#ANSWERED. With burning passion or with vows

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Jealousy

Next fic with same reader -> Theatrics

[dyns33]

In the stars and the Book

So people wanted a new Dream of the Endless story for today. I hope you will like it !

It was rare for Destiny to give advice.

For several good reasons, which his family understood well, even if they were sometimes annoyed or disappointed that he did not break the rules to help them in difficult times.

His interventions were never really his doing, but permitted by his Book, if not obligatory.

More than any other member of the Endless, Destiny was fully and entirely his function. He loved his siblings though.

He always showed a small, almost imperceptible smile when he had the opportunity to help his family, who always listened attentively.

This time, Dream was the lucky one who received a call from Destiny's gallery.

Of course he was going to answer, it was part of his responsibilities. He'd had some problems since the Magnus had captured him, freed himself, gotten his tools back, rebuilt his kingdom, and ever since he'd felt a little empty.

His brother's call could be excellent news, or the start of new troubles. But he was going to answer anyway.

As always, Destiny greeted him quickly, not leaving his book and not clearly answering his questions. This was not what was supposed to happen.

Then, when Dream was calmer, he finally looked at him.

“Y/N.”

"The witch ? What about her ?"

“You will know happiness, true happiness, until your end, after she gives you a kiss.”

Morpheus remained stoic as he knew how to do so well, despite the storm that was brewing within him. The people of the Dreaming must have been totally panicked, even if they were used to their creator being quite upset after an encounter with any Endless other than Death.

“Goodbye, little brother.” was the last thing Destiny said, already turning his back on him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His relationship with Y/N ​​had always been complicated. They had almost killed each other the first time they spoke. A real disaster. But she was still young, while he had yet to learn patience and empathy.

No doubt he was also too romantic, since he no longer even remembered the reason for their argument, but only her eyes full of passion, her hand on his cheek when she had the audacity to slap him, her perfume when she had vanished into thin air, vowing never to see him again.

They had seen each other again, several times, without ever doing it on purpose, as if fate was doing everything for them to end up together.

Over time, their exchanges had become more cordial, almost friendly. Dream had to recognize that Lucienne, Hob, his sister, many people had helped him a lot to realize the value of this little witch, who had also helped him on many occasions.

Yet he never thought he would feel love for Y/N. Admiration, affection, a need to protect her, but love ? Dream had often been in love. At least he thought he was.

It was true that each of his relationships had ended like shooting stars, passing very quickly, before burning and disappearing into nothingness.

His big brother had just revealed to him the secret of a certain, infinite happiness, a happiness that he seemed to deserve against all expectations, he who had ended up thinking that he was made to remain alone. There was no reason to hesitate.

Y/N clearly had some hesitations.

Despite his many advances, he still didn't seem to know that it was not proper for mortals to appear in a living room uninvited or unannounced.

First misstep, because it was not by scaring his sweetheart that he was going to succeed in seducing her. The poor thing even asked him what she had done, convinced that he was coming to punish her.

“I’m not here for ill reasons.” he tried to reassure her. "I needed to see you. It's been a long time, I forgot how beautiful you were, χαρα μου."

"… Is everything okay ? You need a spell and you're hoping it'll be for free ? You know, I heard what happened to you. It's not pity at all, but maybe I can lower my prices for you this time."

"Your concern touches me. But I don't need anything except you. I think we could be happy together."

"Wow. Okay, you're dying."

He was going to have to use all his wooing skills to get her to kiss him.

Certainly he could have kissed her, here, right away, but his brother had been clear. It was she who had to give him this liberating kiss.

Even though Dream was now sure of his feelings, Y/N probably needed a little more time. She hadn't received Destiny's advice.

Despite all his many improvements since his release, patience had never been Dream's strong point. Yet he was literally the expectation, the hope, all the ideas, the stories, the fantasies of humanity. Not getting the promised happiness right away shouldn't have bothered him so much.

Plus, beginnings were always the most exciting part. Observe Y/N responding positively to his advances, his compliments, his gifts. However, she remained suspicious, expecting a game or a disguised exchange of good behavior.

The witch set traps for him, to reveal his true intentions. The master of nightmares found this charming and amusing at first. Then Morpheus was a little hurt and exasperated that she didn't seem as infatuated with him as he was with her.

"… You say you love me ?"

"Indeed."

"Since when ? The last time we parted, I stole several of your books and you threatened to hang me. Fortunately your librarian likes me. I returned the books to her by the way. I don't t think we can be together, we'll end up tearing each other's heads off."

"It has to happen though. Destiny said we were meant to be together."

"… What ?"

The news did not please the little witch at all. She was making fun of him, but she wasn't necessarily having a bad time. Their arguments had become like a form of dance, a nuptial ritual.

Why did he always have to ruin everything ? He, the prince of stories, really had a problem with his choice of words.

He tried to hold her back, explaining that what his brother said had to happen, it wasn't his fault.

Seeing the tears in her eyes silenced him. The last thing he wanted to be hurt her, this vision pierced his heart.

"I can't believe I could be so stupid."

"You don't understand… We can be happy, together. Love each other."

"No. I loved you. And I thought maybe you loved me too, finally. But you're here out of obligation, like always. I never want to see you again ! I'm serious this time !"

There was no spell in the world that could hide a being thinking of Dream of the Endless. Those who thought always ended up dreaming, entering his kingdom.

Yet he left her sleep in peace, the rare times Y/N closed her eyes, trembling every night at the idea of ​​finding him in her dreams.

He wondered if she was right. If he only chased after her because his brother had put him on this path, and not by choice. By feeling. It was true that he hadn't asked himself the question before Destiny called him, and he had rushed straight to the front of his happiness.

Now that he was fully taking the time to think about it, knowing that the witch had loved him in silence all this time, that he had hurt her, that she deserved better than that, he thought that he had undoubtedly always loved her more than the others.

He loved her so much that he kept his distance, because everyone he wanted ended up leaving him, suffering, or dying. And he didn't want that for her, never for her. His tender Y/N, brave, intelligent, lively little witch. Who treated him normally, standing up to him without fear, making him see his missteps.

A whole week passed, before he showed up at her place, this time knocking on the door and waiting for it to open.

He raised his hand in a peace sign as soon as their eyes met, making no move to try and enter.

"χαρα μου… I'm sorry. For my behavior, and for my presence here, when you clearly expressed your hatred for me. But I owed you this apology, and as punishment, I agree not to see you again. Thus, I condemn myself to never knowing happiness, which I do not deserve after all. My brother did not say that you could not be happy with another. Just know that I loved every moment spent with you, and I will cherish them until the end. If it wasn't happiness, it looked like it."

"… Is this a ruse to get me to fall under your spell again ?"

"No. I still find it hard to believe that you could have loved a being such as myself. I don't think I would have ever imagined it, even in my wildest creations. My brother must have known, he who knows all."

"Hob says you're a sweet fool, full of pride, but with just as much kindness, fear and humanity deep down."

“I will have to think about visiting my dear friend very soon.” Dream said while keeping a stoic face.

This made Y/N laugh. Her magnificent laugh, accompanied by a smile that she gave him too rarely. He would populate the nights of many dreamers tonight.

But for now, Morpheus wondered if he was awake, seeing her continue to smile at him, placing her hand on his cheek. They had never touched each other like this, not once, since their first meeting.

"Don't sulk, it wasn't a criticism. I knew I could only love you when he assured me that you weren't as terrible as you showed yourself. A facade, necessary because of your status."

“I’m not sulking, I’m not…”

The kiss was quick. Morpheus would remember it until his sister took the whole universe with her. Those lips on his. All this love, for him, all this time, contained in a simple kiss.

He remained as still as a marble statue, which made her smile again. Then Y/N kissed him on the cheek this time, whispering that they could go to the New Inn for a drink, before closing the door.

"… Boss ?"

“Yes Matthew ?”

"You've been here for three hours, people on the street are starting to notice you. Are you going to stay long ?"

“Until my love came out and we went to the New Inn for a drink.”

"Yeah, I don't know if your brother helped you or not, but if the witch finds it cute and not creepy, that will be proof that you two are indeed meant to be together."

Y/N found this both creepy and adorable. The poor raven returned to the Dreaming with a sigh to announce the great news, although the bright sky was not unwelcome.

It was very often a magnificent weather in the future, and until the end.

[arctickat2400]

Jealousy Doesn't Suit You <> Damon Salvatore

Not sure if this is how I wanted this to turn out or not. My writing isn't how it used to be, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyways.

Request: The reader and Damon could be playing hard to get and is too stubborn to admit they both fancy and love each other so one day the reader flirts with a guy knowing that it’ll really make Damon annoyed and he gets all jealous. But maybe one night Damon cooks the reader a romantic dinner and tells her he’s been in love with her since the first time they locked eyes on each other.

~ ~ ~ ~

When Damon wants something, he gets it. However, with you, it’s easier said than done. He was so in love with you, but that was the last thing he would admit to you, let alone anyone else. 

This week had been a disaster. Your constant attempts at getting Damon’s attention have all failed miserably. You would never admit to liking him. Okay, that was an understatement. You had a fiery passion for this man, but that’s not something you would openly tell someone as news around this town travels quite fast. 

So now, you were drowning out your sorrows at Mystic Grill, sparking up conversations with Matt as he was working the bar this evening. When he wasn’t serving other customers, he was cleaning glasses and talking to you. 

“What’s gotcha down, (Y/Nickname)?” Matt asks, using your favorite nickname that only your closest friends use, as he leans forward on the counter across from you. 

“Oh, nothing,” You answer, leaning your head on your fist, your arm bent across the bar. You held a toothpick between your fingers as you traced random lines and shapes around the wood. “Just the usual. Work, mostly, among other things.” You shrugged, continuing your invisible art.

You always thought Matt, as one of your best friends, had this intuition, as if he knew almost if not everything about you. What you didn’t know was that he knew the one thing that you hadn’t told a single person, the one thing you didn’t want anyone to know. And, although he didn’t like the certain fact, he vowed to always be there for you, despite the situations you refused to tell him or anyone else about.

That’s why when he glances over at the door to see Damon waltzing in, Matt continued to keep up the conversation, keeping his eyes on the man that stole your heart without even knowing.

Damon immediately spotted you at the bar, his brain sensing your presence the second he walked in. He noticed a melancholic expression adorned your face as he made his way over to his usual booth in the corner. Damon didn’t show his emotions on the outside, but whenever he saw you, his emotions went wild on the inside. He wanted to know what made you so sad. He wanted to comfort you. When it came to you, every part of him that anyone has ever known is thrown out the window, replaced by a sweet, kindhearted man who wants to love and be loved by you. 

“Can I get you something to drink? Maybe (your favorite cocktail), your favorite?” Matt smiled your way, making your eyes flick to his, a smile crawling onto your lips. Somehow, you came here not wanting to be home alone doing nothing, just wanting to be out and about, and thought you’d see if Matt was working. So, when you came into Mystic Grill, you didn’t even think about drinking oddly enough, only looking for some friendly convo with your friend.

Matt’s suggestion pulled a laugh out of you, it coming out louder than you intended, but you didn’t care. “Oh, Matt, my friend, you know me so well,” You smiled sheepishly, getting one in return from him. 

You spin around in your bar stool, facing the restaurant to people-watch as Matt made your drink, only to be met with the piercing blue eyes of the one and only Damon Salvatore. Of course, he would be here. How had you not even noticed until now?

Your smile falls and you panic as you quickly spin back around to face the bar, your cheeks burning, most likely red as rubies. Just then, Matt slides your drink in front of you, pulling your attention to him. You meet his eyes and he already had a knowing look on his face. How did he know? You thought questioningly. Matt offered you a smile and a wink, and you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Damon’s POV

Watching Y/N with Matt, or any other guy for that matter, is torture. I should be the one to make her smile, to make her laugh, to make her feel anything at all. But, no. With Y/N, I’m a coward. I’m usually so confident, but with her, I can’t control myself. Why can’t I just go up to her and tell her how I feel? 

Because I’m not that kind of person. I can’t outwardly express my feelings. I don’t deserve her anyway. I can’t be the guy she deserves. But watching her laugh like that with someone who isn’t me makes my blood go cold. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve always been selfish. And if being selfish is what it takes to have her in my life the way I want, that’s how it’s going to be. And I know exactly how to make it happen. 

I stand and rush out of the grill, just barely missing what seemed to be a longing glance from Y/N as I storm out, her eyes glued to my retreating back. I pass by Stefan and Enzo on my way out. I was supposed to meet them, but the matter at hand is much more important. I speed home to get everything prepared. 

* * *

I’d say Y/N knows me better than I know myself. We’re inseparable and that’s why I can’t hold back anymore. I can’t handle not being able to hold her and kiss her and just show the world how much I love this woman. 

Damon: I need you to come over. It’s an emergency…

Y/N: What? Why? What’s going on? Is everything okay? Are you okay?

That’s a big reason why I love her so much. Always making sure everyone is alright, doing everything in her power to fix things and make everything okay. 

Damon: No, questions. Just get here as soon as possible.

Y/N isn’t a vampire. She’s so purely human that it makes me love her more. But, that’s also why I’m so surprised by how fast she got here despite not being able to run at an inhumane speed like me. 

“Damon!” She screamed through the house. I didn’t answer back, just waiting for her to find me in the kitchen. “Hello?” She called out again. 

When she did finally reach the kitchen, skidding to a halt, she seemed out of breath, naturally, and panicked, as she did at the bar, but different. Her cheeks were flustered as her eyes widened and she made her way towards me quickly. 

“Damon, what’s going on? What’s the emergency?” She attempted to catch her breath as she looked around at the large kitchen island that was covered in the ingredients of her favorite dinner. She may know me better than I know myself, but I also know every little thing about her. 

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to get here as fast as possible. Great timing by the way. Dinner’s almost ready,” I said in my normal nonchalant tone, turning to the oven to take out the main course. When I turned around, however, Y/N did not look happy. Stunned, maybe, her eyes still wide in disbelief as she stared at me. I froze in my tracks, staring right back into her beautiful blue eyes. That’s when I noticed what she was wearing. She’d changed from what she had on at the bar. It looked like she had gone home to get comfy and relax in her black lace cropped tank top and matching pj shorts. I couldn’t help but glance down at the stretch of tummy she was showing off. I couldn’t get enough of it, I couldn’t hold back a small smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice. 

She had thrown on a jacket and boots (as it was Winter), and she didn’t waste a second getting here. A twinge of guilt ran through me, but the selfish part of me was just glad she was here and looking gorgeous in spite of the casual attire. 

“Damon Guiseppe Salvatore!” Y/N started as she made her way toward me, stopping as she leaned toward me against the island. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You think it’s okay to just tell me there’s an emergency when there isn’t? To tell me to get here as fast as possible without a single reason?” She finished, her eyes burning with anger. I could see another emotion in there, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. 

“I did have a reason. I want to cook you dinner, that’s what I’m doing, and I wanted you to get here ‘cause I cook fast.” I shrugged as if it was obvious, getting back to the last of the food. 

“Damon…” She sighed in exasperation. The guilt was getting stronger the more negative emotion she showed, although I tried to ignore it. “You can’t… you can’t just…” I looked up after hearing her hesitation to see her eyes getting red and tears building up before they spilled over all together. The anger washed away as something completely different took over. She held her hand up to her throat, leaning down against the counter, attempting to hold herself up. I dropped what I was holding, not caring what it was, and sped over to her, pulling her upright and holding her against me. Every wall I’ve ever built came crashing down, and it was all for her. I held her close as she cried into my chest.

“Baby, why are you crying?” The nickname just slipped out, and if she noticed, she didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would affect you like this.” She pulled away, something that looked almost like hurt evident in her eyes. 

“Damon, you know how I am,” Her voice didn’t sound as angry, but there was still a lot of emotion in her tone. “You tell me something’s wrong and I’m there within minutes. It doesn’t matter what it is. But you go and do this, especially after the week I’ve had. But, of course, you wouldn’t notice. No one ever does. No one ever notices the sadness, the depression, the anxiety. Why do I even try? Why-?” I couldn’t let her go on like this anymore. I leaned forward, taking her in my arms, and captured her lips with mine in the most passionate kiss, the one I’ve been waiting for since I first met her. 

I pulled away, holding her face in my hands, her hands latched onto my wrists. “I notice everything,” I begin, my tone firm as I stare intently into her eyes. “I notice every little thing about you because I love you!”

She gasped, her eyes that were frozen to mine widening in shock. “What?” She was barely able to let out a whisper of a word.

“How could you not see it? Every time we went out, I would notice your nervous ticks. I would notice how you tried to hide it with a smile so no one else would see. I would take your hands, calming you down. Every time you came here looking all sad and broken, I could see the tears and I would talk to you. Every time you had one too many drinks or you were just so tired that you couldn’t stand on your own two feet, I was there to help you and take care of you. And I do it all because I love you. I love you so much, Y/N, and I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. And I hate that I haven’t told you ‘til now, but I thought you’d be better off without me. I know you deserve better than me, but I’m too selfish to stay away. So, I’m taking you and I’m making you mine.” I stared into her ocean eyes, trying to gauge a reaction, an emotion, anything, but came up empty.

