#//it’s like dried flowers and blood and that’s very fitting for him

[blixtrandetorst]

//I think I finally got the blog color palette, etc down.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Doomed Yuri in my brain. Doomed Yuri. Doomed yuriiii based of Bloodborne

May or may not make a part 2. Idk. Just needed to throw this out here before I lost my mind.

Yandere Short Stories: Doomed From The Start

Yandere Lesbian Paladin x Saintess Reader x Onesided Yandere paladin

There is a secret third Yandere but that’s only if I ever decide to continue

TW: uncomfortable religious themes, body horror, internalized homophobia (religion), monsters, Yandere and toxic behavior, etc

Swoosh! A strong gust of wind blew through Ludwig’s long black locks, which made the cleric appear to have a dark halo above his head. His face remained stoic as he made his way towards the church with his worn out entourage. Another successful hunt and he had made it back to the church once more… a shame his peace was quickly shattered by a certain saintess.

“Ludwig!” The tall paladin froze when small arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. His icy blue eyes turned to glance down at (your name), the saintess, in disinterest. “I’m happy you returned safely. How did the hunt go?”

Ludwig hummed in response while he moved her arms off his waist. He merely put up with the young woman to get close to her friend, Desiree. (Your name) was not his type like the other paladin was. (Your name) was a delicate flower but Ludwig longed for the thorn.

Ludwig himself had no interest in the bubbly flower but he needed her to get closer to his dream maiden. (Your name)’s affection for him did not matter.

“It was fine.” Ludwig told her as the two of them headed to the church together for him to give his report. His blue eyes softened when they landed on Desiree, she was magnificent as ever, even with the dried blood on her silver armor. Desiree appeared angelic even when she was drenched in the blood of her enemies. The white haired woman made a beeline toward to the two of them. “Lady Desiree-“

Ludwig was shocked when Desiree pulled (your name) into a constricting embrace, one that was most common with lovers rather than friends. Her lofty body easily wrapped around (your name) like a blanket, her pale nose buried into the crown of (your name)’s head. Desiree’s hot breath tickled the smaller woman’s scalp, which made (your name) burst in a small fit of giggles.

“You act as if you haven’t seen me for years!”

“Maybe it felt like years since the last time I saw you?” Desiree lifted her head off (your name)’s head to stare into her eyes. Desiree’s silver eyes pierced (your name)’s very soul. “I hurried back from my mission just to come see you, (your name).”

“I’m just happy you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do if my precious friend didn’t return from the front lines.” (Your name) squealed when Desiree ruffled her hair, the smaller woman immediately began to protest. “Desiree!”

Desiree smiled brightly at (your name). She couldn’t help but tease (your name)… especially in front of Ludwig. The dark haired man’s glare was so intense, it burned holes into their heads. Jealous much? “I brought you something too.”

Desiree reached into her leather satchel and handed (your name) a white rabbit foot. “I know you hate the blood we collect, but I made sure to bring you back a good luck charm.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything-“

“Of course I did. You’re always in the church all alone." Desiree smiled warmly at (your name). The taller woman took (your name)’s hand in hers. “How about we head back? It’ll rain soon.”

“Oh but…” (your name) glanced over at Ludwig whose jaw was clenched. His icy eyes narrowed at the two women with disdain. Why was he so upset? Was it because she put all of her attention on Desiree? “I was going to walk back with Ludwig. We can eat supper together if you’d like, Desiree?”

Desiree frowned but sighed in defeat. The white haired woman turned to the brunette with a frown. She didn’t understand what (your name) saw in Ludwig. He was awful to her. A starving wolf would be kinder to (your name) than Ludwig ever could be. But Desiree knew it wasn’t her place to dictate (your name)’s choices in life. “I’ll see you then, (your name). Be safe, okay? I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I will. I’ll see you around.” (Your name) waved her friend off before she turned her attention to Ludwig. “I apologize for that, Ludwig. Shall we be on our way before the rain falls?”

Ludwig clicked his tongue and nodded. All he needed to do was walk alongside the gregarious woman and satiate her incessant chatter with a simple nod or hum in agreement. Ludwig was only close to her to get to Desiree. (Your name) was simple like a dog.

(Your name) beamed and walked alongside Ludwig, a heavy blush on her cheeks. She was happy to walk beside her crush. It was wonderful to see such a soft side to the normally stoic man.

Ludwig ignored the shy glances she snuck his way. He could not wait for the day that Desiree would look his way. Ludwig knew she had no such need for a burden like (your name) around her. Desiree nor him needed a pet… no. A dog around them.

Ludwig would have to gripe about this experience in his journal once more. The tea colored paper was his only confidant in this cruel world. For Ludwig trusted no one in the church’s that he dutifully served. Not the head of the church and certainly not the saintess.

A shame Ludwig would one day regret the way he treated the ‘dog’ that once so loyally stuck by his side like a tick…

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The candlelight dimly lit up Ludwig’s study. His striking features now on full display to the prying eye. His slender fingers scribbled fervently into the tea colored paper of his leather journal. He wrote his woes with utmost sincerity in obsidian ink. Bits of the thick substance splattered all over his hand and onto the desk. Speckles that rivaled the abysmal eyes of the beasts he had slain now stained the mahogany wood. A mockery to his ‘holy’ mission to cleanse the land of the curse that plagued the land.

The monstrous beasts that roamed the valleys demolished villages with no mercy. There was no end to the wave of madness that had sprung up over the last few years when the nearby villages became plagued with poverty and famine. The monsters seemingly sprung up from the ashes and began to try to attack the kingdom. It sickened Ludwig.

Many fighters have come and gone throughout the years. Many have even gone missing in action… yet Ludwig and Desiree remained as the top two paladins of the church. The only two that had fought side by side for nearly a decade… which was why Ludwig was so smitten with the white haired woman. She was a force to be reckoned with. A magnificent fighter he wished to keep by his side until he drew his final breath. An unattainable goal that was thwarted by a mere saintess. If that wench didn’t exist, Ludwig was positive that Desiree and him would have been wed by now.

It was all (your name)’s fault that Desiree did not covet his affections. The only good news was that (your name) admired him. A ‘holy’ woman longed for a pious man like himself. It was so pathetic, it was comical. A weakness he would exploit until his daydreams burst into reality.

Ludwig clenched his fist when he finished the final line to his long list of complaints about his disdain for a certain saintess. A big splotch of ink covered her name now which made him even more annoyed. Even when (your name) wasn’t present, she still disrupted his peace.

Ludwig stood up and moved his quill and ink back onto his desk. Perhaps a walk would clear his head?

Ludwig gathered his snow white robes and exited his study, the door slammed shut behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, the pot of ink toppled over and split all over his desk. A puddle of black now laid all over the floor in a river of ink. An insidious omen.

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Desiree sat in the confession booth, her hands folded together while she babbled a prayer. Forgiveness… she needed forgiveness for her sin.

“I am in love with someone of the church but I can never be with them. For I would burn in a pyre if I confess.” Desiree’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Will god forgive me for my grave sin?”

“You are forgive. Your sins are absolved.” The priest told her in a soft tone. “Lady Desiree, your devotion to god is like no other but even you are not without sin. I pray that you never stray from our god’s light and bring justice upon the land. That the blood you harvest for healing the sick and strengthening our clerics continue in a never ending flow. Bless you Lady Desiree, the Righteous.”

Desiree nodded and gathered her white skirts in her hands. She felt better now that she had gotten this off her chest. Yet she could not deny the queer feeling she had for her beloved saintess… her friend. Her precious (your name). Her angel. Her muse.

Desiree hurriedly made her way back toward her room, her mind raced with impure thoughts. She must paint… she needed to paint her muse.

Desiree paid no mind to her surrounding in her haste and her shoulder slammed into Ludwig’s. The cleric nearly doubled over in shock and joy. Had fate finally united him with the woman he desired? This was the first time they’ve had alone time since their last hunt.

“Lady Desiree, it’s lovely to see you-“

“Get the hell out of my way.” Desiree shoved past Ludwig with a huff which caught the cleric off guard. When was Desiree so uncouth? So ill-mannered? This was not the female paladin he knew, no. This was not her. This was not Lady Desiree, the Righteous.

The man ran a palm down his long black locks in shock. His heart didn’t stammer this time when he watched her silhouette disappear around the corner. The magic he swore she contained had fizzled out and died. The image he created of her in his head disappeared with it.

A reality slowly sunk into Ludwig. Perhaps he was not attracted to Desiree, but to the idea of her…

Ludwig sighed, perhaps he could pry information from (your name) about it? It was so easy to get the information he wanted from the saintess with sweet words.

(Your name) had her uses and Ludwig would exploit them for his own gain. He needed to be sure on whether or not the woman he saw tonight was the real Desiree. For if that was the case, perhaps he would settle for the saintess.

Possibly.

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Desiree slammed the door shut behind her once she entered her study. Her hand hurriedly picked up some paint off her oak desk, a few brushes clattered to the floor in her haste. She had an irresistible urge to paint the woman she loved… wait. When did she paint such a perfect portrait?

Desiree collapsed to the floor to caress the delicately painted features of (your name). A desirous shudder escaped her plump lips as she traced her fingers over the face of her muse. She would sin once more. Desiree deserved this, she needed this.

Desiree had slaughtered thousands of beasts and harvested their blood in the name of the church. She deserved a reward. She deserved (your name) more than Ludwig did.

Desiree pressed her lips against the painting with a moan. She didn’t care that flakes of acrylic paint were on her tongue, she didn’t care that there was no warmth, and she certainly didn’t care that she was sexually attracted to another woman. To Desiree, this felt right. This was god’s will.

Desiree hurriedly untied the sash to her robe, her bare body now revealed to the eye of the moon. The moon her witness of her great sin, of her love for her friend.

“God forgive me… forgive your selfish soldier for I cannot deny this earthly pleasure. I do not wish to break my oath…” Desiree felt a few tears fall down her cheeks, she felt as if she lost control over her desire. Her head spun with dizzying emotion that would drive any sane person mad… ever since the church had insisted their soldiers drink the blood of the monsters, Desiree had been restless.

Restless with desire for her unreciprocated love… yet she’d never tell her precious angel the sinful feelings she held. Desiree would take this overwhelming affection to the grave.

Desiree turned to the painting that lay on the floor with a smile. For now, she could be satiated with this… for now.

And while she indulged herself in pleasure, white fur and various eyes began to sprout on her arms.

This was the start of a transformation. The beginning of the end.

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“Help me. Help me!” (Your name) shot up from the bed, her heart raced in her chest like a race horse. Her body covered in a thick sheen of sweat. Another nightmare…

(Your name) couldn’t sleep. She was often plagued by nightmares of people crying for help ins own sort of dungeon… and it terrified her. She often had psychic dreams due to her divine power, but never ones these vivid… or terrifying.

There was something amiss in this church. That there was an invisible evil lurking in the air.

(Your name) rose up from her cotton sheets, to quickly wrap a robe around her white nightdress. Maybe a walk would clear her head?

(Your name) slid some slippers on her feet, snatched up the oil lantern beside her bed, and a match. She hastily brought the flame to life to find her way through the dark. (Your name) wanted to satiate this inordinate curiosity before it killed her.

She quietly left her room and glided down the hall like an apparition. Her long robes billowed behind her in the light breeze once she reached the open windows.

The moonlight illuminated her soft features, making her appear angelic… a suitable appearance for the saintess herself.

She allowed her feet to guide her down the hall and toward a hidden stair well. There was a sinister phenomenon going on beneath her. A truth that screamed for her to discover.

The farther she went down the stairs, the stronger the feeling of déjà vu became. The wall became more familiar… it was the one that haunted her dreams. The one in her nightmares.

And when she finally made it to the bottom of the stairwell, her entire body nearly convulsed in horror.

This wasn’t a dungeon… this was a laboratory. A laboratory full of the clerics and paladins who went ‘missing in action.’ Or at least what human pieces were left of them.

(Your name) begrudgingly stepped forward to glance at the books that laid open on one of the desks. The church was researching immortality through the blood of the monsters? Is that why they encouraged citizens and clerics alike to drink the blood? Good god… this was a crime against their god. This went against their entire purpose…

“Kill me… kill me…” (your name) put a hand over her mouth as she quietly began to sob for the poor soldiers whose humanity remained in tact. They didn’t deserve this… but she didn’t have the strength to kill them.

How was she to know that the church wasn’t actually helping people? That the church merely wanted to research how to gain immortality?

She needed to tell someone… she needed to report her findings to the citizens!

(Your name) quickly scurried away when she heard voices. Unaware that one of the paladins that laid in the dungeons had caught sight of her…

“(Your name)?” A distorted voice asked softly in the dark, multiple clawed hands grabbed at the steel bars that kept him contained. “My lovely girl is still so beautiful…”

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“Hello, (your name).” (Your name) nearly leapt out of her skin when the familiar baritone voice of Ludwig reached her ears. She quickly whipped around with a rosy blush on her cheeks. (Your name) hadn’t seen the paladin over the last few weeks since she had been so busy sneaking around for information.

“O-oh you scared me, Ludwig…” (your name) bowed to Ludwig to try to hide her embarrassment. “I’m not used to you seeking me out.”

“Is there a problem with me seeking you out?” Ludwig quirked a brow at her which made (your name) hurriedly shake her head. She was like a rabbit. It would have been adorable if he were any other man, but alas he had no interest in her in that sense. She was a means to an end to him was all. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Not at all… have you come to ask about my whereabouts?” (Your name) asked in an excited tone, her face lit up with hope. “I found out something rather interesting. You see, the blood-“

“No. I actually came here to ask about Lady Desiree.” Ludwig frowned at how instantaneously (your name) deflated like a ballon. He needed her for this info so he should cut to the chase. “I ran into her the other night and she seemed a bit off… I’m concerned about my peer.”

“She has been a bit off lately… everyone has.” (Your name) replied softly. “The two of you, as well as the other paladins and clerics, have been consuming a lot of the blood for power right?”

Ludwig nearly sighed aloud in frustration. Was (your name) trying to sneak her research into this conversation? He couldn’t care less about that, he merely wanted to know if Desiree was actually uncivilized.

“Yes.”

“Desiree has been quite stressed lately. She’s been working really hard.” (Your name) frowned at Ludwig. She may be naive but she wasn’t stupid, she knew Ludwig didn’t want to hear about her secret discover… no one did. “I think she should take a break for a while, maybe she’d get back to normal quicker? I’m worried about her too, Ludwig.”

Ludwig nearly screamed aloud in frustration. (Your name)’s information wasn’t useful at all! She wasn’t useful and it took everything in him not to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze-

A flash of white hair caught his eye, which made him compose himself. There Desiree was- what on earth?

Desiree slammed her shoulder into Ludwig’s to bend down to hold (your name)’s hands with a soft smile on her face.

“You’re worried about me?” Desiree’s breathing is irregular and that’s when Ludwig noticed the bandages wrapped around her arms. Had Desiree injured herself? She didn’t have any injuries during the most recent hunt… “You don’t have anything to worry about, I’m perfectly okay.”

“Desiree, you have not been coming to my healing sessions and you’ve been so irritable lately.” (Your name) whispered, her eyes filled with concern. “Desiree, what happened to your arms?!”

Desiree looked nearly euphoric when (your name) fretted over her which raised alarm bells in Ludwig’s head. Why did Desiree act so strange around (your name) when he was right here? Ludwig deserved Desiree’s attention-

Ludwig felt bile rise in his throat when he thought he saw a red eyeball on the back of Desiree’s neck. What the hell was that?

Ludwig rubbed his eye and it was no longer visible. He swore he saw an abnormality on Desiree but perhaps his mind had played tricks on him. He had been exhausted as of late due to the mess the ink left behind on his desk and floor. It took days to scrub it all out. He had to get on his hands and knees like a beggar!

Yet there was still black ink stuck under his nails. He had tried to pick under them with a sharp tool but even then, the tar black wouldn’t leave his nails. It was unsightly… just like the disheveled Desiree before him.

“Nothing to be concerned about. I’m perfectly okay.” Desiree glared at Ludwig who seemed puzzled over the matter entirely. Desiree couldn’t stand that narcissistic jerk. “How about you come to my study with me?”

“Your study? We should go to the infirmary.” (Your name) grabbed Desiree’s hand and began to drag the paladin toward the infirmary. “Goodbye, Ludwig.”

