#Black Flame Warrior Burn

[n41r]

Cilok kecap ekstra pedas

[running-with-kn1ves]

Could you do Orc Tribal Leader X Reader on your wedding night?

A/N: I SWEAR I'm literally just writing the same stuff over again b/c I had a story just like this, but you know what I never get tired of it because its like a top fantasy bro. Hope this one was better than that version at least

Content warnings: Forced Marriage, kidnapping, attempted escapes, nonconsensual touching, infantilization of reader  

Synopsis: Your village, destroyed and burned. Your life picks up somewhere you would never have imagined. Maybe, death is a better option than being an orc’s spouse. 

Word Count: Approx. 2600 

The autumn solstice was a bountiful, beholden time of year. From the greeneries of cabbage and the fowls hatched in summer now fully grown, there was much to be harvested and ripened for the taking. Your town was boisterous, full of life with a variety of competitors and businesses attempting to lurch at any tourist’s or local’s wallet to get them to buy countless crops, meat, and woven goods.  

Your tiny tea shop, suffering from last July’s drought, was finally starting to perk up with re-growth. Black tea, jasmine, bergamot, even hybrid blends like crushed raspberry and chamomile-- you could assemble enough to raise prices, label the small reaping as an imported foreign good luck charm that when drunken, blessed women with marriage prospects and men with wealth.  

That was, before however, you became bound and gagged to a chair, pleasantries being exchanged around you in a language harsh in your ears. The fires... You remember them well, the putrid stench of charred meat from the butcher next door, his body even more ablaze. Your jade boxes of fine silk bags meant for holding gifts of tea, becoming laden with ash and dust. Every scrap of money you saved up under the floorboards disappearing into floating particles and melted coins.  

“Brutes,” Your uncle called them, “deranged beasts with only two things in mind: bloodlust and greed.” 

Orcs were not well-received in a conservative, fearful town of humans. Even the elves, seen as symbols of beauty in mortal standards, were causes of paranoia and irritation whenever they made their rounds nearby.  

It was no wonder that the lines of tusked, olive-fleshed creatures in animal skin were spotted, the guards of your small city went on a rampage. Bows and arrows were no match for iron bones and teeth of steel.  

You, were no match for anything wider than a tree trunk. So when fire caught to your village, your home now rampaged for its finest ‘offerings’ to the orcs, you were left to be eaten by the licking flames. And yet, was it a blessing or a curse that one of the warriors decided to haul you on his back, doting on how “nicely you’ll do” as a wedding gift. You didn’t realize that the gift was to be part of the ceremony yourself.  

With smoke in your lungs and your eyes blurred by dirt and ash, you watched the ceiling cave in on your tiny tea-filled shack, bright orange and red dancing from behind the window panes as you drifted away.  

Daraktan is spoken all around you, harshly and with flicking tongues. You can hear snippets of English, wondering what’s going on behind the black veil covering your head. You don’t dare remove it, recalling what the orc woman, supposedly your now husband’s ‘mother’ telling you in your native tongue.  

“Touch this, and you will surely die. My alfhild will remove it, when it is time.”  

And so, you wait. Digging your fingernails into your palms, crying quietly in heavy furs and leather, the occasional hand coming to pull your shaky one to their mouths, kissing the tip of your index finger.  

“Aka’magosh..” They mumble to you, seemingly more at the body to your right. 

The calloused hand of someone much larger than you, whom you have assumed is your husband from his constant appearance nearby, occasionally comes to grace your back, to rest a hand on the top of your head, to smoothen your veil or the soft fur shawl on your legs.  

His hearty laugh hurts your ears, the jingles of the metal jewelry he adorns constantly making noise as he shifts.  

“Please..” You whisper, praying, to whoever may be listening. Why you? Why, out of all the fair, eligible humans of your town, were you picked out from the rubble to be “saved”? To be married to a faceless orcish man, who would surely break you in half before morning? 

The bitter cold of coming winter brushes against your legs. You can feel that you’re not inside wooden walls, and yet unnatural lighting seems to shine through your veil at times.  

“Omulork, I think I will take my… wedding gift, to be with in solitude.” 

Loud, deep laughs fill the room, the guttural voices of female orcs being swallowed up by uncountable numbers of warriors surrounding you. Your body shivered as a gust of wind blew in, the autumn breeze barely being kept at bay from where you sat.  

“Enjoy the festivities, shedzvagas!”  

His unique husk leaves everyone in the room to cheer in their orcish language, tough and painful pats coming to your back, the festive shakes to your shoulder nearly making you topple. 

That same heated, abrasive hand comes to grab your roped wrists, lurching you firmly, yet gently from your place on the ground. Panic started to fill your stomach as it rose to your chest, the warm aura of an orc next to you radiating to heat you from the chilly weather outside.  

Now. It was now or never. You didn’t want to think anymore what he would do to you when you were alone, when you had no one to cry to for help.  

Your feet moved before the thought finished crossing your mind. Your hands shook as you stumbled in a sprint forward. You passed thick bodies as you ran blindly, making it a mere five steps before a pair of meaty hands grabbed you by the hips. 

“A feisty one, Gar’mak!” The sounds of the orc woman who forced you into your wedding attire spoke up, a drunken laugh leaving her plump lips. “Alfhild, better not leave it out of your sight.” 

You hated how clear the English they used was to your ears, how human they all sounded, how when they spoke in your native tongue-- it was meant for your ears. She wanted you to know, to let the fear soak into your chattering teeth.  

The orc keeping you captive merely laughed, tossing your weightless body to his shoulder just like he had done when pulling you from the cobble of what was left of your tea shop. 

You screamed, biting down on what you could reach from under your veil. But the salty, thick flesh from beneath you was aloof, offering no reaction as a double pat was brought to your buttocks.  

“Now now, Djenifor, don’t fuss.” Gar’mak mused, each step he took forward making your body thump against his. He held a tight grip on you, not caring for the scratches you layered his back with. “I won’t try to hurt you… I will keep you safe, try my best to keep your fragile body in one piece.”  

The coldening night air was a drastic change to the room of heavy body heat and weighty movement where the wedding ritual and festivities were held. Now, it was quiet. You could hear the loud chattering begin to drift, songs and chants rising again as they once had when you were unceremoniously married to your new ‘husband.’  

Gar’mak patted your butt again, moving down to rub at the back of your thigh with a gentle, firm rhythm. He seemed to hum to himself, satisfied with the nights events. Scored himself a spouse and the treasured belongings of a human town.  

He must be pretty proud of himself, you seethed.  

The tears were beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, frantically scratching at the orcs back when you felt the warmth of an enclosed area meet your skin.  

“No, no--” You began to kick, trying to shove off the arm holding you steady on the orcs’ shoulder.  

“Settle down now--” Gar’mak ordered softly, putting you down on the fuzzy ground. You managed to hit his face, the hard scrape of tusks scratching your hand as a firm nose nearly cracked your knuckles.  

The orc went silent. Quiet in rage, he rips your veil away with a grip hard enough to tear hair out if he so desired.  

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly lit tent, lanterns glowing at the corners as the mass of a creature leers over you. You forgot just how… big, orcs were. From afar they looked small, bigger than a human, but no threat due to distance. But now… he was above you, twice your height, twice your size, twice if not thrice everything. His palm the size of your skull, his eyes gleaming and looking over your body, weak with exhaustion and fright.  

Small, intentional scars were placed under his auburn eyes, some kind of tribe symbol you were sure. Thick eyebrows furrowed at the way tears decorated your cheeks, the exhales from his flat nose blowing hot breath on your chest.  

“Please, I, I can’t, I don’t belong--” You fumble over yourself, trying to slide back on the floor of soft wolf and caribou furs.  

“Shh, shh now,” The orc puts a hand to your ankle, an action that jerks you to a stop. “I won’t hurt you, lebam…” 

You sincerely doubt that, but the sentiment sounds genuine from his broken, baritone voice. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, pulling slowly with immeasurable strength at your leg. You slide towards him with little strain, even with your muscles going rigid for you to stand your place, your fingernails digging into the ground beneath you.  

You shake out your name, reluctant to give it.  

“Ah. What a human name; a scared wee human, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dare to respond, waiting for the sound of your snapping ankle. 

“They call me Gar’mak, though that may be too difficult for simple human brains. Mak is fine, little Djenifor…” 

You don’t want to call him anything, to refer to him at all-- yet, he looks keen to hear you say it. There’s an expectation in his eyes, a flick of his giant tongue against his lips.  

“Mak..” You mumble, trying not to gag.  

“Yes…” The orc’s hand frees your leg, caressing up to your cheek as he wipes away a forgotten wet stream of tears.  

“Please, just let me go--” You beg under your breath, scared of the way he seems to be eyeing your knees, your frail neck, your round ears.  

“You know that’s not going to happen,” He doesn’t seem angry at you for asking, just… Sorry. “We are bound forever now; even the gods couldn’t tear us apart. Wherever you go, I will find you. Whenever I leave, you will feel me gone. By sunrise tomorrow your scars will be given, and you will become one of us.”  

The panic begins to settle once again in your stomach. Maybe, tonight, yes-- tonight, if you could escape. You could-- just maybe you could find a way, past their all-seeing eyes, their all-hearing ears, escape to the mountains they took to get you here. 

 “But can’t you change it back?” Your voice cracks, expression twisting into an ugly cry as you feel thick fingers dig into your hair. “Just, we can go back-- just let me be…”  

You sob for what feels like too long, hours maybe, Gar’mak’s eyes never leaving you as he pulls you to his thigh. He brings a cotton blanket to your legs as he shushes you, the tenderness of his eyes a foreign sight compared to the façade he forced you to endure during the night's festivities.  

When your cries had turned to miserable, quiet sniffles, a muscled knuckle finds its way under your chin. He turns your head to look at him, eyes red and droopy as you try to think of any method of escape.  

“You’ll learn to like it here, human.” Gar’mak thinks for a moment, caressing your leg with a single finger.  

 “We are far more civilized than your kind-- far more… Fair. You’ll be treated well. The spouses of warriors do not go unfed, unbathed. Unloved, most of all. You will be cherished; I will cherish you, as long as you let me.”  

The orc grips your jaw in his hand, firm enough to where his fingers made dimples in your cheeks, but softly to where you felt like a mouse in someone’s closing palm. A kiss was planted to your temple, your body pushed deep against your husband’s as he holds you close enough to suffocate. You wait for him to choke life from you, and yet it never comes. He is harsh with his touches, but not harsh enough to hurt.  

“Please, let's finish tonight how it was meant to go, hm? Let me hold you…” He murmurs, all soft and lamblike into your ear. It sends shivers down to your soles, hot breath layering your neck as he looks at your lips with such intensity.  

You fear saying no, but the word rises up to your throat.  

It doesn’t make it out in time. Lips engulf yours, the stiff coldness of bone-colored tusks brushing against your face as Gar’mak holds you tight. Just one kiss is enough to make his demeanor act up.  

Your unassuming, comfort-driven spot on his lap is altered swiftly. You find yourself straddling the orcs’ waist, a hand pressed against the back of your head as your tied hands remain useless against his chest.  

You don’t know whether to speak, to scream, to bite at his lips-- but you remain flexile, afraid of the rough hand holding your skull so tenderly, the other gripping your thigh to wrap around his flank. You’re like a resistant doll, licked lips becoming tender as the orc pushes against you with such tenacity.  

You see his eyes open, staring into your wide, unblinking ones. They seem to communicate more than just lust-- its desire, desire for your reciprocation.  

Gar’mak waits… he kisses you, eyes narrowed on standby for your submission. They’re hazy and make you wonder if this is enough to make him release his brutish side, the part that showed no mercy for your neighbors or your home. What would happen, if you broke away or dared to claw at him?  

That thought doesn’t stay for long, not when the tough hand on the back of your head moves to your neck, squeezing just enough to bruise.  

You wince, lips pursing in reaction just in time for his next tongued assault.  

That slight opening of your mouth, the press of your lips against his, is all he needed. You find yourself twisted beneath his body as you’re brought to lay on the furry floor, the orc lying above you.  

“That’s right, I’ll be soft Djenifor… just do as I command, keep smelling so sweetly for me.” 

Scars litter his shoulders and collarbone, metal necklaces and piercings dangling on his olive-green, lightly haired chest as you fear how much it would take for him to crush you.  

He’s so quiet, letting go of your mouth as the orc’s curled tongue licks a slow, wet stripe down your jaw. His hands grab your thighs to wrap your legs around him, intent on keeping you steady and so close you practically breathe the same air.  

Before he leans to kiss you feverishly again, the orc brushes your cheek with his knuckles, petting down the amalgamated fabrics you wear to commemorate your wedding.  

 “You’re so lucky I found you first, that I had saved you from that rubble without layering an extra scratch; my brethren would not be so kind.”  

He kisses your cheek, a soft, hungry grin playing on his plumped and tusked lips. “So stay pliant like this for me, wee human, and you won’t feel any pain.” 

You lay rigidly, squeezing your eyes shut as a tender, all-consuming kiss eats you up, preparing you for the night’s affairs.  