Until she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to mine and I welcomed them with all the emotion that I had built up for her. I bent down so she didn’t have to reach up anymore, her hand reaching up to curl around the back of my neck. I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her tight against me as she arched her back to mold her body with mine, and she fit perfectly.

“It’s about time.” I chuckled at her words, almost missing her lips. “Ya know, jealousy doesn’t suit you,” She giggled, her face just centimeters from mine. I groaned, leaning my forehead against her, my thumbs brushing over her bare waist.

“Oh, darling, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to punch every single guy that touched you, let alone those who even looked at you. You’re mine and if anyone else sets a finger on you, I-” She interrupted me by placing her finger against my lips, hers turning into a sly smile. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you, my love. You have nothing to worry about. I am yours and I love you.” She admitted sheepishly, her cheeks turning red. I’ve always loved making her blush, even when she didn’t notice it happening. “But I will get you back for what you did. You just wait,” She tried to be menacing as she fisted my shirt in her hand. I found it quite adorable. I just smiled mischievously, leaning down and picking her up in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I take her lips in mine once again. Oh, how I’ve longed for this magnificent woman. 

~~~~

Taglist:

@elenavampire21

[wrestlezaynia]

"TLC."

Summary: Kevin hasn't been feeling like himself lately and is in need of a little TLC from his guardian angel, Sami.

Warning: Must be 18+ to read under cut.

"Kevin, look at me." Sami coaxes softly, cradling Kevin's face between his hands. "Breathe. You're doing great, mon cher." He soothes.

Kevin can feel the anger slowly fade as he leans into Sami's touch, calming his nerves. "You're on my side, right Sami?" He asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You won't betray me like Cody did."

"I've got your back." Sami replies, not fully answering the question but providing moral support, something Kevin so desperately needs after pushing everyone away, leaving Sami to pick up the pieces.

Kevin's anger might've subsided, but he's stricken with a new emotion: Fear. Fear of losing his best friend, his soulmate, his- "Remember when I called you my guardian angel?" Kevin asks, his voice wavering. "That's what you are, Sami." He adds softly, eyes brimming with tears as he cups Sami's cheek. "I'm lost without you."

Sami smiles adoringly at Kevin and, very gently, places his hand atop his own. "I'm here, Kev." The redhead responds. A promise, a solemn vow that he would always be there for Kevin no matter what happens.

"But for how long?" Kevin inquires, searching Sami's face. "I need you, Sami." He softly whispers, fighting desperately to blink back the tears from escaping. "To guide me, protect me...love me." He breathes.

Kevin's words rang true, he did need him. He needed Sami now more than ever as he releases Kevin's hand to wipe away the tears that managed to break free. "I'll always love you, Kev," Sami whispers back just as softly, inching closer without realizing it. "I'll never stop."

Kevin's breath hitches as Sami leans close, his lips mere inches away, so soft and inviting luring him in. At long last, their lips connect and it's like a weight has been lifted. His worries a distant memory as he melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in Sami's flowing crimson locks.

Sami returns the kiss with fervor, passion coursing through his veins as he pulls Kevin's body flush against his own slender frame. Determined to wash or, in this case, kiss away Kevin's fears.

Temperatures rise when the kiss breaks, leaving both men gasping for air. Their chests rising and falling together, as if sharing the same breath. Soon they'd be sharing the same heartbeat as Kevin removes his shirt with haste, eyes full of lust. "Touch me, Sami." He murmurs.

Sami swallows hard as he watches Kevin take off his shirt, prompting him to follow suit. Knowing better than to keep Kevin waiting, Sami obeys, placing his palm on Kevin's chest. His heart beating fast as he ventures lower, skimming his fingertips over Kevin's body until he reaches his happy trail, stopping briefly to meet Kevin's gaze. "Touche moi." He pleads, desperation in his tone.

It's rare to hear Kevin beg, but when he does, it turns Sami on. There's an insatiable hunger growing inside Kevin only Sami's touch can satisfy as he fondles Kevin through his basketball shorts, earning a moan of approval from his partner. "Sami." Kevin gasps, his bare chest pressed firmly against Sami's. "Feels so good, mon amour."

Sami emits a moan of his own as he watches Kevin's face contort with pleasure, his cheeks flushed a rosy hue and his mouth slightly ajar, a truly breathtaking sight! A sight forever burned into Sami's memory as he proceeds to kiss Kevin's neck, soft and gentle at first then gradually becoming more rough, nipping and sucking his skin.

The silence of the room is shattered the instant Sami's lips brush against Kevin's neck, his moans echoing off of the paper thin walls. "Sami...Sami s’il vous plaît..." He whimpers, overcome with desire.

Sami smirks as he continues his descent, kissing every inch of Kevin, reveling in the explicit noises he's making his lover produce. Striving to provide Kevin with so much pleasure it'll help him forget his troubles. "Patience, mon cher." He soothes, taking Kevin's nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it sensually as another moan rings out, piercing the silence.

The word "patience" is not in Kevin Owens' dictionary. Kevin isn't a patient man, especially when it comes to Sami. He wants Sami so badly he can barely see straight, his vision clouded with lust. "Sami...please...you're driving me crazy." He whines, squeezing Sami's shoulder as he proceeds to pepper Kevin's stomach with kisses.

Sami grins at Kevin's phrasing. It's true, Sami did drive him crazy, in more ways than one. "Raise your hips for me, Kevvy Bear." He gently instructs, purposely skimming his fingers over Kevin's thighs to pull down his shorts. His breath hitching as Kevin's thick meaty cock is revealed to him. "I've forgotten how big you are." He breathes, noting the precum dripping from the tip as he slowly licks it off to tease him.

Typically Kevin would be annoyed by the pet name, but he's far too distracted by Sami's hot mouth to notice or care as his fingers become tangled in Sami's ginger curls. "Sami." Kevin gasps, arching his back into the mattress as Sami swirls his tongue around the head.

Sami hums, relaxing his throat as he takes more of Kevin's hard cock into his mouth, bobbing up and down Kevin's length at a steady pace.

"Sami...gonna cum..." Kevin warns, his voice low and husky as he cups the back of Sami's head, fucking his face until he reaches climax, spurting his warm seed down Sami's throat with a satisfied moan.

Sami swallows every last drop of Kevin's cum, licking him clean.

In a fit of passion, Kevin pulls Sami into a fiery kiss, massaging his tongue hungrily against Sami's to taste himself. "Take your pants off." He whispers against Sami's lips in a gentle yet commanding tone.

Sami adheres to Kevin's command, reaching between them to take off his pants. The sensation of their naked bodies touching sends shivers down his spine. Their eyes lock and Sami forgets how to breathe, the past twenty years forever engraved in Kevin's piercing blue orbs. It isn't until Kevin caresses Sami's cheek that he's shaken from his reverie. He smiles at him, warm and loving as he leans in.

Kevin watches Sami intently, his heart pounding so hard he knows Sami can feel it as their lips connect soft and sweet, their souls intertwined. Much like their storied rivalry things become heated when the kiss deepens, the taste of his cum still lingering on Sami's tongue as he spreads his legs for Sami to indicate his readiness.

Reading Kevin's body language, Sami grips his penis and inserts the tip into Kevin's tight hole, eliciting a moan of approval from Kevin as he wraps his arms around Sami's slender waist to bring him closer. Their bodies melding to become one as Sami starts to move at a slow and steady pace, allowing Kevin time to adjust.

Kevin gazes deeply into Sami's eyes, maintaining eye contact as he raises his hips in time with Sami's thrusts, finding a perfect rhythm. "Sami, tell me you love me." Kevin whispers, breathless.

Sami smiles at Kevin adoringly, placing his hand gently upon Kevin's cheek. "I love you, Kev." He confesses, meaning every word.

"En français." Kevin murmurs, his breathing becoming more ragged with each hard thrust, rocking his hips sensually against Sami's.

Sami isn't as fluent in French as Kevin, but he did teach him a few key words and phrases, "I love you" being one of them. "Je t’aime, Kev." He whispers, tears pricking his eyes as he picks up the pace, his grip around Kevin tightening. "Je t’aime tellement, chéri." He adds softly.

"Sami..." His name escaping as a whisper as a series of breathy moans and whimpers spill from Kevin's lips, savoring every last delicious sound as Sami finds his release, filling Kevin with his seed.

The two men cling to one another, bodies shaking and drenched in sweat. They stare at each other in silence, panting heavily as Kevin brushes Sami's damp curls out of his face, smiling up at him lovingly.

-The next morning-

"Don't go." Kevin protests, wrapping his arms around Sami from behind as he nuzzles the nape of Sami's neck, breathing in his scent.

Sami smiles, relaxing in Kevin's embrace and placing his arms atop Kevin's. His body heat warming Sami on impact after just having vacated the shower. "I have to Kev or I'll miss my flight." He counters.

"Cancel it and come to SmackDown with me." Kevin interjects, unable to bear being away from Sami for even a second. "I'll talk to Aldis and convince him to transfer you back." He adds, determined.

As tempting as the offer is, there are a lot more factors preventing Sami from returning to SmackDown. "What about Pearce?" Sami inquires, knowing he wouldn't be easily persuaded. "He has had a lot on his plate lately with the whole Seth and Bronson fiasco."

Desperate times call for desperate measures as Kevin lets the proposal slip: "Then we'll tell them we got married over the weekend."

"You want me to lie?" Sami asks, moving away from Kevin in order to look him in the eye. "I don't know Kev, I've never been very good at-"

"Who said anything about lying?" Kevin softly asks, meeting his gaze.

Sami's heart skips a beat, he never thought he'd hear Kevin mutter those words. "Kev?" Sami gasps, his name escaping as a whisper.

Kevin's heart is in his throat, never in his life has he been this nervous but seeing the look on Sami's face makes it all worth it as he gently takes Sami's hands into his own. "I think you and I are destined to be together forever." He confesses softly, watching Sami's eyes glisten with tears. "I know I'm not husband material but-"

In a fit of passion, Sami presses his lips to Kevin's. He kisses him long and deep, cradling Kevin's face tenderly in his hands as the tears begin to flow, streaming down his cheeks. "I will." He manages to choke out a reply, overcome with emotion. "Nothing would make me happier."

Tagging: @loki69zowens, @wrestlingdespairings, @unintentionaloracle, @who-do-you-want-to-be, @littleppl444.

@himbos-hotline, @expert-texpert, @wrestlingprincess80, @superkliqbaybays, @solo-uso.

@crxssjae, @jeysbvck, @surdelcielo, @thesamoanqueen and @fantasyismyonlyrealescape.

A/N: My apologies if you didn't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll remove you from future fics. Thank you for reading! 😊💖

[sunsblaze]

Cont. || @gilded-sunrays

The flow of time would stop for no one, not for the virtuous, not for kings, nor those touched my the divine, time was a cruel mistress, something many tried to cling to only to rear back with blistering palms as it is ripped violently from tender hands.

A truth they had both come to learn through similar tales of not only love and loss, but betrayal. They had both been born with this curse- blessing and yet with such a gift they had still been unable to protect what truly mattered to them, they had been too late every single time. The contents of the future evaded her. Evaded them.

Her own days had been spent much the same, each day passing was filled an ebbing restlessness as her life began to stall leaving little for her to do in these day of involuntary retirement, though it wasn’t always like this, there had been a time where her days had been filled with warmth, shrouded in domestic bliss as she stood hand in hand with her husband.

They had been expecting, she spent their final days together nesting, preparing for the birth of their first child- a daughter, though as the moons leading up to labor came to pass everything she held dear would be ripped from her grasp. As her husband prepared for the morning journey he had to make to fetch a midwife, something made its move, striking the small family down, all she remembered was waking the next day, her hand clutching tightly onto her husband’s and intense pains wracking through her body.

Alone, she would give birth to a child that was destined to not breathe a single breath.

The coming days were a blur, she would not move from her husband’s side, instead she would lay there, the infant laying against her chest until a man she would soon know as Rengoku came to her, he had been in search of the creature that had snuffed her the lives of her family, he would help her back to her feet, help her put her loved ones to rest. Shortly after she made a decision, a vow to never have another suffer as she had, she would become a slayer and fight the shadows away with the burning determination of the sun itself.

For a handful of years she had kept busy, pushing forward as she fought tirelessly, following a path she had never truly wished to step foot on, but it seemed fate had other plans, this- being a demon slayer, it had been her destiny, she had found her purpose in that time and yet she seemed to lose it all the same.

Her own failure to cut down the demon lord, her allowing a demon to escape, and the betrayal of her own twin, it ended her time as a pillar and almost costed her life, many believed she should have atoned by committing sepukku, though both the young master and the flame pillar would not allow it, she would be given the mercy of exile- though was losing everything yet again really a mercy?

Nonetheless, she would take each day one at a time, hunting demons that lurked nearby, visiting the few loved ones she had left as her determination, her passions flickered and faded from a blazing inferno to a flickering candlelight. She often found herself doing the bare minimum for her survival, she would eat, drink, bathe, and tend to the repairs of her home.

That was until things would change around her…literally.

The sound of the teapot shattering was deafening in the still night and it was only accentuated by the seconds of silence that followed, the sounds of the woman’s gentle breaths filling the space between them. Though it was a rare occurrence, she was a bit shaken, she had almost killed this man, if she had been just seconds slower then his head would been sent rolling across the wooden boards beneath them.

While she awaited his answer she would just stare down at the man, her eyes the same shade of maroon as his, both like deep glasses of red wine- a finely aged vintage. For a second she had a thought that he might be a demon or that this was some kind of mirage, but it would only take her one glance to tell that not only was this real, it that he was just as human as she. Not only that, but he was her mirror image other than his more masculine features, she felt as if she were staring into a pool and on the other side laid a world so similar, yet different.

It made one wonder just how different things were on the other side.

As the man’s lips parted to speak a name- one that was all too familiar the woman would blink- she wasn’t exactly sure what to think at the moment, other than the fact that this man was her? Or was she him? It was all a bit complicated.

“…As am I.”

Her response was soft, her voice just as hushed as his own, as if this exact moment was so delicate that one word spoked too loud would shatter the world around them into a million pieces. She would make the first move, her hand. Bracing against his chest as she pushed herself to her feet before stepping to the side, a slender, yet calloused hand outstretched to him.

“I apologize for the disturbance, please, allow me to take care of the mess I have caused.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

the moon and the vast sky, m | myj

pairing(s): yoonji (fem!myg) x reader mentions of poly relationship with yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: Min Yoonji loves a girl and she loves her tongue, too.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of f/f/m relationship; pan!f!reader x pan!Yoonji; fluff; wlw smut (fem reader; mentions of reader/JK having sex recently, f-receiving oral, fingering); non-idol!AU - Yoonji’s POV again, no dick here, just two women with pussies <3

--

“I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t need to.”

She was afraid of that. Afraid that was the answer. Her eyes followed as the line of her throat was revealed. She loved a ponytail. Loved it more when she saw the red-and-purple constellation of hickeys on smooth skin. A part of her wondered what it was like to be able to illicit that type of reaction from someone else. Envious of it, almost. The woman she loved had the kind of hold over Jeon Jungkook that others could only dream of.

Min Yoonji loved him, too.

Loved him like the moon loved the sun.

Slender hands decorated with a glittering red manicure curved around the inside of Yoonji’s thighs, pulling them apart. Heated breath sank as those piercing dark eyes rose, watching her reaction. Pink tongue sliding out between full lips baring a daring smile, and then the tension at her shoulders melted when that tongue pressed against her slick heat and painted upwards, sending a rush of forbidden pleasure stinging through her nerves.

Wicked and wanton, the other woman went down on her.

Yes, Yoonji loved Jungkook like how the moon loved the sun, and their girlfriend was the vast sky they vowed to stay trapped in.

Couldn’t breathe. Her hands found the edges of the pillows stacked behind her and her fingers twisted into them, desperately holding on to something as her lower half throbbed from the stimulations. Yoonji found she couldn’t stop staring at her. The lines of her body, feminine and serpentine. The perfect shape of her ass. Fuck. The way her eyes were closed, relaxed, her hair pulled back away from her face, and that face buried in between her legs. Those almond-shaped red nails spread over her thighs. Fingertips softly caressing her skin, contrasting the power of the persistent tongue sliding between her folds, dragging up, snaking inside her pussy, coiling back and rubbing against her pulsing clit. Hot breath overtaking everything. She could still see the shadows of love bites on her shoulders, the artwork of Jeon Jungkook.

She was so beautiful that Yoonji didn’t know what to do with herself.

It was wrong of her to enjoy it, but she did. Not the tongue, oh, no, she was ready and willing to relish in the blossoming bliss, ready to die at the talent of those lips slick with her juices pressing against her clit, doing only what gods knew down there. Yoonji no longer had the capacity to discern or comprehend between individual actions. The sucking combined with the flickering tongue was almost enough to send her over the edge. No, what was wrong of Yoonji to enjoy was not the act but what she knew must have transpired recently. She liked it. It was wrong to like it, but she did.

Yoonji liked knowing her girlfriend fucked their boyfriend and then came to please her.

She liked to know the same woman between her legs drove Jungkook insane less than a night before and then came to draw patterns over her nerves and burn ecstasy into her memory. There was wrongness in it and she felt guiltless about that, almost giddily so. The evidence of passion only made the image below more sensual. Only made the lust taste sweeter, more vibrant, more intense. A therapist would have a field day with all that, probably. Yoonji didn’t give a fuck.