Ludwig bit his tongue, his eyes narrowed at (your name) who dragged Desiree away. He was angry yet… why did Desiree look at (your name) like a starved animal? (Your name) was a helpless lamb… what if Desiree hurt her? Wait.

Ludwig felt his stomach flip in anxiousness. Why were his emotions so jumbled? Why did he care what happened to the saintess?

Ludwig went to turn on his heel to head back to his own study but an overwhelming emotion overtook him. He needed to follow them. He needed to know the truth.

And so the cleric slinked after the two in the shadows. Ludwig hoped Desiree didn’t find him creepy…

He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if his angel hated him.

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(Your name) felt bile in her throat at the many eyes and patches of fur that littered Desiree’s arms. This was so much worse than she thought… Desiree was turning into a beast.

“It’s really not that bad-“ (your name) smacked her hands on Desiree’s cheeks. The healer slowly began to sob which instantly made Desiree frantic. “No, don’t cry. I’m okay-“

“I made a discovery awhile ago...” (Your name) sobbed as she placed her head on her friend’s shoulder for comfort. “The blood is tainted. It’s evil… but I can’t get anyone to believe me-“

“Darling, I assure you that I’m stronger than ever. This is merely a setback-“

“None of you are slaying monsters.” (Your name) muttered so softly, Desiree almost didn’t hear her. “You’re killing humans. I… I saw the missing soldiers in the basement and they started to turn into monsters. I don’t want you to go there too. I don’t want you to be an experiment…”

“I’m just so happy you care so much about me and the other soldiers.” Desiree smiled at (your name), her hands held (your name)’s in her calloused palms. “Your eyes are always on Ludwig so I had assumed he was the only star in your galaxy… it upsets me to see you fawn over that narcissistic bastard.”

“Oh I merely admire Ludwig. He’s very goal oriented and a great role model. He just makes me nervous is all. I don’t like him like that-“

(Your name) gasped when Desiree suddenly flipped her over to rest on the desk. Her hands desperately grasped at (your name) clothed skin. What on earth was Desiree doing?

“W-what are you-“ (your name) gasped when Desiree slammed her lips against hers in a hungry kiss. Desiree ground her hips into (your name)’s which made (your name) quickly shove her away. “Stop!”

Desiree gasped and began to stammer our apologies. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!” Desiree felt tears gather in her eyes from the rejection. She hadn’t meant to make (your name) uncomfortable… she thought (your name) had wanted to kiss too! “I don’t know what came over me-“

Desiree gasped when (your name) leaned forward and began to use her divine power on her. A warmth enveloped desire as the eyes and hair slowly began to fade away.

“Do you feel better?” (Your name) sucked in a deep breath before she exhaled in relief. A bit of sweat dropped down her forehead. She didn’t realize how much divine power it would take to reverse the change… but it was possible. “If you start to change again, can you come to me?”

Desiree nodded her head, her cheeks still red with embarrassment. How foolish was she to believe the saintess harbored romantic feelings for her…

“I’m sorry for doing that. I’m so ashamed-“ Desiree’s eyes widened when (your name) placed a finger over her lips.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed.” (Your name) gave Desiree a reassuring smile. “Loving someone should never be shameful. You just shouldn’t kiss people without asking them.”

Oh… oh! Did this mean Desiree had a chance?!

“Then… can I kiss you, Saintess (your name)?” Desiree asked in a hushed voice. Her silver eyes heavy with lust as her body caged (your name) to the desk.

“Of course Dame Desiree.” (Your name) was instantly pulled into a hungry kiss. The two women’s hands awkwardly roamed each other’s bodies until they found the perfect ratio of petting to kissing.

Little did the two lovers know of a certain paladin who had seen the entirety of their confession. Large horns began to sprout from his head as black fur covered his body.

What did (your name) mean she didn’t like him like that? Then why did she always seek him out if she didn’t love him? Was this all a game of hers to take Desiree from him? To play with him like a cat does a mouse until it gets bored?

No… he couldn’t accept this. They couldn’t be together. No, one of them had to be with him.

Ludwig quickly scurried off into the shadows before he was discovered. His body rapidly changing from man to beast as his jealousy consumed him.

When Ludwig finally made it back to his study, his new appearance horrified him. He was now as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside…

He was a monster.

[hedwig221b]

hiii hope you're doing well ! can we be gifted with a sneak peek of what you're working on right now ? love ya !

Hi, anon! The Midsommar au stubbornly doesn't want to be written, so here's a piece of an Outsider POV au (yes, again, yes, it's gonna be amazing) on a weird hermit witch Stiles (partially inspired by this post and also a very old bloody witchy plot bunny).

Her eyelashes stuck together as she blinked. Bit by bit, the haze lifted off her fever-stricken mind enough for her to take in the surroundings. She lay on an overly warm but surprisingly soft bed, soaking the covers under her with her sweat. The flames that danced upon the ceiling turned out to be just shadows from the roaring fireplace.

She stared at her clothes drying on the racks not far from it. Slowly, with her stomach sinking, she glanced at the man again.

He was no older than her, his pale skin splattered with moles and four ugly scars going down his cheek to his neck. Deep honey eyes and eyebrows hunched together.

He stood in front of the large dinner table, casting sharp shadows on the walls, and was busy grinding something in a mortar. The table was heavy with jars, vials, and sacks upon sacks of dried herbs. The reflection of the flames tinkled upon the glass. Everything inside seemed dark of a color.

Allison swallowed thickly.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

The man didn’t answer. He flipped pages of a book without any care and muttered something under his breath before hurrying to the right corner of the room. There, multiple feathers hung in a tight bundle; behind it, swung a single thick thread with a row of claws strapped to it by the fishing hooks.

Allison shifted her gaze, dread filling her stomach along with nausea.

Claws, feathers, eyeballs stuck together in a jar like pickled tomatoes. A deer skull in the corner with mittens hanging from its horns to dry. Jars upon jars of sealed violet flowers and a couple of cauldrons stacked together near the fireplace.

This cozy house lit with warmth and the cloying scent of drying herbs, belonged to a witch.

It would’ve been better if she died.

Allison didn’t have time to scream as the man leaned over her again.

Now that he had shed his winter coat, he looked slender but strong. He had to be fit to keep a house like this going, of course, but he also had to eat well. Was she his next meal? Was that fire for her?

A cry left her lips when the stranger grabbed her hand wrist up. She yanked it back with every bit of strength she had in her, only to yelp as his fingers gripped her wrist.

The man harrumphed as if her struggle for life was so annoying, and, to Allison’s horror, pulled out a dagger.

The diamonds glinted in the low light for a second before the blade pressed to her cheek, stilling her to death.

“We can do it two ways,” the man said quietly. “You can either stop wiggling and lose a bit of blood, or you can fight and lose it all. The choice is in your hands.”

A pearl of tear rolled off her eyes and onto the glinting blade.

The man smiled. His scars scrunched together.

God, how atrocious he was.

“Some brain left in you, heh?” he chuckled and swiped across her cheek.

Sharp pain burst through it, but then, all pressure was off her.

“See?” the man took the mortar off the floor and shook the droplet of her blood off the dagger’s tip into the mixture. “Nothing bad happened. Again, if you hadn’t fought, the cut would’ve been on your arm and not right there on your face, but…” he shrugged.

“Why?” Allison asked.

Why did you save me? Why are you doing this?

The man pretended to not hear her. He stuck his finger in the mixture, scooped up the gloopy bit, and put it in his mouth. With his eyes shut tightly, he hummed at the taste.

If only Allison wasn’t so weak, she would’ve disarmed him right there. Naked and with nothing but her hands for weapons, she would’ve won the fight, she was sure of it. Her father taught her to kill, and she learned it well.

The man’s eyes opened slowly. He swallowed and looked down at Allison, his gaze cold and calculating.

“Want soup?” he asked and jumped from the bed.

What?..

“I’ve just finished making it when I sensed you wandering around.” The man puttered around the table, closing the vials and screwing the jars shut. “I’m not giving you any meat, but the stock is delicious. Delicious!” He grinned to himself, though his smile wilted as he noticed her wide terrified eyes. “You get to live, okay? Don’t look at me like that. God!” He rolled his eyes and took out a bowl, which he promptly filled with a ladle-worth of steaming broth. “You are not a heroine in a romance novel, stop suffering.”

“I was ready to meet my death in the forest,” Allison insisted hoarsely, lifting herself on trembling elbows only to quickly fall back onto the pillows. Even that tiny bit of anger took everything from her.

“I’m not your chaperone!” the man bit out as he sat on the bed. He glanced at her weak body and, with a huff, put the bowl on the floor. Then, he took her under the armpits and pushed her into a sitting position.

Even with her head spinning, Allison tried to cover her suddenly naked breasts. A moment later, hands pushed covers up her shoulders and tucked them behind her back.

“Don’t try that with me,” the man grumbled, unfazed, and picked up the bowl from the floor. He swirled the spoon in the rich broth. “I have a mate.”

What a weird man. A mate? Like the one animals had?

She glanced at the lone pair of boots near the heavy door. One fur coat drying on the stand. One hat.

The man didn’t have anyone, did he?

Either he drove himself mad from loneliness, or his “mate” wasn’t… human.

Her gaze fell on his scars all by itself. It was the first thing one would notice about him, and then would stare at it forever, unable to tear their eyes away. They barely missed his eye, but that was a small consolation, considering how deep and white they were, how the skin pulled together and froze in place for the rest of his life.

Perhaps, Allison would’ve considered him handsome if it weren’t for the scars. His eyes were striking even with their coldness, and his nose was pushed slightly up. Despite living alone in the woods, he kept himself clean and shaven, although a beard would’ve hidden some of the scars.

“Say ‘aah’,” the man opened his mouth in example and pressed a spoonful of oily broth to her lips.

It was surprisingly nice, though very gamey. She didn’t dare purse her nose, though, as the liquid coated her tongue and soother her parched throat. By the end of the meal, her stomach was full, though unpleasantly warm, and her lips shined with the thin layer of fat.

“Who are you?” Allison tried again, her blinks slow.

“Stiles.”

She frowned. “What?”

“What?” the man mocked her in a high-pitched voice. “That’s my name, you idiot. I’m gonna call you Idiot.”

“I’m Allison.”

“And I don’t care.” With an inexistent grace of a newborn fawn, the man rose from the edge of the bed, glanced at it wistfully, and went to the kitchen area to stack up her bowl on top of the others. “Why are there always dishes?”

With her eyes closing more and more, Allison watched as the man loaded the dirty dishes into the basin, lifted it up, and walked to the door.

At the last moment, as if he just remembered Allison was there, Stiles stopped and glanced at her.

“Oh, yeah, stay here,” he said. “If you try to run, I am going to break your legs. If I break your legs, my mate is going to think I am giving him a prey to chase.” He cringed his nose in thought. “Nice idea, by the way. Nice, nice, nice…” he shoved his feet in the boots and shuffled outside, cursing at the cold.

Yes, thought Allison as the sleep forced her eyes closed, death would’ve been a mercy.

[divider source]

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts VII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Jacaerys makes a discovery about Valaena which leads Rhaenyra to question her ability as a mother.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Grief, Anger, Mention of Death, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5950

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

A few days after Rhaenyra’s coronation as Queen in the dragon pit, Jace stood in the dimly lit chambers that had once belonged to Aemond, watching the maids quietly pack away his uncle’s belongings.

The room felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of its former occupant, and Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intruding on something deeply personal.

Daemon had suggested that they burn everything—an idea Jace had readily agreed with, especially when his mother had made the decision to purge the Red Keep of the green regalia and restore it to its former Targaryen heritage, with red and black now decorating its walls and the dragon statutes restored to their rightful place.

But Rhaenyra had refused to burn Aemond's personal effects, instead she had ordered that his possessions be placed into storage.

Jace hadn’t understood her reasoning, and standing there now, surrounded by the remnants of Aemond’s life, he felt a strange mixture of hatred and discomfort.

He hated Aemond for what he had done, for what his uncle had cost him.

But here, in this space Jace found himself unsettled. It was clear that Aemond had spent a great deal of time here.

The shelves were filled with books and tomes on history and philosophy. Jace’s eyes wandered to the weapons cabinet in the corner, filled with meticulously maintained swords and daggers, each one gleaming as though they were cleaned daily.

Even the wardrobe reflected Aemond’s disciplined nature—boots, breeches, and leather jerkins, all dark green or black, hung in neat, precise rows.

Everything about the room screamed order and control—just like the man who had once lived here.

As the maids cleared one of the bedside tables, something caught his eye—a worn, old book.

He picked it up and frowned, flipping through the pages. It was written in High Valyrian, a history of the dragon lords of Old Valyria.

Jace wasn’t as fluent in the ancient tongue as his mother or Daemon, or even his sister Valaena, but he knew enough to recognize some of the words.

Jace blinked, trying to make sense of it. To book was familiar—he’d seen it before, in Valaena’s chambers on Dragonstone.

His brow furrowed as he opened the book to find handwriting scrawled on one of the pages, unmistakably in Valaena’s hand.

‘Lanta prūmi, mēre ābrar, hēnkirī va moriot’ (Two hearts, one life, together always).

What was her book doing here? More troubling, why had she written something so intimate, something about hearts and togetherness, in a book that now sat on Aemond’s bedside table?

"Why would she give this to Aemond?" Jace whispered under his breath, confusion gnawing at him.

Before he could dwell on it further, one of the maids approached him nervously. "Prince Jacaerys, the bottom drawer of the desk won’t open. It seems to be locked."

Jace nodded, feeling a surge of curiosity. He withdrew his sword, carefully fitting the blade into the gap at the top of the drawer.

With a grunt, he forced it down, and with a loud snap, the lock broke.

Kneeling down, Jace opened the drawer and found letters—dozens of them—along with dried flower petals and a handkerchief.

His breath caught in his throat as he picked up the cotton handkerchief, recognizing the messy stitching in the corner: A & V.

"Aemond and Valaena?" Jace whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

He shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and turned to the letters.

The parchment was worn and faded, some of them clearly old, but the handwriting was unmistakable.

They were all from Valaena.

Jace's mind reeled. His sister had been writing to Aemond, and for years by the look of it.

Some of the letters were mundane, talking about daily life at Dragonstone or the weather, but others-others were filled with declarations of love, of devotion.

His hands trembled as he read the lines. That spoke of a place—a cabin called "our place."

"Was that where she disappeared to all those times?" Jace asked himself, his voice thick with disbelief. "Was she meeting Aemond?"

His stomach twisted in knots. None of it made sense.

Aemond was the cause of Valaena’s death, the one who had stolen her life.

How could she have been involved with him?

Jace slammed the drawer shut, his heart racing. He couldn’t bring this to his mother, not yet. It would break her, and he couldn’t bear to add to her pain.

But he couldn’t ignore it either. Aemond was gone, but Aegon still lived, and if anyone knew anything about his brother’s secrets, it would be him.

Jace grabbed the old book, shoving it under his arm, and turned to the maids.

"Leave the desk as it is," he ordered sharply. "Do not touch anything inside."

Without waiting for a response, Jace strode out of the room, his mind filled with questions he dreaded finding answers to.

He needed to speak to Aegon—now.

Jace barged into Aegon’s newly assigned chambers, a decent enough space, though nowhere near as grand as the ones in Maegor’s Holdfast.

The smell of wine hung thick in the air, and there, sprawled on a chair with a cup in hand, sat Aegon, already well into his cups.

Without even turning to look, Aegon sighed. "Don't you ever knock, nephew?"

Jace scoffed, taking in the sight of his uncle, lazily drowning himself in wine. "I see you've reverted back to type. Didn't take you long."

Aegon rose from the chair, sauntering over to pour himself another drink. "I'm doing what I do best," he said with a lazy grin, swirling the wine in his cup. "Getting drunk and staying the fuck out of the way. I’d rather not run into your madman of a stepfather. I do not wish to give him a reason to make me a head shorter."

"So, you're content to be confined to King's Landing for the rest of your days?" Jace asked, his voice tight with disgust.

Aegon raised his cup and chuckled, "Happy as a pig in shit, nephew. Plenty of wine and whores. What more could I ask for?"

"Time with your wife and children," Jace shot back, his tone icy.

Aegon’s smile faded, and he frowned, casting a dismissive glance at Jace. "I love Helaena—as my sister. But I can’t love her as a wife. We reached an understanding long ago. She gets to be a mother, and I get to-indulge my many vices. My half sister being queen isn't quite the decent into war that my grandsire predicted-"

Jace shook his head, disappointed but not surprised. "There's actually a reason why I’m here," he said, voice firm.

