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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

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There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you’ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

#jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen

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shiny-jr · 1 year ago

Text

outlander

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia.

Summary: In every land you travel to, there's a god with elemental powers. But why is it that in every nation you arrive to, the gods attempt to make you stay?

Note: Why has no one done a genshin x twst thing? This is more of a concept idea than anything else. I might do a series with it, or not, or just random posts. Feel free to ask about it or request stuff for it.

This must be a dream, either that or a never-ending nightmare.

Waking up alone on a sandy beach, as if washed ashore, was disorientating. There was nothing else on the shore save for shells and the occasional crab, no debris indicating a wreck and no scattered belongings. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, which were a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your pajamas.

In the center of your palms, was a marking you had never seen before, like a freshly painted tattoo in the shape of a tiny key. As curious as the strange new markings were and you wondered how they even got there, there was a larger question looming:

How did you get here?

GRIM

There was a cat on the beach. At least, it looked like a cat. A talking feline, with gray fur and the most impossible feature of blue fire lightly simmering in his ears.

It spoke, just like a human, with a grating high-pitched voice. It was a devilish little beast, with little fangs sharper than his comebacks that he supposed were funny.

The feline pridefully announced his name: Grim.

And when you told Grim your story of how you woke up by the water's edge with no recollection of how you got here and little to your name, the creature didn't appear to care. However, when he spoke of elements being used by people and names of nations and cruel living gods you never once heard of, only then was he very vaguely intrigued. Perhaps it was amusement, as he laughed and called you stupid for not even knowing of The Seven.

That's when you heard a growl, not from behind his fangs but from his stomach. If you looked at him from the right angle, he looked quite scrawny. The poor thing was hungry, you realized.

All it took was an offering of cans of tuna found in an empty cabin nearby, and you had him in your grasp. Following you around was only temporary, he insisted, he'd go along so long as there was food. While a talking cat was not the most conventional of guides, it was better than nothing, especially since he knew basic knowledge of each nation and where the nearest sign of civilization was located.

HEARTSLABYUL

Through the winding dark woods where mysterious creatures lurked in hollow trees and dead end paths, were meadows of flowers and peaceful grooves. However, don't let the tranquillity of nature fool you. In the distance were mountains– not actually mountains, but volcanoes and hot sprints along this land's border.

It's been said that the very millions of roses and other greenery in this land, was formed when ash rained down on dry barren earth for nearly a month. Ash from those very dormant volcanoes that were the backdrop to this perfect scenery, which came in huge black clouds thousands of years ago and blanketed the earth.

A god, an archon, the deity of law that rained hell on earth over thousands of years ago.

Long ago this land was a country of criminals ruled by a god of chaos that reveled in havoc and disorder. Among the mayhem, was a small deity of fire with mighty powers and a vision for a future he was determined to see. Riddle, is what the deity was called.

Riddle gained a number of followers to listen to his words, and he created order. A small feat compared to the many wicked still running about in a lawless land ruled by a god that valued anarchy. So, using newfound strength, the deity of fire drew forth molten lava from the mouths of the northern volcanos, burning all those in its path while the deadly plumes of smoke and ash suffocated those that remained. Atop the remains of the destroyed towns and cities, he built a new nation of order for his loyal followers.

Today, it is a thriving nation filled with flowers and greenery. However, there is one issue. The god of pyro, Riddle, is a tyrant. Every law is expected to be followed without question and without fail, beheadings have become nearly a daily occurrence with the criminals often being charged with mistakingly picking flowers on Wednesdays, drinking the wrong sort of tea post-meals, or playing croquet after five pm.

You were fortunate to be spared after your audience with the god of law, for breaking the rule: one must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Before he could burn you were you stood, you interjected, answering that your companion was no cat, so you had broken no rule.

Well, he promptly apologized for the misunderstanding and in turn, offered to make up for it by inviting you to a tea party. It would be best to except his invitation, afterall, he was the same deity that buried nearly an entire country in lava and ash, then built his kingdom atop their remains. He was a tyrant that beheaded and burned people on the daily. It was wise not to get on his bad side. Besides, he appears to have taken a fancy for you. Riddle implores that you tell him more of your world while you ignore the whispers of rebellion.

There is no leaving Heartslabyul, not without the explicit permission from the god of law. The borders with their volcanoes burn any would-be invaders, allowing passage only to merchants and travelers who have received the pyro deity's blessing. Why would Riddle ever give you his blessing to see you go?

SAVANACLAW

Across the volcanoes and hot springs of the borders, the mountains turn green with dense jungles. Across the river lies the savanna where the world's most wondrous creatures run free. Times have been turbulent, the shaking ground was evidence of troubles with this nation's divine beings, or rather, now single divine being.

Earthquakes have always been a sign of something occurring either for a purpose or unintentionally by someone else. The harsher the quake, the greater the importance of the event. And not too long ago, a ginormous tremor shook the entire globe. Something of major importance had happened.

A god, an archon, the deity of intellect was the new sovereign after tragedy befell his elder brother.

In the past the land was under the protection of the god of strength, a mighty god worshipped by his people. This god had a young heir who was also beloved by the people. However, most forgot or completely disliked the younger brother of the god of strength, a deity of ground, Leona, who had a burning hated for his brother.

Leona amassed followers of his own in secret. It came as no surprise that the common and the wealthy adored the exalted god of strength. However, the poor detested him, because he offered no help to them, no matter how much they prayed and offered what little they had to his alter. Instead, their prayers for mercy and for a change in luck, were answered by the deity of ground. The change of luck came from the death of the former god and his son, paving the way for a new sovereign.

Today, there is uncertainty in the street. Many of the former worshippers of the god of strength believe in one thing. The god of geo, Leona, is unfit to rule. The poor and mistreated have emerged from hiding places in the shadows, filled with newfound confidence for their was finally a god that answered their prayers. However, there remains a growing tension between both factions. Followers of the new god sing his praises, while followers who mourn for his brother believe that everything is falling into disarray.

You were promptly introduced to the god of intellect by his followers that wished to spread the good word. There was something wrong, you and your companion both agreed. How could a powerful god of strength and his young heir just perish without warning? Something was amiss.