Those predatory eyes opened.

Slivers of seduction.

Yoonji always thought the other woman was the most captivating presence she ever encountered. Maybe not willingly, but she did think that. Deep down. Two red-tipped fingers spread her upper lips apart with ease. Yoonji felt her breath catch in her throat. Her very blood seemed to be tingling. That minx tucked the tip of her tongue behind her lower teeth and lowered, pressing against her swollen clit, tipping her head back to stroke it with the center of that pink, wet muscle. Never breaking eye contact.

The electric sensation was amplified to impossible proportions by the directness of that stare.

Her lips closed in.

And Yoonji realized that she had only begun to feel real pleasure.

She had worried that she hadn’t known how to act. How to look. How to please. She still didn’t know, and now she couldn’t think either, dying the little death in the wake of a steady pace and a vacuum of euphoria. She could feel a hand slide up and down her thigh, but it was only another element into the web of strained tension building within. Yoonji gasped, clutching the pillows, trying to make sense of how to behave, but her back was arching, threatening, and then she felt a palm press down on her lower belly, long fingers fanning out and pinning her down.

Her breath was erratic, shallow, and Yoonji realized she was staring at the ceiling.

Her eyes shifted down.

The silver glitter of that red polish gleamed.

The other women’s eyes were closed. One hand on her thigh, the other on her stomach. The pace remained steady, sucking and licking, never leaving, building intensity in layers and pressure, closer, mind fuzzy, heat rising, pussy throbbing, muscles going rigid, there.

No time to gasp as Yoonji plunged into freefall.

Her orgasm seized her and twisted her insides, shooting scalding pleasure throughout her veins. She felt her legs threaten to close and they were forced open, the flat of that devious tongue surrounding her pulsing clit, and Yoonji shuddered, the harsh sensations expanding like hot air and then it collapsed, swallowing her inside the haze of desire, blinding, gasping, breaking the tension across her muscles into flinching, shivering limpness.

Suspended.

Soft lips to her quivering nerves.

Now Yoonji understood.

Men ate out women for the taste. To satisfy themselves. To satisfy their lovers. Women, too. Everyone in between. At best, for the connection. She panted, feeling her ribcage trembling from the aching bliss. Looked down. To lashes lifting. To dangerous dark orbs fresh off the high. To shining, plush lips with her taste clinging to flushed skin. The other woman cocked an eyebrow and dipped down, licking her trembling opening. Sliding her tongue inside, drinking the nectar, and Yoonji understood. She did it for the orgasm. For the pure experience of giving a mind-blowing high that no one else could match.

And she was fucking good at it.

At least the universe was still merciful in some ways, heh.

“What’s the matter?” Yoonji could feel each whisper on her slick skin. The little devil seemed smug, almost lazy with her licking. It made shivers dance up and down Yoonji’s spine. “Cat got your tongue?”

Her chest flushed.

A little late to be embarrassed about her own nakedness, but such was the delights of the human mind and post-cut clarity.

“Where…” Yoonji breathed in deeply to gain her bearings. “Where did you learn that?”

The other woman perched between her limp legs with too much poise and not enough shame. Probably didn’t even know the meaning of the word, Yoonji figured. “Here and there.”

She couldn’t help the frown. “So, you’re lying now. That’s not like you.”

An unassuming head tilt that could mean anything. “I’m not lying. I just don’t care to provide you with a hit list of pussy for you to pass your judgements about.” That stung. But she seemed unfazed by Yoonji’s instructive shrinking back, rising up to fill the space instead. Licking her lips. Ugh, her girlfriend looked so good naked that it was hard to stay focused. She tried not to let her eyes wander to those delectable breasts in the middle of their conversation. The sweet scent of sex mixed with their perfume. “Their names mean nothing to me.”

“That’s cold.”

“It’s true.” A flicker in those intense eyes. “Sorry to disappoint. They all got the worse versions of me, anyway.”

That attitude shouldn’t settle Yoonji, but it did. Perhaps that meant she was toxic. At the very least it meant she wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she was better than she was. Accepting her sexuality at a deeper level did mean she was becoming more selfish. Maybe she was childish, possessive lover deep down. She was done hiding her want in the wake of her desire, at least.

“Kiss me.”

A slow smirk touched those glossy lips tainted with her orgasm. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

Her hands raised to cup the other woman’s cheeks, drawing her closer as she descended, lips colliding, her own taste on her tongue and, yes, she was. Yes, she wanted. Yes, she knew that all her buttons were being pressed and yet she ran her hands over that soft skin, imprisoned by the fervor of their kiss. The world could tell her it was wrong, her upbringing could tell her it was wrong, her internalized self-hate could tell her at was wrong, but all that meant nothing when Yoonji felt those lips, that tongue, her touch commanding to leave the past behind for the present.

Right and wrong were the two sides of the same coin, after all.

Hungrily, Yoonji kissed down her neck, embellishing that smooth skin with her own marks beside Jungkook’s, addicted to the breathy sounds she could produce, to the way those agile hands cradled her head, to the way those elegant fingers curled into her hair, gasping, pressing her tongue against the soft curve above that beating heart. She could love a man. She did. But that was a known journey. Yoonji knew how to navigate that, at least generally. But this, oh, this was wandering without a map, tasked with the unknowing of what to do or how to do it, and yet the craving was so strong, so undeniable, so powerful that Yoonji refused to stop it, hovering her palm over the curve.

A hand enveloped hers and pressed it to another’s breast.

She was afraid.

But there was no time to be afraid.

Their hands moved together, across skin, from body to body, tracing lines and drawing invisible patterns, sharing the barely-there air. From warm to blazing hot. Lips to lips again, and their fingers interlocked across their chests while their dominant hands hovered below.

“I don’t know… How to…”

Those piercing dark eyes swallowed her up.

“You don’t need to.”

She followed. Mirrored. Cupping the drenched heat with her palm and containing it, breathing in the exhale given, their lips brushing against each other. Foreheads together. Yoonji was afraid and so she closed her eyes. It didn’t matter. She felt the hand move upwards, bringing two fingers together, sliding up and down. Ghosting her clit. She did the same, biting her lip, amazed by the softness. The wetness. The heavy scent musky sweet, blending with her own. She slid a finger inside, just wanting to feel it be closed in on, burrowing in the tight, slippery warmth, shivering at the wonderfulness of it.

“I can’t be doing that, lovergirl,” her lover playfully warned, skimming the tips of her almond manicure over Yoonji’s pussy lips. It made her skin sing with delight.

She gasped, thrusting in lightly, melting. “I… I know…” She couldn’t open her eyes. Could barely speak above a whisper. “I just… I just wanted to touch you…” So warm. So soft. So powerful.

“Well, then.” Plush lips brushed against the side of her open mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Yoonji felt a fingertip press to her clit and she jolted. Tipped her hips to the touch, searching for more pressure.

“Want a toy?”

“No, just you,” Yoonji murmured. “Just you.”

She moaned as she felt that tongue against her cheek, licking gently as the pressure deepened into slow, rhythmic strokes. Dancing kisses. She pulled her finger out to match the action, her heart skipping a beat as the other woman hummed in satisfaction, caressing Yoonji’s hair at the same time. Faster, rougher, using another finger to anchor the first and moving her entire arm rather than only her wrist. There was science to that, Yoonji was sure, but she was in too deep to deduce anything, her eyelids fluttering as the concentrated motion built the anticipation. She felt the grip on her head tighten. Lips pressing to her temple, breathing out her name, intoxicated, and Yoonji felt her lips form her name more than she heard her own voice, the pulse of roaring blood too loud, losing herself to madness.

“Don’t stop.”

She obeyed, keeping pace, her forearm burning, her mind muddled, but she fixated on the husky command, don’t stop, her own orgasm threatening, coiled, ready to strike, and Yoonji fought against the high, rubbing that concentrated bundle of nerves with every measure of control she could muster, breathless, turning her head or was forced to by another.

Yoonji opened her eyes, just barely.

Her girlfriend panted; pupils dilated with desire.

Their lips connected and they moaned into each other’s mouths, spilling over the exhilarating edge at the same time. It was not like the previous climax, but more like a satisfying descent into flinching, seeping pleasure, spreading over their bodies and crumpling into each other, into a deep kiss with palms cupping pulsating heat, containing the blissful beat from one beating heart to another. Her orgasm smelled wonderful.

She hoped Jungkook could smell her on her later, but that was asking too much.

A hand with glittering red nails raised, waving Yoonji’s juices in her face.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, licking her traces off the other woman’s hand, sliding her tongue in between those talented fingers before lifting her own to lick off. Fuck, she tasted as good as she smelled. The two fingers she used went straight into her mouth. Sucking on them. Her girlfriend raised an eyebrow back. Yoonji did not share. She shot her a pointed stare and dared interference.

“Who made you glow like that?” her vixen teased.

“Your tongue,” Yoonji countered, ticking her head.

A smirk. “And my hands.”

And everything else.

“You don’t think about anyone else?” Yoonji wondered out loud, staring into those piercing dark eyes.

An unamused smirk. “That would be rude of me, wouldn’t it?” She chuckled. “Besides, I don’t see a reason to think about other people. Life took me out of theirs for better.”

That was how Yoonji viewed her own previous relationships too, but she couldn’t be sure it applied to everyone. A flutter in her chest. “Better?”

She felt a finger trace her cheek.

Her girlfriend smiled.

“Mhm. Better.”

It took everything in her for Yoonji to not explode from happiness. That would be very uncool of her. “O-Oh.” Excellent. Great cover-up, she thought to herself sarcastically.

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

“I’m not.” That was a lie. But some lies Yoonji preferred. “I was just curious.”

“Hm.” Her girlfriend mused, leaning over her. “Curious little kitty, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like pet names.”

“It’s an observation.” A red nail traced down her cleavage. Yoonji shivered, involuntarily. “Sorry about that in the middle, then. I won’t call you that again.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Lovergirl.”

She felt her cheeks heat. “That… That one’s fine.” She hadn’t even realized it. “That’s not a pet name, anyway,” Yoonji mumbled under her breath. “You made it up.”

Those dark eyes glittered. “Pet names are all made up.”

“Yeah, but that one’s mine,” Yoonji snapped.

She felt a finger on her chin and reluctantly let herself to be led, falling into another kiss. Felt a little better after that. Didn’t say it though. She felt fingers run through her hair. That one’s mine. A half-truth. She knew she shared it with their Loverboy, and that made it all the more imperative to keep.

“I don’t say it out of malice,” that silken voice murmured. “We don’t have to preserve what doesn’t serve us.”

“Don’t backtrack,” Yoonji maintained stubbornly, pressing against the other woman’s curves. “We are past games.”

Gentle lips pressed against her temple. “Yes, we are.”

They pulled the duvet up over their naked bodies. Legs entangled. Yoonji missed Jungkook but she couldn’t deny the loveliness of her embrace. A feline possessiveness. They curled around each other, Yoonji nestled in her shadow. She used to think she would have to get used to sharing a bed with another. Then again, everything she used to think was thrown out the window once she encountered Jungkook’s lady friend, somehow getting swept up into shining as her true self, against her better judgement.

Somehow.

Definitely not because she couldn’t stop herself in the presence of temptation.

“Can I have one of the pillows?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

A light kiss on her cheekbone. “Not good for your neck either. You should be more mindful of your health, lovergirl.”

“Shut up.”

--

min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

[westanthewaterman]

Feel You - Dark x GN!DA!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Reunited after a century apart, Dark and the District Attorney spend some quality time together. Or more simply put, love sick Dark -> feral Dark.

Contents: handjobs, penetrative sex, no pronouns or body parts used for reader, standard Dark pet names (dear heart, pet, etc.), mild voice kink, blink and you miss it references to Dark's mind powers

AN: Idk where this came from, but it was fun to write. I'll post to AO3 and add all my usual links later, I should've been in bed an hour ago. If you're still here despite my hiatus, I appreciate you.

This fic is a sequel to 'Tomorrow, Tonight' but can be read as a standalone.

Fic Masterlist - Find it on AO3

         Dark hikes your leg up onto his hip. He relishes in the softness of your skin beneath his fingers, a concrete reminder that you’re here, that you’re together again after everything.

         The new position allows him more space to roll his hips, grinding down against the heat between your legs. You shudder beneath him. He repeats the motion once, twice, and you throw your head back against the pillows.  His hungry, grey eyes follow the column of your throat upwards until they land on your mouth. Your lips part around a whimper and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against them.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you sing for me, dear heart.”

“Damien,” You whine before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think it’s a little late to hide from me now.” He chuckles. “What’s gotten you so shy, darling?”

“You never talked this much before.”

         Dark tenses, a familiar, far-away look in his eyes, one he always gets when the two of you discuss the past. You cup the side of his face, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. He blinks. A melancholy smile settles on his face. You pull his head down so that you can press your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. There are bad memories, yes, but also good ones. In fact, I can recall quite a few memories of us just as we are now, bare in each other’s arms, locked in the throes of passion.”

There’s a wry smile on his face, one that reminds you of evenings spent tucked away between bookshelves, sneaking out of dormitories at the crack of dawn, a rendezvous in the storage closet of a crowded chapel. Your heart aches for all the two of you have lost and can never get back. But despite everything you had been through, the two of you were together again.

Dark presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how your mind races. I think about it too, even now. Almost a century without you and I never stopped feeling your absence. I ached to hold you in my arms, to have you beneath me, to feel you tight as a vice as you come apart around me.”

A thought creeps into your mind and turns your stomach to lead. He had been by himself for so long, sure you were gone forever. You couldn’t blame him or be angry, but still the thought makes you sick.

“Was,” you pause a moment, steeling yourself for his answer. “Was there ever anyone else? In your heart, or your bed?”

He looks at you as if your words have burned him. When he speaks, his voice is firm, unwavering.

“No. My dear heart, there could never be another. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, in love and in death. There could only ever be you.”

“Oh.” You blush.

The intensity of his answer makes you feel foolish for even suggesting such a thing. You drop your gaze, absently picking at the sheets beneath you. It’s Dark’s turn to take your face in his hand and bring your gaze back to him.

“I loved you deeply, but I know my actions did not always convey that. At times, I allowed my responsibilities and ambitions to blind me to how I was neglecting you. You deserved a better man than I knew how to be back then, and I have spent a century regretting it. But now, despite terrible circumstances and the battles still to be fought, we have a second chance, and I intend to use it to do right by you.”

“Damien, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything, dear heart. I know you feel as strongly as I do; I feel it through our bond, and soon I’ll feel it here as well.”

Dark presses a finger against your entrance, pressing it into you slowly. You cry out, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you

“You said earlier that I never used to talk very much when we were intimate, and you were right.” His voice drips with venom as he continues. “The prim and proper mayor, so worried about civility and manners. Too obsessed with his image and what was ‘acceptable’ to truly speak his mind.”

You want to argue, to defend Dark’s former self against his own harsh criticism, instead a moan rips its way out of your throat when two more fingers fill you. Dark’s grin is wicked. He ducks down to press his lips to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a quick tug. You clench around his fingers, earning an amused chuckle.

“I have no such worries. My only concern is pleasing you and, by the way your body responds for me, I can tell I’m doing just that. This little hole of yours is so hot and tight around my fingers, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

A shudder wracks your body and you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh,” Dark purrs. “Now what got that reaction? You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“But what is it that has you so responsive? Is it my voice in your ear? The things that I’m saying to you? Or maybe none of that matters. Perhaps I could say anything, and you would respond just as wantonly, so long as I have you filled with my fingers or my cock.”

“All of it, it’s all of it. Damien, fuck.”

“Dear heart, such foul language. Have I already wrecked you so thoroughly?”

You scowl at him but you both know there’s no mirth behind it. “Fuck you.”

         There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as Dark grabs a handful of your hair, pulling just enough to force your head back and bare your throat to him. Sharp canines scratch playfully against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You should be careful what you ask for, my love. I am a changed man with a century of pent-up sexual frustration. I could take you over and over and over again, never tiring until I have given you every drop of my spend and the only word you know is my name.”

Dark sets a languid pace thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“You want it now, just as much as you did back then, isn’t that right? You wanted the serious, respectable mayor to break. You craved to be taken passionately, for him to make love to you like a man starved.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod frantically, bucking your hips against his hand.

“I have hungered for you for so long, dear heart; I feel almost ravenous with it.”

Dark removes his fingers from you and fists his leaking cock, stroking himself slowly. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion and the way his stomach muscles tense and flex with every stroke of his hand. Your eyes follow a drop of his arousal as it drips down the underside of his cock. You lick your lips. Knocking his hand out of the way, you take him in your own, his length hot and heavy in your palm.