[r0ugesun]

I was looking for an angel who could write for Addam Velaryon and I found you🥹 (I've become obsessed with this man and he deserves more recognition).

After Addam is taken to the Black Queen's castle, he becomes betrothed to the Reader (daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra)?? Addam meets her and she is super tough. The Reader is also assigned to accompany his training and teach him the basics of High Valyrian. Something funny and cute.

If you could write it, can you add that the Reader is Vermithor's rider?

(and sorry for the long request)

Hii tysm for sending this request I absolutely love addam and though he’s not as popular as other characters i am soo happy to be writing for him I hope my writing meets ur expectations :>

Synopsis: Addam, betrothed to Y/n Targaryen, trains rigorously in dragon riding and High Valyrian under her guidance. As he transforms from novice to warrior, they forge a powerful bond

Addam Velaryon x Targaryen! Reader

Addam stepped into the courtyard of the Black Queen’s castle, his eyes wide as he surveyed the imposing architecture. The grandeur of the castle, with its high walls and intricate stonework, was almost overwhelming. His thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous roar reverberating through the stone walls. He glanced skyward to see Vermithor, the massive dragon, perched regally atop a high tower. His heart skipped a beat, the tales of Vermithor’s might paled in comparison to the reality of seeing the dragon in person.

A voice, sharp and commanding, cut through his reverie. “Cease your gawking at my dragon. Vermithor doesn’t take kindly to strangers”

Addam turned to see a young woman standing with an air of confidence, her arms crossed. She was tall, her fierce violet eyes unmistakably reminiscent of her father, Daemon. This must be his betrothed, the daughter of the black queen Rhaenyra.

“You must be Addam,” she said, approaching with a confident stride. “I am here to ensure you do not make a complete fool of yourself in training and to instruct you in the basics of High Valyrian.”

Addam nodded, attempting to mask his apprehension with a courteous smile. “Your assistance is most welcome. And you are…?”

“Your betrothed,” she replied with a wry smile. “But you may call me y/n. Now, let us ascertain whether your skills on dragon back match you talent for gawking.”

They proceeded to the training yard, where an array of wooden dummies and practice weapons awaited. Y/n stood beside addam and seasmoke.

“The enemy will show you no mercy and neither should you, seasmoke is fast and agile when you are within reach of the enemy command seasmoke to burn the enemies, ‘dracarys’ is the command” Addam nodded, absorbing her words as they stood before Seasmoke.

The dragon, sleek and agile, seemed a stark contrast to the imposing figure of Vermithor. Addam felt a surge of determination as he mounted Seasmoke, the dragon shifting slightly beneath him.

Y/n watched him with a critical eye, her arms still crossed. "Remember, Addam, confidence is key. Dragons respond to strength and certainty. Show any hesitation, and Seasmoke will feel it."

Addam took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Dracarys!" he commanded, his voice firm.

Seasmoke responded immediately, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the practice dummies. The wooden figures were engulfed in flames, the heat palpable even from a distance. Addam felt a thrill of exhilaration course through him.

Y/n's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Hmm..Not bad" she conceded. "But there's more to dragon riding than just giving commands. You need to become one with your dragon, understand their movements, their moods."

She mounted her own dragon, Vermithor, with practiced ease. "Watch closely" she instructed. Vermithor took to the sky, his powerful wings beating against the air. Y/n guided him through a series of maneuvers, displaying a seamless connection between rider and dragon.

Addam watched in awe, determined to reach that level of mastery. He knew he had a long way to go, but with Y/n's guidance, he felt a glimmer of hope. As she landed gracefully beside him, she gave him an appraising look.

"You're not completely hopeless" she said, her tone teasing. "But you've got a lot to learn. Come, we'll start with the basics of High Valyrian. It’s time to see if your mind is as sharp as your instincts."

Addam dismounted, following her towards a shaded alcove where a table laden with scrolls and books awaited. He felt a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, but also a burgeoning respect for the woman who was to be his wife.

Two weeks had passed, and each day was a rigorous test of Addam's resilience and determination. Y/n proved to be a relentless instructor, her expectations high and her methods demanding. Under her watchful eye, Addam's mornings began with intensive dragon-riding sessions, where he learned to maneuver Seasmoke with precision and confidence. Afternoons were dedicated to mastering the intricacies of High Valyrian, a language as complex as it was ancient.

The once unfamiliar syllables and guttural sounds began to flow more naturally from Addam’s lips, thanks in no small part to Y/n’s exacting standards. Her fierce violet eyes missed nothing, and she corrected his slightest missteps with a firm, yet patient, demeanor.

One afternoon, after an exhausting session of both physical and linguistic training, Addam found himself in the castle’s library, poring over a scroll of High Valyrian texts. Y/n entered, her presence commanding as always.

“Your pronunciation has improved,” she remarked, settling across from him with a satisfied nod. “But there is still much to perfect.”

Addam looked up, a weary but grateful smile on his face. “Your guidance has been invaluable. I could not have come this far without your relentless instruction.”

Y/n smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “Relentless, am I? Perhaps today we will tackle something more challenging.”

She leaned forward, her fingers tracing a line of text on the scroll. “Repeat after me: Nyke nykeā zaldrīzes kipagīros”

Addam furrowed his brow, focusing intently.

“N-nyke nykeā zaldrīzes kipagīros” he echoed, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words.

“Good,” Y/n encouraged, though a hint of mischief danced in her voice. “Now, try this one: Nyke hen lopor se embar”

Addam’s concentration deepened, his tongue struggling with the fluidity of the language. “..Nyke hen lopor se embar” he repeated, his pronunciation faltering.

Y/n chuckled softly, her laughter like a melody. “Close enough,” she teased. “One more, but this time I wish to hear what you’ve learned.”

Addam sighed, determination and frustration mingling in his expression. “Avy….. jorrāelan” he said, the words foreign yet strangely familiar on his lips.

Y/n’s eyes softened, her demeanor shifting from instructor to something more tender. “Do you know what you just said?” she asked, her voice a gentle whisper.

Addam gazed at y/n with sincerity in his eyes. “Tell me what you heard”

Y/n leaned in closer, her gaze locking with his. “You said, ‘I love you.’”

Addam’s heart raced, suddenly feeling foolish like a schoolboy with a crush. “Y/n” he began, his voice trembling slightly, “I…I meant it. I do love you.”

Her smile deepened, her hand reaching out to gently touch his. “And I love you, Addam,” she confessed, her eyes shining with emotion.

Gently, almost hesitantly, Addam closed the distance between them. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. Y/n’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as she tilted her head slightly, meeting him halfway.

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, the world around them fading into insignificance. The kiss was a tender melding of shared affection and unspoken promises, each moment stretching into eternity. Addam’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

In that quiet corner of the castle library, amidst the ancient texts and whispered secrets, their hearts spoke a language older than any scroll, bound by a love that needed no translation.

[zarvasace]

Part 4/7 or so…. Legend’s mirror shield may have thrown a wrench in the plot works, actually. I gotta reevaluate.

Day 21: drugged. Image description under cut!

<<previous || next>>

Page One

Panels one, two, and three are across the top of the page.

Panel one: Not-Four with red eyes holds a white-flaming torch up to the thatched roof of a building.

Panel two: Not-Four, still with the flaming torch, kicks a barrel over with an evil smile.

Panel three: Not-Four stands against a door of a building labeled “flour storage” with an explosion behind the door. The flaming torch is in the foreground.

Panel four: We see the back of Four’s head, and his hands splayed out over a break in the darkness of the mindscape. The window shows, vaguely, some flaming buildings. Four says: “Stop it! Property damage?? Really?? lame.”

Panels five and six: Not-Four with red eyes looks to the side and says, “oh, you’re awake?” A colorful speech bubble (red, purple, green, and blue) interrupts the panel break: “GET OUT!” Not-Four then squeezes his eyes closed and winces. He says: “Ugh, you’re [underlined] loud…”

Panel seven: We see Not-Four’s hand curl, surrounded by red squiggly lines. He says: “This’ll shut you up, for a while.”

Panel eight: Four, with a black background, stands with one arm raised to protect his face. He looks angry but maybe a little worried. Red arrows all point toward him as if attacking. He says: “aaah!”

Page Two

Panel one: This is a dramatic shot of a silhouette of Not-Four in the foreground, with a burning town and a white moon in the background. A large ellipses “...” is in the corner to show time passing. 

The exclamation “There he is!” with a “hm?” overlaps the transition to the next panel.

Panel two: Not-Four stands to face us, holding a flaming torch over his shoulder. His eyes are still red. He says: “Ah, nothing like some good, old-fashioned [underlined] ARSON to bring a Hero running. Or three.”

Panel three: Legend on the left holds his sword and mirror shield, and looks angry. Warriors in the middle holds his sword out with both hands and says “Who are you?” Wild on the right holds his bow and an arrow at the ready, frowning.

Panel four: Not-Four declares, “I am YNTAK [The name is bold and shaded in red], founder of the Yiga, returned from death! Tremble before my might!!”

Page Three

Panel one: The same group of three Heroes is smaller, looking at Not-Four. Arrows point to them with text reading “not impressed.” A little line labeled “short” hovers over Not-Four’s head, and Not-Four says: “hmph.”

Panel two: We see Not-Four’s waist, shoes, and hands. He drops the flaming torch to the ground and pulls a bag out from somewhere. He says: “I’ll make you bow … in a [underlined] different way.”

Panel three: Wild, looking angry now, says, “Give us our friend back, Yiga. [underlined] Now.”

Panel four: Not-Four scowls and smiles widely. He says: “Or what? Do you want to hear how much he’s screaming inside right now?” 

Panel five: This panel is a circle that interrupts the transition between panels four and six. In it, we just see Not-Four’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide in a mockery. The wobbly speech bubble spills over and says “AAAAAAHH~”

Panel six: Legend scowls and says, “Shut up. What do you want, a body?”

Page Four

Panel one: On the left are the three Heroes, weapons pointed. On the right is Not-Four, hand on a hip as he speaks. He says: “I [underlined] have a body already. What I [underlined] want is my empire back. And… well.”

Panel two: A red speech bubble says “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about [all caps] KILLING THE HERO!!!” Wild on the left stumbles back, looking startled. Not-Four on the right leaps forward, throwing a handful of little red specks at Wild.

Panel three: We see just Legend’s face with some movement lines. He’s shouting, “WILD!”

Panel four: Wild is faintly in the background, but Legend leaps sideways across the page with his mirror shield between him and Not-Four. We see Not-Four’s reflection in the shield, looking startled as he throws the red specks. A red speech bubble says “—uh oh—”

[gumbootillustrations]

UGH I FUCKING FINALLY FINISHED THIS

so yeah, have the divine warriors of the second war of the magi!!

more deets n closeups under the cut :3

aph!! i like to think that although the incarnations of the divine warriors r generally pretty similar, they do have some minor differences. for example, whereas the matron of the first war of the magi (irene) had one of the sets of wings on her head covering her eyes, the matron of the second war (mcd!aphmau) has both of them held back. this is bc whereas irene had lost her humanity (and therefore the ability to connect with mortals), aph hasn't - and, therefore, her eyes are open to the struggles of humanity. additionally, i took a lot of inspiration from honkai impact 3rd for these designs - in aph's case, i was inspired by elysia's herrscher of human: ego battlesuit and how it looks like a wedding dress (which a lot of folks have interpreted as an expression of her love for humanity, which is smth i want to convey w aph).

i think my favourite part of aaron's destroyer form is his seal (the thingy behind his head like a halo). i wanted to rlly play into the whole destroyer/devourer aspect of his abilities and domains, and i thought a black hole would fit perfectly! it also sort of (unintentionally) plays into how i see the dynamic between the matron and the destroyer and how they're both mirrors of each other; whereas the destroyer, well, destroys (and his black hole devours everything in sight), the matron creates and nurtures (seen in how aph's seal is almost like a white hole). i also wanted his armour to look a lot like the armour that shadow knights wear, albeit without all the spikes and spines and whatnot given that he isn't a shadow knight himself (shad's destroyer form from the first war probably looks a lot more similar to traditional shadow knight armour).

i'm lowkey suuper proud of how travis's keeper form turned out (even if i had to go back right at the end n fix it bc i forgot to add his tail 😭). i wanted this form to sort of be a mix between a high mage and a rogue: whereas the keeper embodies knowledge and magick, travis himself is a prankster who relies on cunning and trickery to gain the upper hand on his opponents. as a result, he's the only one who doesn't automatically manifest a weapon when he shifts into this form - instead, i feel like he chooses to rely more on magicks and witchcraft during combat.

katelyn's design was lowkey the hardest to pin down. originally, i wanted to go for something that was suuuper inspired by roman armour and had a copper and teal/turquoise colour scheme, but it wound up feeling too magical girl-ish and i scrapped it. i've retained the roman inspirations, but i headcanon that her flames are so hot they burn blue, so i settled on a blue-and-white colour scheme w some purple elements. i think my favourite part is her gauntlets! i feel like she uses them as an extension of herself/another pair of hands to punch with. the blue elements also lean into menphia's association with the moon - in ashes, ashes, tu'la is based on the roman empire and, as a result, is where werewolves originate from, and with werewolves having such close ties to the moon.... yeah. i'll probably do a post on tu'la later on at some point.

my blorbo

garroth's design is probably the one that's changed the least, but i'll still need to update his ref sheet anyway. i don't know if i conveyed it very well but the sort-of wing-things on his back are slabs of earth that can be shaped into a shield - originally i had him holding a shield but i wanted him to look a bit more divine warrior-ish so i retooled his design.

the boy! i was tossing up between having vylad or dante fill the role of the wanderer, but i settled on dante as i feel like vylad fits better as a sort of weird guide sort of figure within the narrative. plus, i have a real soft spot for dante and wanted him to remain in the limelight a little bit - i love his dynamic with garroth and laurance and i wanted to explore that further. i sort of wanted to play into his whole red-and-blue colour scheme that we see in canon diaries, but bc kul'zak is a nature deity (specifically of the wilderness), i wanted to incorporate some greenery into his design. i hope i've done an okay-ish job here - overall i'm pretty happy tho, but i can't promise that there won't be any tweaks in the future.

this is a redhead laurance propaganda spreading blog and i Refuse to apologise for it. i'd like to think that laurance's original colour scheme is similar to his justiciar form - lots of beautiful reds and golds and oranges to match the flames of his father's forge - but after he comes back from the nether with a Severe fear of fire he switches to the greens and browns that he's known for in canon. eventually he slowly begins to reclaim his fire and returns to the golds and oranges that he's introduced with (haha colour symbolism go brrrrrr).

but yeah. the special interest is special interesting. let me know if u have any questions!