This was just a new follower, at least in his eyes. So he brushed you off, allowing you to partake in the best food and drink only his followers had the privilege of receiving. Testing your luck, you decided you would ask him if he knew of a way home. For now you filled him in, explaining your origins and recent adventures. For such a conniving and arrogant leader, he was surprisingly lax. It even appeared as if he wasn't even listening to your words, just dozing off on some pillows. Your words were at least more interesting to him than the rumors of possible unrest.

Perhaps he does know a way for you to return home, but he doesn't want to tell you. It's as simple as that. He likes the new follower, you. Besides, you're not going. There is always the option of traveling further, but why do so when the geo deity has what you need? Leona greatly loathes betrayal from his own worshippers, so you wouldn't leave Savanaclaw to see another god, would you?

OCTAVINELLE

In the seas dwell creatures of unimaginable horrors living deep within the watery depths, across the ocean over turbulent waves there are islands of paradise. The chain of islands composed warm southern beaches and cold northern snowlands. This may be paradise, but a toll must be paid to even get near the islands.

A tax is applied to all arriving merchants wishing to trade and tourists wishing to step foot on the island. It doesn't make much sense, until you see their towns and cities bursting with trade. Business was booming, apparently. The water is clear and pristine, you could see the vibrant coral reefs and schools of fish swimming below.

A god, an archon, the deity of contracts once came from these very waters when there was no land.

Thousands of years ago there was nothing but ocean out this far away from the mainland. That is, until a deity of water appeared from the depths. He promised a new nation to traveling merchants, so long as they worshipped him. The deity introduced himself as Azul.

Azul had grown bored of the dull happenings under the sea, for he had achieved most things beneath the waves. The ocean could not satisfy his endless greed. He had his sights set on higher elevation, with the lofty goal of being just as powerful on land as he was in the ocean. He moved waves, creating tsunamis outward but revealing islands once hidden by water. The merchants took to land and fulfilled their end of the deal, worshipping him while creating a prosperous nation of deals.

In present day, hardly anyplace can compare to the thriving hub the nation has become. However, loyal followers have begun to see his greed. The god of hydro, Azul, is a charlatan. The ocean in all its vastness was not enough to satisfy his desires, it was why he took to land. For the promise of fulfilling prayers, something always must be given in turn or the worshippers must risk going on a quest. But, it is not always as it seems. One way or another, a prayer asking for something will end in the worshipper becoming in debt to him.

In exchange for an answer to the continued question of how to return home, you have nothing to offer for payment except for ideas. Home was modern, this world was not yet on par with the technology you knew. So you offer ideas of inventions, a device to capture an image in time, a mechanism like a box with wheels, a tool to contact someone miles away.

He believes you're quite bright, you think it false flattery to deceive you but you would be wrong. Your ideas are truly brilliant, and will no doubt earn him more millions and influence in other nations on the mainland! Best to take the compliment with a smile, or else this swindler may find a way to trap you in debt. Azul insists you tell him more of your home and your lucrative ideas. Here, a contract, where he shall sell your ideas as goods and you shall reap the rewards! Whatever hearsay you've heard painting him in a bad light, is defamation! Don't fall for it so easily.

Sailing away from Octavinelle would just be a fool's quest. Unless you can escape on a boat that can weather the harshest of sea storms, there is no stepping foot off the island without the risk of drowning. Don't you have more profitable ideas to share with the hydro deity? If not, just listening to your voice would make Azul content than all the gold in the world could.

SCARABIA

Rolling sand dunes stretch as far as the eye could see, and rocky canyons border a savanna. Sandstorms fill the skies like a dark cloud, covering the dry hot land in a new layer of sand once again. Struggle through the scorching days and blistering cold nights, and there will be an oasis in the center between large flowing rivers.

Life follows the flowing waters, and an enormous oasis is planted in the center of the desert. For miles and miles along the banks, are blooming cities and towns. A great contrast to the desert outside, these settlements are overflowing with water, with the greenest gardens and greatest crops.

A god, an archon, the deity of commerce that gave life to a once barren land.

Thousands of years ago, a terrible famine struck the land. All remaining oasis had shriveled up, leading to starvation. A kind-hearted deity of earth took pity on the people. So he decided to extend a helping hand. People would call the deity Kalim.

Kalim used his abilities to create a lush environment, a vast and incredibly rich oasis out of sand in the middle of the desert. When he walked, grass and flowers sprouted from the sand. In days, he managed to create a garden of tremendous size and design, where his new followers could live in peace and luxury by the rivers. Towns and cities were developed, giving way to a grand nation where he resided in comfort and extravagance, surrounded by people that adored him.

Now there is a grand metropolis where there is just as much gold in the markets as there are flowers. The god of dendro, Kalim, is naive. For thousands of years he has been sheltered and treasured by his people. He is oblivious and clumsy, but at the same time he is not foolish. He knows of the people that have attempted to use his abilities for sinister purposes. Although, no one could guess a conniving being plotting against him, resides in his very own palace.

Exciting adventures and thrilling tales, the god of commerce loves to hear your stories of the outside world! First time foreigners are welcomed with open arms, but you are treated as a rare guest with your unique origin. This might just be the most peaceful land you had ever traveled to.

Come, partake in the celebrations! It's easy to forget that such a laidback and cheerful personality belongs to that of a deity that gave life to this region of the desert. Dance, chat, he wishes to do it all with you! The brightness of the fireworks and lively atmosphere is nearly enough to drown out the presence in the shadows you see from the corner of your eyes. A figure with a piercing gaze, watching the jolly divine being with envy in their eyes. With a power as tempting as his, there would be those wishing to snatch it. Kalim distracts you, offering more food and drink with a smile sweeter than any flower.

Why would anyone ever wish to leave this garden that was Scarabia? The outside, the desert and canyons, were harsh and unforgiving. The god of commerce did not wish to see you risk traveling and getting hurt. The dendro deity invites you to stay in the city! Surely you could be happy here with Kalim, right?

POMEFIORE

On elevated lands, between mountains and hills, were endless forests in which travelers often vanished in or were discovered frozen. A winter wonderland, although this wasn't so delightful. It was beautiful, but a deadly kind of beautiful, where you risked being chased by mysterious beasts or becoming lost in blizzards.

The snow may be pure, it may look picturesque upon frozen lakes and lines of white trees, but looks are deceiving. This was once a serene land with a temperate climate, but it has only gotten colder and colder in more recent months until there was not a single spot of green to be seen.

A god, an archon, the deity of curses who was so bitter like the cold that he caused snow to fall all year round.