         He groans appreciatively as you stroke him from base to tip, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. You guide his hand to rest over your heart.

 “You’ve spent all this time talking about what I want and how you can please me. What do you want?”

“I want to make up for lost time. I want to give you everything I could not before.”

“But that’s still about me. Damien, what do you want?

He falters. “I…I just want you. I want to feel you. I want to know that you are real, and not just some illusion he made to torment me.”

“I want to feel you too.” You guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “I’m here, my love. I’m real. This is real.”

Dark presses into you in one long, slow thrust that has him buried to the hilt. Both of you moan at the sensation. You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him forward, forcing his cock deeper inside.

“Fuck, my love, I never thought I would feel you like this again.”

You smirk. “Such foul language, Damien. Now who’s wrecked who?”

Instead of a response, Dark grabs your face and presses your lips together in a passionate kiss. So much is shared between you in this single moment of contact, decades of sorrow and grief, an emptiness immeasurable by time. But there is also hope and joy, lust and elation. Most importantly, there is love; a love that has weathered the test of time and survived even the most unthinkable circumstances.

The two of you pull apart, both crying and holding each other like your lives depend on it.

“I love you, dear heart. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, Damien. Thank you for finding me.”

Dark speeds up the pace of his thrusts, breathing heavily in your ear.

“I am afraid it has been too long, my love. I have spent a century waiting to feel you like this again and now I find myself unable to hold back my release.”

“I’m close too. You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum with me now. Let me feel you.”

         He grabs your thighs and presses them back so that he can rut into you, ruthlessly. You cry out at the way the new angle causes the head of his cock to brush against a sweet spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Your orgasm washes over you and you finish with a cry of his name. The tight heat of you bares down around him and the dam holding back Dark’s climax breaks. Waves of pleasure crash over him as he stills inside you, filling you with his release.

         The two of you lay together in silence, collecting your bearings. You think you might fall asleep until Dark gives a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you.

“How-”

He gives you a wicked grin and presses his lips to your ear.

“I told you I was a changed man, dear heart, and we have quite a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 24

Ch. 24 | Ao3

Thanks as always to @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 for being the best beta readers and loves of my life!

[TW for violence, blood]

All morning, Feyre had known the day of her task was upon them. 

She wasn’t sure how, something in the air or her bones, maybe. Some sort of knowing that this might be her last day alive. Of course, every day here had brought some semblance of that since she’d arrived, but today, it felt palpable– something she could nearly reach out and touch. Her mortality was oozing through her veins, pushing slowly against the magic within her as though every piece of her was restless and fighting amongst themselves.

Rhys seemed to know it, too. He’d awoken with his hands in her hair, then dipped wordlessly beneath the covers to languidly taste her again. He took his time with her, as though he was savoring every single minute. Feyre was all sighs and gentle scraping of her nails down his scalp and spine, and Rhys dragged her pleasure out as long as possible, as though it might be the last time he would. 

It could be. 

She wound her fingers through his hair, both to ride out the sensations and also to touch him, to run her hands along his neck, his ears, memorizing every detail of what he felt like. If she were to die, she would remember these things as she went. The feel of him this close, the gentle, tender touches that he placed reverently on her skin, even as he pushed their passion to the forefront. 

Without words, she returned his actions, intentionally and slowly, hanging onto every moment. She relished the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and lips. She memorized the feel of his body beneath hers, the quiet sounds he made as he let himself go to the ways she made him feel. She would hold on to these memories and all their others until she was ash in the wind. 

After, they lay together, their bodies sated but their hearts still wanting and waiting and pulsing in time with each other. She could feel his heart beating with hers, not from where she lay her head on his chest, but within her own. Every beat echoed against his, sounding back and forth like the passing of life between them. They thrummed like a rhythm, beat like a song. Maybe even when she was gone, his heart might still beat for them both. 

It’s tonight. 

He knew. He put his fingers beneath her chin and gently pressed her face upwards to kiss him deep and slow. He kissed her like they had all the time in the world, like it wasn’t ticking down around them. 

They’d said the words time and time again. Promises had been made, hearts sworn, and there was nothing left to do now but hold each other close, hoping that with enough pressure they might permanently fuse, their bodies refusing to let go with the same adamance as their hearts. He had asked once since their first day under the mountain about the bargain, but all Feyre could do was shake her head, her eyes burning with tears. She hadn’t figured out what had gone wrong, and she had accepted she probably never would. The magic was still binding her from speaking, so instead she spoke the words I love you over and over so that, even after she was gone, he’d never forget the sound. 

They had made their vows, even without a priestess, without a ceremony, but those promises meant everything. 

Unbreakable vows, both spoken and soundless.

The words echoed in Feyre’s mind. The answer to the riddle hadn’t been love, and neither had her bargain, in the end. But the words still rang true for Feyre. Perhaps marriage or promises or friendships or family might work, but Feyre wasn’t willing to hang the freedom of everyone under the mountain on her guessing at a riddle. Like Calla, it would be her last ditch effort if all else failed. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.

Their time was destined to come to an end, and Rhys was summoned out by the guards to attend early with the other High Lords. They were to be the only attendees at dinner tonight, some sort of sick celebration before the final task that Amarantha wasn’t even trying to hide. Feyre was sure that was intentional, a bit of gloating, a bit of torture for Feyre as she waited, knowing what was to come. 

Rhys had kissed her again, pouring every bit of emotion into it, his hands on her face like he never wanted to let go. She’d pushed every thought and feeling down that bridge between them, solid and unfailing as ever, and she felt it when he sighed into her mouth. 

“I love you. I just want to say it out loud one more time.” Feyre wanted to look into his eyes and hear the words around them. 

“No goodbyes.” He kissed her again, the galaxies of his pretty eyes lined with silver. “No goodbyes, Feyre. You can do this, and I will see you after.” She nodded, the tears gathering, their fingers touching until the last possible moment when they had to drop hands. Once he’d gone, she whispered her goodbyes into the empty air instead. 

He’d made sure to leave her dinner, but her stomach roiled at the thought of food. She paced, she stretched, she meditated– anything to prepare her mind and body for the onslaught to come. Would it be physical? Another monster to chase her into the jaws of death? Or would it be logical? A puzzle she could struggle with, this time with no one left to help. 

She breathed deeply, remembering Rhys’s mindset on it all. What was coming was coming regardless of how she worried or paced. She bathed and picked at the food and tea, stuffing down a few bites. She wouldn’t be dressed in court attire tonight, and Rhys had left out a simple but soft tunic and pants for her, a leather tie to pull back her hair the way she liked. Her heart already ached with the absence of him, but she let it fuel her. Amarantha had done unspeakable things to him, the love of her life, and she planned to continue doing so long after Feyre was dead and buried in the ground. It gave Feyre incentive to fight, to watch Amarantha die in the cruelest ways imaginable. She wanted Amarantha’s blood warm and blooming across her skin as she pulled out her still-beating, black heart. She wanted to watch as the light left her horrid eyes. Feyre wanted to dance in a pool of her blood. Feyre would fight until her very last breath if it meant Rhys would never be touched by that horror again. The thought of it alone made her want to rip the wagging tongue from Amarantha’s throat herself.

When the knock came at last, she took a deep breath before answering, steeling herself. She would not make herself look afraid today. Today, she would be brave, and she would fight. 

The guards led her down the familiar path to court, one she could walk in her dreams now. At least, her nightmares. The magic of the room rippled over her as she entered, the coppery smell of it already in her nose. What magic was being used here so strongly she could already sense it? 

She reached out to Rhys, but felt him distant, closed off to her and barely recognizable. The panic leapt into her throat.

Of course. Amarantha had already cloaked her in the spell. The feeling of magic as she’d entered had been the barrier. Feyre’s heart sank. It wasn’t the help she worried about as much as his silence. It was the inability to say goodbye if things went wrong. She still had so much to say to him. 

She should have insisted she say the words. Should have left him a note in case it all went wrong. Should have, should have…

She lifted her chin. She would say them when she won. 

The crowds parted as she entered, flanked on each side by a guard as she made her way through the crowded room to the dais. It was silent as a tomb, none of the revelry she was so used to here in this macabre, beautiful prison. The fae did not speak, and money did not exchange hands. But as she passed, some kissed their fingers and held their hands out to her. A farewell to the dead, a good wish for the martyr. Their fates rested on her shoulders, too– their last chance at freedom. There was hope in their eyes; there was reverence. She wasn’t sure, after what she’d done, that she deserved it. But she intended to do her best to fight for them anyway, for all of them. She kept her shoulders squared and her head high as she neared the throne, Amarantha poised above them all with nothing but malice and intrigue in her eyes. 

Feyre wanted to kill her. 

Her hands twitched at her sides as she stopped in front of the dais. Tamlin sat by Amarantha’s side once again, back to looking like she was nothing at all to him. It didn’t hurt her anymore, but it did confuse her. He’d openly sat forward at the task with Calla; he’d shown interest. Everyone with eyes could have seen him. What could possibly have changed? She looked away from his expression to find Lucien or Rhys in the crowd, but the angle of those surrounding her made it impossible to see. 

“Hello, Feyre.” Feyre hated her name on Amarantha’s tongue– hated that Calla had given it to her so freely. The humans had warnings about the fae learning your name, and hearing hers tumble from Amarantha’s blood stained lips, she could understand why. Feyre fought the urge to curl her lip, keeping her face neutral but making a point to meet Amarantha’s eyes. “It’s time for your last task. I do hope you’re as excited as I am.”

Feyre didn’t speak, just kept her eyes trained on Amarantha. She rose to the challenge, the disrespect in the gaze raising her hackles, though she fought to remain calm. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out sweet Calla’s riddle, have you?” She pretended to pout, then smiled. “Unfortunate. It was such a lovely answer.” 

She thought about Rhys, then, about all the lives that hung in the balance. She was ready, as ready as she could be.

“Any last words, my dear?” 

Feyre had plenty, but she chose them carefully. 

“I am not here out of obligation. I am here for love. You speak of our sordid, fickle human hearts, but you don’t know anything about the depths of my love. I may die here today, but if I die, I went knowing I did it all for those I care about. I don’t know that you’ve ever been able to say the same for yourself.” Feyre was taking a risk, a calculated taunt, but she needed the words to be in the ears of the people. She needed the final entreaty to ensure they were more likely to take her side if push came to shove. She felt her own anger, the residual exhaustion and hate and grief, all bubbling within her. Damn the consequences now. 

Amarantha snarled at her words, drawing back in the seat but leaving her scarlet claws digging into the armrests. “We’ll see.” The words were spit with narrowed eyes, but the smile that curved across her face was grotesque in its grandeur. Feyre worried that smile meant Amarantha had one last trick up her sleeve, and she braced herself for it. 

She still hadn’t seen Lucien or Rhys, but she could feel their presence there, she knew they were watching. Everyone’s eyes were on her as the great doors to the room opened again and the guards dragged in three figures, bound at the ankles and faces covered in burlap. From their statures, it seemed to be two females and a male, though the clothes were so baggy and ragged that it was hard to tell. They moved their heads around as though trying to place where they were without sight, their moves jerky and frantic beneath their hoods. One stumbled, and the guard ripped them back up roughly as they yelped behind what sounded like a gag. Feyre’s chest ached. Would this be another fight to the death? She wasn’t sure she had it in her to kill anyone else, despite what was on the line, unless it was Amarantha herself.

The guards dropped the figures at the foot of the dais, the prisoners' knees hitting the marble painfully hard. Feyre could tell the one in the middle was sobbing, their shoulders shaking violently as they kneeled, covered head bowed as though in defeat. 

What was this?

In another moment, a lacquered, shining wooden box was thrust into Feyre’s hands by a guard standing by. 

“Oh, do open it, dear. I love gifts,” Amarantha cooed from her throne. Nausea was rising in Feyre’s throat, the confusion over what was happening forming a dense stone in her stomach. Where was Rhys? She pushed out with her mind again, finding his presence there but still distant and unreachable. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the latch, the box light in her hands and yet feeling like the weight of the world. As she opened it, she understood why. 

In the box sat two sharp daggers, one glinting in the golden lights of the room, and the other shining dully with an expert wood polish. 

One iron, one ash. 

One for humans, one for fae. Her eyes shot back to the figures on the floor, her breathing accelerating in her chest. 

Amarantha drawled as though she were reading a to do list, and not doling out a final judgment. “Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart. They’ve done nothing wrong, of course. But that’s a judgment for you to mete out.” Her smile was filled with violent joy as she spoke the words. “Will your tender human heart kill three for the lives of many? You certainly didn’t seem to have a problem killing your own friend. So weigh them, Feyre– their lives, your options.” She sat forward in her throne, eyes glittering. “You can, of course, always spare them. It’ll cost you your life, unfortunately, but a bargain’s a bargain.” She whispered the last bit with such vitriol that Feyre felt it cut as acutely as if she’d used knives. Her heart was pounding from her chest, her temples beading sweat as she realized what Amarantha intended. 

Two humans and a fae, dead at her own hands for everyone’s freedom. For her freedom. The math was obvious, the answer obvious, but there would be no winning here. 

Three innocents for a future. Not just for her, but for Rhys and Lucien and Tamlin and Helion and Lucien’s mother and everyone here.

A future.  

But Calla’s face swam in her mind, the betrayal in her hollow eyes as Feyre’s knife bobbed in her throat. Could Feyre do it again? Could she do it three more times? Could she hold all four souls on her conscience forever? 

Could she hold the souls of everyone else she’d be forsaking if she didn’t?

She supposed she would be dead, at least. But everyone else would still be suffering here. 

She wanted to cry. Was it worth it? The balance?

Would she ever forgive herself?

She stepped forward, grabbing the daggers in her hands and dropping the box. 

She would do this for them. For everyone. And she would suffer the consequences later, but there could be no later if she did not make this sacrifice. Her guilt would be her price to pay, her penance, but everyone would be free. 

Three lives and her soul in exchange for the lives of thousands. She raised the dagger. 

“Wait!” The trill of Amarantha’s voice darted out over the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait.” Everyone seemed to let loose a collective breath. “We must remove the hood first, of course. Guards?” Feyre thought, then, she might actually be sick. She would have to look these people in the eyes as she killed them.

They had lives, families, too. They might have a loved one, a husband or wife, a mate, a father, a mother, sisters, brothers. She imagined the lives flashing before their eyes as the guard moved to lift the hood. Who was she to make this call? Who was she to decide their fate?

Do it, Feyre. Just do it. For Rhys. 

She nodded her resolve and blinked away the tears as best she could while the guard stepped forward, ripping the hood off in one motion and tearing a hole straight through Feyre in the process. 

There, on the floor in front of her, knelt Nesta, her steely eyes filled with horror and rage and fear. 

Feyre did vomit then, the reaction entirely out of her control and she turned and spit bile onto the floor. Her vision was swimming, the roaring in her ears almost canceling all other noise entirely. 

“No,” she whispered as she turned back, taking in Nesta’s messy blonde braid, her tear-streaked face. She had a gag in her mouth that she’d soaked through, and her teeth clamped over it like a frightened animal fighting for their life. “Nesta…” Feyre moaned quietly, the word rocking through her and tearing her to shreds. 

“Oh? Someone you know?” Amarantha’s voice was filled with pep and joy, and as Feyre turned with narrowed eyes, she did snarl. “Ooh, excellent. What a small world!” Her voice dripped in sarcasm, and Feyre ached to sink her own teeth into Amarantha’s neck. 

The panic was overwhelming her, cutting even through the rage to sit on her chest like a weight. She couldn’t kill her sister, no matter the odds. If she could only talk to Rhys, if she could–

But something about Nesta caught her eye. The likeness was remarkable, down to the stubborn hate in her expression that Nesta got when she dug her feet in about something. Feyre knew that look, had grown up with that look. She could see that look in her sleep, could replicate it on canvas if she tried. It was so entirely Nesta. 

And yet, this was not. 

The edges of her crinkled, the air around her glowing strangely in Feyre’s periphery. She searched frantically, her eyes scouring every part of Nesta as she pulled from within. 

And the glamour peeled back. 

Feyre could see the guard beneath the glamour, the ones with the red skin and sunken eyes that had watched the dungeons. The guards like the one that Rhys had misted in the very room for daring to call her a whore. They were Amarantha’s personal guard, and they had been glamoured to look like her sister. It seemed the magic block did not apply to Amarantha.

“Come now, Feyre. Make your choice,” Amarantha called over her head. 

But Feyre had no choice to make. 