[atiny-desire]

Shining Armor

Pairing: Knight! Jongho x fem! reader

Summary: Your village gets attacked in the middle of the night. Unlucky for you, Jongho decides to take you with him.

Word count: 2.2k

Disclaimer: I'm in no way condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting this kind of behavior. This is not supposed to represent Jongho in any way.

Warning: kidnapping, blood, murder, pillaging, a little bit of physical violence against the reader

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It was the middle of the night when you were woken up by the sound of snorting horses and their hooves that stomped over the gravel path of your village. The voices of men mixed together with the noises of the horses. You sat up in your bed, your heart was hammering against your ribcage. A group of men showing up in the middle of the night was never a good sign, especially in times of war.

As quiet as possible, you sneaked into the living area of the house. Your parents were already standing there together and peaked out of a small gap of the shutters. Your father turned his head when he heard you approach and then looked back at your mother. "You two, go hide, I'll deal with anyone who comes in." He tried to guide you both to a somewhat safe spit, but it was already too late.

The door of your small home swung open, and three men invaded your family's living space. One of the three stood out especially. His armor was pitch black, while the metallic armor of the other two were silver. The only thing they had in common was the blazon of the neighboring kindom on the right side of their chest. "One more move, and your heads are going to roll." The man in the black armored spoke before ordering the two men by his side to search the house for valuables and money. Your parents stood in front of you, trying to hide you away from the strangers eyes.

"Get out of my home!" Your father barked at the intruders, but the three of them were unimpressed by his order, they didn't even bother to turn their heads and just continued looting. It took just one stern glance from the black armored warrior to make anyone freeze up, including your Dad.

Their metallic armor was rustling while they moved around. You kept your eyes on the man who was still standing in the doorway. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword while he made sure that his men didn't miss a single nook or cranny. From outside, you started to hear screams of women and men alike. From the gap between the shutters, you could see the neighboring house. The thatched roof was currently going up into bright red flames. The dry material was easy feeding material for the fire to grow.

You turned your attention back to the men in your home. The tension was unbearable. The three of you hoped that they would just take what they wanted and leave again. At first, it looked like you were one of the lucky few who would get away, as the men finished plundering your home and moved to leave. The two men left first, and the man in black armor was about to follow before he turned around again. His gaze traveled over your small family before his eyes caught you through a small gap between your parents' bodies. His eyes narrowed at your parents before piercing right through you. "I'm taking the girl with me." It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request. It was a fact, an order.

Your mother's gaze turned fearful, she quickly searched for eye contact with your father, but he wasn't even looking at her. Your father had puffed his chest out and protectively stood before you and your mother. He might have let this man silence him, but he wouldn't give up his family without a fight. Anger burned in his gaze, with which he fixated the intruder. "You already took everything we have. Leave my home, now!"

The warrior grimaced his face, his eyes were cold, and his stance unwavering he was looking at your father like he did when he looked at bugs he was about to squish between his fingers A few unlucky ladybugs had already shared this fate. Deserved, as he would say, because how dare them stain his flawless armor with their red color? The only color he allowed was the red blood he drew from his enemies.

You had never seen brown eyes that managed to look so cold, to the point your whole body began to shiver. "Took what exactly?" He spat out with as much disdained as he could muster. It was his mission to show everyone in his way how little he thought of them. His hand that was previously just resting on the hilt of his sword now gripped it instead, ready to draw if he had to. "There's barely anything in this shithole. Do you think that's going to satisfy anyone?"

The warrior puffed out his chest just like your father did, but his heavy armor made him look more imposing, even causing your father to take a step back. "Hand me your daughter. Now! Unless you want me to paint the steel of my sword with your blood." A lazy smug smile spread on his face as he leaned forward, getting into your father's face. "And then I'll take her anyway."

Your father wanted to fight back. You could see it in his eyes, but what could he realistically do? He was huge, armored, and armed, and on top of that, he was not alone. His men were plundering the village in other houses, men and women were screaming alike, but you couldn’t worry about it right now, you had to worry about yourself.

The warriors eyes were on you again. His steely gaze caused you to flinch back and hide behind your mother like a scared child. He chuckled. "A little shy, are we?" His voice was a low murmur. He was seemingly satisfied by your reaction. Your body tensed, your throat tightened, you wanted to cry from being under so much stress. "Lucky. That's how I like 'em." He threw another cocky glance in your father's direction. He obviously wanted to provoke him, and he succeeded.

With an angry scream, your father attacked the armored warrior. His fist was closed tight to the point his knuckles turned white, but his resistance against the strangers' orders was short-lived. The warrior drew his sword, with such ease that one could think it weighted nothing more than a feather. The sight made you want to puke as your father got impaled on the sharp weapon. Time went by slowly, the event just barely registered in your brain as you had to watch your father stumble back, clutching his hand over the wound, choking up blood and eventually going down to the floor with a dull thud.

The world went silent for a second before your mother let out a gut-wrenching scream. She dropped to her knees and crawled over to her husband. She cradled his face, begging him not to die and to stand back up, but it was pointless. His heart had stopped beating shortly after being pierced by the sword. You were left standing on weak legs, wide-eyed and unprotected. Just what the warrior wanted.

He put his sword back into its scabbard before walking up to you to pull you against him. His arm was wrapped around your waste, the metal of his armor poked into your soft sides. He apparently didn't think you would struggle because his grip wasn't particularly tight. You began to squirm. "No, no, no! Let me go!" You yelled at him, put your hands on his shoulder, and tried to push him away.

The only thing your actions did was earn yourself an eye roll from him and a more firm grip on your waste. "Yes, yes, yes!" It was clear that he was mocking you. "Don't make it harder than it needs to be." He muttered as he roughly pulled you with him out of your home.

You screamed and wriggled in his hold, hitting him and trying everything to get out of his grip. You even yelled for your mother, but she didn't react. She was staring at your dead father. She was completely apathetic, to the point she didn't even notice the abduction of her own mother.

"Jongho! Did no one teach you that you don't drag the ladies screaming and kicking out of their house?" A male voice called out, followed by a hyena like laugh. You looked into the direction the voice came from. It was a man with blonde hair, a boyish grin decorating his lips, and blood was sprinkled all over his face and armor.

The man earned himself an angry glare from the one who dragged you out along with him. "Shut it, Wooyoung! How about you get your ass back on your horse? We're done here."

Jongho kept dragging you with him. Your resistance was useless. He managed to pull you with him with the same kind of ease he could draw his sword. He led you to a pitch-black horse. It looked just as mean as its rider. Tears of terror rolled down your face as your mind slowly began to process this quick follow-up of events. "Let go!" You whimpered, your voice was high-pitched and cracked occasionally.

The warrior stopped. His head turned toward you, but his eyes were still as cold and steely as before. "Why are you crying?" With his free hand, he gripped your face. The metal of his armor was now also poking into the skin of your face. He held you still and moved his face closer to yours. Unexpectedly, his tongue darted out and licked away the tears that had escaped your eyes. You flinched back as much as you could with his hold on you, your nose scrunched up, and your body shivered with disgust at the wet feeling of his tongue on your cheek. "Don't worry. Your life will be good as my wife." He murmured with a soft tone, but instead of soothing you, it only made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"Oh come on Jongho, did you never learn -" The voice of the man from before was heard again, you remembered Jongho calling him Wooyoung. He never got to finish what he wanted to say because Jongho's head shot up and locked his burning gaze on the blonde. "One more word, and you'll join the peasants under the ground!" That was enough to make Wooyoung shut up, he just raised his hands to show that he had given up and walked to his horse to avoid Jongho's path.

Now that Wooyoung was dealt with, you were back in Jongho's fixation. You were still struggling, although your attempts seemed almost pathetic. That was what he was probably thinking too, because a mocking grin tugged at his lips while he watched you squirm like a worm in a bird's beak. "That's enough, settle down."

His patience with you was running out, and when you still resisted, despite his stern order to settle down, he backhanded you across the face. A few of his men turned their head to see what was happening before quickly turning away again to stow away their looted goods, deciding that it wouldn't be worth it to mingle with Jongho's business. Your cheek was left red and warm, pulsating with pain. His slap would have already been powerful in itself, but the metallic gloves of his armor intensified the impact even more.

You held your warm cheek and looked up to the warrior in shock. The stinging pain forced tears to well up in your eyes again. "You'll need to learn some manners before you can mother my future children." He saw the look of horror on your face when he mentioned having children and chuckled lowly. The only thing you would remember from this moment was how emotionless his eyes looked. His brown eyes seemed black, the light of the burning houses behind you reflected in his dark eyes. He took the opportunity of you freezing up again and hoisted you up on his horse.

He joined you behind you so he could wrap his arms around your waist while he held the reigns. With a whistle, he signaled his men to mount up and get ready to leave. As you were forcefully taken with them, you turned your head to see the destruction they had caused in your hometown. Several buildings were burning down, black smoke disappeared into the black night sky, and a few corpses were lying around, some of them you even knew.

"Why me?" You asked when you turned around and stared forward. You could imagine how your mother must be feeling right now. Just like you, she lost everything in just one night.

You heard his chuckle from behind you, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Why not?"

Outraged you snapped your head around, your eyes were blazing with fury. "What do you mean, 'why not'?

"I mean exactly what I said. Why not. Do I need a reason to take you with me?" He asked. The men that were riding behind him were as quiet as the night, trying to hear what their General was saying. "Good, you want a reason? I think you'd look pretty in my bed. Does that satisfy you?" You saw the dirty smirk on his lips and quickly turned away again. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You wanted to scream but held it in the back of your throat. Still, a small frustrated sound left your mouth that only earned yourself another chuckle from Jongho.

[jiubilant]

cw: blood

“Do you love your brothers?” asks the priestess of the god Ofaanruvaak.

The god, licking the gore from his great maw, grants her a burning look. He’d caught the god of the hillmen, his brother, winging over his land without tribute or tinvaak—and had named him anew for this insolence, that Ahrolmal who had been Ahrolmul would not again forget who was thur from pines to fens. Nor would the hillmen forget. The priestess, before sending her marshmen to make thralls and crowfood of Ahrolmal’s folk, had painted their faces herself.

Now she stands at the foot of the godsroost as Ofaanruvaak Raven-Gift clambers down. Stones skitter down the slope. The ground trembles like a supplicant. A tree trodden beneath the god’s foot groans, prostrates itself, and snaps like a twig.

“Tell me a riddle,” he croaks, his voice still hoarse with flame. He bends his head. Smoke vents from teeth longer than seaxes. In the gilded hall of Konahrik Jun, hung above the pelt-strewn throne, the priestess had once seen a god’s fang taller than herself.

“My beak is bent to the base of things,” she murmurs, her face as still and wooden as her mask. The answers of her god are often as circular as his paths in flight; she spends her days treading patiently after the shadow of his wisdom, which seldom eclipses her whole. “I go grave along the ground. My going-forth is green on one side, and my track is black—”

“Do they love one another, these words that you speak?” The vast neck coils around her. A breath, or perhaps the heat of the huge eye, scorches her back. “The parts of the lawspeaker’s speech—proposition, examination, refutation—do these love one another, sonaaki?”

“If the speech is wise,” the priestess suggests. Her hand drips with the blood of Ahrolmal, which she had daubed on her warriors’ brows. “If the riddle is glib.”

Her god snorts. A pillar of smoke swirls from his jaws and dissolves in the mist of the night.

“It is a plough,” he says. Like a child studying an ant, he rests his chin on the ground to look the priestess in the face. “Tell another.”