Stories have told that the land was once warm in springs and summers, only growing cold whenever the divine being was cross. They were frighteningly beautiful and terrifyingly powerful, regal as royalty but at times wrathful. Vil, is what the deity was referred to.

Vil became envious of an emerging figure, so he invoked powerful blizzards and storms. In recent generations, there have been a growing number of his people breaking off into a separate faction that worshipped a younger compassionate god of healing. Enraged by the betrayal of some followers and resentful with biting jealously, many knew that it was only a matter of time before he would snap. This frightening divine being would not accept being dethroned, he would not allow himself to be demoted in the people's hearts.

Civilization continued to thrive, even despite the never-ending snow. And yet, people cannot help but worry what may happen if the cold doesn't let up by spring. The god of cryo, Vil, was pretentious. Anyone who openly voices their distaste for him or a preference for the god of healing, can expect to be encased in ice and used as a display. No one dares to even utter the name of his rival, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Misfortune brought you before the god of curses' throne. Mistakingly his followers had believed you to be worshippers of the god of healing, which you insisted not to know of. You had simply been lost. Maybe it was your gawking at his ethereal appearance, or the compliment you murmured under your breath, but you were not frozen a punishment.

He decided to interrogate you himself, and through his stern questioning you found yourself a nervous mess as you answered honestly but blabbered far too much. Maybe this deity was amused, much like a king would find humor in a pathetic little jester. The divinity that froze nonbelievers into statues for his palace, found you quite endearing. Vil even once smiled at you when you spoke of inconsequential things, warming his heart to which the clouds carrying snow broke apart if for a moment, causing his followers to go into a frenzy fueled by hope.

When leaving Pomefiore is so much as even mentioned, all exits will be frozen shut by the god of curses. Why even venture outside the palace, when you have earned the favor of the cryo deity? Perhaps the land is warmer, but the neighboring nation is dangerous and he forbids the journey. Why would anyone leave after finally melting Vil's icy cold heart?

IGNIHYDE

A forest of dead trees serves as an ominous welcome, or perhaps it was an omen warning incoming travelers. Slopes gave way to valleys, and along the coasts was a heavy mist that painted the vision gray. Homes and buildings, magnificent temples and crumbling feats of architecture, appeared to be floating in white clouds, but in reality they were situated on cliffsides thick with fog.

In the center of the dying forest, there are ruins of a grand temple once belonging to a god that met a tragic end. However, its remnants are closely guarded by mysterious creatures of air that cannot be touched. Legends say the temple was once a place of worship for a fledgling god related to the main god the nation worships today.

A god, an archon, the deity of innovation that has never once shown his face to the public.

Thousands of years ago, a pair of divine beings appeared. They went largely unnoticed for many years, until their brilliant inventions brought awe to those around them, attracting worshippers and diminishing the power of other local gods. The one remaining brother from this pair, is a deity known as Idia.

Idia created wondrous inventions, unintentionally forming a nation of inventors in the process. Withdrawn, dark, and silent, he is quite the unconventional god and yet he begrudgingly rules nonetheless. As reserved as he may be, he is feared among divinity. All lesser gods aiming for his spot are quickly wiped out by his inventions, without him so much as lifting a finger and using his own abilities. They're reduced to mere memories, as nothing is left of them. In times of old, it was once believed that he was a harbinger of death.

On decent days, the sun may shine on the coast, but most days there are heavy clouds and fog. The god of anemo, Idia, is an enigma. Most think him a ghost, for never appearing and for his abilities. The highest families, the most brilliant inventors, even other divine beings may request an audience, but he will never show. No one has ever seen him, all that's known is he is a figure shrouded in black robes like a grim reaper. There are others who believe there are double, because two figures have been spotted once.

You become the first to see his face purely by accident. It seemed he was just as startled of you, as you were of him. Thankfully, you were not going to be blown off the face of the planet by hurricane-level winds. No other god would help, in fact, they wished to keep you here. So you had to turn to him for assistance in finding a way home.

It was only by promising that he could pet Grim, a deal to which the feline disagreed to, did the god reluctantly hear you out. After your explanation, he scoffed as if looking at a simple equation like 2 + 2. Of course he knew the answer, but he wouldn't give out the assistance you needed. The deal was to hear you out, not help you out. He'd become quite bold in the private conversation, a sharp contrast to his previous anxious demeanor. There was no arguing against he who could slaughter gods with a snap of his fingers. Although you aren't as intolerable as other mortals, this he admits.

Departing from Ignihyde is highly unlikely, given how dense the fog is. You cannot even see the ground you're walking on. While, yes, the anemo deity hasn't assisted you, he will, eventually, probably, maybe... You're the first mortal Idia has ever asked to stay, so why would you turn your back to him?

DIASOMNIA

A wall of impenetrable thorns stands in the way, magically opening and creating a clear-cut path through dense forbidding forests lively with critters. The thorn walls close, effectively trapping you. There was something different. It was unlike all the previous nations, the very air itself felt off. With every step deeper into these whimsical woods, it felt as if you were not alone.

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. No one knows how long the dragon has been alive, only that even the oldest tales say he was already ancient way back when. Valleys were shaped by his claws, the rivers from his tail, rare ore came from his fallen scales buried in the earth, the tallest mountains were but small hills to him.

A god, an archon, the deity of dreams is by far the most powerful and most ancient of all divinity in the world.

Peace was his personal preference, as he enjoyed new company which he never truly received due to his fearsome reputation. However, when other divinity sought out his destruction and his home, the deity of electricity raged. Destruction was left in his wake across the entire globe, and everyone came to know the name Malleus.

Malleus commanded thorns to be raised like walls protecting his home, and constant violent storms to ward off anyone threatening to cause trouble. For hundreds of years, no foreigner was allowed to step foot within the nation's boundaries. Anyone that tried would quickly be reduced to ash, and just a number added to the untold amount he's slayed in order to protect himself and his territory. Kind he may be to his own, but to foes he is merciless. With his black horns and piercing eyes, some refer to him as a devil incarnate.

A land unseen by outlanders, it's peaceful and magical in it's beauty. However, it seems that while your presence may be surprising, it is not a shock. You're taken by knights in gray and black, escorted away. The god of electro, Malleus, has invited you to his castle. There is astonishment and disbelief in people's eyes, a foreigner alive and well. Most like you would have been reduced to particles before they could even step foot past the thorns.