Feyre shoved the knife into the guard’s chest, twisting it slightly at the last minute as she remembered their treatment of Calla. Taking innocent lives would destroy what was left of Feyre’s soul, but no part of these individuals remained innocent, and she had no qualms about sending a knife through their hearts and watching them bleed. When she turned, even Amarantha couldn’t hide the shock on her face as she took in Feyre’s arms soaked and dripping in blood. She prayed she had gotten it right.

Feyre knew that when Amarantha recovered, she would use this against her, another trick to prove humans were incapable of love. She would highlight for them how Feyre would so easily stab her own sister for her personal gain, and it would prove Amarantha’s point. But the crowd didn’t look horrified, they looked hopeful. 

Feyre was already moving on to the next figure. She knew who would be beneath the bag before it was ripped off of the golden curls. She forced herself to react, to gasp and squeeze out a few tears as she beheld the sobbing figure of Elain, and the guard beneath. Feyre turned and pretended to retch again, letting her back arch and the sobs bread through while the crowd watched on. If Amarantha could use this to her advantage, then Feyre could too. 

Look how the human would put the fae before her own family. Look what she is willing to sacrifice for the good of many. 

She could only hope they would forgive her once the truth came out. She looked back to the figment of Elain. They’d captured the big, brown doe eyes so perfectly, the freckles across her nose that her long eyelashes swept against when she blinked nearly identical. Feyre was sure that if she spoke, the voice would send shivers down her spine at the likeness. Feyre noted the same uncanny mannerisms as the Elain sobbed, the smell of honey and cinnamon even permeating the air. The quality of the glamour was unreal, and even though she knew it wasn’t really Elain, Feyre’s hands shook while she shoved the iron through her sister's chest, watching the blood burble down her sternum and stain the fabric of her dress as she fell. 

She felt no remorse about the guards, but felt ill as she took in what looked remarkably like the lifeless bodies of her sisters on the floor. 

Then the reality of it hit her. 

The likeness was remarkable because Amarantha knew what her sisters looked like. She conjured the likeness of them, because she could conjure the likeness of them. The understanding was a punch to her lungs. These were not her sisters, but Amarantha had eyes on them. She knew what they looked like. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

She was chanting the word like a mantra, a command. Her throat closed as she swallowed the tears and panic. She wanted Rhys— needed Rhys to tell her what this meant, what to do. 

“See how easily she kills the ones she loves? See the fickle, flippant human heart?” But Feyre was fighting the rising vomit again. Where were her sisters now? 

Think this through, Feyre. Take a breath. 

Calm. Calm. Calm. 

She tried to summon Rhys’s voice in her head, tried to imagine how he would reason with her if he was here. She sighed, focusing, as though his low baritone might swim around her consciousness at any moment. 

Rhys would tell her that if Amarantha had her sisters, they would be here. If she’d had full access, her sisters would be the ones dead on the floor, not just their image. Feyre fought for breath, the air gasping in and out of her as she placed her hands on her knees. Rhys would remind her that Amarantha was true evil, and that if she’d had the ability to get her sisters in her clutches, she would delight in nothing more than watching Feyre be forced to decide whether or not to kill them.

These were not her sisters, and they easily could be. For now, they were safe. 

Thanks, Rhys, she spoke in her head to no one. She felt him there even when he wasn’t, that presence of him living within her through all reason, through all obstacles and sense.

She stood and stepped to the last figure. Would this be her father? There had been a knife meant for a fae, but who else would they bother to glamour that she cared enough about? Lucien would die with her anyway, and Tamlin sat on the dais. 

The thought flitted across her mind like the dragging of a knife. 

Rhys.

She had felt him earlier. Far away and distant, but he hadn’t seemed distressed. The magic was blocked, but the smallest hints of it had crept through. 

It couldn’t be him. The guard ripped the hood off just in time, considering Feyre was about to do it herself. 

The blonde hair tumbled out of it as emerald eyes met hers through a gilded mask. His expression was wild as he fought against the gag in his mouth. Feyre had been expecting tendrils of inky black night, pleading yet forgiving violet eyes. She gasped when her mind caught up, the shock of it causing her to stumble back.

Feyre searched to tear the glamour away. And found nothing. 

There was no glamour. 

Before her, kneeling on the ground, was Tamlin. 

She whirled to look at Amarantha and the chair beside her. Where Tamlin had been, now sat the attor, grinning ear to ear, his rotted fangs on display while Amarantha smiled and tipped her head at Feyre.

She turned back. It was truly Tamlin in front of her. There were no glamours here, only Tamlin on his knees, his life about to end at the tip of her ash dagger. He breathed deeply in, then exhaled, his eyes begging her, pleading. Not for her to not do it, but for her to end it quickly. 

At all costs. 

His words from the night before rang through her mind, rattling and catching. It had been a goodbye. He had known yesterday. He’d known and been bound, Amarantha’s last special form of torture. Had she known they’d met and spoken? Had she set him up to make it hurt one final time?

He’d all but given her permission to kill him. Permission and forgiveness. 

The sob left her before she could strangle it back, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock. She felt something hot dripping onto her arm, and realized they were tears. She was crying. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “Gods, Tamlin. I’m sorry.” 

He closed his eyes, as though each word battered him. 

At all costs, he had said. But the price was too high. She nearly begged him to give her something else, anything else, but in his eyes all she found was desperation and forgiveness. 

Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring about falling in love.

He had said that before when they spoke. He’d said it again, too, as he left. 

Feyre wracked her memory as she beheld him in front of her, ready to have the knife shoved into his chest. Expecting it. Accepting it. 

She remembered the porch nights, the setting sun and the sounds of Spring around them. Remembered their laughter and their jokes, their banter and their jibes. She remembered what it felt like as she eased into their companionship, that shock of understanding what it felt like to be a part of a family she’d helped build. To belong. 

“Tamlin, do you even want to fall in love?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn't want that? But not like this.” 

Lucien raised his bottle to him. “Love is pain, my dear friend.”

Tamlin forced a chuckle. “Yes, yes, Lucien. My heart of stone and I are well versed in your feelings on love.” 

She remembered. And it hadn’t been the only time. 

“Do you love her, Tam?” 

“No,” he said finally. “I could, one day, maybe. I care for her, even when she grates against my nerves. But no. Heart of stone, remember?” He thunked a broad hand over his chest, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared. 

Feyre nearly gasped, pulling back at the last moment, but Tamlin had seen the change in her, his eyes glowing as he beseeched her to remember, to act. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. His heart was made of stone. It wasn’t a figure of speech, it wasn’t self deprecating. Amarantha had literally turned his heart to stone. 

Just like with the glamours of her sisters, she thought around it. Amarantha wanted Tamlin, more than anything. It was the entire reason they were all here. She wouldn’t risk him just to kill Feyre. Amarantha was ancient and clever, and she did not put all her hope on humans or their actions.

Which meant she knew that, even if Feyre did it, it would not kill him.

Do it, his expression said, the slightest nod back at her. Please. 

His eyes begged. 

And Feyre shoved the ash dagger straight into his chest.

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Fire

Kinktober day 19, Gale x Doe

He kissed her sweetly, softly, suffusing her chilled body with heat, igniting something in her belly. She burned gently, a smoulder of embers, enlivened by his touch.

'I don't want to be alone.'

'I know, my love.'

Gale stroked her sides delicately, cooing. Doe's answering sigh made him smile, teeth glinting white in the firelight. 'Beautiful girl,' he murmured against her neck. 'My lovely, sweet thing. My angel. You're alright. You're safe.'

'Don't go.'

'Never.' He stroked her hair, held her securely in his lap, his strong, warm hands splayed across her back. 'Doe, lovely creature, let me help you feel good. Please.' He kissed her throat, slow and sensual, tongue hot on her skin as he tasted it.

'Please,' she whispered. 'Please, please, please. I need you. I want you so badly...'

He kept his movements slow and soft, smoothing his hands to push her skirt around her hips, slipping past the little scrap of lace she wore to draw lazy circles on her clit, purring in satisfaction at her answering whimper. 'You beg so beautifully. More, love.'

'Ngh- fuck- Gale, please-'

He licked slowly up her neck, fingers dancing down her spine, the hand between her thighs continuing its meticulous work. Her gasps and sighs would not move him to pick up speed; his control was absolute. He was banking a fire, holding her hips still. Doe cursed, a pink flush in her cheeks, mouth rosy from his kisses; she surrendered each time, conceding more of her body to his touch.

'Good girl,' he crooned in her ear, drawing a shiver from her. 'So patient. I know that's hard for you, precious thing.'

She jerked in his grip, teetering. 'Can- can I-'

'Mmm.' With a deliberate pinch, he sent her body quaking, shuddering against him. He held her, let her grind down on his thigh and sob into his neck, soothingly solid and warm. 'You're perfect,' he said, removing his fingers and running his thumb slowly over her bottom lip. She made a small noise, a high pitched little mewl, and he claimed her mouth, finally devouring her with the passionate ardour of a raging fire.

'I'm yours,' he vowed against her lips. 'Forever.'

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @lastlight-inn

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

@femmefuck @spooky-lil-bee

[rosekisspeach]

TAROT READING//Mingkey Sexual Attraction - Ming

Date: 5/Feb/2024 Marker: Transparent Umbrella - SHINee Deck of Cards: Trungles' Star Spinner Tarot (Inclusive, Diverse, LGBTQ Theme); The Romance Angels Oracles; Manara Erotic Oracles

Notes Upfront:

I don't ask my cards questions that I already have answers;

I don't prey on information I should not know;

I respect their personal lives and;

This is for FUN ONLY.

In the following sexual attraction readings, be aware everything is "delulu" and I am just saying what I am seeing. Don't read this if you only see them as platonic friends/co-workers. . . . . .

Action: Knight of Wands R, 6 of Coins R, Hermit, 4 of Swords, Moon, Queen of Wands, Wheel of Fate Consciousness: Romantic Feelings, Getting to know each other, Chemistry, Weeding, Let your friends to help R, Make Effort Subconsciousness: Creative Intimacy, Dreams of Repressed Lust, Lure of Easiest Way, Freedom to be Yourself R, Fire of Desire R

~ some notes: Again, happy lunar new year everyone, and hopefully you enjoyed a great valentine's day. I will summarize ming's in one part because his energy is, as always, straight forward. And after the lunar new year celebration (Feb 17), I will do Jinki's view too.

Group 1: Creative Intimacy

“His body was a canvas. It was painted with pleasures, decorated with guilt, and exalted by giggles. His body was a willing canvas, and your love the brush of a masterpiece.”

Doesn't the image says it all? Gifting bum is ming's unique, and creative (don't you wonder what's in his mind when he thinks about gifting bum?) approach to love kibum. We have reversed knight of wands, reversed 8 of coins, and hermit cards in ming's first group actions. These cards outline how much more ming wants to love bum emotionally, financially, and even physically. Minho is always generous, he saved 6w won in the little prince book to buy bum birthday gift when he was barely feeding himself in debut days, and it is no secret how hard to get luxuries like that croissant bag even as a celebrity...in fact, ming would bring a star back if bum dares him. Like a true knight that vows his loyalty. But he can't. He can't buy something that is eventful, a home, a car, or the wedding ring, when he could afford them easily. Ming is not allowed to love bum the way he deeply desired. Romantically. Sexually. Spiritually. The guilt of hurting bum in the past still haunts him, and ming suffers in loneliness like the hermit holding a light who only hopes one day, one day that he will find a way out of this sweet misery.

The money is saved to buy birthday gift for Key.

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Oracle reading of Creative Intimacy:

“Let love create beauty, rather than beauty create love. When the intimacy that came from sincere attraction blossoms, a soul may light up. Warmth and love become a breeze that can shake trees that stood still for an entire life. There will be only light, energies, and bodies. Let love be fun, if it cannot be passionate. Let love be witty, if it cannot be ardent. Let love be tender, if it cannot be overwhelming. Love has many ways. Some are good at the beginning, and more are good farther along the journey. ”

Group 2: Dreams of Repressed Lust

“Winged demons do not sleep, but ominously whisper words of temptation and seduction. They started as dreams and became nightmares. They were desires and turned into terrors I cannot shake away.”

Feelings don't build themselves in one day. How can one's arch enemy turn into their friend, someone trustworthy, loveable, and lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Ming groans kibum's name when he touches himself, as pleasure building up, sensation burning any rationality left in the shell that is conquered by primitive instincts. It feels so wrong, and so good. The four of swords card and the oracle card in subconsciousness give the exact same energy. Fantasizing kibum in bed...fantasizing himself with kibum in bed is too easy. Ming can always feel kibum because they have known each other and breathed the same air for way too long. They slept together in so many occasions. Ming would know how bum bends his body, spreads his limbs, looks at him with those luring and glassy eyes. He would know what voices bum makes, faces he shows, and lips, lips, bloody lips in red and covered with saliva. Kibum tastes like chocolates that ming wishes for every Christmas. Fucking kibum must feel amazing.

Yet ming can only fantasizes. And they are dreams that's all.

꿈이 아니라고 해줘 너에게로 빠져버린 heart 영혼까지 잠기도록 데려가 줘 너의 waterfall

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Oracle reading of Dreams of Repressed Lust:

“I want to fuck. Is that so hard? To say it aloud, in front of other people? In front of parents, sisters and brothers, strangers and colleagues? It is. It is in-deed. Maybe not so hard to admit to oneself, among dreams and fantasies. But to say it aloud? Like our lust is a shameful secret that doesn't belong to us. Like it's wrong. Like it's despicable. And hear this … like it's strange. After a life lived day after day-denying that we are allowed to be healthy humans, exiling our lust into dark dreams or properly approved intimacies … what will remain of us? ”

!! Avoid the group 3's image if you do not believe in 2heart relationship!!

Group 3: Lure of easiest way

“I found a shortcut. If I buy, someone will sell, and if I sell, someone will buy. I am the trade, the negotiator, and the currency as well. Do you desire a bargain?”

Does ming have other options? Yes. He has options. Too many of them actually. People stay for a night, or two, sometimes even longer that ming thinks maybe this time will be different. Yet deeply ming is a helpless romantic and once he decided, the decision is final. He wants to marry kibum. But why does it sounds so impossible? Or the better question is, why the wedding card dropped in both their readings, yet they find it so hard to express their true feelings in front of the other? There is always an "easier" version of the mingkey story - they date whoever come by and support each other as colleagues, friends, even best man that stands beside the beautiful newlyweds in the wedding. Bum will bring handmade dumplings to ming, and ming will comfort whoever complains about bummie not answering their messages. I find it amusing that woo asks ming to tell bum replying his messages in the radio, when, bum doesn't respond to ming that much much either...things change. Ming now joins the competition and it is not going to be easy. He knows it too well. And He is determined to succeed.

Also, hey, it was never just fan service for ming.

결혼해줄래

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Oracle reading of Lure of the easiest way:

“Why should one beware of the easy way? It promises everything, and it promises it now, with no price whatsoever. Behind every easy road, however, there is a hidden price. The easy way is a seduction by itself. And it's hard to say no. Especially because it promises to be ... well, to be easy. It may be that the easy way-like any shortcut-carries some form of disharmony. It makes everything a trade, where one can use the other just by allowing the other to use them. Still, it is possible to surrender to seduction. A seduction of power, a seduction of youth, a seduction of empty promises. The challenge is that if someone gets used to the easy way, they will find it much harder to leave the easy way behind.”

Group 4: Freedom to be yourself

“I was made into a mannequin. Molded as a prisoner, I fit the standards of someone else's beauty. I feared death, but I refused it. My dignity was paper thin, and yet it was the canvas of my life.”

We have talked about this in ming's personal reading. He is trapped because it is the normality he held on for too long, and is reluctant to ask help from friends. He doesn't really have too many friends to ask questions on this, especially the only one around him (and practically an expert) is who he has a massive crush on. He can't really ask chanmin hyung or jinki either, and this is why minho deeply misses jjong, who always has an answer for him. But ming is exploring, slowly and surly because we know ming isn't someone just gives up. I am also glad that the Queen of wands shows up because this demonstrations ming's will power to "dig to the end of it."

bum's fav bookshop, huh.

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Oracle reading of Freedom to be yourself:

“What can a person live without and still be that person? What is stolen from us may one day be reclaimed. But what we surrender willingly is lost forever. There is only one freedom that we need to truly treasure: the freedom to be ourselves. If we surrender that, our soul will lose the essential spark that can redeem our life and give it meaning. We might dance to an artist's tune of our own free will, but if we are constrained and controlled by another, it is death to the spirit. We cannot be puppets and still be happy.”

Group 5: Fire of Desire R

“I wanted it all. And I wanted it now. I was so young at that time, and I failed to grasp that I was too small to use the word "all." I had first to look at the Universe to understand my real desires. ”

Ming wants it all. The love. The Sex. The hugs, the kisses, the touches, and the pleasure that makes his body shake in euphoria. The urge is fire that burns through his bones and skins and he wants bum to feel just as much. To fuck till their muscles give up and the bedsheet turns into a swap of bodily fluids. He wants bummie. All of it. He also wants bummie to call him his, wants to be perfect for whatever kibum needs him to, to lick over kibum's fingernail and scars and tears just because he could. Ming wants it all and he is going to put all the effort in so he can have it all. It is destined. The upright wheel of fate is a strong sign that no matter how difficult the journey is, ming will overcome and celebrate the beautiful result in the future. And kibum, just like him, surrenders before their sexual attraction.