“I have one single eye,” says the priestess, her voice dry. The riddle is one of Konahrik’s. “And two ears, and two hands, and two feet. And twelve hundred heads.”

A pause.

“I do not know this riddle,” says the god.

“A half-blind onion-peddler.”

Ofaanruvaak’s huff of laughter ripples the priestess’s robes. He straightens. He’s not as large as the World-Eater, her god—but his scales, as slick with blood as her sticky hand, are almost as black.

“I love my brothers,” he says, lifting his head higher than the trees, “as you love yours.”

He nods to the western hills. A glow like sunrise crests them: the burning houses of the hillmen, abandoned by their god.

[novaursa]

My Blood And Bone

- Summary: There were many times when Maegor tried to win your favor, before they locked you away. And he never forgot their insolence.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: These events happen before Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

- A/N: This was requested by @oxymakestheworldgoround , so here is more Maegor. 🙂

Aegonfort was a cage gilded in gold, its walls bearing witness to the secrets and treachery that brewed within. It was here, beneath the shadows of the Iron Throne, that your uncle's gaze followed you, the weight of his presence suffocating and inescapable. He had always been there, lingering in the periphery, his stormy eyes dark with something unspoken, something forbidden.

You were Y/N Targaryen, second daughter of King Aenys I and Queen Alyssa Velaryon, a jewel in the crown that your father held with trembling hands. But jewels were meant to be coveted, and Maegor Targaryen was not a man content to admire from afar. He was fire and fury, a beast unchained, and you were the treasure he sought to claim, no matter the cost.

It began with a gift, a blade forged in the fires of Dragonstone, its steel as dark as his intentions. “For you, niece,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the sword’s hilt pressing against your palm. “To keep you safe.”

Your father had frowned at the sight, his unease palpable. “She is a princess, not a warrior, brother,” he had said, his tone edged with the discomfort of a man who knew his words were futile. But Maegor’s smile was sharp, a predator’s smile.

“A princess should know how to defend herself, should she not?” His gaze flickered to you then, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. “It would be a shame for her to be unprepared should danger arise.”

The court whispered, of course. They always did. Maegor’s infatuation was no secret, nor was the growing tension between him and your father. But it was Visenya, the Dowager Queen, who saw what others chose to ignore. She watched with the keen eyes of a dragon, her silence a tacit approval of her son’s desire, for she, too, believed in the old ways, in the purity of Valyrian blood.

When Maegor took you riding on Balerion, the Black Dread, it was not a request but a command. “Come, niece,” he had said, his hand outstretched, the great dragon’s scales glistening like obsidian beneath the sun. “Let me show you the sky.”

You hesitated, your father’s warning echoing in your ears, but the defiance in Maegor’s gaze was irresistible. You took his hand, and the world fell away beneath you, the wind whipping your hair as the dragon soared higher and higher. His arms encircled you, strong and unyielding, and for a moment, you felt as though you were truly flying, free from the chains that bound you.

But Maegor was not content with mere flights of fancy. He sought to claim you in ways that words could not express, his touches lingering, his gaze possessive. When he found you alone in the godswood, your fingers trailing through the cool waters of the pond, his presence was a shadow that loomed over you, heavy and demanding.

“You should not be out here alone, niece,” he said, his voice a growl that sent shivers down your spine. “The court is full of vipers.”

You looked up at him, your defiance flickering like a flame. “And what are you, Uncle, if not the greatest viper of all?”

His laughter was dark, a sound that resonated in your bones. “Perhaps,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “But I am a viper who would kill for you, who would burn the world to keep you safe.”

Your heart pounded, your breath catching as his fingers trailed down your neck, a whisper of a touch that spoke of desires long suppressed. “You are wed, Uncle. The gods forbid such thoughts.”

“The gods,” he spat, his eyes blazing with fury, “have never cared for me, nor I for them. They saddled me with a barren bride, denied me the one thing I desire most. Why should I bow to them now?”

His words were blasphemy, and yet there was a truth in them, a fire that kindled something dangerous within you. But before you could speak, before you could give voice to the storm raging inside you, your father’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Maegor!”

King Aenys stood at the edge of the grove, his face pale with anger, his hands trembling. “I will not allow this,” he said, his voice shaking with the force of his will. “You will not defile my daughter, my blood, with your twisted desires.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, the cold fury in them a stark contrast to the heat of his words. “You think you can keep her from me, brother? You think your weak words and weaker will can stand against what is meant to be?”

“She is not meant for you!” Aenys’s voice cracked, the desperation in it ringing clear. “She is a child, my child. You will leave her be, or I will see you banished, see you—”

“See me what, Aenys?” Maegor stepped forward, his presence towering, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “See me banished again, as you did before? Send me away and hope that will be enough to keep her from me?”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Your heart raced, your eyes darting between your father and your uncle, caught in the tempest of their rage.

“You will leave her be,” Aenys said at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Or I will see you destroyed, brother or not.”

For a long moment, Maegor said nothing, his gaze locked on you, the intensity of it searing into your soul. Then, slowly, he inclined his head, a mocking smile twisting his lips.

“As you command, my king.” The words dripped with venom, but he turned away, the promise of something dark and dangerous lingering in the air as he left.

Your father sagged, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

You could only nod, the ache in your chest a hollow, aching thing. For in that moment, you knew that Maegor Targaryen was not a man who could be denied forever. He was fire, and fire would always find a way to consume what it desired most.

Aegonfort buzzed with the vibrant energy of your name day celebrations, a festival of color and laughter. Musicians played lively tunes, their melodies weaving through the air, while courtiers and lords offered their congratulations and admiration. It was a day meant for joy, for the lavish display of courtly grandeur, but beneath the surface, tension simmered, a crack in the facade.

King Aenys, your father, had spared no expense in organizing the grand hunt in your honor. Noblemen mounted their steeds, hounds barked eagerly, and the banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze as the hunt began in earnest. You stood beside your mother, Queen Alyssa, her smile warm but her eyes watchful, ever the vigilant protector.

Yet it was not the festive cheer that held your attention; it was the shadow that loomed on the edges of the gathering, the one presence that seemed to darken the day’s radiance. Maegor, your uncle, clad in black armor that gleamed ominously under the sun, was a brooding storm amidst the celebration. His gaze lingered on you, piercing and unrelenting, and it took all your composure to return his stare with a steady, if uncertain, gaze.

He had barely participated in the hunt itself, choosing instead to ride apart from the others, his attention fixed on something far more personal. You could feel it, that coiled tension within him, the intent that hummed like a drawn bowstring. And then he was gone, vanished into the woods, leaving a wake of unease behind him.

Hours passed, and the hunt returned, triumphant. Stags and boars were brought forth, the prizes of the chase, their bodies laid at the king’s feet as an offering to your honor. Applause rang out, voices cheering, but the absence of Maegor’s dark figure loomed over the festivities like a shadow.

Then, like a harbinger of doom, he appeared.

He rode into the courtyard, alone, his horse’s flanks lathered in sweat. Draped over the saddle, still warm and bleeding, was the heart of a great stag, its size and weight staggering. The sight drew gasps from the crowd, the murmurs of celebration turning to hushed whispers of shock and awe.

“For you, niece,” he said, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. He dismounted, lifting the bloody trophy with a strength that seemed almost inhuman. “A gift, to honor your name day.”

The heart, dark and glistening, dripped blood onto the pristine stones of the courtyard as he carried it to you. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes locked on the macabre offering. It was a brutal, savage gift, one that spoke of conquest and possession, of a man willing to tear the heart from the chest of a beast to lay it at your feet.

Queen Alyssa was the first to react, her face paling as she stepped forward, her voice tight with barely concealed horror. “Maegor, what is this madness?”

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on you, a challenge in his eyes. “A stag’s heart, the very symbol of life and power. To hold it in your hands is to understand what it means to conquer, to take what you desire and make it your own.”

Your hands shook as you reached out, hesitating before you touched the still-warm flesh, the blood staining your fingers. You understood the meaning, the dark symbolism of his gift. He was offering you more than a bloody trophy; he was offering his loyalty, his devotion, his savage, unyielding heart.

But your father, King Aenys, would not have it.

“Enough!” His voice cracked like a whip, the command echoing off the stone walls. He stepped forward, his face twisted with fury and disgust. “This is an insult, Maegor! A desecration of my daughter’s name day! How dare you bring such… such barbarity into my court?”

Maegor’s lips curled into a mocking smile, his gaze never wavering from yours. “An insult, brother? This is a gift, a token of my esteem. Or have you forgotten what it means to be Targaryen, to embrace the fire and blood of our heritage?”

“Do not twist our words to justify your depravity!” Alyssa���s voice trembled with rage, her hand gripping your arm as if to shield you from the grotesque spectacle. “This is not the way of things, not in our family, not in our court.”

“And what is our way, then?” Maegor’s voice was a low snarl, the barely restrained fury in it sending a shiver down your spine. “To bow and scrape before the whims of men who do not understand us? To deny the bond that is ours by right of blood, of fire?”

Aenys stepped between you and Maegor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the gesture more symbolic than threatening. “You will cease this, Maegor. You will leave her be. She is not yours to claim, not now, not ever.”

The air crackled with dread, the crowd holding its breath as the brothers faced each other, the king and the warrior, blood against blood. For a moment, you feared that Maegor might strike, that his rage would explode into violence right there in the courtyard, but then he laughed, a sound devoid of humor, harsh and cold.

“You are a fool, Aenys,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. “You think you can keep her from me, lock her away, and all will be well? She is not a prize to be hidden, not a thing to be kept on a shelf. She is Targaryen, as am I, and we are meant for more than this.”

“Enough!” Aenys roared once more, his face flushed with anger. “You will leave this place, Maegor. Leave now, or I will have you thrown out. I will not tolerate your madness, not on this day, not ever again.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor stood still, his gaze flickering to you one last time, his eyes dark with something raw and terrible. Then, with a slow, mocking bow, he turned and mounted his horse, the bloody heart still clutched in his hand.

“As you command, brother,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “But remember this: I do not forget. I do not forgive.”

And with that, he spurred his horse and rode out of the courtyard, the sound of hooves striking against stone fading into the distance. You watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and something you dared not name, the blood on your hands drying as the echoes of the argument lingered in the stillness.

It was the last time you saw him before everything changed, before you were spirited away to Dragonstone, a prisoner in all but name, and Maegor was exiled to the cold, distant lands of Essos. The heart of the stag, the symbol of his twisted devotion, haunted your dreams for years to come, a reminder of what had been offered, and what had been lost.

[shiningmystic]

A peek into your soul PAC

If you don’t believe in souls then this isn’t for you!

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You may not know yourself as well as you think; Your soul is its own thing, separate from your ego and higher self but is apart of the whole that is you and your energy. It's also only a peek into it so don't be too hung up on the minor details, just have fun! If it doesn’t resonate sorry man! Maybe next reading :)

If you see me describing you, then your pretty aligned with your soul!

How to choose a pile: Pick your favorite superpower and head down to your paragraph. You can choose a second one too if you’re a multi powered superhero 😉

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Flight ➳

Channeled colors: Blue, white, grey

You're a creator at heart, a fool on his journey of awakening. I see hard work isn't for you or your soul. you're a slow mover, a trendsetter someone that holds an explorer's heart and the imagination of a child. you seek freedom in all its forms and a person who enjoys the finer things in life. you take your time and like to do what you want; you're not stubborn but may enjoy sitting around at times when things are going to slow and get boring. Your soul is actually full of surprises, and it advises you to stand up and work on the vision you want even if it may take a while; just feed your soul along the journey like going on adventures and you will be fine. Always keep building what makes your heart dance. Your soul sees through a lot of the ‘fake’ in reality, you do not lie to yourself if you can help it. A wisdom permeates from your soul, an old knowledge ready to be released through you, never be ashamed of the chaos for we are made by it. A beautiful wild mess I hear, and someone is laughing in my ears. You bring joy, speak your truth, wisdom flows out.

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Super strength ★

Channeled colors: the rainbow, yellow, orange and red

You have been wronged and your soul remembers; it fires up whenever something unjust plays out in front of you. Your soul is the flame, a fire that burns so bright that you are unavoidable especially in the darkness where you shout to the heavens how things should be different. Your soul desires unpredictability and a monotonous life is the complete opposite of what your soul seeks. Do you deserve a good life? it depends on you and no one else. you're the fighter, the warrior, you know you have the power you just need a direction to point it in. You're not afraid to be the thief and conniving villain if someone forces you in that position and your soul reminds you of this, that you hold destruction at your fingertips and also creation. Follow the sight of the unjust and see where your flame takes you. Your love is magical and to powerful that it even hurts you sometimes; you're explosive, a bloom of a different hue; never water it down to fit into the background. Your soul owns the world, do the same.