Aegon took a leisurely sip of his wine. "And what reason is that nephew?"

Jace’s expression darkened as he spoke, "Lanta prūmia, mēre ābrar, hēnkirī va moriot."

Aegon furrowed his brow, then chuckled. "Gods, your pronunciation is shit-"

"Just tell me what it means," Jace snapped.

Aegon set down his cup, a smirk curling his lips. "Two hearts, one life, together always."

Jace’s jaw clenched. "I found this book in Aemond’s chambers."

Aegon raised an eyebrow. "So what?"

"It once belonged to my sister."

Aegon’s eyes widened, but only slightly. "How-interesting."

Jace's anger boiled over as he threw the book at Aegon, who caught it deftly.

Aegon opened it, his eyes scanning the handwritten message from Valaena.

“What do you know?” asked Jace.

Aegon closed the book and shrugged. "My brother was fucking your sister. What else is there to know?"

Jace’s fists clenched at his sides. "Aegon."

Aegon sighed dramatically, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a long gulp. "Ohhh, you want to know how long it’s been going on for? Well, I can’t say for sure. But if I had to guess? Probably years."

"Years?" Jace echoed, the word bitter on his tongue.

Aegon nodded, taking another indulgent sip of his wine. "Like I said, it’s just a guess. I could be wrong-but I rather doubt it"

"-And why's that?"

"Oh I don't know maybe it's the fact that Aemond would take off on Vhagar for hours on end or the way he would go all cunt struck at the mere mention of Valaena's name-or how I caught him multiple times fucking his fist and calling her name. Pick one-"

"You are so disgusting" said Jace wrinkling his nose.

"Hey-you asked " replied Aegon shrugging.

Jace’s mind raced, piecing together the implications. "You know Valaena would also disappear for hours on end with Silverwing-"

"-See there you go" said Aegon.

"Why didn’t she say anything?" Jace asked, more to himself than to Aegon.

Aegon chuckled darkly. "You’ve got to be joking. Their relationship would never have been accepted. You know that."

"I would have understood," Jace protested. "I would—"

"-No, you wouldn’t," Aegon interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp. "You're only saying that now because she's dead. But deep down, you know they would have been viciously ripped apart if anyone found out. You’d have been the first to stand in their way."

Jace wanted to argue, to tell Aegon he was wrong, but the words died in his throat. He knew Aegon was right.

Had Valaena’s relationship with Aemond been discovered while they were still alive, their families would have torn them apart, by force if necessary.

"But Aemond killed her," Jace whispered, his voice trembling with pain.

Aegon’s gaze softened for just a moment. "No. They killed each other."

"Why?" Jace demanded, his voice hoarse.

Aegon drained his cup and stared into the empty vessel. "Because it was the only way they could be together."

Jace felt his chest tighten with grief, anger, and confusion. "What do I tell my mother?"

Aegon looked at him, his face devoid of sympathy. "Tell her nothing. You’ll only do more harm by revealing the truth."

"Doesn't she deserve to know?" Jace pressed, desperate for answers.

Aegon shrugged, unconcerned. "Maybe. But what purpose would it serve?"

"To have everyone stop blaming Aemond for my sister’s death," Jace said, his voice rising.

Aegon shook his head with a bitter laugh. "People are going to blame him no matter what you say-"

"But he's your brother," Jace growled. "Surely you would want people to know the truth."

Aegon’s eyes darkened, and he met Jace’s gaze coldly. "What’s the point? It’s not like Aemond is ever going to know otherwise, is it?"

Jace scoffed, disgusted. "You really are a cunt."

Aegon raised his cup in a mock toast, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It’s what I do best."

With a snarl, Jace snatched the book back and stormed out of the room, leaving Aegon to his wine and indifference.

A week later, Jace sat in his chambers in the Red Keep, staring at the pile of letters spread out before him.

The weight of the decision he was about to make pressed heavily on his shoulders. Two days earlier, he had journeyed to Dragonstone, determined to find the truth.

He had searched Valaena’s chambers, tearing the room apart until he finally discovered the hidden compartment, she had used to conceal her correspondence with Aemond.

Upon returning to King’s Landing, he had sequestered himself away, poring over the letters—each one revealing the depth of the secret relationship between Aemond and his sister.

At first, he considered burning them all, erasing the truth from history, and letting everyone continue to believe the narrative that Aemond was the villain, and Valaena, the noble daughter who had sacrificed herself for her queen and family.

It would have been easier that way. He hated Aemond—there was no denying that.

Aemond was still, in some way, responsible for Valaena’s death.

Regardless of the complicated truth, Jace couldn’t shake the anger he felt towards his uncle.

But the more he read the letters, the more he realized it wasn’t that simple. His hatred for Aemond ran deep, but beneath that was something far more unsettling—jealousy.

Jace had buried his feelings for Valaena long ago, knowing they were unreturned.

But her death, combined with the revelation of her long-standing love affair with Aemond, had rekindled something dark inside him.

As he read through the letters—her words of love, her longing for Aemond, the secret meetings they’d had for years—Jace's anger simmered.

His sister had loved Aemond deeply, far more than he had ever realized.

Aegon had been right all along. Their relationship had flourished right under everyone’s noses, and Jace hated it.

He hated the thought of Aemond kissing her, touching her, sharing something intimate that no one else had been privy to.

But beneath the resentment and jealousy, a cold truth dawned on him: this wasn’t about him. It never had been.

It was about Valaena and what she wanted, and it was clear in the letters that she had wanted Aemond.

Her love for him was genuine, undeniable. And if Jace was honest with himself, his anger and jealousy didn’t matter.

Not anymore. Valaena had made her choice, and that choice had been Aemond.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as his thoughts raced. He had a decision to make.

It would have been easy to keep the truth buried, to let Aemond bear the weight of being the villain.

But Jace couldn’t do it. As much as he loathed the one-eyed cunt, he knew Valaena wouldn’t have wanted Aemond remembered that way.

It wasn’t the truth, and no matter how painful it was, his sister deserved to have her story told.

With a heavy sigh, Jace reached for a handful of the letters, the ones that clearly revealed the depth of Aemond and Valaena’s relationship.

His hand trembled slightly as he gathered them up. He knew what he had to do, even if it tore him apart inside.

He stood, the letters clutched tightly in his hand, and made his way toward his mother’s chambers.

The walk felt like a march toward something inevitable, something he couldn’t avoid any longer.

Rhaenyra had to know the truth. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation—far from it—but she needed to know.

And as much as Jace hated it, Aemond didn’t deserve to be remembered as the sole villain in this tragedy.

Not after everything he had read.

As he approached Rhaenyra’s door, he took a deep breath, steadying himself for what was to come.

This truth, painful as it was, would be a burden he would carry for the rest of his life.

But Valaena’s memory—and the complicated love she had shared with Aemond—deserved to be honoured, even if it meant rewriting the narrative of her death.

He knocked softly, and when the door opened, he stepped inside, ready to reveal the truth that would change everything.

Rhaenyra sat at her desk, the letters from Valaena strewn before her, each word cutting deeper into her heart.

She had read through them all, had listened as Jace told her everything he had uncovered about her daughter’s secret love affair with Aemond.

She could barely comprehend it. The realization that Valaena had been in love with Aemond, that they had been together in secret for years—and the idea that they had willingly gone to their deaths, believing it was the only way they could be together—was almost too much to bear.

Her hands shook as she clutched one of the letters, her daughter’s handwriting clear and delicate, full of passion and love.

How had she not seen it? What sort of mother had she been, that her own daughter hadn’t felt she could confide in her?

The weight of that question crushed her, made her heart ache in ways she didn’t know were possible.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of Valaena—her sweet, kind, beautiful daughter—lost in a world where she felt she had to hide everything.

She let out a broken sob, the pain too much to hold in. Her chest heaved with grief as the truth settled over her like a suffocating fog.

All the signs had been there. Valaena disappearing for hours on end, flying off with Silverwing, the way she had looked at Aemond during their dance at the feast, the distant look in her eyes before she had left for Storm’s End.

Rhaenyra realized now that Valaena hadn’t been saying she would see her later—she had been saying goodbye.

“My girl,” Rhaenyra sobbed, her voice trembling. “My little girl.”

Jace, who had been watching silently, immediately crossed the room and wrapped his arms around his mother.

His own tears were falling, though he tried to stay strong for her. He hushed her softly, holding her as she wept, their shared grief a palpable thing.

The room was filled with the sound of Rhaenyra’s heart-wrenching cries, the agony of a mother who had lost not only her daughter but also the truth of her life.

Just then, a soft knock interrupted them. Maester Gerardys entered the room quietly, his face full of concern as he looked between mother and son.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace,” he said gently. “But the tonic for your stomach pain is ready.” He placed a small vial on the desk.

Rhaenyra wiped at her tear-streaked face, trying to pull herself together. “Thank you, Maester,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Is everything ok Your Grace?" asked Gerardys concerned.

Rhaenyra glanced at the letters scattered before her and added, “I’ve recently discovered something about Valaena, and—”

But before she could finish, Gerardys spoke again, his voice hesitant. “You know of the child, then?”

Rhaenyra froze, as did Jace. They turned to him, confusion and disbelief written on their faces.

“C-Child?” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “What child?”

Maester Gerardys looked suddenly uncomfortable, his hands wringing together.

“The Princess came to me, days before her death,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “She was feeling unwell, and upon examining her, I discovered she was with child.”

Rhaenyra felt the room spin, her knees weakening. Valaena had been pregnant—carrying Aemond’s child—and no one had told her.

She collapsed into the nearest chair, her heart breaking all over again. Her hands covered her mouth, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

The pain was unbearable.

Jace, who had been standing beside her, turned away, his hands gripping his head as he tried to process the revelation.

It all made sense now.

Valaena's visit to the Maester, her avoiding wine at the feast and then her feeling sick.

Plus the reason why Valaena and Aemond had done what they did, why they had chosen death over life in a world that would never accept them.

They hadn’t just wanted to be together—they had wanted to protect their love, their child, in the only way they knew how.

Rhaenyra’s voice shook as she spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Gerardys, her eyes wide with hurt.

“The Princess swore me to secrecy,” Gerardys explained quietly. “She feared that moon tea would be forced upon her if anyone found out.”

Rhaenyra’s heart shattered again. Her daughter had been so afraid, so lost, that she hadn’t even come to her own mother for help.

“She could have come to me,” Rhaenyra wept. “I would have protected her. I would have done anything-”

Gerardys offered a polite bow and quietly excused himself, leaving mother and son to their grief.

Rhaenyra collapsed further into her chair, her hands trembling as they clutched at her skirts. “My daughter-she was carrying Aemond’s child, Jace. Gods how did it come to this?”

Jace’s voice was tight with emotion as he spoke. “We can’t let history paint Aemond as the villain,” he said. “Valaena wouldn’t want that.”

Rhaenyra looked at her son, eyes full of anguish. “What should I do?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Jace knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Have them write the truth. That Aemond and Valaena were two hearts that lived one life, and now they reside together always.”

Rhaenyra’s tears fell harder, but she nodded, knowing that her daughter’s story—the real story—deserved to be told.

It is often in the darkest of times that the brightest flames burn, and none shone brighter nor burned more fiercely than the love between Prince Aemond Targaryen and Princess Valaena Velaryon.

Their love was a secret flame, hidden from the eyes of the world, but no less powerful for its secrecy.

It was a love that would ultimately cost them their lives, yet in death, it bound them together eternally.

Their relationship was carried out in secret. For years, they exchanged letters, and shared clandestine moments in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them.

Even as their families turned against one another, Aemond and Valaena sought peace in one another.

It is said that their love was not born of fleeting desire, but of an understanding so deep, that neither time nor politics could sever the bond they shared.

The love between Aemond and Valaena grew so great that, in their eyes, the only escape from the chains of duty and war was death itself.

They believed that their love could not survive in a world that would tear them apart—where their loyalties would always place them on opposite sides.

And so, in the final days of their lives, they made a decision that would forever cement their legacy: they would sacrifice themselves, leaving the mortal world behind so they could be together in death, beyond the reach of anyone who would keep them apart.

Valaena Velaryon, though dutiful to her mother and her cause, flew to her death with the knowledge that her love would be waiting for her.

This act of love, desperate and tragic, was their final rebellion against a world that sought to control them.

Though history would likely vilify Aemond as the slayer of Valaena, it is now known that their deaths were not a murder borne of hatred, but a mutual sacrifice.

They died not as enemies, but as two souls bound by a love so deep that it transcended the politics of their time.

In their final moments, it is believed they embraced death together, knowing that in the afterlife, they would be free—free of war, free of duty, free to live the love they could never truly have in life.

Thus, it should be written in the annals of history that Aemond Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon were two hearts who chose to live one life—one that spanned across life and death.

Together they rest, bound eternally by love, their souls entwined forever in the songs of dragons and the legends of Old Valyria.

Lanta prūmia. Mēre ābrar. Hēnkirī va moriot. (Two hearts. One life. Together always).

Maester Gerardys: An Account of Aemond Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon: A Love Forged in Fire, Bound in Death.

Five Years Later

The sound of waves gently lapping at the shore filled the air, mixing with the joyful squeals of a little girl digging in the sand.

Elaena was busy with her older brother, Rhaegar, both of them bent over in concentration.

Suddenly, Elaena squealed with delight, holding up a tiny seashell triumphantly.

"Mama, mama! I got shell!" Elaena shouted, her voice full of excitement as she and Rhaegar made their way back to their mother, who smiled as she looked up from the newborn she had just finished feeding.

She rubbed the babe's back gently, encouraging a soft burp before laying her down in a small cot beside her.

"Let me see-"

Elaena rushed over, thrusting the shell into her mother’s hands.

"My, that's a pretty one! You’ve got quite the collection now."

Elaena grinned, her small teeth peeking out as she pointed at the shell.

"Show daddy!" she declared eagerly.

Their mother chuckled, tucking a strand of curly silver hair behind her ear.

"Your father will be back soon, love. He’s just popped out for a moment."

Elaena pouted, her little lip jutting out in a way that made her mother laugh again.

"Hmmm," Elaena huffed, sounding far older than her years.

"You sound just like your father when you do that,"

As if on cue, the door opened, and Elaena’s face lit up with pure joy. "Daddy, daddy!" she cried, rushing over to him, arms held high.

Aemond stepped inside and scooped his daughter up into his arms.

"Ñuha zaldrītsos" he greeted softly, his voice full of affection as he kissed the top of her head (My little dragon).

Elaena giggled, running her fingers through his long hair. "I got a shell and Rhaegar helped"

"Did you now?" Aemond smiled, then set her down gently. "Well, let’s have a look, shall we?"

Elaena eagerly tugged him toward the desk, pointing proudly at the small shell.

Aemond picked it up, examining it with a thoughtful expression.

"It’s beautiful," he said, turning to Rhaegar. "And you helped?"

Rhaegar nodded, his silver hair catching the light.

Aemond ruffled his son’s hair. "Good boy."

Before anyone could say more, the sound of excited screeches filled the room.

Two dragon hatchlings bounded inside, flapping their wings and knocking over tables in their wake.

Sapphyre, a blue-scaled hatchling, the bigger of the two caused a vase to topple and shatter on the ground.

"Sapphyre, Lykirī!" Rhaegar commanded, his voice firm but gentle (Be calm).

The blue dragon cocked her head and calmed down immediately, pressing her snout into Rhaegar’s outstretched hand,

She cooed softly, nuzzling against him.

Elaena, not wanting to be left out, shouted, "Hūra, kirī!" The smaller, silver-scaled hatchling bounded toward her, nearly toppling over in her excitement.

Aemond crouched down beside Elaena, correcting her softly. "It’s Lykirī, sweet one."

Elaena looked up at him, thumb in her mouth, and nodded. "L-Lykirī," she tried again, holding out her tiny hand.

The silver dragon, Hūra, immediately obeyed, lowering her head and allowing Elaena to stroke her gently.

"Good," Valaena praised "A little more training and she’ll get there." She looked at Aemond, who nodded in agreement.

"Aye," Aemond said. "But she’s still young and has many years to learn."

Valaena glanced at Sapphyre, who was growing bigger by the day.

"Sapphyre is getting a bit too large to keep indoors. Perhaps it’s time to move him outside with Vhagar and Silverwing."