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Oracle reading of The Fire of Desire:

“What you desire defines the road you are walking and where you are going-your ambitions, dreams, drives. These are part of you, and they can burn strongly, becoming a fire that can light the darkness of life. But no matter how strong that fire may be, it can only brighten a little space around you and make the darkness beyond it thicker and more frightening. You need a different kind of light to make the road safe. Without understanding, dreams and ambitions are like childish tantrums. With understanding, they become something that can be truly reached.”

Minho-ah, just go kiss him.

-over-

find me on Twitter @rosekisspeach

[fushichoumomo-arch]

tagged by:  @biskael tagging:  @inmensapotentia, @opscurus, @hirak0s [shinji && ayame.]  EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. restless anger.

002. unfathomable guilt.

003. the drive to protect.

004. loyalty.

005. passionate.

VOICE / GREETINGS / SPEECH PATTERNS :

001. momo sounds quite young and soft-spoken; she feels like she needs to raise her voice to be taken seriously, which is especially annoying for her as a lieutenant.

002. seeing that she's mostly on her guard these days, she often doesn't speak first unless it feels safe to do so or the situation is dire.

003. she mostly talks like a normal person would — except when she's angry. that's when all those poetry lessons by aizen come in handy: her language becomes flowery and somewhat formal, yet she still manages to come across as the attack dog she is.

COLOURS:

001. any variation of pink . has always been her favourite colour, always will be. [even though her reiatsu is red, let that sink in.]

002. scarlet red . the colour that signifies the departure of the “momo hinamori” everyone knew, and her vow to bring purgatory to her enemies. the colour of her evolved form [bankai etc.]

003. dark purple . her hair.

004. black . her uniform.

005. gold . her hairpin and bracelets. associated with fudo myo'o, or acala, one of the wisdom kings in buddhist mythology.

SCENTS:

001. peaches , her namesake.

002. vanilla , a woman's signature scent.

003. bright citrus , in memento of the ‘self’ that was lost in the war.

004. burning wood , in the heat of battle and its aftermath. a side-effect of using tobiume.

005. wisteria , signifying the fact she had to grow up quickly.

CLOTHING:

001. momo modified her standard shinigami uniform to include frills [a skirt instead of the hakama pants she wore in the past, and detached sleeves.]. she's taking care of her appearance when she didn't before — because before, she didn't take herself seriously nor think of herself as someone important.

002. furthermore, her new outfit closely resembles a traditional tengu ensemble; rmoderately-heeled geta, pompoms, you name it. [fitting, because when in bankai, she might as well be a tengu — she has wings.] 

003. a set of plum flowers on the side of her head. 

OBJECTS:

001. TOBIUME, her most precious zanpakutō. they may not see eye to eye sometimes, but they got each other's back.

002. a pair of golden bracelets and a feather-shaped hairpin. fudo myo'o is often depicted with a lotus on his head, and since momo is a phoenix… it is feathers spread out akin to a peacock's.

003. an agate talisman that her beloved granny gifted her after the war; consecrated to fudo myo'o himself, it represents protection from evil.

VICES / BAD HABITS: 

001. deep-seated anger issues . you see, momo is both brave and overwhelmed in times of adversity; when confronted with something that she doesn't necessarily have an answer to? she lashes out. when her cherished comrades [understandably] don't understand her decisions? she lashes out. her enemies will get under her skin, no matter how much she tries to conceal it. 

002. prone to overthinking . it's no secret to everyone around her that momo still thinks about those that have died in the war against the quincy; she did nothing, and yet she was among the living when her squad fought till their last and were less capable than her. and no matter how much she's reassured that it wasn't her fault — she doesn't believe it.

003. fear of failure . above all else, momo fears a situation that will leave her just as powerless as the war had left her. worse, that this time, tōshirō or granny might be dead because of her. the latter, at least, will have respite — tōshirō will go to HELL.

004. she's fucked up . she talks about the most morbid of things with an airy voice and a languid smile, and will even go as far as to say that aizen's betrayal [and stabbing] have made her stronger — that he is far more interesting now than when he was her captain.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. very straight and upright when leading her subordinates into battle. momo, despite her small stature and meek voice, is still a gotei 13 lieutenant. 

002. though she does not realise it, her hands have a slight tremor, and the way she carries herself appears… tense. like she's always on alert. 

003. she's not much of a gesture person. when her hand is not on tobiume, she keeps her hands folded. 

004. cold, lifeless eyes [like aizen] and a languid smile when she is in the zone [read: when she is in the heat of battle.]

AESTHETICS:

001. the phoenix . momo hinamori is a woman that has died a total of three (3) times — metaphorically, of course, but still. one, when aizen shattered her whole world by revealing to her who he really is. two, the deaths of her comrades. and finally… when she became a deceiver herself. each of these deaths gave rise to the person that she is today.

002. a crimson bird's mask . both figuratively and literally [her hollow mask; verse-dependent].

003. a rope of kidō . it is said that the gods feared fudo myo'o because he could bind their transgressions and hurl them at them.

004. higanbana . known as lycoris radiata, this flower blooms at eternal partings, and guides to HELL.

SONGS:

001. angreifer // unlucky morpheus .

002. heavy is the crown // linkin park.

003. city of delusion // muse .

004. the walls // THE SIXTH LIE .

005. genshindou // autodidactic studios.

006. honkai world diva // mika kobayashi

[richincolor]

New Releases

A fun fantasy, a swoony romance, and a touching contemporary headline this week's new releases. 

Click below to read about this week's releases.

Of Jade and Dragons (Fall of the Dragon #1) by Amber Chen Viking Books for Young Readers

Eighteen-year-old Aihui Ying dreams of becoming a brilliant engineer just like her beloved father – but her life is torn apart when she arrives a moment too late to stop his murder, and worse, lets the killer slip out of reach. Left with only a journal containing his greatest engineering secrets and a jade pendant snatched from the assassin, Ying vows to take revenge into her own hands.

Disguised as her brother, Ying heads to the capital city, and discovers that the answer to finding who killed her father lies behind the walls of the prestigious Engineers Guild – the home of a past her father never wanted to talk about. With the help of an unlikely ally – Aogiya Ye-yang, a taciturn (but very handsome) young prince – Ying must navigate a world fraught with rules, challenges and politics she can barely grasp, let alone understand.

But to survive, she must fight to stay one step ahead of everyone. And when faced with the choice between doing what’s right and what’s necessary, Ying will have to decide if her revenge is truly worthwhile, if it means going against everything her father stood for . . .

With Love, Miss Americanah by Jane Igharo Feiwel & Friends

17-year-old Enore Adesuwa doesn’t dive into things, she wades in very carefully. So when she and her mother and sister move from Nigeria to America shortly after her father’s death, she wants to be as prepared as possible for attending an American high school. Her cousin, Adrian, doesn’t have time to explain the ins and outs to her but, luckily, he recommends the perfect research teen movies.

Still dealing with grief but armed with a list of rules of survival (including no drawing attention to herself) gathered from these beloved movies, Enore is ready as she’ll ever be for senior year. But when she meets Davi Santiago, it may be much harder than she thought to keep to her rules. Because not only is he super thoughtful (and okay, very good looking), he encourages Enore to share her incredible singing voice. She prefers the background but it just might be time for her to take center stage, even in spite of her mother’s own strict rules and desires for her.

With help from Davi, some new friends who don’t quite fit the roles she expects them to play, and her younger sister, can Enore get through senior year with a new passion, new boldness, and new love?

Where Wolves Don’t Die by Anton Treuer Arthur A. Levine

Ezra Cloud hates living in Northeast Minneapolis. His father is a professor of their language, Ojibwe, at a local college, so they have to be there. But Ezra hates the dirty, polluted snow around them. He hates being away from the rez at Nigigoonsiminikaaning First Nation. And he hates the local bully in his neighborhood, Matt Schroeder, who terrorizes Ezra and his friend Nora George.

Ezra gets into a terrible fight with Matt at school defending Nora, and that same night, Matt’s house burns down. Instantly, Ezra becomes a prime suspect. Knowing he won’t get a fair deal, and knowing his innocence, Ezra’s family sends him away to run traplines with his grandfather in a remote part of Canada, while the investigation is ongoing. But the Schroeders are looking for him. . .

From acclaimed author Anton Treuer comes a novel that’s both taut thriller and a raw, tender coming-of-age story, about one Ojibwe boy learning to love himself through the love of his family around him.

[dc-and-arfrona]

Wildest Dreams

Inspired by that one Taylor Swift Song

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

The Gotham City skyline glimmered under the moonlit night as Jason Todd, the Red Hood, stood on a rooftop, his thoughts consumed by you who had captured his heart. The haunting melody of "Wildest Dreams" played softly in the background, echoing the sentiment that lingered in his soul.

He had met you by chance, a whirlwind encounter that set his world ablaze. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was captivated. Your presence was electric, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. And within the depths of his heart, a love story began to unravel.

But as the lyrics of the song played in his mind, doubt crept in. Could their love survive the turbulent world they inhabited? Or would it only exist as a fleeting fantasy, destined to fade away like wildest dreams?

With each passing moment, their passion grew, entangling them in a web of desire and longing. Every stolen glance, every brush of their fingertips, sent shivers down their spines. They danced on the precipice of something beautiful, yet fragile.

In the stillness of the night, Jason allowed himself to imagine a future with you—a life filled with stolen kisses, whispered promises, and endless adventures. But reality was never far away, and the darkness of their pasts threatened to cast a shadow over their dreams.

As the lyrics of the song filled his thoughts, Jason pondered the possibility that their love was destined to be fleeting. The nature of their lives, constantly on the edge, made it difficult to envision a future free from danger and heartache. And yet, he couldn't help but hold on to the hope that their love would endure.

With each verse of the song, memories flooded Jason's mind—the taste of your lips, the warmth of your embrace, the sound of your laughter that could chase away the darkest of nights. He longed to hold you close, to promise you a love that defied the odds, but he feared he would only break your heart in the end.

The song played on, its lyrics echoing through his soul, as Jason wrestled with his emotions. Should he let go, protect you from the inevitable pain that would come with loving him? Or should he hold on, risking everything for a chance at a love that could rewrite their destinies?

In the end, he knew there was no easy answer. Love was a wild, unpredictable force that defied logic and reason. It had the power to consume and heal, to ignite and destroy. And though the future remained uncertain, Jason couldn't deny the depth of his feelings for you.

As he stood on that rooftop, his heart torn between caution and desire, he made a silent vow. He would savor every stolen moment, cherish each kiss, and embrace the love you shared. Whether their love would fade like a wildest dream or defy the odds, he knew that he couldn't resist the pull of their connection.

With determination burning in his eyes, Jason descended from the rooftop, ready to embrace the passion that awaited him. As the song's melody faded into the night, he whispered, "I'll hold on to this love, no matter the cost. Because sometimes, the wildest dreams are the ones worth fighting for."

And so, together, Jason and you would embark on a journey of love, knowing that their hearts would forever be entwined, even if the world tried to tear them apart. For in the depths of their love, they would find solace, even if their story would forever remain a delicate dream.

Masterlist

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 23

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 23: A Woman's Shame

AO3 - Masterlist

(TW: Attempted Rape)

In the following days, Daenera kept herself occupied, intentionally avoiding encounters with Aemond. The incident in the throne room had been impulsive and risky, a dangerous game of passion that could have exposed them both. 

However, it seemed that luck was on their side, as no rumors or whispers reached her ears through the usual channels. Tris Caswell’s gatherings of gossiping ladies, the conversation among the servants, and even Joyce, who was always well-informed, remained oblivious to the incident. 

Daenera couldn’t shake off the caution and unease the weight upon her. It had been a foolish thing to do. And the feeling only intensified when Joyce made a disapproving sound when she had brewed herself more moontea. No words were exchanged, but the unspoken judgment lingered heavily in the air. 

Searching for her misplaced notebook, Daenera entered one of the sitting rooms within the Keep, where she had joined Tris for tea the day before. The room was adorned with carved furniture, elegant tapestries, and a collection of books. She scanned the space meticulously, hoping to find her precious notebook that contained her poultice recipes.

“Did you enjoy your ride on a dragon?” Aegon’s voice grated on Daenera’s ears, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. She turned to look at him, finding him leaning against the table with a cup of wine in hand. The first buttons of his doublet were unfastened, and one was even missing. From his disheveled appearance, she presumed he was already deep in his cups. 

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion coloring her gaze as she tried to discern his intentions. “It was kind of your brother to fly me back to the Dragonpit.”

Aegon’s mischievous smile only grew wider, his amusement evident as if he held the upper hand, privy to all her secrets and desires. It made her skin prickle. It wasn’t the same as his brother’s smile; it felt more akin to a boy setting fire to a cat just to watch it burn.

“He did little more than fly you back, did he not?” The accusation hung between them. 

“I do not like what you’re implying,” Daenera said dryly. 

He responded with an upside-down smile, shaking his head and shrugging nonchalantly. “Am I wrong?”

“I am not in the mood for your theatrics, Aegon,” Daenera retorted coolly, dismissing him by turning around and focusing her gaze on the floor, hoping to conjure the presence of her book so that she may leave. 

“They say the first time riding a dragon it is like mounting the world,” Aegon continued, undeterred by the sharp glare Daenera shot his way. “Did it feel like mounting the world to you?”

“It felt windy,” Daenera replied, choosing to feign ignorance of the underlying meaning behind his words. 

Aegon laughed. “I will be sure to tell him that.”

“What do you want, Aegon?” Daenera cut to the chase, not wanting to prolong this conversation any further. 

“Well, I want you to answer my questions, of course…” Aegon pushed himself off the table and made his way to the other end where Daenera stood, his head tilting curiously. “Was that your first time?”

“No, I’ve ridden with my mother on Syrax before,” Daenera lied, attempting to deflect his torying. Aegon exuded the scent of wine and sweat, his hair hanging limply and greasy around his face. He looked tired, she observed, and dangerously bored. 

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Your insinuation is insulting and preposterous.”

“Not as preposterous, I presume, as it is for you to think that no one has noticed,” Aegon retorted, leaning in closer to her and sniffing as if he were some dog. Daenera instinctively leaned away, ready to shove him away by the face. Aegon straightened up again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Definitely spoiled.”

Daenera grimaced and snarled, her disdain evident. “You’re disgusting.”

“I admit, I am insulted that you chose my unskilled brother above me,” Aegon said, his voice dipping low. 

“Does it really surprise you that someone would choose anyone above you?” Daenera shot back, her annoyance seeping into her words. “No woman in her right mind would choose to lay with you. No one knows where you’ve been and what disease you could have caught.”

“So you admit it?” Aegon’s voice carried a dangerous edge. 

Daenera glared at him with exasperation. “I have nothing to admit to. I am unspoiled.”

Aegon leaned closer, his eyes glinting with provocation. “How long do you think it will take for people to notice? I mean, it’s not far-fetched for two Targaryens… Well, a Targaryen and a dragonseed, to be found in inappropriate circumstances.”

“It does not interest me to feed into your conjecture, uncle,” Daenera retorted, her voice tinged with warning. “And I suggest you keep your imaginings to yourself, should you find yourself in worse circumstances. 

Her threat hung heavy in the air, a clear indication that she would make him regret his words if he continued down this path. But Aegon had never been good at listening to warnings. 

“There’s an easy way to prove you are right,” Aegon taunted, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of his wine. “I promise to be gentle… or rough, if that is what you enjoy. I won’t judge.”

“I am not bedding you or anyone else,” Daenera stated firmly, her cheeks flushing with indignation and shame. She despised the way Aegon looked at her, with seductive eyes and a cruel amusement burning within them. 

“I won’t tell my brother if that’s what concerns you,” Aegon added, his tone oozing with smugness. “I can keep a secret.”

He could not. Given the chance, he would exploit any vulnerability and delight in causing torment. Aegon had a talent for it, and would persistently probe at a wound until it bled, relishing in the suffering he inflicted. 

“What concerns me is your level of delusion. What makes you think I’d ever agree to lay with you?” Daenera scoffed at him. “I wouldn’t come close to your disease-ridden, shriveled up cock with a ten-foot pole.”

A muscle twitched in Aegon’s right eye, his anger barely contained. “You know, it’s so easy to ruin a girl's reputation…”

“No one would believe you,” Daenera shot back, her words sharp and insulting. “That’s what happens when you’re a disappointment to the family. Your mother is the only thing that holds any semblance of your reputation and respectability together.”

Aegon’s gaze fixated on a spot on the floor, his eyes growing distant as his expression seemed to darken. “Hm…”

Daenera took his silence as the end of the conversation and turned, but as she attempted to walk away, Aegon grabbed her wrist painfully. Without warning, he slammed her against the table with a jarring impact, the sharp edge digging into her hips. The suddenness of the atack left her breathless and disoriented, and she slammed her hands down on the table, trying to stabilize herself. 

His hand gripped around the nape of her neck, holding her in a vice-like grip.