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Duplication ❋ ❋

Channeled colors: Bronze, blue, and black

Your soul is liquid fire, molten lava descending from a volcano. Your soul says you know where you're going, stop looking so far ahead that your brilliant mind clouds what is destined. I see a wise old old soul, something I can't even fully understand, but you do, you know it deep in your gut. your soul looks upon you like a child, but a child they feel conflicted by, as if the lessons from the past keep repeating, and the pain follows along. your soul absorbs it all but needs to be channeled properly out through physical action like exercise. Your eyes are powerful, have you heard your eyes are windows to the soul? well your soul is intimidating yet also very loving when given the chance, the energies are so flip flop it makes me believe you might not believe this. Psychic abilities might plague this pile, to the souls who understand take your time and see your tears are not unreasonable but come from a deep knowing, for your deep soul harbors many things for the people its loved and who it will love. Many witches will pick this pile and even if you aren't, you hold a dark kind of magic; not the one on T.V but magic that goes back to instinct, intuition true witchcraft type shit. A compass inside is leading you, but it doesn't mean it's always straight line and it may lead you somewhere unexpected; just know you aren't in the wrong place. Your soul knows you shouldn't rely on your foresight to know what will happen but your will to learn more about the world. your fear may hold you back, but fear isn't the one living with the consequences, you do; so, let your soul exist in the sound of music, the colors of the sky and the love in your heart.

。°。°。°。°。°

Telepathy ⚜

Channeled colors: pink, purple and blue

Your soul sings a melody that is irresistible, seekers of your love or presence will want a taste of your delicious soul. It may sound disturbing, but you feed the sick and lonely, the helpless and the needy. even if you may not like it your soul exists to radiate acceptance and healing, you may even be a sexual healer but that does not apply to everyone because it not even that exactly. If you enjoy music or like to sing or play an instrument, your soul expresses itself through it best; whatever helps you express do it more. Your soul is childish if you aren't, it is. it holds onto the precious things that you held dearly when you were young. your soul leaves room for everyone it can but this can be overwhelming. souls are learning along with us, accept what may be and walk along knowing you know what you need. I feel an excitement for the world, again your soul is young or has a beautiful and youthful understanding of reality that you may not even grasp yet. an innocence that wants to be shared. You are beautiful your soul says, you make me sing louder when you know it. Don't let the song lead you to far away from yourself but let it show you how amazing you are and to grow from there.

。°。°。°。°。°

Healing Factor ❤

Channeled colors: pink, red, yellow

Uh, I'm honored to come in contact with such a powerful soul. Your soul is stuck in the ‘in between’, a place of life and the beyond. It doesn't hate being there though, but you may feel it in different ways. I believe the dream walkers have picked this pile; you guys have some vivid dreams huh? Even if you don’t, your heavy sleepers. your soul is so connected to both sides so when you sleep it does its own thing and just dips into other realities. this may sound cool but I think many people here have physical ailments or issues that it's contributing too (not the cause but it’s contributing, just to emphasis). some of you have heavy mental issues that do not have to stem from trauma but born with it, even if you have been through something your soul carries a wound from your ancestors. i see your soul seeking something, going back ‘home’ and coming back to your body, trying to help you heal or find something to help. Your soul is happy when exploring and going back to ‘home’ its like going back to your roots so maybe that’s a message for some good back to your roots. There is a call from your soul to go back to reality as well and face something with you whatever it may be and accept what is; your strength, your beauty and that fear will not rule here, you’re not alone. you already know a lot about your soul (that’s what I’m hearing) so your personality is probably very aligned with your soul's energy. nice your souls are pretty chill and being the healing pile the vibes do add up.

Decks used: The Wild Unknown Archetypes by, Kim Krans, and The Original Rider Waite Tarot deck

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Star

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. Lorgar is soon reunited with his love, but learns that his daughter will remain on Terra.

Lorgar/fem!Reader, Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping

Word count: 753

Song: Siouxsie And The Banshees - Cities In Dust

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

She was beautiful. Like the morning dawn or a starry night. A bright soul who came into this cruel world. She could lead the masses, inspire billions of people. But Lorgar wanted only one thing. Protect her with his own life.

He didn't see his daughter. The news of her birth came from the Imperial Palace along with other unimportant ones. As if she were an insignificant speck of dust. But the daughter of a primarch, his daughter was priceless. Happiness that was born because of the pure and immaculate love of two souls.

Lorgar could only follow the Emperor's orders in the hope of seeing you and his daughter. Hug and hold the tiny body to his hearts. Press his lips to yours. Feel the serene love you showed him.

The Primarch of the Word Bearers was never a warrior. Never been a commander. He was a preacher, priest, shepherd. He never hid it, openly carrying his true and blessed faith in the God Emperor... but in the end, apparently not so true.

His sons, himself, continued to search for answers to questions. Find their way. Their faith. The Emperor refused their worship, destroyed the perfect city, took you, took the unborn child. Lorgar could not hate his father, but it was difficult to extinguish the black flame of resentment and misunderstanding.

At least until the day you were returned.

Crying and tired. You were not tortured, you were not offended. Physically and mentally you were fine. But there was a huge void in your heart that could not be filled. Even Lorgar was unable to help you, because he, being a primarch, almost fell himself.

They returned you alone.

Lorgar hoped that the Emperor simply decided to gradually return his favor to his son. He hoped that after some time, when he had conquered even more systems, the Father would return his daughter. But he was wrong. You dashed all his hopes.

“He loves her, he adores her,” you burst into tears at Lorgar’s shoulder. - “I almost d-didn’t see her. He is with her all the time. Doesn't let go of himself. H-he, he sang to her. He sang to her, Lorgar! Songs in ancient languages. He acted as if she were his daughter and not his granddaughter. He gave her a name!”

It would be better if the Emperor burned Khur to the ground. It would be better if he destroyed every city to the dust that Lorgar built. The primarch is ashamed of such thoughts; mortals are not to blame for anything. But why, why should his daughter be torn away from her parents and live with a tyrant?

A tyrant... that's what the Emperor was. False God. If the primarch had doubts before, he is now firmly convinced of it. The son loved the Father too much, although he did not deserve such worship. He did not deserve the devotion of the primarchs. Didn't deserve the love of a little girl.

You spend days and nights in bed. When you don't sleep, you cry. Lorgar is not angry, no. He is delighted. The connection between mother and daughter, passing through years and centuries. You can't find a place for yourself until you see your child. Which means Lorgar must bind you together. Bring back your beloved child.

The primarch will not hear her first word, will not see her first steps. He will not be the main person in her life. Perhaps they will meet when she is an adult. He will never be her father in the full sense of the word. But this knowledge does not stop Lorgar.

He will still meet her. He will take her hand and lead her to a new world free from the power of the Emperor, who separated her from her real family. He would show her the True God that he had yet to find. His daughter will be a guiding star, illuminating the path through a dark galaxy. Until he finds a way to get back to her.

Lorgar has never seen her, but he knows that she is beautiful. Like the golden sand in Colchis, a light breeze or the murmur of water. She is far away in captivity of the Golden Palace, but even so the primarch feels her. She shines brighter than anyone in the world. Without realizing it, she is waiting for her real father to return his daughter. He will protect her. At the cost of his own life.

And the whole world.

[n41r]

I don't have anything good to upload yet, but please let me share this doodles and sketches I made while very very sleepy few days ago-

And a few of my fav close-up

[yazthebookish]

House of Flame and Shadow

Prologue and Chapter 1 reading updates

(Warning: spoilers below!!)

Prologue (Lidia's POV)

Morven and Einar are pieces of shit.

I guess Cormac is gone for good 💔

At least we got some descriptions of how some of the other Asteri look like. It still bothers me Rigelus chose the form of a 17-year-old boy. Ugh what a creep.

"Quinlan and Athalar are mates. She will return to this world because of that bond. And when she does, she will go straight to him."

THEY 👏🏼 ARE 👏🏼 MATES 👏🏼

"Athalar and Baxian dangled unconscious from the ceiling, their torsos patchworks of scars and burns. And their backs..."

The Asteri better start counting their fucking days.

"Lidia couldn't look at the third figure hanging between them. Couldn't get a breath down near him."

UGH!!!!

"Baxian still hung unconscious. Pollux had beaten him into a bloody pulp last night after severing his and Athalar's wings with a blunt-toothed saw. The Helhound didn't so much as stir."

Pollux I hope you'll burn in the deepest pit of Hell and get to have the worst death in the history of SJM character deaths.

"They'd never spoken mind-to-mind outside of their dreaming, but she'd been trying since he'd arrived here. Again and again, she'd cast her mind toward his. Only silence answered."

This sounds a whole lot like a Daemati. Like I'm still not sure if she is but it seems like it.

---

Chapter 1 (Bryce's POV)

"The darkness seemed inherent to the three people standing across from her: a petite female in gray silk, and two winged males clad in black scalelike armor, one of them-the beautiful, powerful male in the center of the trio— literally rippling with shadows and stars. Rhysand, he'd called himself. The one who looked so much like Ruhn."

Let's fucking gooooo!!

"You said your name is Bryce Quinlan. That you come from another world —Midgard." Rhysand murmured to the winged male beside him. Translating, perhaps.

Yes Rhys show us how useful your Duolingo lessons were.

Rhys seems to be agitated about her.

Master of spinning bullshit, indeed. "So maybe I'm here for that. Maybe the sword sensed that dagger and ... brought me to it." Silence. Then the silent, hazel-eyed warrior laughed quietly. How had he understood without Rhysand translating? Unless he could simply read her body language, her tone, her scent—The warrior spoke with a low voice that skittered down her spine. Rhysand glanced at him with raised brows, then translated for Bryce with equal menace, "You're lying."

Bryce, honey, that's the Spymaster of the Night Court.

"I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites," she snarled. "I have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them." Rhysand looked to the warrior, who nodded, not taking his gaze off Bryce for so much as a blink. "Well," Rhysand said to Bryce, crossing his muscled arms. "That's true, at least."

Not Azriel functioning as Rhysand's personal lie detector. Impressive though.

" I do not pry where I am not willingly invited." Bryce lurched back in the chair, nearly knocking it over at the smooth male voice in her mind. Rhysand's voice. But she answered, thanking Luna for keeping her own voice cool and collected, "Code of mind-speaking ethics?"

LOLOLOLOLOL 🤣🤣🤣🤣

"So this is it, then. This is where we-the Midgard Fae— originated. My ancestors left this world and went to Midgard. .. and we forgot where we came from."

The theory I had since before even HOSAB came out is finally confirmed. I mean it was semi-confirmed in HOSAB but some readers still debated it.

The corner of Rhysand's mouth curled upward. "We will not torture it from you, nor will I pry it from your mind. If you choose not to talk, it is indeed your choice. Precisely as it will be my choice to keep you down here until you decide otherwise."

Bryce couldn't stop herself from coolly surveying the room, her attention lingering on the grate and the hissing that drifted up from it. "'ll be sure to recommend it to my friends as a vacation spot."

Of course Rhys has to pull the "choice" speech whenever he can 🤣 also, BRYCE LOL!!!

"You haven't seen it in fifteen thousand years, or spoken this language in nearly as long-which lines up pertectly with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard."

So they exist in the same timeline then but Midgard happens to be more advanced.

"It is in our history, Rhysand," Amren said gravely. "But the Asteri were not known by that name. Here, they were called the Daglan."

Asteri are the Daglan, we guessed as much in HOSAB but that's another theory confirmed now!

"Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn's, yet... wilder. The way Cormac's had been."

Ruhn's darkness seemed more similar to Rhys, but Cormac was close to what we know of Shadowsingers. But if Shadows are an Avallen Fae's gifts then how is Azriel one? We're told Shadowsingers are not specific to any courts but there are no Shadowsinger Fae in Midgard than Avallen Fae. But Azriel has a unique way with his shadows (given that magic is more powerful in Prythian.

"The Veritas orb?" Amren said, and Azriel lifted an eyebrow.

Oh damn.

Rhysand mastered himself, a cool mask sliding into place. "You live in such a world." It wasn't entirely a question. But Bryce nodded. "Yes." "And they want to bring all of that ... here." "Yes." Rhysand stared ahead. Thinking it through. Azriel just kept his eyes on the space where the orb had displayed the utter destruction of her world. Dreading-and yet calculating. She'd seen that look before on Hunt's face. A warrior's mind at work.

She showed them the destruction and all the weapons the Asteri have. She even showed them Rigelus. Rhys, Azriel, and even Amren seem at a loss for words.

Bryce examined the silver bean that lay smooth and gleaming in her hand. Amren said without looking at her, "You swallow it, and it will translate our mother tongue for you. Allow you to speak it, too." "Fancy," Bryce murmured.

Of course they have a pill for translating any language and here we've been pondering about how they would communicate.

Amen turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language -their language: "The glowing letters inked on her back... they're the same as those in the Book of Breathings."

Oooooh Leshon Hakodesh 👀

Then Azriel said in a soft, lethal voice, "Explain or you die."

Holy hell that's hot—I mean—Azriel that's not a way to treat a woman chill the fuck out.

---

And we got to the end. This is what SJM only had available on her website. 4 more days until I get the full book and continue then 🤩!!

Also, Azriel's shadows seem to be around and thriving after all 😌 I recall being told they're gone for good based on HOSAB's ending, not that I took it seriously Lol.