Much to your horror, or relief, once you're brought to the god of dreams, he seems delighted to have you here. It seems your presence was expected, as all he said was, "So you've finally come to see me, hm? I was beginning to grow concerned that perhaps I would have been left out of your list of destinations."

This was the last option, the only one you could turn to in finding a way home. Surely, the most ancient and powerful deity would hold the answer and assist you, since he had been so kind as to allow you inside his nation. Although as welcoming as he may be, you must remember that despite his fang-toothed smile and the twinkle in his eyes, this man– no, god, was archaic and all-powerful. He must have killed more people than you will ever know, wiped out whole armies and flattened entire nations. Malleus tilts his head at you, requesting that you recount your tale, with every minute detail.

This will be the end, there will be no escaping Diasomnia. Of course, you shall not know until later. For now, the god of dreams delights in your stories. You were the first guest he's had in thousands of years, and one of the few who did not wish to slay the legendary dragon that was the electro deity. Malleus knows what you desire, he has seen it in your dreams. However, he will not be kind and grant you what you sought. If he did, then what he desired would then vanish: you.

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humanpurposes · 5 months ago

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Can I Be Yours? - Nightblooms II

Aemond returns to the pleasure house after the battle of Rook's Rest // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death, ambiguous ending

Words: 3k

Each day she arrives at the market shortly after sunrise. She has the coin to pay for the usual cheap cuts of meat, for fats and vegetables to make into something edible, but there is nothing to buy; most of the vendors have sold the last of their wares. Summer is at an end, there are less crops coming from the Reach and the sea is still cut off with no end in sight to the blockade.

King’s Landing has never been a place where she feels at ease but as the season shifts and the war goes on, families are starving and people are getting desperate, fighting over what they can get their hands on. They’ve all been reduced to dogs, clawing at each other over scraps while carts of livestock and fresh produce trundle through the streets towards the Red Keep, guarded by men in Hightower green.

She manages to buy some crabs and vegetables she’ll have to cut the mould from. They have a store of grain in the kitchens to make flatbread, though they have to use less and less each day, anticipating when they’ll be able to find more.

She eats less of her share so the younger girls won’t have to go hungry. Besides, she hasn’t had much of an appetite for days.

She had spent hours trying to rinse herself clean of the King and his companions after they’d had their way with her– after Aemond had left her to their mercy. That night she scrubbed at her skin with salt, then a cloth, then a bristled brush. That feeling was still there, like sweat sticking to her skin, like her body was not her own. She heard their voices and their cold laughter with the rush of water past her ears. She scrubbed harder and harder until she tinted the water pink with her blood.

One morning, one of the girls returns to the pleasure house, unsuccessful in finding a cure for her babe’s fever, but startled by something else.

The Hightower army has returned from a battle, dragging the head of a dragon on a cart through the city.

“It’s monstrous,” the girl says, trying to measure the scale of the head with her arms. “It had black blood, and gods, the smell, like charred meat!”

Sylvi hovers over her shoulder. “Slain by your favourite, I wonder?”

Favourite? Clearly she was not so favoured by Prince Aemond.

Men are led by their desires. That’s why, even as the city is starving, they find the money to come here and seek their pleasure. They are fickle, easily satiated and have no loyalties but to themselves, to their own preservation.

Sylvi huffs when she does not react to her teasing. “Seven above, do try to look less miserable, girl.”

She’s been trying for days, but she can’t force a pleasant demeanour when she feels so hollow.

The returning soldiers come to the Street of Silk that night, newly paid and come to bask in their victory. Her gown is a deep shade of blue and Sylvi has given her some of her jewellery, sapphire earrings and a heavy gold necklace that feels like a collar, to cover the bruises on her neck left by the King.

She catches the eye of a soldier in the main chamber. He takes her by the waist and drags her onto his thigh.

He moves clumsily, trying to drag her core against his leg or the bulge in his breeches, she cannot tell and she does not care.

Look less miserable, it’s only a motion of the body.

Look less miserable, men want a woman who is warm, who smiles.

Look less miserable, but has he noticed her fallen face and the empty look in her eyes? Likely not.

Her body feels numb again.

“Look at me,” the man demands.

She turns her head towards him but her eyes are down, elsewhere completely. She pictures candlelight, a veil around the edges of a bed so the bodies around her are like shadows. She feels a weight on her chest and stomach, limbs intertwined with hers, long, loose hair spilling over her bare skin. A voice is just out of reach.

Look at me, look at me, look at me–

“My Prince!”

Her senses come back to her as quickly as a match takes to flame. Her head darts to where the soldier is looking, to the man standing before them, dark leathers, silver hair, an eyepatch over his face and a sword hanging from his hip.

Aemond tilts his head, his one eye intent on her.

“Apologies, Prince Regent,” the soldier says, and shoves her off his lap so he can stand.

She stumbles but holds her ground. Her eyes are on the floor but imagining his face frowning in displeasure, the sight of his scar, the lines of his muscles under his skin. She cannot bear to truly look upon him, but he’s watching her.

Why come now? Why her, when she has already proved worthless to him?

“Come,” Aemond says without reaching for her, without waiting for her to match his gaze. She follows, if only to escape the wanton soldier.

Aemond takes her to the same chamber, standing at the foot of the same bed where they used to lay together.

She stands before him with her eyes lowered.

He towers over her and lifts her chin to match his gaze with a gloved hand. The leather against her skin is unnatural, cold, disturbing her very being like ripples through a peaceful surface of water. The sight of him only brings her pain, as does the separation from him. Fear and admiration twist together and writhe in her gut.

He reaches to remove the necklace first, letting it fall to the floor. “An ugly thing,” he mutters, “do not wear this again, I find it distracting.” It bares her bruises. He traces his gloved fingers over the flushes of red and purple in her skin.

Next he undoes her dress, another gown designed to fall away from one clasp. She does not remove the rest to bare herself, so he tugs the gown away himself, pulling her forward by her wrists to make her step away from where it pools on the floor.

Without any further preamble he surges into her, cupping her jaw with his hands and kissing her passionately. He demands reception with his lips, tongue and teeth, but she will not give it to him. She remains as steadfast as she can.

He pauses, kissing her again, then again.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is subtle and as soft as the edge of a knife. Gently, he takes a hold of her neck. It is tender, but not quite a comfort. Her pulse beats furiously against his fingers. “You are angry with me, is that it?”