Daenera’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and anger flooding her veins. She struggled against his hold, trying to free herself from his iron grip, but Aegon was unrelenting. 

The weight of Aegon’s body pressed down on her, trapping her beneath him against the unforgiving table. The treat in his voice sent shivers down her spine. 

“Since you believe me a monster, I might as well prove you right. My reputation can hardly get any worse, yours however…”

“Aegon, stop this at once!” Daenera’s voice trembled with desperation and fear. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her composure.

“Oh, my dear niece, I relish the challenge,” Aegon hissed into her ear, tightening his grip on her neck. “You will do best to keep this a secret, unless you’re willing to ruin your own reputation.”

Daenera’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Aegon persisted in his disturbing pursuit of the truth. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she desperately fought against his overpowering hold. Her nails scraped against the table, her attempts to break free growing increasingly desperate. 

The sheer terror coursing through her veins made it difficult to find her voice, but she managed to muster enough strength to cry out, “Aegon, please! Stop this!”

“I simply wish to know if you’ve fucked my brother,” Aegon persisted, seemingly impervious to her pleas. “And since you refuse to disclose the truth, I shall uncover it on my own.”

Daenera’s entire body trembled as she kicked her legs and thrashed against his grip, her primal instinct for self-perseveration taking over. 

The air grew thick with fear and tension as Aegon hitched up her skirts, his actions invading her personal space. Daenera fought back with every ounce of strength she possessed, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. She continued to implore him to release her, her voice trembling with a mixture of panic and anger. 

Dread filled her body as Aegon’s hand grazed the skin of her inner thigh, the touch sending an icy shiver of revulsion through her. Her attempts to reach for the small dagger hidden in her skirt proved futile as she remained trapped against the table, the edge digging into her hips with bruising force. Tears pricked in her eyes, lungs raw with panic. The pain intensified as Aegon’s grip on the back of her neck tightened, causing her head to throb with each forceful push downwards towards the table top. 

“Stop, Aegon!” She cried out, the desperation she felt evident in her voice. She despised how weak she sounded. 

“I only aim to prove that you are as much of a whore as your mother.” Aegon’s laughter only fueled her fury, his words slicing through her like a blade. His hand slid higher, grabbing at the flesh of her inner thigh, pinching at it. 

The revulsion surged within her, coiling in the pit of her stomach. The back of her throat throbbed from the force with which she suppressed her tears, her lashes sticking together as pearls of water clung to them. Daenera’s trembling lips were pressed tightly together, her teeth biting down hard to stifle herself. 

Closing her eyes, Daenera uttered a desperate prayer to whatever higher power might be listening, hoping for deliverance from this moment. And, in that moment, whatever it was, the gods or some mysterious force, her pleas were answered. 

Suddenly, Aegon was gone, leaving Daenera trembling and exposed. The reason he had touched felt cold and violated, and Daenera hastily adjusted her skirts, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Though he hadn’t gone further, the violation she felt lingered, staining her soul with a sense of dirtiness and wrongness. 

“Have you lost your damned mind?” Aemond spat at his brother, his voice dripping with anger as he hurled him across the room. Aegon crashed into a heavy cabinet before falling to the ground, groaning in pain. 

“Ah, fuck…” Aegon moaned, clutching his side and rolling on the floor. He glanced up at his brother, a mixture of pain and amusement in his eyes. “We were just having a bit of fun, brother.”

“A bit of fun?” Aemond’s voice echoed with barely contained fury. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, the urge to unleash his wrath evident. “Do you even comprehend the consequences if anyone else had caught you?”

Daenera retrieved the dagger from her skirts, her ears ringing with shock and the sound of her blood rushing through her veins. Her head pounded and she still felt Aegon’s touch on her skin. Without fully processing Aemond’s words, she instinctively moved towards Aegon, fully intent on punishing him. 

“Oh, ooh!” Aegon exclaimed with maniacal amusement, pointing at Daenera and her dagger.

Aemond swiftly stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Aegon. His face was etched with a stern and resolute expression, while Daenera’s eyes burned with a vindictive fury. He had laid his hands on her, and she was determined to make him pay dearly. 

“Step aside,” she demanded, her grip on the dagger tightening. 

“I can’t,” Aemond answered firmly, his resolve unwavering, unable to let his brother come to harm, no matter how much he might deserve it. 

“I will have his damned cock for this,” Daenera growled, her grip on the dagger tightening with enough force to turn her knuckles white. She was determined to make him pay, starting with cutting off his cock before shoving it so far up his corrupted ass that he could taste the consequences of his own debauchery. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t choke on it. Or maybe he would. She was willing to find out. 

Aegon laughed from the floor, lying back down as if completely unconcerned by her fury. Of course, why would he be concerned when he could hide behind his brother for protection?

“And I was just about to give it to you, sweet niece,” Aegon taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm, “when my dear brother so rudely interrupted us.”

“Shut up, Aegon,” Aemond hissed, his voice laced with warning, silently urging his brother to keep quiet and allow him to rectify the mess he had created.

“Move, Aemond,” Daenera demanded once again, her voice barely containing her rage. Aegon couldn’t simply get away with laying his hands on her. He might be a prince, but she wasn’t just some common born servant, she was a princess. 

“My brother is a drunken fool,” Aemond declared, his voice carrying a practiced coldness. 

Daenera felt a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over her. Aemond’s words were like a cold, hard slap to the face, a reminder of where his loyalties lied. Aemond would remain between them, an obstacle on the path of seeking justice. The realization settled heavily in her chest, a mix of both anger and disappointment. 

“I bid you forgive him. He is blinded by wine and devoid of any sense, it seems,” Aemond elaborated, the lie hanging in the air between them.  

“Yes, forgive my insolence, princess. I am a drunken fool,” Aegon cackled from the floor, his mocking tone doing nothing to alleviate the princess's seething anger. 

“He doesn’t deserve your protection,” Daenera retorted, her gaze fixed solely on Aemond. 

“He is my brother,” Aemond replied firmly, unforgivingly. “He bears the title of a prince, he’s the son of the King. It would be preferable if he behaved in a manner befitting this position,” Aemond sneered back at his brother, then turned his eye back to Daenera before continuing, “But that does not alter the situation. You cannot take justice into your own hands.”  “What will you have me do then?” Daenera challenged, her voice filled with frustration. “Should I bring it to your mother’s attention? She would protect him as you are.”

Aegon scoffed, pushing himself to sit against the bookshelf. 

“Or should I bring it to the King?” Daenera threatened, knowing that Viserys, at the very least, would take her accusation seriously and perhaps even take action. If Viserys held enough sentiment for his son not to behead him immediately, he would surely send him to the Wall. Yet, even then, Viserys might succumb to the influence of Queen Alicent, who would do anything to evade justice. 

“You and I both know that nothing would come of it,” Aemond replied, her tone casual, as if going through the motions. “Continuing on this path would be ill-advised. If you become subject to unfavorable gossip, it may hinder your chances of securing a suitable husband. Ser Aran Blackwood could potentially be an option then, or perhaps a life dedicated to the Faith would be more fitting for you.”

This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since he took her maidenhead. He had finally resorted to using his power against her, threatening to destroy any potential future she could have. 

Daenera’s mind raced, contemplating her next move. The temptation to defy Aemond’s warning was strong, to reach out to her mother, to Daemon, and seek their support in seeking justice. But Aemond’s words lingered in her mind, warning her of the potential damage it could cause to her own reputation. 

“If I fall, I will take you down with me,” Daenera sneered through gritted teeth, her words venomous. She forcefully slid the dagger into the folds of her skirt, its presence no longer a comfort but a reminder of her powerlessness. Without sparing Aegon a second glance, she pivoted on her heels.

Aegon’s taunting jeering came to an abrupt halt as Aemond delivered a swift kick to silence him. The sound of a groan echoed through the room, momentarily breaking the tense atmosphere. 

Queen Alicent’s entrance only added to the spectacle, her concerned frown highlighting the unsettling scene before her. 

Daenera’s eyes, red-rimmed and filled with fury and judgment, met Queen Alicent’s gaze with a piercing intensity. 

“Teach your son the meaning of no,” Daenera declared, voice dripping with disdain. 

With that final statement, she turned on her heels, the rustle of her skirts marking her departure from the scene. Anger and weariness coursed through her veins as she retreated.

Frustration twisted Aemond’s features as he swiftly sidestepped to evade Aegon’s grasp on his boots. He resented the fact he had to protect his foolish brother but it was his duty. He couldn’t allow Daenera to carry out her revenge, no matter how justified they may have seemed. Aegon was his brother, and he had the responsibility to shield him from harm. His actions protected not only Aegon but also their mother, Helaena, and the twins. 

However, Aemond’s restraint only held so long, and his anger towards his brother boiled within his chest, threatening to consume any remaining patience he had left. 

Had he not warned Aegon of the consequences? How could his brother be so stupid?! Did he not understand that it wasn’t just his life he risked?

The door swung shut behind their mother, her sharp gaze dissecting the scene before her. A wave of disapproval radiated from her as she moved swiftly across the floor, her eyes narrowed with anger and concern. 

“What is this?” Alicent demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. Her eyes flickered accusingly between her two sons. 

Aegon ran a hand through his tousled hair, a feeble attempt to appear somewhat repentant. His face held a childlike sheepishness, a pitiful facade he hoped would appease his mother. Aemond remained still, his face carved in stone. 

“We were only having a bit of fun, mother,” Aegon offered in a weak attempt to downplay the severity of the situation. He shot this brother a pointed look, silently try to compel his cooperation. The unspoken demand hung heavily in the air. 

“Aemond?” Alicent demanded. 

Aemond’s gaze shifted back to Alicent, his expression remaining stoic and indifferent despite the torrent of emotions raging within him. There were countless truths he could have revealed in that moment. He could have exposed Aegon’s shameful actions, how he had pinned down and assaulted Daenera. The mere thought tightened around his stomach like a fist. He could have divulged how Aegon, as the first born and the future King of Westeros, was single-handedly unraveling all of their efforts and ambitions. 

Yet, he chose not to speak those truths. 

“We were only having fun,” Aemond repeated, his tone steady and controlled, concealing the anger bubbling beneath the surface. 

Aegon pushed himself up from the ground, slapping Aemond on the shoulder in a display of feigned affection. The tension in the room grew palpable as Alicent refused to accept their explanation at face value. She seized Aegon’s face, her fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks, forcing him to purse his lips in an ugly grimace. Her eyes bore into his, searching for the truth she knew he was withholding. 

“Tell me the truth of it,” Alicent demanded, her voice edged with accusation.

Aegon attempted to wave his mother’s hand away, trying to dismiss her probing gaze. “Why must you always assume I am lying?”

“Because I know you,” Alicent responded firmly, her grip tightening. “And I am no fool. The princess left in a wretched state, and if you do not confess the truth, I will have no choice but to assume the worst.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched his brother squirm in their mothers grasp. Aegon finally managed to free himself, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek to alleviate the pain. It was a small price to pay.

“I was only jesting,” Aegon claimed, his words laced with a veneer of nonchalance. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether she followed in her mother’s footsteps.”

Aemond remained the pillar of restraint and control, gritting his teeth as he witnessed the unfolding scene. Alicent, on the other hand, struggled to contain her fury. She had firsthand knowledge of Aegon’s capacity for reckless behavior. It was only days ago that she had to dismiss a servant girl due to his inappropriate advances. But what he had done now was far more dangerous than mere misconduct with a servant. It could have dire consequences for their family, for everything she had sacrificed for. 

In a swift motion, Alicent slapped Aegon across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Her actions conveyed her disbelief and the gravity of the situation. What if their actions reached the ears of the King? Rhaenyra and Daemon would surely call for their heads. 

Aegon winched, his hand instinctively moving to his reddened cheek, his eyes wide and wet. He looked like a child then. 

“Do you have any inkling of the peril you’ve put us in?” Alicent hissed, her fury burning in her eyes and her teeth bared. Unable to stand still, she paced the floor, her anger palpable. “Do you hold so little regard for our lives? Are you truly willing to squander everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve sacrificed for! What if she goes to the King?”

“She won’t,” Aemond interjected, his voice steady and reassuring. 

The contrast between her two sons was stark and undeniable. One embodied everything Alicent needed him to be–the protector, the dutiful son, the dedicated soclar. Aemond was honorable, courageous, and everything she wished Aegon could become. Aegon, her firstborn and the one who should inherit his father’s throne, had become her greatest disappointment and vulnerability. She longed for him to rise above his reckless impulses and understand the purpose she had dedicated years to. After all, it was to protect him that she was doing this. 

Life had never been fair, and this situation served as a bitter reminder of the fact. 

“How can you be so certain?” Alicent questioned sharply. 

“He’s sleeping with her,” Aegon interjected, a twisted grimace marring his face. He couldn’t help but drag his brother down on his level, to tarnish his reputation. 

Aemond, however, dismissed his brother’s claim with a wave of his hand, choosing not to acknowledge it. “She knows it would be her word against his. And I advise you, brother, to keep your imaginings to yourself. Spreading lies would only further complicate matters.”

“It is not a lie,” Aegon insisted, meeting his mother’s gaze with defiance. 

Alicent fixed him with a stern look. “Listen to your brother, Aegon. You are already in enough trouble. Do not besmirch your brother’s honor with baseless accusations.”

Aegon’s jaw worked as realized that his mother would not believe him, and he fixed his gaze on the floor. 

“You bring shame upon our family, and I will not tolerate it, especially while the princess is here,” Alicent continued, her tone laced with frustration. “She is already causing enough trouble with her political machinations, rallying support for her mother’s claim and interfering with governance of the kingdom. I will not have my son contributing to the chaos.”

Aegon sneered, a vindictive thought seeming to cross his mind. “Ruining her honor would serve as a fitting consequence. It would send her back to Dragonstone in shame, and perhaps she would remain unwed for a very long time as well.”

“And you believe that ruining your brother’s honor is worth such consequences? Ruining your own in the process? Where is the sense, Aegon?” Alicent’s voice rang out with scorn and disappointment. 

Despite Aegon’s troublesome reputation, she had always shielded him from the worst of it, hoping he would come to realize the efforts she had made on his behalf.

“It was merely a passing thought, mother,” Aegonr replied, casually picking at his nails. “Or perhaps you should consider marrying Aemond to Daenera.”

Aemond’s eye snapped to his brother with a piercing glare. Marry the bastard? The notion seemed absurd. They were too incompatible, destined to clash and bring each other misery. He only wanted to use her, ruin her. 

“Aemond has spent time with the princess, hasn’t he, brother?” Aegon continued, refusing to let go of his insinuation. “You took her riding on Vhagar.”

Aemond’s indignation burned within his chest as he met his brother's goading expression with an steely resolve. “The princess lost her horse. I didn’t want to leave her stranded in the middle of a field and have her walk back to King’s Landing.”

Alicent frowned. “Where was her servant?”

Aemond gave a half-hearted shrug, not caring to elaborate on what had happened. 

“You’ve been staring at her,” Aegon persisted like the child he was, trying to get his brother into trouble.

“Would you have me pluck out my remaining eye?” Aemond drawled with little care to his brother's answer. 

“I would gladly assist you with that, brother.”

“Enough,” Alicent interected, rubbing her temples in frustration. “There will be no mutilations, and there will be no marriages. Put these thoughts out of your minds.”

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

For the questions: Dorothea and Mathias

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

II. GENERAL

Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all?

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public?

III. LOVE

What are their favorite things to do together?

What reminds them of each other?

What do they like best about each other?

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

What is the wedding like? Who attends?

How do they celebrate holidays?

Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Hello Nonnie! welcome welcome!

AND OMG YOU BROUGHT ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY DARLINGS BEBES. THE TWO THAT ARE 24/7 ON MY MIND. I SO RARELY RECEIVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM, SO THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU FOR MAKING ME SO HAPPY 💓😭💓 Lemme answer them all! <3 (and buckle up, it's going to be a long one <3 *happy squee*)

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

5) What would their lives be like if they had never met? I'd say that, had they never met, their lives would have been rather different, and dare I say, rather tragic. Considering how their whole story is based on the fact that Dorothea found herself out of her own time by absolute accident (or was it Fate, mayhaps, bringing her to where she belonged?), had she never met Mathias, she would have followed through with her parents' plan for her. She would have married Mr. Christopher Sterling, an affluent American Templar Master who had taken an interest in her in 1868, bringing forth their children, as was expected of her, and she would have joined the Templars, eventually becoming Grand Master of London and bringing absolute terror to the Assassins until her death by assassination in 1888. Mathias, on the other end, would have continued his life as he had ever since Emmanuelle destroyed his heart: vowing himself completely to the cause of the French Brotherhood, growing more and more disillusioned by everything around him, and eventually finding his demise in 1794 during the Reign of Terror, causing Antoine to go on an absolute rampage and turning even more to the dark side than she was before.