Aemond smirked. "I’m not sure our son will like that," he said, his voice teasing.

Valaena laughed, knowing full well how attached Rhaegar was to his dragon. "Me either. The boy’s as stubborn as his father."

Aemond gave a wry smile and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Valaena’s lips.

The moment was interrupted by a sudden cry from the cot.

"I’ll get her," Aemond said, moving to pick up their newborn daughter, Daenys.

He rocked her gently in his arms, trying to soothe her, his lips pressed to her dark hair.

Valaena smiled at the sight, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the two young dragons wreaking havoc in the room.

Another vase smashed against the floor.

"That’s enough!" she declared, clapping her hands. "If you wish to play, you can do so outside."

Rhaegar, always the responsible one, nodded.

"Māzīs, Sapphyre," he said, calling the blue dragon to him. The two hatchlings bounded outside with Rhaegar and Elaena in tow (Come).

Valaena sighed, bending down to pick up the broken shards of the vase.

A maid named Lirri rushed forward. "I’ll see to that, my lady," she offered.

"Thank you Lirri-" Valaena said with a nod, rising to her feet and crossing over to Aemond, who was still cradling Daenys in his arms.

"Bit of trapped wind, I think," Aemond murmured.

Just then, Daenys let out a small, but unmistakable, fart followed by the sound of a soiled cloth.

Valaena laughed, covering her mouth.

"Not anymore, it seems," she said, her voice full of amusement as Aemond wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Your turn," he teased, passing Daenys back to Valaena with a knowing grin.

Valaena only shook her head with a smile, the warmth of her family filling the room with love and laughter despite the chaos.

The candlelight flickered softly in the room, casting warm shadows across the walls.

Aemond was lounging in the large bath, his eye closed, muscles relaxed as the warm water enveloped him.

Valaena sat beside the tub, her fingers gently massaging his scalp as she washed his long silver hair, her touch delicate yet soothing.

"Any word from King's Landing?" Valaena asked, her voice a soft murmur, as her fingers continued their rhythmic work.

Aemond nodded slightly without opening his eye. "Helaena writes that your mother has just celebrated her fifth year on the throne. The realm rejoices in her peaceful reign."

Valaena smiled at that. "It’s what we hoped for," she said quietly, rinsing the last of the soap from his hair.

Aemond reached up, taking one of her hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to it, his lips warm against her skin.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice lower now, more attuned to her.

Valaena paused for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the window where the moonlight shone through. "The time will soon come for us to return," she admitted softly. "And I can't help but wonder how we will be received."

Aemond opened his eye then, tilting his head up to look at her. "We don’t have to go back, not if you don’t want to. We’ve made a good life for ourselves here."

Valaena smiled softly, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression. "I know. But I miss my mother, Daemon, and my brothers. It's been years, and I-I want them to meet their grandchildren." She sighed lightly. "I miss them."

Aemond hummed in agreement, a sound deep in his throat. "I, too, miss my mother and siblings," he admitted. The years of self-imposed exile had weighed on him as well, though he rarely spoke of it.

Valaena brushed her fingers through his hair one last time, her heart heavy with the thought of returning to King's Landing.

"This was only supposed to last until my mother was secure in her reign."

Aemond stood then, water cascading down his lean, muscular body as he stepped out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist, crossing the room toward her.

His movements were swift and confident as he dried himself, the flickering candlelight highlighting the sharp planes of his torso.

Valaena’s gaze shamelessly followed him. Her husband was truly a sight to behold, a god amongst men, as she often teased him.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, eyes tracing the scars, the muscles, the lines of his form.

He noticed her gaze and smirked. “Enjoying the view, wife?”

She stood and crossed the room to him, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss.

Aemond’s hands immediately found her waist, his fingers firm yet tender as he pulled her close against him.

But Valaena gently pulled away, though she kept her hands on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin.

“I am not yet fully recovered from birthing Daenys,” she murmured, her voice tinged with apology.

Aemond pressed his forehead against hers, his touch gentle despite the fire in his veins. “Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered.

There was no rush, no pressure in his tone, only the endless patience and understanding he always had for her.

He moved to pull on a pair of loose cotton sleep pants, but Valaena caught his hand, stopping him.

Her eyes were dark and intent, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "That does not mean I cannot satisfy you."

Aemond paused, his gaze flickering with desire. “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice deep and sincere, though the tension in his body betrayed his words.

"I want to," she whispered, her voice soft but firm as she tugged him gently toward the bed.

With a growl Aemond took hold of Valaena, his lips immediately on hers.

Valaena gasped as she felt Aemond hands pulling at her night gown, tearing the cotton fabric in his haste.

“N-Not my small clothes” muttered Valaena as Aemond slipped the ruined material off her body.

“I know” replied Aemond as he gently urged Valaena to lay on the bed.

Aemond then descended on Valaena’s soft lips, kissing her, his hands gently caressing her milk swollen breasts.

Aemond released Valaena’s mouth and bent down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between her wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their daughter.

“Oh” muttered Valaena as she flung her arms over her face, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hmmm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suckle at her breasts, gorging himself on her milk, his hard cock pressed against her thigh.

His tongue swirling around her stiffened peaks, his teeth scraping against her skin, the sounds of him swallowing.

It felt so good, it felt-

“-A-Aemond” gasped Valaena.

“What is it my love”.

“Don’t stop-please, oh gods-don’t stop” exclaimed Valaena as she arched her back, her cunny clenching around nothing as she unexpectedly climaxed.

“Did you just-peak?” asked Aemond smirking as he released her nipple with a soft pop.

“Yes” replied Valaena, her cheeks tinged pink.

“Well, that’s never happened before. I think I like it” muttered Aemond he moved forward and kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth.

“L-Let me taste you. Please” begged Valaena.

Aemond moved and propped himself against a hastily assembled pile of pillows. His hard cock proudly on display.

Aemond stared down at his naughty little wife, his mouth hanging open as Valaena lightly ran her fingers over him, teasing the glistening head.

Next thing he knew, Valaena’s warm, wet mouth was wrapped around the head of his cock.

Valaena’s tongue ran around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Valaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Valaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When she engulfed Aemond’s cock back into her mouth, he squeezed his eye shut.

Aemond forced himself to open his eye, he had to watch his precious wife sucking his cock. 

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Her head moving back and forth, her pink lips stretched around him. Oh, it was heaven.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Valaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good” groaned Aemond.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

Then she slid one of her fingers towards his hole.

“F-Fuck” moaned Aemond as she gently massaged over the tight ring of muscle.

“Do you like that raqiarzy?” asked Valaena (Beloved).

“Y-Yes” exclaimed Aemond.

“What about this?” asked Valaena as she put a finger into her mouth and then returned it to his hole before she gently slid the tip of her finger in.

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

“More?”

“Y-Yes. P-Please. M-More” groaned Aemond.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her finger slowly moved inside him.

“Another-p-put another inside me” begged Aemond his body rocking against her fingers.

Valaena smiled and gently added another and Aemond began to whimper as she curled her fingers inside him.

“Shit-Valaena I’m going to spill. Oh, fuck, I’m-” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Valaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Valaena.

All Aemond could do was nod.

Valaena smiled gratefully, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before resting her head against his chest.

Aemond held her close, the rhythmic beating of his heart soothing her as they laid together in the quiet of the night.

TBC

[greyskyflowers]

I think it's so powerful that all the strawhats represent the ideals for a good adventure. They're the gods you'd pray to before setting off on the adventure of your Iife.

💙💙💙💙

There are things to be done before one can set out to follow adventure and hear the welcoming call of the sea. They must find and honor the Gods and Goddesses that they hope to carry on their journey.

You know exactly which ones you want to carry. You've always know.

Your parents are happy but still cry as they watch you gather your gifts and offering, their little one all grown up and ready to set sail. You assure them they have time because you're expecting it to take time to find all the ones you want to carry.

The first is easy. The sun god who plays in grassy fields and shore lines, always found under summer skies. You ask him for adventure, happiness, and the will to follow your dreams.

You leave your old hiking boots, laces fraying and heels worn but it's your favorite pair. They look well loved with a flower scribbled by your best friend on the side in faded ink, a black spot from where you got too close to the bonfire making marshmallows, and a hundred memories pressed like dirt into the soles. They've been on so many adventures with you but they can't go on this one.

You leave a photo of your family, brother and you front and center with big gap tooth smiles. It's old, years ago, and it has tape stuck on the back from hanging it on your wall but it looks perfect in the sunlight.

You leave a four leaf clover, hardly anything worth offering really, but you've always loved the idea of picking up luck on the side of the road. It feels right to leave it even though it's lost among the other flowers and grasses on the edge of the field.

The last offering is carefully wrapped in thick cream linen, a combination of dried meat and crackers. It's not a lot but the meat is from a local hunter and the crackers are your favorite.

They say this god has a big appetite and a even bigger heart.

You hope he's full when you leave.

The second god is your favorite, although you never admit favorites outloud, it's disrespectful. He's older, something ancient, and strong.

He's harder to find and you wish for your old boots by the time you find a spot worth stopping. You find him in the forest when you ask for protection, strength, and devotion.

It's dusk and everything is caught in shadows, the late summer humidity has sweat running down your face. There's dirt on your hands and some blood from where a very aggressive stick got in a hit but you feel like he'd approve.

You settle on a flat stone under a fallen tree, tangled in moss and ivy.

You leave a bottle of rum. It's old, dusty, although you tried to wipe all the age off earlier with the hopes of making it look more expensive than it actually was. The bottle is pretty though and fits well in the hand.

You leave rain water, caught from a downpour last night and sweet on the tongue when you went outside to collect it.

You leave a old pocket knife, confident in the offering but hesitant in how it will be received. It's small, hardly even the size of your palm, and it's dull from age and broken. But it was your great grandfather's and you think it's spirit will be happier here than tucked away in a box.

You leave incense, the smell of something warm and earthy. The humidity has made everything too wet to worry about it catching but you still sit with it for a bit while it smokes before gently putting it out and leaving.

You get home later than planned and your mom scolds you, but laughs when you tell her you got lost on the way back. She knows exactly who you went to see.

The third is a goddess, known for good fortune and guidance. She lounges in sunbeams and chases lighting, gold hanging from her wrists.

It's storming when you visit her but the hair on your arm stands up more as a greeting than a warning.

The little stream at your feet will quickly become a river, and once the rain dries it will go back to a small dip in the ground. Right now though, it's all her.

You leave a gold coin, not worth much but you made it shine as bright as it could. It gleams even under the storm clouds.

You leave a broken compass that's always stuck pointing north. It makes you think of the stars and specifically the northern one that always hangs in the sky over your house, and you hope this will be accepted.

You offer a orange, which looks oddly out of place next to the dark, wet earth and grey skies. It's ripe and beautiful, you picked the prettiest one you could find.

The edge of the stream is growing wider, carefully pulling at the offerings like it's curious.

You leave without looking back, they'll find their way to where they need to go.

The fourth god always has good hiding spots, some people having never even found a good place to leave his offerings.

He's steadiness and bravery, the children say he tells them wonderful stories when they get scared at night.

This one is odd and you debate where to find him. You shouldn't have worried though. The answer, it turns out, is right under your nose. Literally.

You bed is hardly off the ground, just enough to shove some things under when you don't feel like cleaning. It was big enough to hide all the monsters when you were little though and maybe, just maybe, it's big enough to hide a god.

You offer the book your mom always read you when you were little. It's not the same book since you no longer have that one, but this will work. You hope he likes it enough to read it to the children he comforts at night.

You leave a small, potted plant. It honestly has a better chance of life with a god than to stay in your hands. You can practically feel the poor thing give a sigh of relief to be free of you. It's kind of ugly, prickly, and oddly colored, but you love it. You hope this God has a better green thumb than you.

The last is another non physical offering. You smile and suggest a game. You offer two truths and a lie.

That night you think of everything that scared you when you were little and you fall asleep to dreams overrun with old fears.

The offerings are gone when you wake up and you had the oddest dream about a man with a ridiculous nose who asks for two truths and a lie.

The fifth god is a little harder and it takes a while before you find someone who welcomes you into their kitchen.

It feels odd to ask a stranger but the man is happy and curious at the request. He's not someone you know well but you've seen him around the town before. He's the only one you know who still has a spot in his kitchen for a fire and uses it.

He asks a lot of questions at first but you find it easy to get carried away in the conversation. The food is almost ready when you remember why you came.

You apologize for the inconvenience but he waves you off, watching as you carefully set your offerings just off to the side of the hearth.

You leave fresh, baked bread. It's not very pretty because you've never been very good at the visual part of cooking, but it tastes good. You added in some honey from the beekeeper down the road and it's just the right amount of sweet.

You leave a small cup of salt water. You're not sure why that one feels right but it does. The glass makes the water look blue and it's like a small part of the sea.

The last is a old note from a past girlfriend. It's worn from where it's been folded, the ink almost gone in the creases and the edges soft. You haven't been able to bring yourself to get rid of it and passing it on seems easier.

They say this God is a lover, a admirer of passion, and fullness for life. You hope he appreciates all the love you have left for him.

The old man insists on sharing his dinner with you so you leave full and with a laugh still laying on your lips.

The hearth is empty when you glance back.

The sixth one is always a fun god to find, known for playfulness and good health. The frozen grass crunches under your feet and a deer watches you curiously before darting back into the timber.

The garden is frozen and dead now but that's okay, there's life in the roots for next spring.

You leave your offerings by the garden gate, next to where the ginger and lavender grow.

You offer flowers from the garden, ones just found and still covered in the first frost. They're a little more brown then you had hoped but the frost was a little late this year. They look beautiful edged in white though.

You leave a handful of berries, a mix of your favorite. The blackberries stain your hand purple and the blueberries are round, rolling a little before you get them all gathered.

You leave a small tea candle. This one you leave burning, it's small and will go out quickly in the cold. It's white, and smells like peppermint. Memories of being coaxed into taking cold medicine cross your mind.

You hope the scent makes him think of healing, of being cared for, rather than sickness.

The seventh goddess is wisdom and grace, beauty in darkness, and the library loves her. They encourage offerings, more than happy to see you when you stop by one winter evening.

Your nose is red and your cheeks burn but you smile as the librarian fusses over you and goes to get you a towel to dry snowflakes from your hair.

It's quiet with her gone and the little corner behind the first shelf catches your eye.

The spot is warm, even with it being by the wall, and you place your gifts down.

You leave your favorite book. It's worn, the cover scratched and torn, notes inside from over the years. Part of your soul is stuck in those pages. All the times you were lonely and would read to forget for a bit, all the sleepless nights where curling up to read would eventually lead to drifting off in uncomfortable positions, it's all in this book.

You leave warm tea. The cup is something you bought second hand but it's beautiful with hand painted flowers and a rim like gold. The tea is your favorite, not caffeinated but soothing. The warmth from the thermos thaws your hands as you fill the cup.

The last offering is a little different but you think she'll like it. The secret leaves your mouth quietly and rushed, something you've never spoke aloud or told anyone before. Telling her has your chest feeling lighter and life fills you lungs.

The librarian comes back with a towel and a small smile to the offerings before urging you to sit down and stay awhile.

The eighth god you find down at the docks, tucked away between boats and building materials. He's creativity and creation.

The spot you settle on is a little quieter than the main walk ways and you feel less like your being observed.

The wood is soaked with salt water from the tides when you set down your offerings.

You leave a nail, old and brown. You pulled it from the walls of your home, the same one you grew up in. It's from the foundation of who you are and what made you. It's a little bent, a little odd, but it represents home.

You leave a firework, a small one you stole from your brother before he could set it off somewhere he shouldn't. It's just a simple one that will pop and sparkle for a few moments but those are your favorite kind.

The last offering is a soda. You spent a little more money and got something special. It's sealed in a skinny glass bottle and bubbles slide along the side when you move it. It's made with the good sugar, a treat that you don't often allow yourself.

You leave with knees damp from the wet wood and end up spending a good part of the day talking to the workers and breathing in the sea air.

The ninth god is for perseverance and hope, and he's sad in some ways.

You find him in the cemetery under a old cypress tree. It feels a little lonely so you decide to sit for awhile, you don't have anything else to do. You offer your gifts while you sit.

You leave a silk handkerchief that you painstakingly made yourself. It's bone white and the edges are ruffled. You're very proud of it and you ignore how your finges feel the phantom prinks of a sewing needle.