Has he thought of her these last few days? Does he blame himself for the bruises on her neck?

She says nothing.

“I’ll not fuck an unwilling whore.”

“No,” it falls from her lips like a breath.

Aemond tuts and tilts his head. “No?”

She parts her lips but she cannot speak.

His one-eyed stare darkens. He will take her silence for defiance, and that is not what he pays for.

If all he seeks is carnal desire she will grant him this. She tears away the layers of him, his gloves, the buckles on his jerkin, her fingers fumbling in her determination.

Aemond grunts as she pushes the sleeves from his shoulders, the leather landing with a heavy thud on the floor. His face is perplexed but he does not resist.

She tugs at the strings of his undershirt and pulls it over his head. When his chest is bare she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself in, crashing her lips into his. Everything becomes a single feeling, a fire in her chest, hurt and rage and— she’s not naive enough to call it love, but it’s an urge that spurns her to be close to him. Their teeth clash. She loses her focus and her lips graze over his cheek. She finds him again, drawing her tongue against his, dragging her teeth over his lip–

“Fuck!” Aemond hisses, snatching himself away from her. He dabs his fingertips to his lip, checking for blood that isn’t there.

His eye is wide but gleaming, excited at the challenge.

Her heart leaps when Aemond grasps her jaw. He drags her chin up, fingertips pressing into the bone. “I find your insolence tiresome,” he snarls.

The edge of his nose brushes against hers. She feels his breath, how his chest rises and falls against her body, how his heart beats as frantically as hers.

She shakes her head. “I am yours, my Prince.”

He lays her on the bed, pushing her thighs apart and holding them down as he kneels.

He sighs at the sight of her.

Each drag of his tongue is divine, circling and pressing at the places he has come to know will please her the most. She tries to chase the friction with her hips but he holds her firmly in place.

She reaches for his hair, slipping the eyepatch from his face so she can see all of him. He looks up at her as she does, his lips glistening with her arousal while his sapphire consumes the golden light of the candles.

Between the movements of his mouth he mutters to himself, words she has heard before but does not know the meaning to. His voice is heavy and breathless and she adores it.

Her peak comes suddenly, a wave of warmth and weightlessness that lingers after Aemond has drawn his mouth away from her.

He’s just out of her reach, standing over the bed and slowly pulling on the strings of his breeches.

She brings herself to sit, only to be thrown down again and roughly turned onto her front.

“Aemond?”

His hands pull her up by her hips. His thumb glides in circles over her entrance and she stutters into compliance. There’s a ruffle of fabric before he replaces his digit with the head of his cock. He teases her as he rocks back and forth. The pleasure is sparse, a delicious kind of torture. She grips at the linens and sinks her teeth into her lip.

On one motion of his hips, Aemond slips inside of her. She sighs at the stretch of it. He stills for a moment to let her adjust, pushing himself to the hilt and slowly drawing back. She feels how his fingertips dig into her flesh, marks that will stay for days. She can picture the look in his eye, his resolve melting away.

She props herself up on her hands, turning over her shoulder. He meets her, pressing his nose against her cheek, teasing his lips over her skin.

“Do you still find me insolent?” she whispers.

Aemond hums.

He draws back, only to snap his hips harshly into her rear. It knocks the breath from her lungs and he holds his arm around her to hold her close to him, his palm pressing into her stomach as he fucks her roughly and without reprieve.

This is the Prince she has only ever seen glimpses of. She’s heard the workings of his mind and his regrets, but she’s never seen him unleash himself, a dragonrider, a warrior, now a demanding lover.

Each kiss of his cock at her sweet spot aches and drives her towards bliss. She grasps at his hand, leaning her head into his. His sweat drips onto her brow. His moans fall upon the shell of her ear.

She feels another peak edging closer when Aemond pushes her torso down against the bed. He keeps his hands on her shoulders. Her own moans are muffled against the mattress and she cannot move. She can only take what she is given, fast fucking and brutal precision.

He comes with a unrestrained groan, spilling himself deep within her cunt. His weight falls against her back and he nestles his face into her neck, whispering some appraisal in an ancient language, gently fucking his seed deeper.

She whines as she catches her breath, letting herself settle with him on top of her. They stay like this for a time. Before he finally moves, Aemond presses a delicate kiss to her brow.

They lay amongst linen and silk, his head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her ribs, moving with her as she breathes.

He tells her of Rook’s Rest, of his plan to attack during the daylight and bait their enemy into sending a dragon, then he would lead Vhagar into an ambush. He had not expected Aegon to join the battle, and when the smoke cleared, only Aemond and Vhagar remained unscathed.

“Perhaps I should have been more forgiving, but he got in my way.”

What did you do? She wonders, but cannot bring herself to give a voice to her question.

That soldier had named Aemond as Regent. Not the title he wants, but it is a brutal reminder that only one life stands between him and the throne he pursues.

“And even when he is… incapacitated, my victory is named as his. It was meant to be mine.”

The dragon head was his doing after all.

Tears run freely down her cheeks, not that he will see.

He takes a breath and waits. She’s done this enough times by now to know he’s waiting for her to say something. He needs her to say something.

What loyalty has your brother ever shown you? He knows you were better suited to war, at least now he will not overestimate himself.

She does not wish to think of Aegon.

“You left me,” she utters.

Aemond tilts his head towards her. She meets his eye. When he sees the tears on her face his own expression softens.

“You left me to entertain those men. You didn’t even look back.”

Aemond swallows thickly, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I had to.”

“Had to?”

“You would not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You are a Prince. To you, I am nothing but a body to be used.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You do not need to say it. It is the nature of the world we live in.”

He shifts himself to lay beside her, face-to-face. His thumb strokes over her cheek and at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve only ever admired you,” he says. “You came to me when I felt alone.”

Back when they were children, when she was innocent enough to think the gods favoured those who were kind, merciful, good.

“You looked lost. I was the same the first time…” the first time Sylvi brought her into a room with a strange man. When she sees girls of the same age, she wants to take them into her arms and shield them from strangers, from the people who promise to care for them and do not. “I knew how it felt to be used and then discarded, like none of it mattered. But it did. It mattered to me.”

Aemond’s eye shimmers like glass.

“I needed you, do you understand that? I needed your protection,” she says.

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye.