[anarchiii]

Twin Flames-1 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part One | Warnings: angst? | Witch!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary; Y/N had been born from a great darkness, and yet her soul burned brighter than any Firewielder. She didn’t care for someone who would try smother those flames, she wanted someone that would set them alight. . .

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Disclaimer; a fair amount of spoilers, people!!

Happy @erisweekofficial ,everyone!! ❤️

Eris’s POV

The Heir had never been one to look up to the stars and wish like some, but he’d always wanted things to turn out better, he wasn’t stupid enough to let hope fester in his heart, Beron had made sure of it, and his mother. . . She wasn’t around enough to affect anything. Locked up in her rooms for the foreseeable future.

He’d always silently hated that Lucien had gotten his happy ending—then again, he deserved it, his brother had always been the best one, so empathetic and patient, nothing like himself, though he couldn’t help it, not when Lucien came over with his lovely mate, going on about how happy he was, he couldn’t help the jealousy that arose within him. Turning him into a lonely and pathetic creature. Forced to watch everyone prosper while he wasted away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

It was true that the hateful and evil mask he put on was a mask, but, over time he had became the very thing everyone believed him to be, it was pitiful, he’d read so many stories of people that had suffered so greatly but had overcame their hardships and survived, becoming better people than they ever could’ve imagined, and yet, even as a child, Eris knew that would not be him. He would never know love and respect. No, that was not what he was here for.

Instead he helped people in his own wrong way and saw to it that they were better, going behind his High Lord’s back and helping their enemies, and after all that. He’d barely gotten a thank you. He couldn’t blame them, though, not at all, the Night Court especially, they knew him to be the male that’d stripped The Morrigan down and left her to die in his own lands, a nail imbedded in her stomach, the male that had tried stealing their High Lady’s sister away, to be a wife for no more than breeding and owning. When they didn’t realise he just wanted someone to love. That was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever let himself want for.

But his story was not one that ended in a happy ending, no, he was the beast the knight would slay to save the fair maiden, no more than a hurdle to overcome, a monster with a terrible fire that burned in his blood, burned his very soul. . .

-

Y/N’s POV

She couldn’t stop the shuddering of her breath as she took in the now empty battlefield bathed in the blood of enemies and allies alike, she would never get used to it, the fighting, the bloodshed, the hate, Y/N was born for battle and yet it terrified her, she had no idea how Aelin Galathynius did it. How she fought like an absolute warrior and smiled a minute later. Perhaps she would never know, the Queen had always unnerved her, she was a mystery never to be solved, though, that didn’t mean she didn’t respect her, no, when the young woman came off the field, she only bowed, she was not her Queen but that did not mean she wouldn’t fight for her. Hell. This entire army was brought together because of her. The world could finally breathe because of her.

A strong hand clasped her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts and bringing her back to the world, the sun was blaring, melting all the snow and making small waterfalls form from the cliffs of the Staghorns, she turned around to find her Wingleader staring at her, Manon’s black and gold eyes shining with poorly hidden despair, she couldn’t blame her, not when her own held the same expression.

She nodded to Manon in thanks, neither of them saying a word, she couldn’t bare to look at Abraxos who lingered behind his rider, Y/N cleared her throat, saying, “I’m going to go for a walk, alone.” She didn’t wait for her response before leaving. Walking down the many stairs of the castle, winding turns and long hallways, she didn’t say anything to Aelin’s court members as she walked past them, non of them seemed to want to talk either. Good.

She was soon out of the great castle and then through the gates and out onto the field, Orynth looming behind her, its stones mockingly clean, it took her a long time to reach Oakwald, she had no Wyvern to carry her anymore, Adries was riding high with the other eleven creatures who hadn’t survived, Abraxos the only one left, if she wasn’t wound up in her own misery then she would’ve felt bad for the beast, but sorrow was seemingly staying for a while.

Stray branches and leaves crunched beneath her boots as she walked through the forest, the trees whispering secrets older than time itself, the wind howling names lost to history, it was a artefact in itself, it was famous for the creatures that dwelled in its lush canopies but no one talked about the sentience the place held, like it was watching your every breath and movement, it was terrifying and yet, oddly comforting.

She spotted no white stags but that wasn’t unusual, the only one she had ever seen had been mere hours ago when Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had entered the battle riding one in golden armour fit for a empress, a goddess.

Surprisingly, the forest was not silent, birds sung their songs and the deer still went about eating leaves, it was peaceful, and nice to know the world hadn’t stopped, everyone and everything moved on eventually, some quicker than others, maybe in a few years she would admire the beauty of Oakwald—she had loved nature so dearly when she was younger, when everything wasn’t so dark,—she wanted to look at the ducks waddling by and smile as they had a swim in a nearby pond, she wanted to look at the flowers already blooming through all the gore and wonder in amazement, she wanted.

She couldn’t help the tears that fell, she had lost so much, how was she supposed to go on without them? She felt that flame inside her flicker and sputter but persevere, something she couldn’t seem to do, her Grandmother had always despised that light, how even when she tried smothering it—it only burned brighter, the old hag was probably smiling in her grave to know what she had wished for so many years was happening, she was breaking, ever so slowly.

The sun was falling, setting the sky into hues of deep orange and yellow, clouds forming and blocking the view, she didn’t go home, though, just kept walking, trying to clear a mind that couldn’t be cleared, soon, mist was shrouding the forest in mystery, tiny droplets of rain fell. Hitting the emerald leaves and falling off them. It was quite serene, actually. Like the entire world was heading to bed. Her as the moon’s only witness.

She felt so small, so insignificant under it’s light, it was a lovely feeling, nocturnal animals ventured out of their dens into the night, the little glow of their eyes the only sign they were there, still, she didn’t go back. What was left for her there? She had no lovers, no family, friends or children, she was alone in a world full of people, alone.

She doubted anyone would miss her, maybe she could run away and start a new life, purge all her past memories. . . It was tempting, very tempting, and— what was that? She spotted something shiny hiding beneath jewel coloured leaves, as Y/N got closer, she realised it was a ring. A simple silver ring. It was oddly pretty, in a way a plain blue sky was pretty, nothing stood out but it still caught her attention, she bent over and picked it up but as she did, she slipped on some moss and went face-first into the ground.

She closed her eyes and groaned at the feeling of her nose screaming out in pain—the scar on her jaw mimicking the feeling, the ring was warm in her hand, like it bore an inner fire, her body felt so heavy that she couldn’t help but lay there, perhaps in the morning she would figure out what to do, nothing would harm her, so there was no reason but to keep to the floor, Y/N did need sleep, so why not get it?

Y/N dreamt, she had the instinct feeling of falling but didn’t stir, she felt herself land on something hard and cold and did all she could to grab on, this may be a dream but she’d be damned if she died in it. A dream.

-

Eris’s POV

One of his hounds barked in the distance and he had enough sense to inspect, the autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet like the crackling of flames, he’d never gotten sick of the eternal autumn, it was his home, no matter what had happened in this place, it was forever be his, in some way, at least.

The dog, Hazel, released another sound, piercing through the silence, setting all the other dogs off, he sighed, shaking his head as he got closer, there was no point telling them to be quiet when they wouldn’t listen, anyway.

Eris walked into the clearing where all his animals gathered, there was nothing, positively nothing of interest or significance, just a plain old spot, though that didn’t stop the smoke hounds as they jumped around and circled a particularly tall tree, this was abnormal for even them, something was off, he caught the faint scent of blood and metal on the wind, but found it led nowhere.

He noticed little scraps of clothing hanging from low branches, the material was similar to that of the Illyrian’s but different in a way, hopefully he wouldn’t find that Shadowsinger or haughty general dead in his forest, not that he wouldn’t be delighted in that, a bird cried out in the distance and he looked up to see it, only, it wasn’t a bird he saw.

No, it was a person, hanging from a branch high up, her bloody blond-silver hair hung limp, a strange red cape covering most of her body, perhaps she was dead, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Yet he couldn’t hide his shock when something fell from her hand, it shined faintly as it fell right into his palm, he did all he could not to hiss in anger as he found it was his ring that he had lost two weeks ago, the one his mother had given him, that little thief.

The End.

Note: so uhh. . . No idea where this is going, no pressure- 😬

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@azrielslittleslut

@shadowsingercassia

[dramaticl0vers]

I need you, protect yourself (Husband! Ardeth Bay x Wife! Reader PART 2)

Your nightmares came back to you, just like they did ten years ago, before you even married Ardeth, only this time it was worse because you had to abandon your children to go with your husband to save the world…again …It felt like an eternity at the beginning.

Investigate the search for Imhotep in secret for months, arrive in London, see how your nephew, whom you had not seen for years, was kidnapped, return to Egypt in search of him… say goodbye to your husband, watching him get lost in the undergrowth from the jungle, not knowing if he was going to survive Anubis' army…Truly traumatic.

But now it was just another nightmare, right? A twisted game that played your head to see you suffer.

You saw the wounds on his face, his tattoos and his tanned skin emerging from the sand, and when you hugged him again…you really thanked God.

Your head was pressed against your husband's injured back the entire trip home, your arms clinging to his chest, as if letting him go from your arms again was mortal… Your head covered with your white linen cloaks, shielding you from the burning sun as the two returned home victorious again, with what was left of the Medjai army following them.

And when they arrived at the town and the cheers of its people could be heard to the heavens, while they cried with joy and threw flower petals at them, you thought that everything had been worth it.

Ardeth got off his horse and helped you off of it. His eyes analyzed yours and finally joined in a passionate kiss, a kiss that you had not experienced in a long time, and that you had hoped to feel. You turned to putty in his strong arms, sighing.

The other families were with the warriors who had returned…and those who did not mourn their loss, but were proud that their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers had died in such a noble cause.

—MOM, DAD!—

Oh, for god's sake, when you heard those two little voices in the crowd, you knew everything had turned out well.

You let go of your husband's arms with euphoria, and looked around, only to see your two kids running towards you. Your eyes suddenly stung with tears and you ran to throw yourself on the ground, just like your husband, who, like you, opened his arms towards them.

Your daughter and son threw themselves into your arms with joy, as tears ran down your face and you hugged them tightly, filling their faces and heads with kisses.

You felt Ardeth's arms around the three of you, you leaned on his chest and continued kissing their heads.

—My children, my babies —

You said, Ardeth caressed your son's head and kissed your hair.

[…]

Your children lay asleep, and music and laughter could be heard from the center of the village from the festival in their honor, you watched the fun of your village with a smile before finally entering your shared tent.

Your eyes fell on Ardeth, who lay standing with his back to you, watching the flames of the torch burn down.

You walked towards him slowly and wrapped your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder blade.

—We're in home…—

You sighed, your husband turned around and hugged you, burying his face in your neck and placing a kiss on it. His beard tickled you and a small giggle left your lips as he clung to you tighter.

—When was the last time you were in my arms like this?—

He asked, kissing your shoulders covered with the black fabric.

—Months ago…—

You said, sighing and closing your eyes.

—Ardeth…do you think…that thing will come back?—

You asked, a shiver running down your spine. Your husband left your neck and took his hands from your waist to your cheeks.

—If he did, I would be calm… I'm talking about, I have the bravest warrior in the entire desert by my side, why should I be afraid?—

He said smiling, kissing your lips. The kiss became more fiery as the minutes passed. You broke away from the kiss and looked at him, with a flirtatious smile and a look that expressed mischief.

—If so, why don't you come and we have a sword fight?—

The Medjai let out a loud laugh and his grip returned to your waist, pulling you close to him forcefully.

—If that mummy was not the cause of my death, I am sure that you will be, woman—

[five-miles-over]

The Phantom of Asgard (Thor: The Dark World!Loki x Reader)

Summary: Rumors say that a phantom haunts the darkest hall in the royal palace of Asgard, but is he truly as dangerous as the people of Asgard claim he is? You and your friends decide to investigate one night for yourselves.

Warnings: Mentions of character death

"We shouldn't be here."

"Then keep your voice down!" 

You silently tiptoed, following your friend Revna, a damsel with long black hair whose fingers were wrapped around the end of a burning candle. Ingrid, whose skin almost glowed as much as her honey blonde curls did in sunlight, trembled with every step. 

You met Revna and Ingrid through serving together as ladies-in-waiting to the late Queen Frigga. You were all of Asgardian noble blood, sent to the palace in hopes of rubbing shoulders with some of the most elite of the Aesir. But after her untimely passing and the war with the Dark Elves came to an end, the All-Father King Odin made the simple decision to keep you in service of the royal family. Only instead of having you serve Prince Thor or the king himself, Odin decreed that the three of you were to be educated in political science and history like the noble boys of Asgard. With a twinkle in his eye, the All-Father proposed that if you three were properly educated, then you could join the council as a division of ladies to advise the future king of Asgard. 

And as a result, your new schedules left you with a newly found period of free time every night, since you wouldn't be on watch for anyone trying to harm a member of the royal family. "We're getting closer,…" Revna muttered before Ingrid reminded her to keep the candle at the level of her eye.

"I think there's a library somewhere here…" You glanced over your shoulder to find a tapestry of the late queen hanging, her likeness captured with vivid shades of turquoise and gold. "I don't understand, why shouldn't we be here?"