You offer a bowl of ice and salt. This might be one of the oddest gifts you've given and you're not completely sure how you even got the idea. It's a pretty offering. The little, metal bowl you found has frosted up from the ice and left little sections of frost here and there. The salt is melting the ice faster than you thought though and the melted water is murky where it's mixed. You kind of give up on the gift after looking it over, offering a apology and using your nail to draw small animals in the frost. One side has a lion, a mane of little lines from his slightly oval shaped head. The other side has a whale, a large blob drawn with a small little tail.

The final offering is following your growing trend of verbal offerings. It's a joke. A really bad one you heard from your dad and even telling it makes you groan, but it also makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

You leave with graveyard dirt stuck to the back of your thighs and a song you don't remember hearing stuck in you head.

With all your offerings given and your heart ready, you go back to the beginning.

The field is in full bloom and the grass reaches up to your waist. The small drop off at the far side hides a shoreline that's perfect for watching the storms roll in or the sun kiss the horizon. Your feet hang off the ledge over the sand just high enough from the ground to swing them.

The sea calls your name and it sounds welcoming.

💙💙💙💙

Listen when I tell you this ran away from me I mean it. I wrote this in-between tasks at work so please ignore any mistakes because let me tell you my fingers were speeding to keep up with my head.

[krscblw]

Ghoul scent associations pt. 4 - Imaginary Authors edition

Imaginary Authors is one of my favorite perfume companies, and I recently got samples of their entire collection! Of course, my first thought was to apply that to the ghouls. So here that is!!

Some of these are ones that I used on other lists that I still agree with, but most of them are new. Also, as is the nature of using a very limited number of options, not all of them fit perfectly, but I did my best, and I think like 90% of them fit very well.

Usual warning: This might look weird on mobile, but it should be good on desktop. Apologies, I'd fix it if I knew how.

Aeon: TELEGRAMA – Imaginary Authors 

Talc, lavender absolute, black pepper, teak, amyris, vanilla powder, fresh linens

Telegrama is a very powdery, peppery, gentle lavender scent that fades into soft vanilla. If it was a color, it would be a gray-purple so pale it almost looks white. It’s comforting but not childish, classic but unique. It smells like Aeon’s particular brand of simple comfort. 

Aether: Blend No. 83 – Imaginary Authors 

Dark chocolate, sugar cane rum, Arabica coffee, velvety foam, benzoin, musk

Blend No. 83 is a sweet, musky, chocolate-coffee scent modeled after an espresso martini, but it isn’t as gourmand as it sounds. It settles into a dark musk with the suggestion of coffee and chocolate. It’s grown-up but not at all boring, just like Aether.

Alpha:  BULL'S BLOOD – Imaginary Authors 

Geranium, Spanish rose, patchouli, black musk, tobacco, sandalwood, bull's blood

Bull’s Blood is very musky, smoky, and spicy, and comes on strong enough to knock you over. However, it’s also very sweet, and dries down to more of a smoky-sweet almost-floral. It’s not too serious but has an almost shocking intensity to it, and is potentially polarizing – like Alpha. If it was a color it would be dark burgundy. 

Cirrus: SAINT JULEP – Imaginary Authors 

Sweet mint, tangerine, southern magnolia, bourbon, grisalva, sugarcube

Saint Julep is a very sweet, realistic gourmand with notes of mint and tangerine in the foreground and bourbon in the background. Despite being lovely in a very straightforward way, it’s dimensional and grown-up, which reminds me of Cirrus, and has light, minty notes that remind me of air as an element. 

Cumulus: FOX IN THE FLOWERBED – Imaginary Authors 

Jasmine, tulips, frankincense, wildflower honey, pink peppercorns, silver thistle, alpine air

Fox in the Flowerbed is a very pretty, cloying, sweet jasmine and honey scent that makes me think of a field of wildflowers high up on a mountain. This scent is sweet and sticky but also light in a way that reminds me of Cumulus. If it was a color it would be pale blue. 

Dewdrop: A CITY ON FIRE – Imaginary Authors 

Cade oil, spikenard, cardamom, clearwood, dark berries, labdanum, a burnt match

This is very smoky and woody in the beginning, but it fades into a sweet berry scent. It really does smell like fire and matches. It reminds me of spending all night next to a bonfire. It’s almost overpowering at first, but sweet underneath, just like Dew. 

(Also, this was one of the fragrances that solidified Dew's scent for me. All the other ones I've picked for him are based on this lmao)

Ifrit: O, UNKNOWN! – Imaginary Authors 

Black tea, lapsang souchong tincture, orris butter, Kyoto moss, musk balsam, sandalwood

This is a very subdued, powdery black tea scent. It’s musky and dark, very mysterious, and somehow not at all gourmand. It’s dark and faintly smoky in a way befitting of a fire ghoul, with the black tea scent that I associate with Ifrit. If it was a color it would be a gray so dark it’s almost black.

Mist: FALLING INTO THE SEA – Imaginary Authors 

Lemon, bergamot, grapefruit, lychee, tropical flowers, warm sand

Falling into the Sea is a sweet, citrusy, tropical scent that has a balmy, sandy, coconut background. It smells like a tropical beach on a perfect day. If it was a color it would be the shade of teal that super-clear water is. I typically associate greener, more aquatic scents with Mist, but this fits a different interpretation of her. Mist in a very good mood, maybe. 

Mountain: CAPE HEARTACHE – Imaginary Authors 

Douglas fir, pine resin, western hemlock, vanilla leaf, strawberry, old growth, mountain fog

Cape Heartache is a gorgeous, sweet pine and strawberry scent. It’s very forest-y without being too atmospheric, and it smells like the fantasy version of a lush, foggy old growth forest. It feels very slow, peaceful, and grounded, and is a mix of masc and fem, which reminds me of Mountain. (Also I smelled this for the first time and absolutely fell in love with it, which I kinda did with Mountain too lmao) If it was a color it would be the silvery green of evergreen needles.

Nimbus/Aurora: SLOW EXPLOSIONS – Imaginary Authors

Saffron, rose absolute, leather, apple, benzoin, cashmeran, Arpora night market 

Slow Explosions is sweet and fruity with an earthy element from the leather. It’s pretty and almost delicate until you register the deeper, more grounded notes, similar to the way Nimbus seems dainty at first glance but decidedly is not. Overall lovely. If it was a color it would be glowy yellow-orange.

Omega: MEMOIRS OF A TRESPASSER – Imaginary Authors 

Madagascar vanilla, guaiacwood, myrrh, benzoin resin, ambrette seeds, oak barrels

Memoirs of a Trespasser is a very woody scent with a little bit of smokiness and vanilla. There’s also something a little bit animalic. It reminds me of a late 1800s adventurer type with lots of maps and wooden chests full of interesting things. It’s sophisticated and mysterious with a sense of worldliness that fits Omega.

Rain: EVERY STORM A SERENADE – Imaginary Authors 

Danish spruce, eucalyptus, vetiver, calone, ambergris, Baltic sea mist

This scent smells like a rocky coast, lined with evergreen trees and blanketed in mist. It’s cold, multifaceted, and surprisingly magnetic (like Rain). I don’t usually like aquatics but this is beautiful, it's one of my new favorites from Imaginary Authors. If it was a color it would be dark greenish-blue. 

Sunshine/Stratus: IN LOVE WITH EVERYTHING – Imaginary Authors

Raspberry, citrus pulp, coconut palm sugar, Madame Isaac Pereire (rose), sandalwood, tropical punch, stardust

This scent is very raspberry/fruit punch heavy with a sandalwood undertone. It isn’t overwhelmingly sweet, but it’s very fruity. It’s Miami-in-the-80s themed and that definitely shows. It’s playful, fun, and sweet-but-grounded, just like Sunny. If it was a color it would be magenta.

Swiss: A WHIFF OF WAFFLECONE – Imaginary Authors 

Vanilla, salted caramel, Saigon cinnamon, heavy cream, sandalwood, orgeat, scoop shop

This scent is a gourmand with a woody background. To me it smells like burnt sugar, heavy, clingy sandalwood, vanilla, and sweet spices. It’s more mature than the notes would lead you to believe. It isn’t the type of scent I usually associate with Swiss, but I can see it fitting an alternate interpretation. Maybe quint/fire or true multi Swiss. However, it does have the sweet, intense, almost smothering qualities I associate with him. If it was a color it would be the very light gold of slightly caramelized sugar. 

Zephyr: YESTERDAY HAZE – Imaginary Authors 

Fig, iris, cream, tonka, tree bark, walnut bitters, orchard dust

Yesterday Haze is a smooth, creamy but dry, slightly sweet scent. It smells sort of antique, but not outdated. It’s sophisticated and very pretty, like Zephyr, and has the dusty, powdery feel I associate with them.

(One of my absolute favorites from IA, for what it’s worth)

Thank you for reading!!

[ofsappho]

treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

-

You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.

-

SMUT TAGS:

primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)

Reader POV:

You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.

You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.

The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.

Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.

As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.

It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.

Without looking back, you sprint for it.

-

Lucienne POV

While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.

After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.

She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.

But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.

Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.

Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.

Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.

“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.

But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.

Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?

Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.

And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.

“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.

She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.

Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.

In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.

His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.

“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”

Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.

In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.

“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.

Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.

Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.

-

Reader POV

Your shoes-

They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.

When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.

Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.

So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.

The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.

The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.

As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.

It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.

The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.

Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.

Run.

You lurch a few feet forward.

The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.

Morpheus is coming for you.

Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.

The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.

He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.

Or not.

Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.

But who knows?

You don’t. You do know better than to hope.

That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.

You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.

You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.

A twig snaps.

Something takes a step. It breathes.

At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist. 

So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.

The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.

A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.

He came hunting.

You love it.

He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.

It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.

You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.

His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.

Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.

Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.

That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?

You want- no, need to find out.

It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.

Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.

Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.

“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.

Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.

The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.

Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.

You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.

Morpheus could make you feel good again.

A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’

“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.

Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.

Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.

You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.

He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?” 

He kisses you.

The worst part is that you let him.

Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.

“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.

You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.

You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.

“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.

His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.

When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.

“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.

“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.

Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.

Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.

Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.

With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.

“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.

You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.

“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.

Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.

Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.

Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.

There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.

And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.

His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.

Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.

Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.

Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.

You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.

In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.

Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology. 

You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.

That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.

Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.

Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.

His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.

With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.

After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.

He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.

You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-

You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers. 

It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.

You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.

He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.

His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.

“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.

“And I love you.”

You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.

“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.

Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.

Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-

Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.

You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.

Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.

Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.

The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.

Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.

“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?

Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.” 

You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.

That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.

The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.

Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.

Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.

It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.

He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.

Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.

Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.

There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.

He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.

You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.

A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.

More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.

The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.

Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.

He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.

You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.

Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go.  Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.

“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.

“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.

His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.

“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.

Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.

His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.

Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.

Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.

You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.

When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.

Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.

He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.

Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.

When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.

His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.

You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.

Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.

This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.

You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.

You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.

Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.

And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.

His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.

“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.

Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.

You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.

“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.

The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.

He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.

Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.

“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.

Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.

If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.

It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.

You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.

As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.

He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.

His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.

“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”

When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.

Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.

The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.

His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.

But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.

“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”

You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.

Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.

He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.

Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.

With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.

He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.

“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.

“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.

Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.

Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.

Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.

When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.

Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.

As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.

The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.

You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.

Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.

“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.

But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.

His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.

Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.

He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.

“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.

Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.

“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.

He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”

this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!

[captain-mj]

can we have graves giving random trinkets to price like some sort of stray cat as like his love language and price is like "??? what do i do with this" and he doesn't know what to do until someone points it out that maybe, just maybe, that graves likes giving people he likes little items