II. GENERAL

13) Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all? Both. Both, for different reasons, believe that they are not good enough for the other. Mathias, due to his disastrous marriage with Emmanuelle, was left with more than just physical scars, and being the introspective man that he was, he didn't want to run the risk of "infecting" Dorothea with the sufference and sadness that he constantly felt; also, his physical disfigurement hindered him from actively pursuing her, terrified as he was that if he were to see the extent of his burn scars on his body, she would be absolutely repulsed and would reject him right away. Dorothea, on her side, thought that she was an absolute inept at romantic matters and not morally good enough for Mathias, especially after spending quite sometimes with him and Antoine and Colette. With them, the flaming passion they had to fight for a better world for everyone, she realized how blind and guillible she had been her whole life, shaped as it was by the Templar's beliefs her father and mother had raised her into. She felt she had been a complete fool that couldn't recognize alone that what her father did was not only wrong but also morally unjust, and that therefore, she as well was absolutely irrecoverable. Once that realization hit her and despite her utmost willingness to critically review her ways, alongside her feelings for Mathias literally roaring within her chest, she reined everyhing in, thinking he would be better off with someone that was never tainted from such ideology. She felt too ashamed to even dare to entertain the idea that he might want her. Thank goodness Colette was there to show them how they were so wrong about it all, and instead how, despite all the tragedies and sadness in their life, they were so similar to one another that they truly were two halves of the same soul, and renouncing this chance at happiness would be their greatest mistake.

11) Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public? DOROTHEA. She was EXTREMELY good at playing coy and being a little tease with her husband, and you can bet that Dorothea was the one that more often than not approached Mathias with the excuse of wanting a hug and a kiss, and ended up whispering all sort of suggestive things to his ears and against his neck, just for the satisfaction of seeing Mathias' face turn all red and rendering him a mumbling mess. However, she knew that, come nighttime, Mathias would be the one to render HER a whole mumbling mess under his most intimate caresses.

III. LOVE

6) What are their favorite things to do together? Playing music together is definitely one of their favourite activities together. Mathias was an excellent pianist and had an incredible voice, warm and soothing, and he adores sitting down and duet with Dorothea in the evening, singing together or playing the piano while Dorothea accompanies him, either with her voice or her violin. Alternatively, since Mathias had good training in dancing when he was a child, under his adoptive mother's tutelage, he would never say no to a round of waltz, knowing how much she adored dancing around with him. Another favourite things they enjoyed together was riding around the countryside. Mathias was a skilled equestrian, always more at ease around horses than humans, and during their courtship, he taught her how to ride, an activity that she enjoyed immensely, given that her parents never allowed her to do so for fear that she might hurt herself in the process. Dorothea was forever grateful to Mathias for teaching her because whenever she rode around with her horse, she felt truly and properly free, one with the wind.

9) What reminds them of each other? Dorothea was reminded of Mathias whenever her fingers flew over the keyboard of a pianoforte, tickling the ivories in the melodies that were him. She was reminded of him in the tranquillity of a bubbling brooke close to the meadow of their house; in the light of the full moon that lit up the dirt road that lead to the their house in the countryside, in the roaring of the voice of the waves that crashed against the white shore of Normandy, that reminded her so much of Dover; she was always reminded of him in the laughter of their children, that resembled him in so many aspects. Mathias was reminded of Dorothea in the soft, pale light of the sky at dawn, when the sun is not far away from the horizon, ready to break the night and bring forth another cheerful day; the stars that dotted the sky in the middle of the night, so similar to the way her freckles kissed her cheeks; He was reminded of her during the soft falling of the snow, and quiet silence that encompassed the land during winter time; Whenever he saw a flowery meadow in spring, he would think of her, and the time they spent together reading to one another among the wild flowers. He saw her resilience and kind determination in all their children, sweet Léonie in particular.

10) What do they like best about each other? Physically speaking, Dorothea *absolutely* adored Mathias' eyes. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes she had ever seen in all her life, not only for the dark colour and upward shape, but also for the way they were able to convey all Mathias' love for her without him uttering a single word. There was a whole world enclosed behind them, a lot that he left unspoken, and at the beginning of their courtship, she would find herself staring at them without even realizing she was doing so, trying as she could to decypher the mystery behind those long dark lashes. Mathias, instead, loved her smile, so genuine and sweet and welcoming, and loved the way Dorothea's face would light up when smiling for him. There was something so incredibly endearing when she smiled, he would oftentimes resort to silly jokes just for the chance to see that smile and hear her laughter. It brought him absolute comfort and delight in being the reason that she smiled and laughed. Now, in regards to their personality, Dorothea adored Mathias' sensitivity and kindess and generosity, the fact that, despite all the pain and misery he had gone through, he never EVER allowed himself to become a callous man, never allowed himself to give in to anger and contempt and selfishness, remaining instead a caring, honourable and gentle human being. He was his best friend Mathias, instead, was absolutely enthralled by Dorothea's kindness and loving heart, her sharp intellect, and her unwillingness to deceive, even when that would cost her greatly. During their courtship, he found these traits of her personality incredibly endearing and the ones that would prompt him to ask her to be his wife.

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

3) What is the wedding like? Who attends?

Their wedding was as simple as it could be, in one of the niches in Notre Dame, attended by a Priest after Dorothea converted to Catholicism. The only people presents during their celebration were Antoine and Claude, Colette and Arno and Mathias' best friend Xavier, who had been the one that actually created the occasion for Mathias to declare himself to Dorothea and ask her to marry him. Dorothea, due to the fact that all her family was technically not born, had no one to invite to celebrate with her, but she knew that, in spirit, Byron was always there to support her and her happiness, so for that reason, she kept the compass he had given her inside one of the pockets of her wedding dress (a simple old robe that had belonged to Mathias' adoptive mother).

Unbeknownst to all of them (with the exception of Xavier), their ceremony was also attended by Rodrigo Reyes Moreno, Mathias and Antoine's uncle from their mother side. Xavier informed him that Mathias was to be wedded soon to his ladylove, and quick as his horse allowed, reached them in France, bringing with him a family heirloom that had belonged to his sister Ximena: a ring that was passed down the women from generation to generation in the Reyes Moreno, that was to be worn once married with the promise of a life rich in love and happiness. He entrusted the gift to Xavier, so that he could deliver him to Mathias, knowing that even if Ximena could not wear it for her own wedding (since there was none), at least her son's wife would.

9) How do they celebrate holidays?

In the peace and quietness of their cozy abode, for sure! 😂You see, with Colette and Antoine always looking after their brother and his wife and loving to spend the holidays all together, sometimes Mathias and Dorothea had an hard time to be completely alone during the holidays, even more so after their children were born. So, before becoming parents, they would sometimes try to run away in the countryside to just enjoy each other's presence, since it was the one they loved the most.

13) Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Considering how both of them were two absolute nightowls, sometimes, when the moon was full and the weather serene, Dorothea loved to surprise Mathias with a midnight picnic, just for the two of them. She would spread a blanket in the garden that Mathias had planted for Dorothea, and with lit lanterns around them, they would enjoy some of the dishes that Dorothea had cooked for him (thanks to Colette being the best teacher ever <3). The quiet of the night around them, with only the moon kissing them, the stars twinkling for them, the crickets chirping softly, fireflies flying around them as the wind gently blow and danced through the tree branches....it made them feel secure, protected in the bubble that was their love, as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

Another couple tradition they had was connected to reading. They both were two ENORMOUS bookworms, with an impressive collection of books that they had collected throughout the years. But what's special about those books were the old, worn-out bookmarks that they had glued to various pages. Each bookmark had a memory attached - a quote they loved, a tear-stained page due to one of their fights, a shared laughed caused by a sentence. It was a tradition started by Dorothea: she was so terrified that something might happen and bring her back to the XIX Century that she wanted to have those memories collected by those bookmarks, so that everything she had with Mathias was "set in stone" and nothing could ever erase it.

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Thank you so much for this ask <3 it took me a little to write it all down, but I had so much fun <3

Truly, it put such a big smile on my face and such happiness to my heart, Nonnie, you have no idea <3

Thank you <3

[dirtytransmasc]

No thoughts just Spider getting his revenge on Lyle when he sees him again.

Wait does Quaritch know what happened to Spider? Or did he only find out when he first saw him on the battlefield field all blue and tall.

so I'm gonna answer this in the context of the recoms not getting a redemption (rare for me). this ficlet is centered around the things that, to me at least, make spider, spider. it is his sense of mercy and empathy and overall kindness to even his enemies, I can't see him being cruel or particularly violent.

spider, being spider, tries so hard to find mercy within himself, wanted to kill only out of duty not out of vengeance. but part of him, is so angry, that demon took so much from him, from his family; years of his life, witnessing his siblings grow up, his family's feeling of peace, his body of all things.

so while he refuses to straight out claim his goal for vengeance, he does claim lyle as his kill, that unless absolutely necessary, he be taken in alive. he vows to eywa that it would be a clean, merciful kill, promises himself that as a means to protect himself from the rage he feels.

he isn't like those demons, he does not take pleasure in the kill, he does not hunt down other humans or na'vi like they are an animal, and he does not disvalue a man's life as all life is sacred no matter his personal feelings on the matter. now that he could truly connect with eywa, he practically swore pacifism outside of necessity, in her honor, following her beliefs to the word and with great passion; life is sacred, killing without need is shameful, and now he feels the calls of a personal vendetta forcing the cravings of blood on him? eywa have mercy.

he goes into battle each day waiting to see his face, waiting to hear his name. he almost feels shame in how ready he is to take that man's life, to drain the light from his eyes. he prays to eywa after each battle, each night that passes with that man's heart still beating, that he finds it in himself to quell the flames that roared in his belly, burning his heart, his lungs, his everything.

when lyle is captured, they make his execution public. a warning, the tsamsiyu pesu 'awnim tspang (the warrior who avoids the kill) executing a prisoner, is a force to be reckoned with. spider treats him with honor, despite the flame flickering in his throat.

during his capture her makes sure he is fed and given water, his restraints don't become tight enough to cut him, watched over him as he slept so he could be in loose bonds.

he talked, a lot, lists every bit of pain, from losing his body, being in a coma for years, stuck in his own head completely and utterly alone, to losing the opportunity to watch his little siblings grow up, the one thing a big brother cherish's most.

he may not have tortured lyle physically but he did emotionally. he speaks of his mother and father, the pain they suffered, his siblings, growing up next to a glorified corpse, all the lives lost to save him. he knows lyle's a family man, remembered how much he had loved and taken to spider back during his time in captivity. he knows that every word he speaks, of his own pain, his family's pain, breaks lyle down bit by bit, knowing he nearly killed the kid he began to consider his own weighs on his chest like a pile of boulders, cutting off his breath.

the execution itself is simple, lyle is tied to a stake and spider makes a speach to his people;

"I kill this tawtute ‘ongokx nìmun mìfa tsleng Na'vi tokx (skyperson born again inside a false Na'vi body) as a testament of my people, of how we will continue this war. this man nearly took my life, took away years of my journey I will never get back, devastated my family and my people. I had every right to destroy him, to have him tortured or left to wither as he left me; it was my right to make it personal, to take out my rage, to devalue him like he has devalued us. but I didn't, because in the eyes of Eywa that is wrong. his life mattered, even if he has hands soaked in blood, my blood. this is how we fight this war, we fight them as if they are our equals, we kill only out of necessity. brother's and sister's I know your pain, it has touched me as well, lit a fire in my stomach that licks at the top of my mouth as I speak, but we must find it in ourselves to honor our enemy. we must not be like them, we must not take joy and glory from their deaths, but only our victories, we must have mercy so that when we judge ourselves in peace times, we don't feel the weight of our mercilessness on our backs. we must fight the way Eywa intends. let me be that example." he spoke calm and true, like a true leader, one who has met eywa and returned to tell the tale.

he looks to lyle, blade in hand. "oel ngati kameie, vrrtep, tsunslu nga run fpom nìronsrel Eywa, (I see you, demon, may you find peace in Eywa)"

"'oeru txoa livu," its the first and only words lyle had said willingly during his entires, not "I'm sorry" but the much heavier "may their be forgiveness for me" tearing spider's heart in two. when spider urge's him to talk again, he only flash's a sad smile, eyeing the knife and nodding.

spider didn't want to do this, he did and he didn't, the fire was threatening to consume him if he didn't, but his heart, the heart everyone claimed was too good for a child touched by Eywa to be a tsam kxìmyu (war commander), wanted nothing more then to let him go.

but he did it anyway, sliding the blade between his ribs, hands becoming flush with the man's skin, piercing his heart instantly. spider swears he felt its last panicked beats against his knife, felt sick as it twitched for just a second before going eerily still. lyles death was just as instant as the knife was, he didn't even get the chance to make a sound, but he died with a sense of peace on his face that he didn't carry before.

"Oeru txoa livu, ma oeyä tsmukan. Kä set ne sa'nok tirea. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì, (death prayer)," his words shake as the flame's simmer down to hot embers and he pulls the knife from lyle's chest.

he hear's the somber cheers of the crowed, he doesn't hear what they're saying exactly, as he's too busy cutting the man down from the stake, gently guiding him to rest on the ground, feeling every emotion possible all at once. he felt both relief and agony at once, like the weight of this mans sins were taken off his shoulder and replaced with his own grief. this man may have hurt him but first he befriended him, took care of him, and as much as he was a demon there was good in him, deep down, practically eradicated, and spider had to live with that knowledge, that he was the one who rid him of that chance to uncover it, embrace it, no matter how unlikely it was.

spider would hand the body back over, even if it displeased his people, it just felt right. honor was worth more then his image, any day, but especially now with eywa looking over his shoulder, guiding him to be the best he could be.

he hadn't seen his father face to face, refusing to go near him, but he knew he was out there, watching, no doubt with contempt;

it was quite the opposite really, miles watched his boy grow to be someone even the RDA respected, a boy full of honor and grace, who fought fair and with mercy, every breath calculated to cause as little death as necessary to achieve his goals and protect his people. the boy he had feared he lost, waited years with a gut feeling he was out there, only confirmed by sully's raids, to appear in the battlefield. to see him in a na'vi body was odd, it took a few encounters to piece it together in his mind completely, but that was his boy, big and blue now. he couldn't bring himself to see him as an enemy, even as he lead thousands of warriors, fought and killed soldiers with ease, held speeches and rallies, called for the fall of the RDA. that was his boy, and he watched on with pride.

spider knew returning the body would only lead to its senseless burning, like all sky people were burned upon their deaths, no matter how noble. no one cared enough to take time to bury their dead on the opposing side anymore.

miles buried lyle in a clearing, the man like to watch eclipse begin and end, could watch it over and over. it wasn't much of a looker, but the spot gave him a perfect view of it. he'd miss his right hand man, his corporal, his other half. lyle had been his bald bastard come hell or highwater for the last god knows how many years, it hurt to lose him.

the war would continues till it was father against son, the last remaining soldier versus an army of warriors, led only by his own kin. his son would spare him with the threat of a death worse than to all the flames and tar in the world. it would have to be spider to make that kill, after everything, and that was a kill he couldn't make. with the RDA gone for good, what remained innocent of the human race settled, and no hope for any insurgency again, spider was finally allowed to give the mercy he so longed for to his father. it was a risk, one he ran over and over in his head till it felt heavy with thoughts, so heavy it threatened to rip right off his neck, but he decided it was the right choice; his father, in this body anyway, wasn't given a choice, and even if he did willingly do what he did, it was because he was a back into a corner. spider knew better than to kill an enemy that stood no chance of escape, it was cruel. he could never atone for his sins, but he could live them out in solitude, never to be taken in or accepted by any clan.

they would never meet again, but spider found comfort in knowing his dear old dad was out there, probably watching him grow, watching him lead beside his big brother. for once there was comfort in feeling eyes on your back and turning to see no one there. this was true peace, getting to live with your mercy, it felt good.