"This is where they say the Phantom of Asgard resides." Ingrid explained in a hushed whisper as the three of you made your way past gray stone figures depicting warriors from lore. Placed along either side of the hall, it was as if they were standing vigil while in their immortalized, lifeless state. "He resides past the throne room, in the darkest of chambers."

"That explains why no one's lit any torches or lamps." Revna grumbles before Ingrid says for the second time to keep the candle at eye-level. "My arm is getting tired!"

Ingrid continued to narrate, "I've heard rumors that the phantom is the ghost of a soldier who gave his life defending Asgard. But others say he's a monster in the palace, he'll hurt us."

"Come now," you chastised Ingrid, walking past another tapestry hanging on the walls of the palace. "There can't be a Phantom. It's probably just some trick made up by the Prince of Lies."

"Also known as the God of Mischief?" Revna interjected. "He's dead." 

"I don't believe it."

Revna quickly turned around. "What?"

Ingrid shushed you and repeated, "Candle! Level of your eye."

This time, Revna rolled her eyes and simply switched hands. "If he weren't dead, then why is the All-father commissioning for a statue of the trickster god to be built outside the palace?"

"How would I know?" You carefully stepped over a small abandoned dagger laying on the floor. "All I know is that the first time it was announced that Prince Loki was no more, he was found on Midgard attempting to lay siege."

As if on cue, a powerful guest of wind blew past the three of you, sending a chill down your spine. The flame of Revna's candle flickered. "See!" Ingrid pointed behind you. "The Phantom heard us!" 

"Really?" Revna sighed loudly. "Ingrid come on…"

"I'm telling you," you huffed. "There. Is. No. Phantom!"

No sooner had you said those words, a more powerful gust of wind blew past you and extinguished the candle, sending the three of you into near-darkness, save for the faint moonlight from the glass window at the end of the hall. 

"Oh my god!" Ingrid whimpered. She clutched your arm with a vice-like grip. "See what you've done?!"

Revna assured her, swallowing. "It's okay…it's okay. Nothing's going to happen." She remained with her feet planted to the floor.

A shatter. You were almost certain that there was no crack in the window…until now. A jagged crack as if someone had thrown a pebble at it. 

Then, one of the stone figures standing in the hall - a warrior with a horned helmet holding a weapon at his hip, fell face-first, just barely missing Revna. As soon as the statue landed against the floor, its head split into pieces before your very eyes, horns and all. 

"That's…not okay." Revna gulped, taking a step back with baited breath. Her foot caught in the hem of her gown, causing her to lose balance. You caught her just in time, letting go of Ingrid while Revna held the candlestick for dear life. 

You steadied her. "We have to get out of here…Go back the way we came."

Ingrid's eyes filled with tears, and she choked on a sob. "Please, please tell me now you believe there's a Phan-" She was drowned by the sound of her own hysterical screams. A second crack….and then a third appeared in the window.  "I don't want to die…Please, no!"

Now was Revna's turn to shush her. "If anyone finds us, we could either be dead, or worse, banished. Now let's go." 

The three of you murmured in agreement, reluctantly promising to staunchly deny if anyone asked if you were roaming the palace at night. You hitched your skirts and scurried down the hall as quickly as possible, even though you could barely see anything in your way. Guided only by the sound of each others' footsteps and heavy panting, you only had a single thought in mind: go back the way you came here, and find your shared bedroom as possible. Before you could be caught by any guards or servants with a propensity to gossip. Your heartbeat quickened as you continued to run for your life. Suddenly, in the midst of your attempted escape, you tripped over something - perhaps it was the fabric of the carpet or perhaps your own clumsiness worsened by fear - and landed on your knees. "Revna! Ingrid!" In the midst of you shouting for your friends, a gloved hand covered your mouth.

A strange whisper tickled your ear. "No need to be afraid…There is no Phantom," the mysterious voice echoed your words from earlier with a touch of theatrical sarcasm. "Just a trick made up by the Prince of Lies." 

The gloved hand remained over your mouth. "If you scream," the mysterious voice warned you while another hand rested on your waist. "I promise to show you no mercy. Understood?" 

You nodded, trembling while you rose to your feet. 

"Good girl." 

With a wave of the gloved hand, golden candelabras spontaneously appeared along the hall, burning brightly. And emerging out of thin air was a large, rectangular mirror with a bronze-like intricate border that shined with such a luster that the untrained eye could mistake it for gold. You treaded lightly towards your own reflection.

Once again, the mysterious voice filled your ear. "Now you see me…" 

Behind you stood a tall man with ebony curls reaching his shoulders. He wore a tailored black waistcoat with long sleeves, and silk black gloves. An emerald green mask decorated with gold glitter obscured the left half of his face, yet…why did he seem so familiar?

Your fingers inched towards the side of his face, beneath his cheekbone. The masked one sighed, leaning in closer so that his nose nestled against your hair while he delighted in your delicate touch. You trembled as your fingertips brushed against the smooth, unblemished skin. His hand encircled your waist once again, and you decided to be bold. Reaching for the edge of the mask, you carefully began to lift it…

"No." He said it with such a dark desperation in his voice, and his other hand caught your wrist. 

"I want to know who you are." 

"You already do."

Lowering your hand, you silently contemplated for a moment, allowing the masked one to simply cradle you in his arms from behind. "You're the God of Mischief," you uttered to his reflection. "You're Prince Loki."

A smile appeared on the face of the masked god, the smile of a mastermind at the end of a successful plan. Joyful yet reserved, like he already knew the outcome and had envisioned it in his mind several times before executing his plans. 

"But you're…dead," you murmured, exercising extreme caution with the last word. "How could you be here? In these halls? I don't understand."

"And yet from the beginning, you knew it was me behind this mask…How, sweet one?"

Your eyes followed Loki's fingers as they glided along your arms before resting on your shoulders. "I cannot say, my Prince….I just knew."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "Or is it because you knew only one could cause such havoc in these halls"?" A wider smile on his face, the god of mischief pressed his lips against the top of your head.

"How did you survive?" A flush of heat spread across your cheeks.

"Because it's what I always do."

You blinked, unable to look away from the mirror for even a second, as if someone had cast a spell of hypnosis upon you. "And what will you do now?"

"Nothing yet." He simply said. "You are the only one who knows."

"Even the All-Father?" 

Loki nuzzled against the base of your neck, leaving you weak in the knees. "I do not wish to speak of him tonight." He reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. "I promise to you, all will be revealed in time." The god of mischief then combed his fingers through sections of your hair, taking his time with every touch as if he wanted to memorize exactly how you felt. "Rest now, my sweet, for I will call upon you again. From this night, you belong to me, and I to you."

And with a simple wave of his hand, your surroundings disappeared to darkness. "My prince?" You called, looking around only to be met with silence.

Then, a single candle appeared seemingly out of thin air, with a small, flickering flame. You found yourself alone, inside that same hall, instantly recognizing the tapestry of the late queen that decorated the wall. Only this time, the window at the end of the hall bore no cracks, and the fallen statue stood upright in its original place, perfectly standing vigil. 

And on the floor, next to your feet, lay a single white lily with a dark green ribbon tied around its stem. A lasting promise from the Phantom of Asgard.

Tagging: @icytrickster17  @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl  , @lokisninerealms  @jennyggggrrr  ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines  , @lokiismineforever  @smolvenger  @winterfrostlovetriangle  , @the-haven-of-fiction  , @turniptitaness   @cakesandtom  ,@sallymagnoliaposts  @leahs-reading-nook  @holdmytesseract  @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen @aesonmae @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue

[mariaxxxxx]

Fantasize (Namor x Black!Reader)

Summary: Fantasy can be sweet compared to reality.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, slight degradation, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), aftercare, curse words, breeding kink.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

Work count: 4.113

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

K'uk'ulkan is a man who earned his position as leader of Talokan through hard work and iron-fisted leadership. Considered by his people as a God and by his enemies as an executioner, admired by many for having the good characteristics that make a king and a physical appearance as divine as paradise. He wasn't the kind of guy to start a small conversation, but he knew exactly how to persuade a person with his words. There were also social subtleties involved, which You found adorable, the man was gallant and imposing and this made people respect him more. His father thought he was arrogant and proud. You agreed with him, but chose to describe that man differently; he was a bit of a jerk, a bit of a romantic, and incredibly powerful. These are really unique characteristics.

You look up as he enters Wakanda's council room. You open your mouth to greet him, knowing it's a bad idea. Luckily for You, a loud scoff from his father makes You both focus on the conversation going on in the room. He sits, next to his father, a place fit for a royal guest.

“The situation with the Americans is under control.” His father is speaking to the leader of Talokan with a loud tone of voice, an annoying trait of his. “As agreed, our borders have been strengthened.”

“We cannot relax if we take into account the persistence of the colonizers.” As the river tribe leader speaks You watch K'uk'ulkan's eyebrows arch upward.

K'uk'ulkan is the type of man who is interested in subjects that disrespect his nation and enjoys strategic conversations to keep the colonizers' curiosity at bay. He likes to hear what his allies have to say, although he almost never agrees with the decisions made. He was a violent man indeed. He always responded to violence with more violence.

“The late king’s decision to open Wakanda’s borders brought dilemmas that needed to be resolved.” Says K'uk'ulkan with his apathetic face, but You can detect a small gleam in his eyes. You know how much he always has to fight not to reveal his dissatisfaction with being so far from home. “It is not enough to close the borders again, more brutal measures need to be carried out.”

Oh! There it was. The flame of war shining in his pupils. Two years ago Talokan went to war with Wakanda. A dispute that caused losses for both sides. It was still difficult for many to overcome the death of Queen Ramonda and the departure of the legitimate heir out of the country, leaving Wakanda once again without its protector. Black Panther chose to step aside, indefinitely, to deal with his grief. The decision was respected and accepted by the council, but the people did not look favorably on it; after all, Black Panther was the warrior spirit sent by Bast to protect us.

After the ascension to the throne of his father, King Jabari, diplomatic programs were created to formalize the ceasefire and the union of both nations to deal with attempts to steal Vibranium. His father chose to return to old policies; close Wakanda's borders and suspend metal extraction. Such an attitude made Talokan, the people and the council happy, but not the colonists who demanded the sharing of Vibranium.

The conversation went on for a long time; they talked about metal, about borders, bonds of friendship, trade routes... At some point, you disconnected and sank into the chair with your eyes fixed on the floor, shaking your head every time someone said something. Meetings were tedious for a young man like You with so much energy to burn.

“So, have we reached a decision?” Your father says suddenly, snapping You out of your thoughts. You look at everyone in the room and notice when everyone exclaims a resounding Yes. Only one says nothing. You notice K'uk'ulkan's fingers turn a little too white, as if he's gripping the arms of his chair. A clear sign of irritation and denial.

You're not surprised to see him get up and leave, but no one comments on it before your father says,

“At least he didn’t fondle us again.”

(...)

That night, You escaped the palace walls, all ready to go the moment the clock struck eleven. When this happens, you hide from the Dora Milaje. After all, it wasn't safe for a new little princess to walk the streets late at night. The big doors open and you walk out into the night. You knew the way with your eyes closed; Behind the palace, surrounded by large trees, there was a saltwater river little known to the inhabitants.

On the riverbank there was a rustic wooden cabin with opaque glass windows and a large oak door. You didn't know who built this place, but in the last two years it had become yours and his. Little by little you redecorated the place, filling it with luxurious furniture and yellow lights.

You silently enter the place, turning on the lights and observe the mess you and he made on your last date. You put on shabby clothes, tie your hair up and start working as if you were being paid to do so. You start by arranging the cushions on the couch, then clean all the dishes, counters and general surfaces. You finish by vacuuming all the sand from the place and mopping the floor with a cloth dampened with scented water. You don't care about the room. After all, he was always so tidy. Your lover would rather take You in the living room, or on the balcony, or by the river under the starlight; very few times did you use that bed.

When you finish your cleaning marathon, your watch beeps informing you that it was already midnight and he would be here soon. You take a break and run to the bathroom. After a shower, perfumed your skin and touched up your makeup, you put on a thigh-length dress made of transparent fabric. The dress leaves your breasts and intimacy exposed, so you minimize this fact by placing a padless lace bra and thin panties under the dress. You looked beautiful, like the Goddess Isis waiting for her Osiris.

You return to the kitchen to start preparing something to eat. There are just a few minutes left before the food is ready when the cabin door opens and you hear a familiar voice.

"My love, I'm here." K'uk'ulkan breaks the silence that has hung over the environment since You arrived. You don't bother shouting, you never do. You would do it in person in seconds instead of yelling at each other in different rooms. The last time you dared to perform such a vulgar act, K'uk'ulkan gave you slaps on the ass to educate you correctly. A good wife greets her husband when he walks through the door, he said as he slapped her behind. You loved being punished like that, but you hated spending three whole days without being able to sit down.

You leave the kitchen and go to him, with a big smile on your lips. You find him in the room wearing fancy clothes richly decorated with gold and jade. He keeps his shorts green with black embroidered details. You extend your arms and circle them around his neck. You give him a kiss on the lips in greeting. He returns the kiss, pressing your body against his.