This is such a fun idea!

~~~~

Price sat with the majority of his team after a mission, all of them drinking. He noticed Graves slip something in his pocket but he waited a minute before seeing what it was. A small coin, probably from the country they had just come back from, sat in his hands. It had been cleaned and shined slightly.

Odd. He couldn’t exactly use it now. He slipped it back in his pocket and didn’t comment on it. 

The next gift was a couple weeks later after another mission. This one was set on his desk. It was a flower. Also from the country they just came from. It looked like it had been pressed, dried and very fragile to the touch. 

“I found it while doing recon.” 

Price nodded. “And you kept it?”

“Yes.” Graves nodded before leaving. He didn’t make any other comment on it, so neither did Price. The flower was kept in the drawer with the coin. 

Graves gave him a bullet casing. He had stared at him for a while before moving on. Then a cigar holder. And most recently, a ring that was way too small. 

Price had stared at that one a while. It didn’t fit any of his fingers and was clearly from someone Graves had shot in the last 24 hours. Any blood that might’ve been on it had been wiped away. Slim gold band, probably from a woman from the looks of it. 

Price didn’t get it. None of the things particularly made sense. None of them could be useful at this time so they just stayed in his drawer at his desk. Sometimes, he looked at the flower, a bit worried it would break into pieces. 

He held ring in his hand while with Ghost and Gaz. Soap was going to be joining them for a card game later but he was getting whiskey first. 

“What’s that captain?” Gaz shuffled the cards.

“Uh... a ring?”

Ghost quickly looked at him. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of proposing.”

“Jesus Christ, Simon. No. Graves gave it to me and it definitely wasn’t a proposal.”

“Oh. Cute gift.” Gaz looked at it. 

“Yeah, he keeps giving me random stuff. I don’t get it.” Price put it down, noticing they were both looking at him before they looked at each other.

“John. I know you’re not this dense.” Simon laughed, stealing a puff of Price’s cigar that he had sat down.

“What?”

“He never gives us little gifts.” Gaz pointed out, trying to coax him into the right direction. 

Price was lost. In his defense, it was less being dense and more denial. Graves giving him gifts was strange enough. Giving him gifts as some sort of courting thing was even stranger. 

“Alright. Let’s say you guys are right. What should I do?”

“Give him a gift back.” 

“Like what?” Price looked between them. “A ring feels like too much.”

“A book? He keeps staring at mine. Might be worth a shot.” Ghost hummed. “I think he mentioned being a horror fan.”

Price nodded. “Alright. I’ll try.” 

The perfect item ended up falling in his lap. They raided a building belonging to Makarov’s men and one of the guys was a horror fan. Under his bed, there was a book. 

“Scary stories to tell in the dark”

It looked old, a few of the pages dog eared, but it looked cool. 

Price went back for it after everything had been cleared. He hid it under his gear until they were safely back at base. The pages had gotten the slightest bit of  blood on them but he thought it added to the charm. 

Graves stood next to him, handing him a dog tag with a bullet through it. Price gave him the book. 

Graves stiffened as he looked at it before slowly opening it up.

“Used to love these stories as a kid. My older cousin read them. She went all out for all of them...” He didn’t look up, just going through the pages quietly. 

“Might have to borrow it some time.”

“It’s more for kids.” Graves blushed. “But anytime John.”

[d1s1ntegrated]

commission for @ghostcore3 <3 IM SO SORRY ITS SO LATE IM TRYING TO CATCH UP ON MY ASKS AAAAAAAA

tomura x mizuki (raven) hcs! 🖤🥀

she's the same height as him, but with her heels she's much taller, and he looks up at her in complete awe whenever she's in her costume.

but he also hates it cause he can't intimidate her at ALL

they argue a lot but it's never that serious. it's mostly just playful banter that went a bit too far

when she's in recovery, he patiently waits by her side (usually playing a game quietly next to her as she rests)

he does his absolute best to write poetry for her when she's feeling depressed, but his handwriting is illegible most of the time and he sucks at being romantic

"alone time" is a requirement and he knows it.

she brings him "crow gifts" like buttons, shiny caps, and dried flower petals she finds. he keeps them all in a small box by his desk

he gets pissed when she's sarcastic with him

quality time >>>

tomura admires her so ferociously, but he'll never say it to her.

they have a form of silent communication that only they understand

they like to just coexist in the same space. he'll play games, she'll read. and they can be content like that for hours

she listens to a lot of classical music, which he'll bitch about, but he actually likes it when he's gaming cause he concentrates better

she gives advice that he doesn't take

but she's always right

they have a lot of low energy days together, with dim lighting and quiet.

because of this, he bought black out curtains for her

skyrim girl x fallout boy

she bites

he likes it

she paints his nails when he asks

whenever he gets too "whiny" aka he's mad something didn't work out as he planned it, she avoids him lie the plague for a few hours so he can calm down otherwise he drives her batty

he would bark like a dog for her. like, unironically. he is wrapped around her fucking finger dude

she plays a wicked hand in any card game and he always rage quits (how tf do you manage to rage quit a card game come on man!)

she's strategic as fuck and is analytical to the point where he sees her as his second-hand (insert hand joke here)

she teases him to the point of no return and he eats it uppppp

he goes out and steals a bunch of pretty clothes for her (and asks toga for help). he once got her a really pretty velvet choker with a small raven charm hanging off of it because it reminded him of her so much (she needed it duh)

the league loves her and also loves seeing her put him in his place (he'll always deny it)

bird/crow jokes cause he's an ass like that

beast boy and raven mentioned frequently cause COME ON ITS SO FITTING?!

i'm putting some nsfw here too!! <3

really freaky fucking mind boggling hate-fucking that isn't really hate fucking it's just angry and intense

like i said, she bites and he likes it

she tops for sure

not all the time though. sometimes she pisses him off to the point where he needs to remind her "who the real leader is"

he calls her names like "my lady", always refers to her as above him (no one else knows)

really sweet, comforting slow sex when they're both feeling shitty and depressed

she lights candles to set the mood, he pours the wax on her (she doesn't hate it)

pulls her by the same choker he got her

she yanks his hair and controls the fuck out of him

writes very angsty erotic poems about him when it's been a min

blood play????????

very vampire-esque sex if you didn't think that already

loves to lay on her chest/play with them (she's the big titty goth gf duh!)

i hope this was good!!!!! i tried my best to look into her in depth, and not make it too OOC. <3 lmk how i did ;-; i love her i hope i did her justice

[sveanaxxremis]

Get to Know Me

Demographics

Name: Svea Vieboux ‘Naxxremis’, Svea wir Galvus (Former), Svea Atronius (Former)

Nicknames:

Vivi (Friends)

Veevs (Close Friends)

Bunny (Aatos)

Flower (Family)

Lady (Caspian)

Terra (Zenos calls her the garlean word for earth. Both due to color of her skin and hair but also the grounding effect she has on him)

Monikers:

Briar Queen: Because of Aatos’ spells often taking the form of dried, briar whips, Svea has earned this moniker.

The Beast of Ishagrd: A cruel rumor started after a man broke into Svea’s room. She attacked him in self defense but spread a rumor the a terrible beast lurked within the city walls of Ishgard.

Blackblood: When Svea entered into contract with Aatos, his aether turned her blood black. This name was dubbed my several adventurer’s.

The Savage Princess: Because of her race, many Garleans often referred to Svea as the savage princess or savage bride.

Age: 35 Autumns (as of 6.55)

Sex/Gender: Cis Female, Heterosexual

Ethnicity: Rava Viera

Occupation: Adventurer, Noble, Princess/Empress (Former)

Combat Class: Sword Mage

In-game Combat Classes: Red Mage, Viper, Reaper, Astrologian, Dancer, Samurai

Weapons:

*Grigori: Grigori is the original weapon used by Persephone, who is the unsundered soul of Svea. Grigori can take what ever form she needs at any time and can switch to a different weapon as she needs.

*Bourreau: A pair of twin rapiers created by Abreaux before her adventures.

Socioeconomic status: Well off, should she choose to use her parents’ funds

Education: Educated as a Garlean princess. Also completed courses from St. Endalim’s Scholasticate

Other notes: Svea is also a highly trained courtesan, where her talents lie in dancing and singing. She was also educated and trained as a strategist under the tutelage of Zenos.

Physical Appearance

Eye color:

Jade Green: Svea was born with very pale, jade green eyes that had an odd luminosity to them as they appeared to glow, giving her an unsettling and piercing stare.

Ruby red: Aside from the tattoo on her inner wrist, her eyes will change to a deep ruby red which is the biggest mark of her contract with Aatos. This is only seen when entering into her enshrouded form.

Luminous Gold (Temporary): During her time on the First, as she absorbed the light based aether of the lightwardens, Svea’s eyes quickly changed to an unsettling pale gold color. Her eyes returned to their red coloring after her soul merged with Ardbert.

Skin color: Despite coming from a tribe of ebony skinned viera, Svea has a fawn colored complexion speckled with dark freckles.

Hair color:

Chocolate Brown: Svea was born with beautiful locks of dark earthy brown. Her hair returns to this color after the defeat of the Endsinger.

Black: At the time Svea created her contract with Aatos, her hair became tainted by his void magicks turning her hair jet black. Svea’s hair returns to its dark chocolate coloring after learning to control the void magicks within her. Her hair does change to black when invoking said magicks.

Silver: During the events on the First, the over absorption of light turned Svea’s hair into a stark white. This color has been unable to be dyed.

Height: 5 fulms, 9 ilms

Weight: 172 ponze

Body type: Hourglass – Svea has a very defined waist with larger hips and rear and well-endowed breasts.

Fitness level: Svea trains regularly as per her profession as an adventurer and the Warrior of Light, but if she is given the option to train or entertain another hobby, she would choose the latter.

Tattoos: Svea would not necessarily consider them to be tattoos, but she has a mark on the upper part of her back which appeared after the Battle of Carteneau. She also has a tattoo like mark on her inner, left wrist that is shaped like a sinuous butterfly. This mark is her contract mark with her voidsent.

Scars/Birthmarks: Over the years, Svea’s scars have grown faint, but there are noticeable scars around her neck, wrists, and ankles. She also bears scars on the inner portion of her thighs. From her adventures, she has a massive burn scar over her left hip from ifrit, a large scar from Nidhogg that spans from shoulder to thigh and a massive pair of scars that run down the length of her back from her partial transformation into a lightwarden. Svea always bears a scar vertically down her midsection where Garlean surgeons removed her son from her body. An act that saved both their lives.

Other distinguishing features: Svea has a ruby crystal embedded in her forehead, which was placed on her from a young age. This is the only traditional piece of her viera heritage that she keeps. Svea also has freckles that span across her face, neck, and shoulders. Her ears are rather short for her race, and she keeps the fur trimmed short. She also has a very distinct rabbit like tail.

Disabilities: Svea has a hard time seeing close and so she wears glasses to read. She also suffers from insomnia due to extreme nightmares. After the events of Endwalker, she develops a form of PTSD.

Fashion style: a) Combat: When as the Warrior of Light or adventuring, Svea prefers he attire to be dark in color, preferably black. Which are both the family colors for the Vieboux household and the family color of her and Zenos. Being that she is a swordswoman, she prefers mobility and flexibility over protection. Her main outfit consists of a long black robe with tight pants and boots, giving her a witch like appearance. b) Casual: When in a more casual setting, Svea prefers to wear more looser clothes, but has been known to often sport tight fitting pants and cropped shirts. She will also wear her hair loose or in a messy bun or in large braids. She often leans towards lighter colors in shades of green, purples, and tans.

Accessories: After the events of Endwalker, Svea meets a young adventurer to who she gifts a yellow chrysanthemum hair pin. In turn, Aatos created an identical one, although black in color, that she is often seen wearing. She also wears a necklace with a white sweet pea that has a small, blue tear shaped gem beneath it. When not adventuring, she is often seen wearing multiple golden bangles on her wrists and ankles. She also wears a delicate gold ring on her left 4th toe.

Cleanliness/Grooming: When adventuring Svea makes it a point to always find a source of water to clean herself. While she would prefer an inn room, she will take to a stream or river just the same. When home, she is known to bathe often and prefers warm bathes. It takes about 45 minutes to properly clean and care for the velvety fur on her ears.

Posture/Gait: Being raised and trained as a courtesan, and then later as a princess, she has a straight posture. Her steps are swift yet elegant and confident and give her a regal air, though with her sure steps, there is also an unintentional allure that follows the sway of her hips.

Coordination (or lack thereof): Svea is very well coordinated, except when it rains.

Weaknesses: Despite her extensive training with a large scythe and swords, she has weak wrists.

History

Birth date: Fifth Astral Moon in the year 1540 of the Sixth Astral Era

Place of birth: Akuvik Village, Dalmasca

Key family members:

Atronius Family:

Marcellus quo Atronius (Original Adoptive Father)

Villiana jen Atronius (Original Adoptive Mother, Deceased)

Caeli dus Atronius (Original Adoptive Sister)

Drusus eir Atronius (Original Adoptive Brother, Deceased)

Armenia dus Atronius (Original Adoptive Sister, Exiled)

Caesetia jen Atronius-Tsurugi (Original Adoptive Sister)

Faenia dus Atronius (Original Adoptive Sister, Deceased)

Tadia cen Atronius (Original Adoptive Sister, Deceased)

Vieboux Family:

Abreaux Vieboux (Adoptive Father)

Elvinne Vieboux (Adoptive Mother)

Galvus Family:

Solus zos Galvus (Master, Great-Grandfather-in-Law, Deceased)

Varis zos Galvus (Father-in-Law, Deceased)

Carosa zos Galvus (Mother-in-Law, Deceased)

Zenos yae Galvus (Husband, Deceased)

Caelum wir Galvus (Son, Deceased)

Other:

Aatos Vieboux (Voidsent/Husband)

Caspian ‘Naxxremis’ Vieboux (Student/Retainer)

Notable events/milestones:

Age 0: Born to an illusive clan of viera from deep within the Golemore Jungle, Svea was cast out shortly after her birth due to her jade eyes. She was placed in an imperial caravan and was found by Marcellus.

Age 0-13: Svea was raised under the close and watchful eye of Marcellus quo Atronius, a reputable commander station in the capital city of Dalmasca Inferior, Valnain. Originally having been a royal tutor in the imperial palace, he taught Svea much the same way that all imperial royals were raised. The name Svea is of old vieran meaning “Winter’s Death” in the Veena dialect or “Shadow Queen” in the Rava dialect. A fact unknown to Marcellus at the time.

Age 13-16: Svea was kidnapped by her adoptive sister Armenia, who sold her off in Kugane. Svea would be purchased by the Tatsuta Teahouse, where she would be trained to become a courtesan. Having an already elegant air about her alongside her exotic and rare appearance, she quickly became the most sought after and most expensive courtesan in Kugane to date. i. Void Contract: While held in a dark and dilapidated room full of cells beneath Kugane, she would be approached by a Blackguard, a voidsent of the fourth rung, who would grow obsessed with the warmth that followed her aether. In her loneliness, she would create a pact with the Blackguard, who would take the form of a tall, dark skinned viera man with golden eyes. Svea would give him the name Aatos, a rare viera name meaning “Exectioner.”

Age 16-23: At the age of sixteen, during her height as a courtesan, the late emperor Solus zos Galvus, would travel to Kugane to see the famed woman known for her cold and haughty expression but also for her nearly prodigious talent as a dancer and singer. Emperor Solus, a man known for his love of the arts, would purchase Svea and take her back to Garlemald. i. Prince Zenos: Svea would grow surprisingly close to the young Prince Zenos who was 5 years her junior. When he was 16, he would bed Svea who fell pregnant immediately following that night. They would marry four months later in order to hide the growing scandal between the pair. ii. Prince Caelum: The pair would birth a son, who they named Caelum Caspian wir Galvus. Though the pregnancy was extremely hard, Svea would lose her uterus, which would prevent her from having any more children. The child would ultimately be born with an incurable aether disease as his Garlean blood fought against the overabundance of aether within his tiny body. Caelum would fall into a deathlike coma and was pronounced dead, just days before his 2nd nameday. This would cause a strain between Svea and Zenos, in which Svea avoided him, convinced that he blamed her for the death of their son. There was never any basis in this thought, but Zenos, to allow his wife to grieve, gave her the space he thought she needed. Zenos was unaware that this was the reason for her distance. iii. Night of the Blood Moon: Six months following the passing of their son, Svea would wake convinced she heard her son crying for her. Her mind broken after the trauma of losing her only son, had hallucinated the sound. Despite the attempts to take control of her body, Aatos was unable to keep her from moving and she would not listen to his words. She would find her son mutilated and misshaped as the medici lied to her and Zenos, so as to experiment on their son. Svea would be possessed by a second voidsent that resided within the aether of Aatos. This would cause Svea to be caught by Valens Varro, though Zenos would see him take her body in which he had knocked her unconscious and bleeding leaving Zenos to think his wife was dead.

Age 23-25: In the cruel capture of Valens Varro, he would prove his nature and would abuse Svea. After catching a glimpse, he became obsessed and desperate to claim her for himself. He wished for the affection he had seen her bestow upon Zenos yet he was met with heavy resistance on her part. He would eventually break her and she would retreat into her own mind finding solace in the comforting warmth of Aatos.

Age 25-30: When the red moon Dalamud began its descent from the heavens, Valens who had grown tired of his now ‘broken toy’, sent Svea to the front lines of Carteneau where she would fight on the side of the Garlean Empire. When Bahamut broke free from his prison within the red moon, the subsequent blast would knock Svea unconscious, who was then crushed beneath a magitek reaper. She would have lost her life had Aatos, in his weakened state not shielded her beneath a spell of shadows and brambles. When the dust had settled, she was found alive and picked up by scrappers employed by the Mirage Trust Syndicate. i. Mirage Trust: Due to her exotic appearance, Svea would become the Mirage Trust’s plaything and was often used to entertain Teledji Adeledji and his guests. ii. Vieboux Manor: During one of her frequent attempts to escape, after her capture she would be forced into a room with Abreaux Vieboux, a prominent Ishgardian weaver who catered to the requests of the Mirage Trust. Under the assumption that she was no more than 16 years old, he would pretend to use her under the guise of buying her out. Abreaux would ultimately win over Teledji, paying over almost all of his personal life’s savings and using some of the reserves from his business to pay for her costs. After her purchase, Abreaux would give Svea her freedom with one condition. That he, and his wife Elvinne could become her parents, and that she be the child they were never able to have. She would live within the Vieboux manor until her 30th name day where she would be granted permission to become an adventurer. She would make for Limsa Lominsa, where she would begin her journey.

