips pressed against the side of your head as he joins in whatever you were doing. With his hands clasped around your shoulders, he’ll give you slight hints that it’s time to finish up whatever you were doing- his hands will tighten, a bit of his palm will swipe against your bare skin and there’s the faintest smidge of sweat that rubs against you. He knows who he is, he knows how much power words hold and he’s very capable at using words against you. However, he’s your hero and he’s your partner. He wouldn’t make you work for a second of the day, he’ll treat you as this prized possession that has to remain as soft as possible.

You have a beautiful quirk and while it may be pretty to look at- it isn’t much. Your wings are brittle compared to his strong hands. He’ll pluck a feather, raise it above his head and peer at it as the light creates a halo around it. To put it simply; you’re pretty to look at. There’s no reason for you to be so ashamed of how you look. He walks with confidence, oozes it at his very words and thrives in his setting. There’s no reason you shouldn’t feel the same way either. He’ll dress you, have you wear revealing clothing that tightens around your curves, a deep cut in the chest area, your clothes short enough that if you were to bend, the crease of your plump bum would be exposed.

If you really were to be against it, he’ll sneer at you. How could you be against a way to help you increase your confidence? Do you really not like what he buys you? Do the gifts that he gets for you really cause you such hatred that you would practically spit at him? He’s not one for any physical violence against you, but he’ll intimidate you. He’ll walk towards you until you’re against a wall, your wing clutched in his hand, and his eyes leveled with yours. His breath is hot, the hand on your wing tightening and when he pulls his hand away, feathers are fisted in his palm. You don’t have to wear the clothes he gets you, but you should at least wear the lingerie he does get you. After all, why would you have such a problem with that considering he’s the only one that can see you in such a promiscuous way. That night, he’ll hold you and he’ll tell you how bad you made him feel. You should know by now that you’re the first person he’s ever truly cared for.

Now, if you truly don’t want to wear the things that he gets for you and you aren’t intimate by his means, well, the only thing he can offer is that you leave him. He’ll scream at first, make you scared and even tear up a bit and then he’ll fall silent, throwing your clothes into a suitcase and telling you to leave. You have to return your credit card however, considering it’s a shared bank account. And you’ll have to return your phone considering it’s one that he had lent you. You’re free to leave with the clothes on your back and the few in your suitcase. He just hopes that you can handle the walk to the nearest thing that’s affordable seeing as he won’t call you a taxi. Surely, you can handle living on the streets. But of course you can’t. Despite how forceful he can be, he’s given you a nice life. He’s taken care of you and pampered you. You’d have to beg on your knees that you won’t pull any stunt like that again, bowing before him and promising that you won’t complain about the outfits he’s gifted to you.

To call him possessive, feels off. It’s not that he doesn’t want you around anyone, it’s just that he has to choose who you hang around with. Even then, it isn’t enough. He trusts those close to him and he knows that the last thing they’ll do is steal you away from him, but he can’t help but leave his mark over your body. It starts off small- bites here and there that mark against your thigh, bruised skin from his kisses or even just a bracelet with his initials. However, he grows more sadistic over the course of the relationship. There are few scars that litter your body, a pale color compared to your skin of where his sparks had touched and they disappear relatively enough but then it moves to marking you in areas that are clear for others to see. It isn’t until he brings out a collar that his exhibitonist is starting to show.

Everything with him starts off small. He’s smart in that way, to slowly push you into his life, to let you believe that you have autonomy over your life. But like everything else in the relationship, he wants more. He’ll hold you a bit too close in public, let his hands cup under a breast and slowly slide up, not daring to break his smile. His hand will slide down to your bum, slipping past the thin fabric that he made you wear and tease at your hole in a crowded train. He’ll shove you off to the side, press you against a wall and fondle you for a bit, his thumb in your mouth to quiet your sounds. He’ll have you suck on his cock in the elevator, telling you to hurry up before someone catches you. His hands are rough as pulls you aside before an interview and bends you over in his dressing room.

Sex isn’t contained in the just the bedroom, and while you two are having sex, he’ll neglect to tell you that company is coming over. He’ll purposely forget to mention that guests are coming until they’re knocking at the door while his cock is filling your hole. He’s nice to let you go without finishing himself, but that also means that you haven’t finished and now you’re flustered and a bit frustrated with pent up energy. The clothes that he lays on the bed for you will be those that he has chosen. He’ll have you seve his friends as you dress in something short, the only front cover that you have is a frilly apron that clings tight to your waist. A part of him thrives at how the eyes of his friends will wander to your chest or how your thighs pinch together when he has you sit on his lap.

If you were busy doing anything other than him, then he has you continue doing what you were doing without going to change your clothing. He wants to show you off to have his friends see your beautiful wings and how they shine under natural light and how far they seem to grow on your back, the way that the feathers begin to thin out the further down they get on your back. He displays you like a trophy, pulling you close to him and having you turn around, encouraging the others to touch your back. He wants them to see what he has.

While he does like to risk things, he’s also one to push it to the limits. He’ll leave your underwear that’s damp with arousal under the couch, or stuffed in a drawer that’s regularly used. Katsuki wants the others to know that without a doubt, you’re just as perverted as him. He wants for the others to see your dripping arousal darken the seats, to question if they really did hear your moans or not. If your beloved partner is even feeling a bit more risky, he’ll make sure that you wear something black, something where his semen will stand out.

Embarrassment is something that he doesn’t have, it’s all on you. You hide your wings and it’s so easy to exploit your insecurities and fears. You don’t want people to see you in such small clothing, to touch your body and see every bit of your skin. If he has people staying over at his home, he’s going to use that to his advantage. He’ll play a movie, pull you close and rest under a shared blanket as his fingers work their way in and out of your leaking hole. He’ll pull you into the kitchen while the others rest in the living room and proceed to fuck you there, telling you to keep quiet unless you want the others to see. If you catch him in a particularly heavy mood, he’ll even fuck you in the living room where the others sleep just inches away, have you ride his cock as he removes your shirt and stuffs it into your mouth.

#bnha #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #bakugo katsuki headcanons #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugō #dynamight x reader #bnha dynamight #dynamight headcanons #bnha dynamight x reader #hope you like it #i have a thing for like vouyerism #slash exhibionist #i cant spell

48 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

saeri77

无标题

t0astedbagels

Wendy Davis

desvelada22

desvelaa

mypoorfaves

Sucker for a sickie in a flu mask

mybelovedcharm