"Hello my dear." You pull away from his lips and turn your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

“Stressful, but I managed to escape to be with my wife.” He smiles and plays with a strand of your hair. “Knowing that You are here to care for me fills my heart with joy.”

The kisses didn't stop as he spoke and You were struggling to remember the stew that was boiling on the stove.

“Fuck” You don’t think about the curse until a hand squeezes your hip. A subtle warning of how such verbiage was not allowed in that environment.

“Such a beautiful girl with such a dirty mouth.” He mutters. His lips brush your ear, and you have to concentrate to push him away.

“I need to go to the kitchen.”

“Just focus on me, my love.” You can feel in his tone he wants to break You, break the character You play. Like a dizzy duck You fall into his trap.

“K’uk’ulkan” You whine. "Is very fast! Our dinner will burn and it will be a disaster.”

You scream when you feel a sharp slap on your ass. His hand makes a circular movement at the impact site, easing the pain a little. This was her punishment for being so petulant towards her man.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” His voice is lower, a little dark.

"Sorry my love."

"Good girl." He removes his arms from your waist and signals you to go to the kitchen. You mumble a simple thank you and rush over to find the food boiling furiously over medium heat. You hang up and return to the room, to him.

“Now I’m all yours, my love.”

“What have You done to us?” He says it like he doesn't know. As if he hadn't instructed her what to cook.

“A stew with vegetables accompanied by cornbread.”

It was a rule established by both of you that you would do your best to please him. No easy or quick foods, no fatty foods with added sugar and pesticides. K'uk'ulkan didn't take care of himself, in his opinion. He woke up early to govern, stayed late in meetings and would certainly forget to eat if You didn't prepare something. You remembered how he claimed not to eat much, a phrase that made you want to care for this man who cared for others and neglected himself. Not that this was a surprise, however. K'uk'ulkan was born with a crown on his head, so difficulty taking time away from work and taking care of himself became commonplace.

There was also the pleasure of serving and being served. He was excited by the idea of having a wife ready to serve him at the end of the day, with the effort made by You to please him in every way. It excited both of you, knowing that you worked hard without complaining to please him. In addition to carnal pleasure, there was cuddling; although you and he never talked to define exactly what this relationship was, nights of cuddling and talking on the sidelines were not uncommon. He liked to please too, it would not be uncommon for him to give you gifts ranging from fabrics with gold thread to jewelry; You hid them in the back of your closet to avoid questions.

His hand snakes down your hips to your butt, he gives it a squeeze making you moan with a little discomfort at having your sore flesh being touched like that.

"Adorable." The words vibrate in you. His hands suddenly caress your body. The hand pauses, pulls back, and spanks her ass afterwards. “What do you say after being praised, my love?”

You stabilize yourself with the force of the blow, fight back a groan, smile at him and mutter a loud:

"Thanks."

“You’re such a good little girl” he reflects, pressing your body against his so you can feel the hardness that was forming between your legs. “You love this, don’t you? You love it when I discipline you.”

You don't answer because you think it's a rhetorical question, but a warm hand moves his hair away and thick fingers grab the back of his neck.

"Yes my love. Thank you for taking care of me and teaching me how to be a good woman.” You fight back a bratty response about how you could take care of yourself.

“Such a good queen to me.”

Your mind lights up at the word queen being expelled from his mouth. You're insecure about the current agreement to never discuss these things, so you just smile, and kiss him passionately, pretending that being called his queen hasn't affected you in every way possible.

You allow his tongue into your mouth savoring the feeling of him touching you so softly. His skin burns red hot from the hot trail his hands leave as they roam your body. A hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back enough for You to feel the pressure on your scalp. K'uk'ulkan attacks his neck, distributing wet kisses while you moan and encourage him to continue.

“K’uk’ulkan” You moan shamelessly when he sucks on the sensitive skin of your neck. He walks away, leaving you a mess, the damn thing had the power to make you go crazy with so little.

"Let's play a game." He suggests. A part of You is disappointed by this, but You knew how he liked to prolong the night. He moves away from you, sitting on the navy blue sofa; You narrow your eyes, finding this attitude strange, but his smug smile prepares you for what comes next. “Take off your panties and climb up my thigh. Now."

You don't wait long and you're soon getting rid of your panties, straddling his thigh after doing so. The cool, bare skin damps beneath You which is clearly visible when K'uk'ulkan pushes you back to check, You gasp when you realize how wet you were. His face burns with embarrassment, so you cover him in a cute reaction. You can't meet his gaze when he grabs his hand and pulls them away so you opt to kiss him for a minute to hide the embarrassment. Until he pulls away and puts his hands on your hips.

“I barely touched you and you’re already wet.” His hands are firmly on your hips, he uses them to pull you against him causing friction. “I know how desperate You are for this. Keep your moans low. Anyway, good girls never act like whores.”

He was right about how much You needed this, of course. The bastard knew her like the back of his hand. He leans his torso against the couch, giving him a privileged view of the movements of his hips. You bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly when a specific movement increases contact with your swollen clit. You can barely concentrate between your low sighs and the warm hand that snakes across your belly and over your breasts, the feeling of his hand drives you crazy and without you realizing it a loud moan escapes your mouth when one of your breasts are tight.

You come out of your little world of pleasure to be met with K'uk'ulkan's intense gaze. He arches an eyebrow and squeezes your hips when you try to seek more friction.

"Sorry." His breath catches with the need to be forgiven, your hands tighten on his shoulders and you, once again, try to move your hips only to have your plans thwarted.

"Stand up." He commands and You obey. “It looks like my beautiful girl is having trouble following my orders. What a shame!"

"Sorry my love." You falter when you see the expression on his face.

“We need to solve this problem” You can see the cruel smile and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Take off your dress and come onto my lap.”

You take everything off and stand naked in front of him. Hesitantly, you walk over to him and settle into his lap. K'uk'ulkan rests one hand on your upper back and squeezes your shoulder. Care before everything happens You understand. You arch into his lap due to the hard slap he gives your ass.

“Tell and be thankful.” He orders.

"To thank?" His question is rewarded with another hard slap on his ass. "Sorry. Thank you for the lesson my love.”

"Good girl. Too bad this one didn't count. I didn’t hear any numbers.” You can see his smile in your mind. "Count."

"Yes." You speak breathlessly, one hand gripping his leg to anchor yourself. A slap. "One. Thank you my love"

"Higher." Another slap.

"Two. Thank you my love."

You hear a chuckle and his hand covers your ass, rubbing it creating momentary relief.

“Behave and you won’t be punished again.”

The blow comes harder this time, catching You off guard enough to scream.

"Three. Thanks." You say breathlessly.

“I said it without groaning.” The slap is even stronger than the previous one, you bite your lip to keep from screaming. “Thank me and I’ll think about whether I’ll fuck you with my cock.”

“Thank you for punishing me, K’uk’ulkan” You lick your lips to moisten them. “Please fuck me with your cock.”

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you up, the quick movement makes you slide off the couch and fall on your knees between his legs. You look up only to find the obsidian orbs watching you with intensity. This man has too much power over You, and You can't care about it. You were about to beg to suck his dick, but K'uk'ulkan grabs your jaw with his fingers and caresses your lips with his thumb, You suck it devotedly without looking away.

“I will be benevolent today.”

You are internally grateful for the decision. K'uk'ulkan had been teasing you for a long time and your pussy was throbbing, and you had never been so ready to be fucked in your life. He tightens the grip on your jaw, a reminder for you to thank him.

"Thanks." You say. “Fuck me with your divine cock, K'uk'ulkan”

“My good girl, so good to me.” He caresses his cheek with his fingertips. “Lie down on the mat and spread your legs.”

You find yourself crawling onto the carpet a moment later, laying your head on a cushion. You look at K'uk'ulkan, his body sculpted by gods, he worked to rid himself of the jewelry and green trunks.

“Eat me feathered serpent.” You say, making no move to hide the way you look at him.

  K'uk'ulkan lets out a rough, savage growl, and you notice how hard and rigid his cock is begging for attention. Your pussy moistens even more at the knowledge of how thirsty he was.

“I'm going to fuck you soon, my love. I want to get You ready for me.”

He moves his body until he is on top of you and kisses you. You feel his cock in your belly, dripping with your juices, and you feel divine for provoking such a reaction in that man. You feel a finger slide through your intimate area, playing with your swollen clitoris and then being inserted into your vaginal canal. You groan at the intrusion. You kiss him harder when a second finger is introduced and then the third.

“K'uk'ulkan, You are stretching me. I cannot stand." You say only to receive a raised eyebrow before he goes back to doing what he was doing. With his thumb, he circles your clitoris in circular movements to the point that you see stars.

“You’re my good girl, you can take it.” He leans in, and the predatory tone of his voice when he speaks makes you squirm beneath him. “Cum on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.

Her folds tighten tightly on the edge of a powerful orgasm. You try to beg, but only disjointed sounds come out of your mouth. You feel his thumb tease your clitoris with movements oscillating between slow and fast, in a sneaky movement he removes his thumb only to press it harder immediately afterwards. His orgasm hits you like a truck. You arch your back and scream for him when you feel your spirit leave your body and return shortly afterwards.

“K'uk'ulkan, I'm...”

“You’re going to cum again.” He says as he aligns his cock with your pussy, You moan when he purposely rubs against your hard and sensitive clit. “This time, it will be on my dick.”

He pushes hard. You're wet and open enough, but he was pretty big and the pain of penetration was inevitable, but it was a good pain. Every time You loved feeling his cock tearing your wet pussy. He supports himself on his elbows which give him the possibility to fuck you hard and he does so.

"Cum." You blurt out as he beats you mercilessly.

Above You, K'uk'ulkan ate you like a flesh-hungry beast. The dull touch of his skin hitting yours fills you with anxiety, and makes you think about the bruises that will appear. He grabs her waist with one hand just to stretch her a little and thrust her with more force.

“My perfect wife, good girl, my good good queen.” He babbled helplessly as he thrust hard into her pussy that was clenching around him, a clear sign of a new orgasm approaching. “I will spill my semen inside You. Filling Your womb with a baby will make You my queen and take them away.”

“Put a baby in me, K’uk’ulkan” You beg him. The hand squeezes his waist again as he attacks with a series of swear words in his mother tongue.

With a powerful thrust You cum again, screaming his name shamelessly. Your inner folds contract, squeezing his cock inside You, K'uk'ulkan tries to resist it, but it was a losing battle. He comes grunting like an animal spilling drop by drop of his seed inside You. He still gives a few more thrusts as if to ensure that You received every drop of his sperm. He collapses on top of you, with his cock still inside your pussy.

It stays inside You until You are uncomfortable. K'uk'ulkan Pulls away, pulling his softening cock out of You, a moan escaping when You feel the emptiness that was left. Your walls were sensitive and stained with his release; satisfaction filled every molecule of your body at this feat. K'uk'ulkan lies down next to him; you turn your head to him and smile, place a chaste kiss on his lips and sigh softly:

"Thank you my love."

To then be pulled closer and wrapped in a comforting hug.

“We need to eat.” You say snuggling into his chest, he pulls You into him.

“I already ate.” He says with his eyes closed. "I am very satisfied."

“You made me cook for nothing.” You speak of false indignation. “I’ll leave You hungry next time.”

“I will make it up to you later for cooking. Now, let's rest. Soon the sun will rise.”

Silence settles in the room, a sign that K'uk'ulkan was sleeping. You were not left behind, falling into a deep sleep with pleasant dreams.

The sun was rising when You awoke from your sleep. It wasn't a surprise to discover that you were alone. You never woke up next to him. As the leader of a nation he needed to return to his nation and, as painful as it was, he knew the implications that his affair with K'uk'ulkan could bring if he didn't go underwater. Hatred for surface dwellers was sown centuries ago and it would be difficult for a Talokanil's relationship with a surface dweller to be accepted.

You shook your head to dismiss such frivolous thoughts. I knew this was salt in the wound, a long time ago. You had already convinced yourself that you were nothing more than a concubine; You accepted this position with flying colors, although a little voice in your head always begged you to demand more. Being his queen, the mother of his children seemed like an impossible dream, so for the sake of your sanity You accepted the role to be played; sex is necessary and affection when requested. One day, this would end; You would marry a nobleman or some promising scientist and have his children, K'uk'ulkan would be nothing more than a youthful fling.

“Fuck” You cursed as you realized where your thoughts were taking you downs a dangerous path again.

After all, you and he would stay in this fantasy a thousand times if necessary. Until reality knocked on the door and took us back to the harsh reality. For now, you could be content with pretending he was yours; pretend he would come back every night as her husband to love her and possess her body under the starlight. You sigh as you realize how your reality wasn't as pleasant as your expectations. You snuggle on the rug, deciding to sleep a little longer until you return to the palace, your father would definitely be upset and question your disappearance, but you could deal with that later. Now, You just wanted to close your eyes and dream of a reality where You and K'uk'ulkan would be happy surrounded by children. Fantasy could be sweet compared to reality.