Criminal record: Despite being hailed a hero across many nations, Svea has been branded a murderer in Garlemald following the deaths of the medici that had experimented on her son.

Affiliations: a) The Adventurer’s Guild (Limsa Lominsan Branch) b) Scions of the Seventh Dawn c) The Maelstrom d) The Ironworks e) Silver Moon Tailoring and Co. f) The Weaver’s Guild g) The Alchemist Guild h) The Harbor Herald

Skeletons in the closet: Svea’s skeletons in the closet are just her past which is revealed to the Scion’s during the Bloody Banquet.

Psychological Traits

Personality type: INFJ – The Advocate

Personality traits: Passionate, Compassionate, Empathetic

Temperament: Svea has a mild temperament and is not quick to anger.

Introvert/Extrovert: Svea is heavily introverted and considered to be extremely shy.

Mannerisms: Svea’s mannerisms reflect her time as a princess and courtesan. She is soft spoken and her gestures are kept delicate and close to her.

Intelligence: Svea is highly intelligent and is on a similar level as Zenos. She is considered nearly equal to him in intelligence and tactical skills.

Self-esteem: Despite all of her accomplishments, Svea has a lower self-esteem than one would initially assume. While she is comfortable in her own skin and her appearance, she dislikes being recognized solely for her appearance alone. She dislikes being complimented but has slowly learned that not all compliments are bad.

Hobbies: Svea loves to read, garden, and study and practice alchemy. She also loves to dance and try new foods and cook.

Skills/talents: Svea is a very talented singer and dancer. She is also very good at strategy games. Svea has a hidden talent of playing instruments and is a highly skilled pianist. She can also tie cherry stems with her tongue.

Loves: Cute things, plants, sweets

Morals/Virtues: Svea has strong sense of justices and values people who also have a strong sense of justice and honor.

Phobias/Fears: Thunder, lightning, Valens van Varro

Angered by: Unjust behavior, lies, hypocrites

Pet peeves: People chewing with their mouth’s open, people tugging in her ears or touching her nose/tail.

Obsessed with: Moogles, flowers, fashion

Routines: Non-Adventurer Routine (Home Life)

7:00 am – Wake up and do some stretches

7:30 am – Take a shower or bath

8:20 am – Wake up Aatos, make breakfast

9:00 am – Train

10:00 am – Shower

10:15 am – Go into town to get groceries, do some shopping

12:30 pm – Lunch time

1:30 pm – Go through missives, submit requests for jobs

2:00 pm – Snack time

3:45 pm – Work on a hobby

5:00 pm – Start dinner

6:00 pm – Eat Dinner

8:45pm – Evening stretches, shower

10:00 pm – Read

10:45pm – Bed time

Bad habits: Svea has a bad habit of biting her lip when she is nervous or lost in thought. She also mumbles quite a bit.

Desires: A world where she could have lived with her husband in peace

Flaws:

She bottles her emotions up.

She is emotionally distant or detached.

She is mysterious and keeps all of her cards close to her chest.

Quirks: Often described as having a rather haughty expression at any given time, that is just the natural look of her face when she is relaxed. She can also be rather spacey at times, especially if Aatos is out. Her face is also unreadable even to the best, allowing her thoughts to be hidden from those around her.

Favorite sayings: Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.

Secrets: Even after the reveal of her past during the bloody banquet, the truth and full extent of her relationship with Zenos is a mystery. It is not until after the Battle for Ala Mhigo that the scions learn the full extent. Her contract with Aatos is also a secret that is kept from most of the general public, due to the overwhelming concerns surrounding void magics.

Regrets: Never telling or apologizing to Zenos for thinking he blamed her for the death of their son.

Accomplishments: Ending the Dragonson War, Liberating Ala Mhigo and Doma from Garlean rule, Restoring night to the 1st, Stopping the Telephori and ending the Final Days, Stopping Golbez from invading the source and saving Azdaja.

Memories: Svea has many memories, but she often recalls times past with Zenos and their son.

Communication

Languages known: Garlean, Dalmascan, Hingashi, Ishgardian, Common

Preferred communication methods: Speaking

Accent: Due to being raised in various areas, her accent sounds similar to the vieran accent but depending on what she is saying her pronunciations can be misconstrued. When she speaks high Garlean, she often struggles with the letter ‘z’ and her vieran accent comes out more strongly.

Style and pacing of speech: Svea has an elegant speech. She is calm and can be expressive but without fumbling over her words. She speaks plainly and can be considered blunt.

Pitch: Despite her gentle voice, it does often come across as lower, almost breathy. Unless startled, she does not have a high pitched or squeaky voice.

Laughter: Her laugh, even when in a fit of it, is considered sexy as it often rings with a breathy ending much like her natural voice.

Smile: According to Urianger, he has said that her smile is always genuine, reaching her eyes giving way to delicate dimples, that would make even the stars jealous. Svea rarely shows her teeth when she smiles.

Use of gestures: All body gestures are kept slow and deliberate and close to her body.

Facial expressions: Svea is not very expressive except in ways of disgust, frustration, or annoyance in which she crinkles her nose.

Verbal expressions: Svea rarely expresses things through her voice.

Strengths, Weaknesses, and Abilities

Physical strengths: Svea is rather strong physically and can outrun most people, even most soldiers before tiring.

Physical weaknesses: Her wrists don’t allow for her to wield heavy weapons and her scythe can cause complications at times.

Intellectual strengths: She is highly intelligent and can solve most problems.

Intellectual weaknesses: Svea is terrible with street smarts and forms of sarcasm and comedy taking many things literally.

Interpersonal strengths: Svea can easily defuse a situation and deescalate most situations before bringing violence in or even raising her voice.

Interpersonal weaknesses: Her aloofness and naturally haughty expression makes her appear unapproachable.

Physical abilities: Svea is very talented with rapiers, short swords, chakrams and scythes.

Magical abilities: Svea is highly gifted in both black and white magic but chooses to combine them instead of pursing them separately. She can also use shadow and void magics thanks to Aatos.

Physical illnesses/conditions: Svea has a degenerative disease in her eyes and so they are slowly going bad.

Mental illnesses/conditions: Svea’s mental state has significantly improved over the years, but suffers from PTSD and Insomnia.

Relationships

Partner(s)/Significant other(s): a) Zenos yae Galvus – Husband (Deceased) b) Aatos Vieboux - Voidesent, Husband c) Emet-Selch (Hades) – Husband to Persephone (Deceased)

Lover(s): Emet-Selch (Hades), Aatos

Parents/Guardians: a) Marcellus quo Atronius: Despite not having seen his daughter in years, when they reconnect in Garlemald, he moves to Shirogane and regularly visits her. b) Abreaux Vieboux: Abreaux dotes on his daughter intensely and is constantly sending her money and clothes for fear she does not have enough. While he is proud of her and supports her adventuring, he feels that she is not paid enough. Abreaux alongside his wife, joins the Garlean Contingency and aides in attempting to save the war-torn country. c) Elvinne Vieboux: Elvinne dotes on her daughter as much as her husband and takes to finding out the latest whispers circling around nobles and shares the information with her. Elvinne alongside her husband, joins the Garlean Contingency and aides in attempting to save the war-torn country. d) Edmont de Fortemps: Despite being aware of her adoption into the Vieboux home, Edmont dotes on Svea like a daughter.

Children: a) Caelum wir Galvus: Son (Deceased): Son of Svea and Zenos who died two days before his second birthday. b) Alphinaud & Alisaie Levilleur: Due to Svea’s soft spot for children, she took over the role of the twins mother despite knowing they have parents.

Other: Caspian ‘Naxxremis’ Vieboux: An orphaned boy who Svea took under her wing. While he is bother student and retainer, she dotes on him like her son but is vehement in letting people know that she does not see him as a son.

Grandparents: Solus zos Galvus

Grandchildren: NA

Family: Vieboux Family, Galvus Family, Atronius Family

Pets: Tillie (Chocobo), Turnip (Fat Orange Cat)

Best friends: Aatos, Kadenza Amadea-Leonis, Estinien

Friends: Alisaie, Alphinaud, G’raha Tia, Tataru, Krille

Rivals: Thancred

Enemies: Valens van Varro, Asahi sas Brutus

Colleagues: To many to count

Mentors/Teachers: Drusilla, X’rhun Tia, Hydaelyn

Idols/Role models: Herself

Followers: Alisaie, Alphinaud, G’raha Tia, Caspian

Social media presence: Svea is a prominent boudoir model, which is how she made her money at the beginning of becoming an adventurer.

Public perception of them: Hero, Model

Character Growth

Character archetype: The Maiden

Character arc: a) The Bloody Banquet b) The Death of Haurchefant de Fortemps c) The Battle of Ala Mhigo/Ghimlyt Dark d) The battle against Hades/Elidibus e) The Sorrow of Werlyt f) The Garlean Contingency g) The Return from the World Unsundered h) Ultima Thule

Core values: Svea values justice, loyalty and honesty and strength above all else.

Internal conflicts: Svea struggles against her role during the Ala Mhigan resistance and fighting against Zenos. Her whole purpose for becoming an adventurer was to find him again.

External conflicts: The entire star trying to kill her

Goals: Finding Zenos, Creating a world where anyone can love anyone regardless of their origins

Motivations: Finding Zenos, being strong for those who cannot be strong for themselves

Epiphanies: If Hydaelyn asks her to be strong for her people, then Hydaelyn will be strong for her.

Significant events/plot points: These quests are the major events/plot points to Svea a) The Parting Glass b) An End to the Song c) Louisoix’s Finest Student d) The Far Edge of Fate e) In Crimson it Began f) Stormblood g) Parley on the Front Lines h) The Face of War i) The Burden of Knowledge j) Shadowbringers k) Reflections in Crystal l) Duty in the Sky with Diamond m) In From the Cold n) Warm Hearts, Rekindled Hopes o) Hope Upon a Flower p) Thou Must Live, Die, and Know q) Friends Gathered r) You Are Not Alone s) Endwalker

*Grigori uses the appearance of the Edenmorn weapons dyed in Metallic Silver.

*Bourreau uses the Ruthenium Tuck model dyed double dyed in Gunmetal Black.

[prettyflyshyguy]

Hi, me again. Was laughing about the lego minifig lumberjack that suspiciously is wearing the same outfit as the lego minifig werewolf and it resulted in me having the most unhinged thoughts about Supernatural. Again.

Once again my brain is overcompensating for how badly I enjoyed S1-3 and how little I enjoyed season 4 onwards.

Now I have gone on record as being someone who generally prefers the non-comedy episodes of the early seasons (HOWEVER a good comedy episode goes a long way in a dark and gritty series as a refreshing break. I love a sensible chuckle. Look at me.) but hear me out. But for your consideration:

You know the drill. Small town, missing people or animal attack reports, maybe both. Shady shit going on. They're not sure if it's worth the time but they were nearby, or Bobby reckoned it was worth checking out so they swing through town, figure they'll stay a few nights. The place is pretty, out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods. Picturesque and the people are nice. Maybe they could relax a few days while also sussing it out.

They can't immediately determine the cause, which is strange. There's always signs that they can equate to being this or that and "dad's journal" always has an answer. Almost always.

One of them goes out for a late night wander (probably Dean, look I'm predictable, but also it feels fitting - Sam got the demon blood ok) and gets attacked by something in the forest, and returns with a really weird bite mark that looks somewhere between canine and human. There's a bit of panic, yknow "What did it look like?" - "It looked like a werewolf! No not like, a werewolf, like a movie werewolf!"

And they're both freaked because there's a handful of horrible fucked up things that could be, and for most of them a bite is just a normal physical injury and the worst thing he'd have to worry about is rabies - but they test press a silver knife to his skin and.... Nothing. They try a few other on-hand items if they have them, probably some herbs and dried flowers, nothing. So they assume the bite's just. An animal bite.

Fast forward after one very tense day of research and uncomfortable vibes, and the sun goes down. And that's when things go to shit. It's not a full moon, which catches them off guard. Dean starts convulsing and twitching on the motel room floor and Sam is fucking panicking, searching for one of those curse-bag's that witches hide when they want to kill you. Dean has one nasty, gritty, panful transformation into something absolutely horrifying - going for my personal favorite - vaguely resembles human but very much weird wolf-man freak. He keeps his clothes but probably tears them up a bit as he's writhing about in pain. Sam is in shock, holding a machete out in defense trying to gauge the situation, Dean comes to and is just looking around in terror and confusion.

Probably have a stare-off before Sam just goes "... Dean???" and the poor guy cannot talk, can only make horrible throat noises, stumbles into the bathroom to get a look in the mirror and probably freaks out bad. Either bolts out the window in a panic, or bolts out the window cause he heard someone knock on the door hearing the noise of it all.

It's like the wishing well - so its some weird curse or local effect that's making a legend with its own rules become real - werewolves transform each night when the sun sets. There's something about racing against the literal setting sun that tickles me, and the added impact of it being something that requires management and mitigation each day is really fun.

So they have a shitty little time in this weird ass town trying to figure out; what's going on, how do we stop it, and arguing over if they call Bobby and tell him what happened or not.

[youngpettyqueen]

your julian and keiko post made me want more of them so can I get a 🎲 for them?

YES so happy to get this thank you for giving me an excuse to write them. they are on my BRAIN

you rolled... 30! a kiss to the palm of the hand. which I think is very fitting for these two hehe. went for something simple and cute for this one, hope you enjoy!!

"I can't believe I did that." Keiko huffs, trying not to wince as Julian inspects the cuts scored into her hand.

"Oh, don't beat yourself up, Keiko," Julian says, gently angling her hand to get a better look, "It could've happened to anybody! And these aren't bad, just a quick once-over with the good ol' dermal regenerator and you'll be fit as a fiddle." He assures her.

He's very sweet, but unfortunately for him, Keiko is determined to be annoyed about this. "Oh, sure, anybody could've made that mistake," She agrees, "But I'm not anybody! I'm a professional! And I should know the difference between a scarlet dawnbird and a scarlet dragonbite, so that things like this," She gestures at her wounded hand, "Don't happen."

It really was a rookie mistake. She'd spotted the signature red petals of what she thought was a scarlet dawnbird- a gorgeous flowering plant native to Bajor, with large bright red blooms that light up when the sun hits them just so- and she'd been thrilled because it would've been her first time spotting one in person. They're rare flowers, and have a very short blooming season. Well, in her excitement, she forgot to check the stems, which would've told her if they were dawnbirds, or dragonbites.

Dawnbirds have smooth, sturdy stems with large, velvety leaves. Dragonbites also have large, velvety leaves, which do a wonderful job of hiding the wicked sharp thorns that cover the entire length of the stem.

And Keiko went ahead and grabbed the stem so that she could show Julian the blossom in the sun. She only succeeded in slicing her hand into ribbons.

Julian gives her a smile. The one that says I know what you're doing. He's far too good at reading her. "Yes, how silly of me," He hums, "I forgot you, the great Keiko O'Brien, were immune to error. Do forgive me." He fishes out his dermal regenerator and gets to work, making quick work of healing her hand.

Keiko sighs. She knows she's being ridiculous. He doesn't need to tell her- she knows. "It's not that I'm immune to error," She says, her tone softening somewhat, "I should just be immune to... these kinds of mistakes. I know better than to just grab at plants before identifying them. I was just... excited." Like a happy little schoolgirl, she leaves out.

"Well, I can hardly fault you for that," Julian replies. He's got his doctor voice on- the one he uses to soothe a patient. She's seen him use it on all kinds, from Klingons nursing stab wounds to Molly with skinned knees. It's very soothing, settling her agitated mood, despite herself, "You said those dawnbirds are quite rare, yes? I'd be excited, too, in your shoes."

Keiko feels herself starting to smile. He makes it too easy. She shouldn't be surprised that he remembers her talking about them, he remembers almost everything, but it's still nice. "I wanted to show you," She admits, even though it makes her cheeks flush, "The dawnbirds get their name from the shape of their petals, and from the way they light up when the sun hits them. They glow, Julian- Nerys says they're like embers. And I've never seen one in person, so I thought..." She glances at her hand, healed now, the only sign of injury being the blood that's dried in the lines of her palm and fingers, "I thought it'd be nice if you got to see it, too."

Julian takes a moment to clean off her hand, scrubbing away any evidence that she'd ever been hurt. "That's very sweet," He tells her, his smile going warm and affectionate in that cute way it does, "That you wanted to share that moment with me, I mean. And here I thought I was the romantic one." There's a teasing lilt to his voice. His hands linger on hers.

"Well," Keiko puts on her best winning smile, bats her lashes, "I have my moments."

"That you do," Julian agrees with a chuckle. He checks her hand again and nods, satisfied, "There you are, Mrs. O'Brien. Good as new. Just one more thing." He says.

"Oh?" Keiko raises a brow, "I thought you said it only needed the dermal regenerator."

"A dermal regenerator is all well and good," Julian says, "But it's got nothing on..." And then he lifts her hand to his face, presses a kiss to her palm, "That," He gives her a grin, and lets her take her hand back, "How's it feel?"

Keiko blushes again. She can practically feel the shade of red she's going. She flexes her fingers experimentally, and as promised, her hand is good as new. "Feels just perfect." She tells him.

"Good," Julian pushes himself up, gives himself a quick dust-off, "Now, shall we head back before Miles sends out a search party?" He holds his hand out to her.

Keiko takes it. "Lead the way." She invites, letting him pull her to her feet. He doesn't let go of her hand, and she makes no move to drop his. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and she leans into his side, bumping her shoulder against his.

Somewhere along the way, she forgets she was ever annoyed.

[elysrian]

god-ish.

aether names the wanderer after lumine.

au work, spoilers for interlude : inversion of genesis.

“have you got anything?”

“... ah. alright, if you say so.”

it’s a new name ( life ) he’s had to adapt to, but it’s nothing new — at the very least, compared to everything else, this is akin to walking on a field of flowers, where their floral scents coat them in their fragrances and only serve to highlight his inhumanity.

he’s used to being used. this is nothing new.