“You taunt me with this,” she says, wiping it away with her thumb.

He holds her hand against his jaw. “I’m not trying to taunt you,” he pleads. “You are the only one, the only one I can speak my mind to.”

She has seen his pride, his remorse, his shame, but she has never seen fear in Aemond. She does now. He clasps onto her hand like she’ll fade away.

“I try. I know my place in my family. I know what they need of me. I try, but I am not always strong enough.”

Jaehaerys, the little Prince who lost his head. He has a sister and a mother grieving his loss, what of them?

What of Aegon?

“I’ll protect you,” he says, kissing the heel of her palm, the inside of her wrist.

How will he do that? Before morning he will leave a purse of gold in her hand and return to his Keep. While he plots his war and demands taxes and tithes from the people of the Crownlands, she will endure in a city that is slowly starving to death.

And when the war of dragons comes to the skies over King’s Landing? Will he pick her out from the masses atop Vhagar? Will he find a way to spare her from the fire and the bloodshed?

It does not bear thinking about. She holds him and tries to forget anything other than this feeling, his weight and warmth, his hair between her fingertips, the points in his bones, his legs intertwined with hers. Everything about him that is cold and cruel. Everything about him that is quietly beautiful.

I've kinda given up on taglists <3

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc

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fanaticsnail · 3 months ago

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Just turn around and look, Doc.

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word Count: 900+

Synopsis: You are not in your office, and Heat has an emergency in need of urgent attention. He chases where he assumes you are and interrupts your peace.

Themes: Heat x gn!reader platonic, Kid, Heat, animal cruelty mentioned, platonic nudity mentioned, naked heat, nsfw, you are "Doc", the doctor of the Kid Pirates.

Notes: This was inspired by a conversation with @feral-artistry. I couldn't not use that gif. Torturing the poor, blue-haired commander again.

“Hey Doc-!” a choked and strangled cry appeared in your office doorframe. Expecting to find you hunched over your desk, the intruder was shocked to see you absent.

Their panic began to grow. Tattooed arms clutched a coarse towel over their abdomen, lengthy blue hair dripping salt water down onto the floor, hollowed eyes wide in fear, the fire-breather’s heart beat in mania against his ribs. Heat immediately fled onto the wooden panels clad in only a towel at their waist.

“Cap!” Heat roared outside the door, “Where's Doc? I need Doc! Where are they?”

Eustass Kid peered over the top deck down towards Heat. With his lips curled back in perplexion, Kid furrowed his brows and gestured to the communal bathroom below the barrier. Heat looked below and immediately sprinted towards the bathroom, clutching the towel at his abdomen and puffing out breaths of pain and panic.

Warmth swelled your body, your head the only protruding figure from the suds within the water. Sighing out in bliss as your aching bones soaked away their pain, your bliss was immediately interrupted by a figure bursting into the occupied room.

“I HAVE CRABS!”

Jolting immediately back in the water, you backed your chest up into the side of the porcelain to face away from the fire-breather.

“Heat, get out!” you bark at him, keeping your eyes focussed on the wall in front of you rather than the man behind you, “I have one moment to myself, and you just barge on in with that great exclaim? Fuck off, Heat! Use the cream and shampoo like everyone else-.”

“-Doc, you don’t understand,” he stuttered over his words, their voice a lot closer than they truly should be. “Doc, I have crabs.”

“Heat-.”

The drop of material pooling on the floor had your heart immediately beating rapidly in anxiety, not truly desiring to be naked and alone with one of your crewmates in your vulnerable state. You grit your teeth, your rage only growing as he doesn’t budge in leaving you at peace.

“Heat, I swear-.”

“-Please,” Heat cries, his voice cracking and breaking at the corners of his rasp, “Just turn around and look, Doc.”

A growl fled in displeasure from your drawn-back lips, truly not desiring to glance at the sight you assume was plaguing the commander. Assuming louse burying themselves in families within his pubic hair, you turn around and immediately shriek at the sight.

Sure enough, Heat had crabs. Crabs around half an inch wide, and an inch tall including their tiny six legs and bulbous extended pincers. All along his pierced cock and balls, a cluster of blue-swimmer crabs continued to snap at the ball-bearings and blue pubic hair along his skin.

Sucking your lips immediately within your mouth, you attempted to swallow your laugh to no avail. Peering up at him through your eyes, you kept your mouth partially closed as you asked him the obvious question.

“How?”

“I went swimming and didn’t want to wash my pants and vest,” he whimpered, a crab attaching to the ridged frenulum and pinching it tightly within its claws, “Doc, get these fuckin’ things off me.”

"You went skinny dipping... and disturbed a colony of blue-swimmer crabs..."

You could no longer contain the chuckle that bubbled past your tightly shut lips. Eyes watering as you witnessed Heat in all his glory infested with an entire family of crabs on his crotch, you teetered off your laughter and ushered him closer to the water’s edge.

“You have two choices, Heat,” you nodded gently, gesturing to the crabs clawing at his skin, “You can either walk back to my office and I can remove and return them to their home, or-.”

“-Whatever the other option is, I’ll do it. I can’t stand it, I need a solution now.”

Tilting your head to the side, you reached for your towel and gently shrouded your nakedness from him while stepping out of the soapy water. Nodding at him first, you turned your attention back to the bathwater and cocked your head towards it.

Heat immediately jumped in the warm bath, wincing at the temperature of the bathwater and shooting you an accusatory look with his hollowed eyes.

“What? I like my baths hot,” you scoff at him, drying yourself off and reaching for your fresh clothes to tug back over yourself. “I didn’t pour it expecting the pleasure of your company, hot-head.”

Heat managed to shriek out a teetered chuckle while timidly shaking in anticipation of another pincer to the cock or puncture to his skin. Gazing down at the water and back at you once more, he moved his glasgow grin up in an apprehensive smile while gazing sheepishly at you.

“How long until the little fuckers slide off?” he gasped, feeling the sharp legs continue to skit across his skin. You shrug your shoulders, looking at the water and to Heat once more.

“Blue swimmers can survive in freshwater for a few hours up to a few days,” you speak informatively, your smirk returning to your face while you watch him fumble and fluster. “Given the temperature, the soap content, and the fact that you’ve shocked the little things a bit, they should begin floating around in about twenty minutes if they haven’t already let go.”

“Doc,” Heat sulked, his sunken features looking more somber than he usually presents himself as, “I’m sorry about your bath. You deserve a long break. I ruined it for you, Doc.”

“We’ll be seeing Trafalgar soon enough. He said he’d gladly take over some duties here while I exchange with him there,” you reply with a nod, “It’s good to swap practice with others to keep wits sharp about us.”

As you turned to leave the bathroom, you called over your shoulder back to him.

“Once they’re off, you’re clean and dry, come and find me in my office,” you scrunch your nose playfully up at him, “You need to receive some ointments and treatment from the pincers and contact on such a sensitive area.”

“You got it, Doc.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @nerium-lil @sinning-23 @a-killer-obsession @sparoart

#one piece #x reader #kid pirates #hey doc #x gn!reader #heat #op heat #eustass kid #captain kid #heat x reader #platonic fic

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rieamena · 6 months ago

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storytime!!! so basically im going through a mini writer's block right now so i started cooking to get my mind off it and now all i can think about is cooking with ino takuma

wc: 0.8k contains: pure fluff and nanami's here too i guess, reader is referred to as girlfriend, modern au author's note: fun fact! so i lost most of this and i had to rewrite all of the parts i lost and when i found out i actually started to cry! but i hope yall like it! inbox open for requests + qna questions + anything and everything

first off, i firmly believe this guy is the most mediocre chef EVER. you cannot convince me otherwise. however!, i will give him his props. he can cook his cute lil suspiciously scrumptious dishes when he has the time but that does not stop him from trying to get better at cooking

once you two started dating, he without a doubt begun brushing up on his skills. he went from being able to make a "banger sandwich" to a "banger le poulet frit et les gaufres" which was just chicken and waffles but he's trying okay!!!

he definitely consulted (begged) head chef nanami, as he called him in this situation, to help with his culinary skills. and i'm not talking regular begged, i'm talking groveling at his feet, begged. and nanami obliged, teaching ino how to cook, starting at the very basics, the importance of mise en place: the practice of organizing and preparing your ingredients and equipment before starting to cook

soon enough, ino's culinary lessons with head chef nanami blossomed. he started from basically nothing and now he's mastered the perfect milk to cereal ratio and a near perfect filet mignon. did he know what that was? no. did he watch nanami make it under the excuse of watching is the best form of learning? yes.

but you have to start somewhere! and you have to give him his tens!! he did light the stove and he preheat the oven. he's practically a chef already! and all that watching definitely paid off

"here, try this recipe with your girlfriend." nanami slid a slip of paper over to ino, tiny, uniform inked words on it. "and here is your copy, good luck." an identical piece of paper was given to ino again but it had handwritten notes like pay attention to the flame and i wouldn't recommend substituting this ingredient, it is very vital for the overall taste of the dish

so here you both were in the kitchen, aprons on and eyes peering at the recipe. "step one," takuma started, tightening his apron like he was about to do some serious work. he lifted up a comically large pot and placed it on the stove, pulling out (and flaunting) the crabs he handpicked from the market right after. "get your pot and your crabs."

"step two," you filled the pot halfway with water, sprinkling in a bit of salt and lighting the fire underneath it. "bring your pot of water to a rapid boil."

"what're you doing babe?" your words were clearly a question though it was one that you could answer simply by looking. "i'm paying attention to the flame." takuma pulled your shoulder flush to his, eyes still watching the blue flame with intent and unwavering focus. "i don't think it's going anywhere but okay."

once the water bubbled up violently, ino threw in the crabs and you went to the bathroom to freshen up. you were humming a sweet song while drying your hands when the all too familiar shrill scream of your boyfriend pierced your ears. "takuma?!" you called out, running to the kitchen, hands an uncomfortable damp. and there he was. takuma had the pot lid propped up as if it were a shield, tears pricking his eyes, "baby...", he called out to you. "the crab... it jumped out of the pot..."

"you bought live crabs...?"

"they weren't moving when i bought them."

"ah."

grabbing some nearby tongs, you placed the crab back into the salted water, "wait..., shouldn't we kill them first?" ino slowly nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket, "let's see... wikihow... how to cook a crab..."

"freeze the crabs?!" your in-sync voices rang through your house, bouncing off the walls. "we're not freezing any crabs." you continued, confusion and sass dripping from your lips. "damn right we're not! but, uh, how're we supposed to kill them then?" gulping at your boyfriend's question, you thought for a bit

tugging at one of the drawers, a collection of knives, given to you both by nanami, were revealed. picking the biggest one up and holding it's handle firm and tightly. "surely we could just," the blade sliced through the air, mimicking the swift movement of killing a crab. takuma shook in his place, "hey, queen, you should, uh, watch where you're swinging that. you might hurt yourself," he came closer to you, fingers squeezing and squishing your cheeks. "and then i would have to nurse my pretty girlfriend back to health!"

slapping his hands away playfully, you sighed, "babe, focus! what're we gonna do? i don't wanna kill the crabs..." ino put his hands on his hips, a triumphant smile on his face, "don't worry, i got this."

long story short, he did not.

"oh my god." the plastic fork slipped from takuma's hands clanking against the matching plastic container of takeout

"what?"

"we didn't do mise en place."

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @gojosbrat @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @lailuv21

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starlit-typewriter · 8 months ago

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Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 6

Thank you to everyone who liked and commented, it really kept me motivated!

Warning for mild self harm, nothing graphic. There are no depressive feelings associated with it.

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

You’re honestly not sure how long you’ve been sitting in the beautiful meadow, enjoying the scenery and the sounds of nature.

You spent some time staring at the glowing yellow flowers, admiring their soft silken petals.

You also spent some splashing around in the small river nearby. Its crystal clear blue water lets you see all the way to the bottom.

The singing of birdsong echo through the beautiful meadow, providing a beautiful atmosphere.

It’s probably been some time now since you’ve arrived, as the sun is starting to set and the sky was getting dark.

Well, it’s no fun sitting in a dark meadow, you reasoned, may as well see if you could find someplace to sleep.

You wander over to the gigantic tree that stood as a centerpiece to this meadow and started to investigate its roots to see if there were any nook-worthy spots.

To your surprise you found, well it’s not a nook, but a cave.

Even better!

You scoot your way down, mindful of the steep incline.

In the back of your head you realize you should probably be panicked about the fact you’re in the middle of nowhere, alone and with nothing, but its only the back of your head, which means the front part that actually makes the decisions is happily powering on.