“lumine.” a voice calls, and his head jerks up, irises of wisteria gazing in the direction the sound comes from. brief perplexion crosses his face, but it’s gone when the traveller appears before him, a gloved hand reaching out to cup pale cheeks. lumine stills, gaze expectant and devoid of amusement, as is the short chuckle that follows.

“welcome back, aether.” lumine’s voice is off, far too off, but it’s better than the deafening silence that used to follow as a reply. there is someone who will listen, someone who will respond, someone to touch.

he is not the lumine that the traveller speaks of most fondly, that much he understands. but like a child that will eventually fill an adult’s shoes, so too can he try… even if it’s for a vain act of repentance.

( and to rid of that forlorn expression that feels far too familiar for his liking. )

admittedly, the puppet never really saw the choice of name coming, but after he had asked the traveller via telepathy, it wasn't that surprising. they were both souls chasing after that elusive illumination that would give both their lives meaning, but while they had both achieved their goals… not only were they contrary to expectations, they only served as proof that fate is truly arbitrary. for some reason, it had to be them, and no others. 

“that day, i felt like i had lost all meaning in my life.”

lumine understands, and so he bites his tongue to clamp down the words that had bubbled up, words that would have no purpose but to salt a wound that had long dried but hadn't festered. to aether, this lumine was a patch to hide the wound — not to heal, but to conceal, to pretend that everything is okay, or he might lose himself. 

lumine understands all too well because he's been through that before. 

their initial relationship is rocky, with both sides opening up about their past more to each other than to the rest of the people they knew, but that was fine. they were fine with it. 

lumine wrinkles his nose at the pungent smell of monster blood as aether makes himself comfortable next to him, head in his lap as the blonde curls enough to fit onto their seat. 

“don't lie too long — it would be awful if your sweat seeps into the couch and stink up the whole place,” lumine's voice is with bite, but not enough to hurt ; slender fingers hesitantly weave themselves into sunkissed strands of gold, lightly massaging the scalp and eliciting a soft groan. "the commissions couldn't have been that difficult, are you already losing your touch?" 

“the difficulty is one thing, but the terrain… stars don't sweat,” aether grumbles, but he leans into lumine's touch regardless and contentment bleeds into exhaustion, his expression relaxing. “so when i'm fighting in the red sands of the desert, i feel as though i'm going to implode from the heat. it's awful.”

“then don't take those commissions, stupid.”

“but someone has to. it might as well be me.”

there it is, again. lumine feels his face wrinkle in exasperation, feels his patience grow frayed, as aether’s face settles into that familiar forlorn expression.

“... enough already.”

“… what?”

lumine closes his eyes. he fears that if they were open, if he looks at aether one more time, he’s going to snap, and history will repeat itself. his hand trembles as it curls into a fist, his breaths forcefully even, and his iron will attempting to restrain his emotions. the frustration that he feels is not unlike back when he realised that yae miko wouldn’t be able to make it in time to help, when illness snatched his only friend away, when he let himself be consumed by nilihilsm and despair that he just let himself go.

the traveller, no, aether decided to take him in despite everything he’s done.

the puppet looks at the starchild in frustration.

“then why? tell me. is it because you don’t see a point in living any more? because you think that as long as you do this, everyone else will be happy?” he snarls, as trembling fingers reach out to yank at the outlander’s scarf to pull him closer, holding it with such force that he’s probably left permanent wrinkles on the fabric. he doesn’t care.

“because this may be news to you, but people actually care about you. just because you don’t actually care for yourself or for them in return, it doesn’t mean that they won’t stop caring. it doesn’t mean that they won’t be angry with you when they see you run yourself into the ground, when you burn yourself out and essentially nothing of the person they once knew is left behind. if you’re going to be so damn suicidal, then do it yourself and not try to pass it off as some good deed.”

disgusting. these emotions are disgusting. this anger is disgusting. even if it once fueled him enough for several years, it didn’t mean that he had ever grown used to how pitiful it left him after the high was gone… ah. so this is why it’s familiar. 

he was in that very same position once, and no matter how much he dresses it up with his self-justifications and emotions, he had lost all meaning in his life, too.

his hold loosens, and the puppet unceremoniously drops aether getting up and storming several steps away, lumine’s fingers angrily scratching at his own scalp and messing up his hair. how hypocritical he is!

“... balladeer, I—”

“lumine.”

“... what?”

lumine turns back to aether, his expression still dark. but he strides back to aether, index finger jabbing squarely against the traveller’s chest, and clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“you’re not allowed to do that any more. since you so kindly rescued me, i’m now your responsibility. i am also in your debt, and i always repay those i owe — even if you scream about how unreasonable i am, how cruel i am, suck it up.”

aether stares blankly, the gears turning into his head, before he lets out a laugh.

“... okay, my unreasonable responsibility. you could have just said that you were worried about me.”

“shut up, aether.”

[cinghialefedele]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away !

tagged by: @za-baransu tagging: Whoever wants to do this!

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. Devotion / Loyalty.

002. Reservation.

003. Pride.

004. Adaptability.

005. Gratitude.

GREETINGS / LANGUAGE PATTERNS:

001. Outsiders: Tesla is often rather reserved around those he doesn't know. He spends much of his time observing and feeling out the situation and person if there is no immediate danger. He's curious, but will keep his distance. He acts polite, and rather stoic, not comfortable enough to express himself more.

002. Enemies / Opposites: He is wary, cold at times, but keeps up his politeness by almost all means. He often does not fight unless commanded, prompted, or forced to, and therefore prefers to avoid conflict with enemies. Depending on the situation though, he may find it wise to simply kill an enemy rather than try to reason with them. For people he simply does not like, Tesla will sometimes drop formalities and politeness, and speak rather blunt and coldly towards them, even expressing annoyance that he's even conversing with them.

003. Comrades / Friends: Once he became a Fracción, he began addressing and strictly adhering to proper titles according to his place within Las Noches. Even after the fall of Aizen's rule over Hueco Mundo, Tesla continues this strict respect of rank and hierarchy, finding it almost physically uncomfortable to address his former superiors without titles. With friends (which he has only one real friend right now), he is very casual, often relaxing to a point comparable to how he was before he lost his eye, speaking on equal terms, unafraid to argue, crack jokes, etc., and even giving nicknames (ie. Celeste is "Doll" or "Dollface").

004. Tesla has a way of speaking that's calm. He speaks in a polite, relaxed manner most of the time. I'd dare to say he may even be softspoken at times, taking a passive part in conversations unless talking about something he's passionate about or prompted to excited/angry/worried outbursts.

PREFERED COLORS:

001. White: He appreciates the pristine cleanliness of his uniform.

002. Black: the color of his gloves, boots, uniform accents, you can never go wrong with black.

003. Brown: Shades, beiges, warm muted colors, like his eye and Verruga's pelt.

004. Gold: Accents, usually small, or thin pieces of jewelry.

005. Teal: Accessories on clothing, or perhaps jade in jewelry, it matches the estigma on his face.

SCENTS:

001. Iron: The scents of blood that linger, ever so subtly on him.

002. Cedar: A natural, woody scent, earthy undertones.

003. Dried Lavendar: His favorite flower/color, dried or preserved ones are the only thing that will last in the desert air of Hueco Mundo.

004.  Worn Leather: He is almost never found without his leather gloves.

CLOTHING:

001. Everyday: His typical Arrancar uniform, the tunic-like garment, gloves, etc. His attire hasn't changed drastically over the years, it's comfortable and simple.

002. Casual: He does not usually wear "casual" clothing unless (and this hasn't happened here yet) he's in a gigai. I think the type of "modern" clothes he's most drawn to is a dark academia style, with long sleeves, long coats, slacks, etc., keeping his more stiff silhouette from his long tunic uniform.

003. Before Death: Tesla was born in 1905, and died in 1930, he wore...a lot of suits, fitting of the '20's, favoring waistcoats along with his look.

OBJECTS:

001. His sword, Verruga.

002. Two battered, worn gold bangle bracelets, dug out of the sand from the battlefield from Nnoitra and Kenpachi's fight; he often wears them, fidgeting with one on each wrist, or keeps them in a pocket, they are never not on his person.

003. Small notebook and pen; he journals, occasionally.

004. A spare pair of gloves, in case the pair he's wearing are torn or destroyed in battle. 

VICES / BAD HABITS: 

001. Obsession: He fixates on certain people in his life, and, on rare occasion, becomes unhealthy obsessed, to the point in extreme cases of starting "collections" of said person's belongings. These items may include hair, bloody articles of clothing, or simply any item you hand to him, whether a gift or something you wish for him to throw away (ie a used paper cup).

002. Cruelty: Tesla has shown several times that he finds interest in violence and cruelty. Examples include him throwing Orihime to the ground by her neck to simply stop her from running away, breaking Ichigo's limbs one by one then deciding to attempt to crush his skull in his hand, as well as even questioning why Nnoitra chooses to let Chad live after Chad is deemed no longer able to battle. If given the chance, Tesla seems inclined to cause suffering first, and then finish things off, preferably with no survivors.

003. Covet/Desire/Lust: There is one thing in existence that he desires, longs for, covets entirely. He, with few exceptions, will do anything in his power to obtain it, unless the object of his desires commands he do otherwise, and that is the ONLY way he will cease. That which he covets supercedes all else, he holds no true allegiances to anyone else, and a snap of fingers is truly all he needs.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. Tesla has rigid posture, standing at attention constantly, with his arms neatly held behind his back. When relaxed, his stance is slightly wider, and instead of arms folded, they are 'lax, one hand holding his wrist behind his back, shoulder slacking ever so slightly.

002. He is rather stoic, expression wise, unless shocked or prompted into extreme reactions. He offers gentle smiles and soft expressions, otherwise his neutral face is often accompanied by knit brows. He is more expressive the more comfortable he is.

003. He fidgets with his wrists often; massaging the joints or rubbing his fingers together. When he's wearing the worn bracelets, he fidgets with those, often to soothe the nerves that he refuses to show on his face.

AESTHETICS:

001. Touching back on his modern fashion sense with Dark Academia, that would be the most befitting aesthetic for him in death, and as an Arrancar.

002. In life, growing up in New York, he was actually a big fan of the Art Deco aesthetics and architecture growing in peak popularity at the time. A bit of a socialite of the times, and frequent speakeasy hopper, Tesla's home was decorated to the most recent trends, in case he had over esteemed company.

003. Neat, Tidy. Tesla is very organized, and everything in whatever space he works in is in it's place for a reason. There is only one person in existence allowed to wreak havoc on the order of his spaces.

004. Autumn: Grey skies, warm colors to bare branches, chilly winds, sweater weather, hot cocoa. Nostalgia and change, premonitions to colder days. The instinctual need to find warmth in another.

SONGS:

001. Cherubim - serpentwithfeet

002. I Wanna Be Loved By You - Marilyn Monroe

003. Desafío - Arca

004. Howl - The Family Crest

005. Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

[honeysugarchocolate]

Getou Suguru is not who he says he is; he adjusts himself like a wig, sewing skin on like an ill-fitting suit. And Satoru is forced to play along. He’s both the tragedy and the audience.

Whatever came teetering out of those woods is not his best friend. Whatever it is, it wears Suguru’s face in all the wrong expressions. His gentle, breathless laughs have become uproarious and diaphragm-deep. The shuffling feet are now sauntering like he can outdance the showgirls. His Suguru, his flower petal boy Suguru, who glides through the hallways like a cloud, is suddenly all brash and shameless and second brightest to a bullet in the back.

But pretending is easy. Talking to him even more so. In the way that it's easy to pick your way through a slaughter, searching for something to salvage. Certainly easier than coming to terms with the knowledge that Suguru’s gone, leaving behind only this hollow shell of who he used to be, organs working only occasionally, if he bangs them hard enough. If Satoru looks the other way.

Suguru was gone, and then he wasn’t. He’d called Satoru on the phone, falling back into his world like the tail-end of a comet, the air watery and the ceiling dyed blue from the night's light, his voice floating like smoke, letters settling like dust, "I'm so lonely here by myself, Satoru. Can you come over?”

And so it was.

Now, standing before him, cheeks pink like a dawn in summer, hair flickering in the wind like a candle, lollipop bobbing limply from the corner of his mouth (because he somehow now has a sweet tooth that rivals Satoru’s), Suguru seems like a complete stranger to him.

“Satoruuu,” he sings. “Are you coming?”

Between the whistling of the wind, the sputters of pale sunbeams and Satoru’s heart melting all over his fingers like a raspberry popsicle under the sun, until he's left with nothing but the thin skeleton and the sticky gooey infatuation, Satoru shakes his head jerkily, petrified; voice coming out as a squeak two pitches higher than it's supposed to be, “Who are you?”

When Suguru smiles, his teeth seem closer than they should be, “I’m your best friend.”

Satoru’s laugh that comes from somewhere deep in his stomach dries and bitters, like something that died inside of him and left a lingering odor. “My eyes tell me you’re Suguru, but the very fabric of my soul knows otherwise. Who are you?”

“I mean you no harm. Here, you can touch.”

And isn't it funny how Satoru still trusts his fear of the dark even when it seems so gentle draped around Suguru? Suguru, who's now some unknown monster that grows a new row of teeth every hour after sundown. Suguru whose image Satoru keeps in his mind like a flashlight when he glances back at any tender face half-obscured.

All the two hundred and six bones of Satoru’s body are pulled tight, one touch away from snapping like twigs. When his fingers run over the scar on Suguru’s forehead (the one he explained away by having fallen face first on his way down), the skin gives in, sucking him in like a grotto of a mouth; dark matter leaks, blood and gore and soot and cherry sap. It wraps around his fingers, proliferates like rot. Only it smells falsely sweet. Repugnantly inviting.

“I won’t hurt you,” Suguru’s eyes are suddenly flat and cold and looking past Satoru’s, but Satoru can tell from the stickiness between his fingers, threaded like spiderwebs, that he's not lying. That maybe all along, whatever it is that’s pretending to be Suguru is searching the alleyways for Suguru’s cigarette butts and sucking them to see what's left of the boy Satoru loves. To fill the gaping hole right in the middle of Satoru’s chest.

To rub his heart between his hands until it wears like a soap bar, into bubbles and compounds, into a broken promise.

A love stolen too soon.

geto x the summer hikaru died crossover

[hegrowings]

09.     “junk” drawer.

it's not so much a drawer as it is a box. a little over a foot in length and about half that in depth, it's made of a sturdy fake wood, complete with a removable cover. the interior is lined with - at least, what remains of - a thin layer of paper pasted to the bottom and sides. it's an old box, with a chipped corner and a sizeable dent on the right side, and the whole thing is covered in scuffs and scratches; mostly from being moved from place to place, but also, on at least one or two occasions, being thrown as a weapon. if you look closely at the interior you might notice what seems to be a piece of tape, and in attempting to peel it away reveal the fake bottom.

the contents are varied, with no rhyme or reason to the assortment, though I guess that's what constitutes a junk drawer. however, the contents are orderly. at least, when it's in one place and not being jostled about... or thrown.

there is a bottle, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, made of a thick green glass and topped with an old-fashioned cork stopper. the exterior is matte and hazy, smooth save for decorative grooves running the length of it's sides. opening it would reveal an absence of any liquid or other content, though the scent of whatever had been inside remains: faint, earthy, with a sweet but fresh undertone. perfume, maybe, or some kind of natural oil. henri had given it to him, years ago, to soothe nerves, or at least that's what he had said. something calming. kaey doesn't remember when it had been emptied - maybe it had dried up ? - but had never had the mind to throw it away, or even ask henri for more of whatever it had been.

there is a rock, chunky and smooth and glossy with polish, the kind you might display as decoration. it's wrapped carefully in an old rag that belies the ornate stone, gray and worn, maybe from an old shirt. both the rock and the shirt show specks of russet on their surfaces. blood maybe, or just rust. he doesn't know why he keeps it. at the time he'd held on to it out of fear more than anything, but now it was just a reminder. and yet, he never threw it away. maybe because it tells him he survived.

there are multiple pens, some hair ties, and a tiny, decrepit squeeze bottle of lip ointment. there is a postcard from Arizona, unsigned and with no message on the back but still bearing a stamp. there is a holding knife with a worn wooden handle. there is a lighter, a needle, and surgical thread. in a small felt holder there are some tweezers, a broken half of a nail file, and a couple other implements to tend nails, though most spaces are empty.

there is a compact mirror, cracked, with a folded note in the place where powder once had been. the page is so worn and faded it's hard to read the smooth lettering, but he remembers very well what it said. at the bottom of the page, instead of a signature, there is the faint remnant of kiss mark. he doesn't know why he keeps this, either. it was first love, and first heartbreak. betrayal on a level that still stung. he still thinks about her every now and then, and wishes her well.

there is a small notebook; some pages are filled with names, and occasionally dates, in his neat, tight scrawl while others are simply decorated with pressed leaves and flowers. one page even has a barn owl feather. consequently the bottom of the box is littered with a few stray petals and bits of leaves.

otherwise, it really is just junk. stray papers and sticky notes, fragments of what once had been seashells, rubber bands, a few stray band-aids from a long since disappeared first aid kit, some (most likely dry) hand wipes, a singular match, a worn and torn bookmark, some loose change, half of a rather tiny pinecone, some stamps, and a keychain resembling the Finnish flag.

and the fake bottom ? nothing interesting, just important papers.

@nykrose || a peek at what's inside their... [accepting]