At the back of the cave, is not a wall of rock and dirt, you know like you’d expect the back of a cave to be like, but rather a glowing wall of golden symbols.

There’s also a strange energy behind the glowing wall that’s beckoning you closer.

That voice in the back of your head is outright screaming about how insane this whole situation is, but again as we’ve already established, it’s the back not the front. Therefore you reach out to touch the glowing wall of golden symbols.

You expect nothing to happen, because it’s a wall and you’re just touching it. But something does happen, to you, not the wall. The wall is fine, at least you think it’s fine because you can’t see it anymore.

Instead you see this gigantic underground cavern with a giant round rock in the center, surrounded by other large tall rocks and what looks to be a golden fence surrounding the aforementioned round rock.

Then the round rock starts to move.

Update, that is not a rock it is a living thing that looks like a rock.

You think it might be making some kind of sound, but there’s all of a sudden a loud buzzing in your ears that you can’t get rid of.

You shake your head in hopes it’ll do something, to no avail. Actually it makes it quite a bit worse, since you now have a bit of a headache.

You would like to investigate the creature that was once the large round rock so you start to move closer.

As you do the buzzing in your ears and the pounding in your head gets worse, but you can’t seem to stop your feet from moving you closer to the center. Or really your entire body because it would be weird if it was just your feet moving you closer when your entire body is trying to get away, that would probably look like a weird fusion of a tug of war and a crab dance wouldn't it.

Oh you’re at the golden gate now.

At this point your head feels like it’s splitting open. But your hand moves to touch the golden fence, only for it to shatter into golden sparkling particles.

Before you can process what just happened, the round rock creature moves towards you at a speed that your brain honestly can’t comprehend due to it being in debilitating pain.

It doesn’t run you over or attack you, but rather it nudges you gently with its snout.

Dragon

The word went unsaid.

Yet it echoed in your mind nonetheless.

They’ve never met a dragon before, not do they know what one should look like.

But now, looking into the topaz eyes of this creature, you knew in your heart of hearts that they were a dragon.

He was also talking to you.

You couldn’t understand what he was saying.

But you can sense his pain.

You can sense anger, rage, helplessness, fear

And

Relief

Your vision is suddenly filled with glowing golden particles.

The world seems to come alive with energy as it pours into your body.

Flashes of scenes and people run through your head.

These scenes,

These memories.

They’re

Yours?

But,

Also his?

Azhdaha.

His name falls from your lips as your weakened knees give out.

That was his name,

He was dying

Eroding

But, he still remembered his history

His kin

His family

He gave you his memories,

His powers

And in doing so,

It killed him.

But awakened you.

Glittering tears dripped off your fluttering eyelids as you struggled to wrap your mind over what happened.

Flashes of a history you never knew,

Memories of a family you never had.

Images of a swirling cosmos, dancing around your form. Joy, curiosity, freedom

An orb of golden light, zipping around you like a beloved pet. Fondness, concern, excitement.

The shadow of a large flying creature passing overtop you. Awe, pride, trust.

A pair of desperate golden eyes, apologetic and pleading as a searing pain overwhelms you. Betrayal, pain, hurt, hurt, huRT, HURT.

A sharp, sickening, burning pain fills your body as you fight the urge to cough blood.

Eons upon eons of pain and anger and betrayal crashes into you, bringing you to the floor.

There’s screaming, and pain.

Sounds of something crumbling and falling are but whispers in your ear as they’re filled with the sound of your pounding heart.

Your eyes burn with tears as you lay there.

Your tears stain the earth in front you.

Laying there on your side, you can feel the softness of the cool dirt, and a slight breeze in the air.

It was silent

Not a single birdsong nor the sounds of trickling water to be found.

Your heart bursting with more emotion than they could bear.

How could anyone live like this?

Every moment, every action, every thought is wracked with agony and pain.

All you could do was curl up in a ball and hope it all fades.

Little by little it does.

The fear, pain, panic, and sorrow are all stripped away.

Seeping into the cold hard dirt beneath you, replacing you with a familiar sense of numbness.

You breathe, feeling nothing

This is why you were so calm, you realized.

Even as you got transported to a foreign place, got threatened at sword point and lost all your belongings.

You knew that there was something wrong with your mindset, but you were so calm that you didn't think to question it.

But now, with the dried tear tracks on your face, you realize.

Something is very very wrong with this place.

It's like something or someone is constantly pumping you with a sedative, urging you to not focus on things that make you unhappy.

Even now, a part of you is trying to forget what just happened, to go back to wandering through the flowers.

To close your eyes and ears to the horrors and memories of the past.

No, you can't forget.

Azhdaha died for this.

He died to give you a chance at remembering.

You dug your nails into your skin until you felt it split open and something wet trickle out.

The pain helped ground you.

Helped you remember.

With all that swirling around in your mind, you had many questions.

Where am I?

What happened?

Why is this going on?

But the central one remains clear.

Who are you?

~~~

“-ao”

“-iao, please!”

The adeptus turned his head at the call.

While not many people knew his name, there were still times when those who didn’t know better used his name in vain.

Either those who weren’t sure who its was connected to, or those who didn’t care.

But this one was different.

It wasn’t full of arrogant confidence that he wouldn’t hear.

Nor the simple curiosity of an irritating scholar.

This one was full of fear and panic.

From a familiar voice.

Summoning his adeptal energy he focused on that call, and willed himself to disappear.

The next moment he opened his eyes, it was to a sight that made his blood run cold.

The Traveler, usually so strong and bright and full of life, collapsed on the ground, their flying companion panicking.

He raced over, senses on high alert for any nearby enemies.

“Xiao!” The flying pixie shot over to his side, her hands twisted into her clothing in stress.

“What happened,” he demanded, checking over their body for any wounds or abyssal energy, but could find none. All the while Paimon blabbed helplessly about how they were just walking like normal when they dropped like a stone for no reason.

The conqueror of demons pressed his ear to their chest to see if he could hear a heartbeat.

Thankfully it was beating strong.

He moved over to their head, to examine their breathing and check for head wounds.

He cradled their body in his lap and he looked over their skull for any bumps or wounds.

Unbeknownst to him, as he was checking over this head, the Traveler’s eyes snapped open.

They sat up rapidly, almost hitting Xiao’s chin in their frantic panic.

“Azhdaha,” they breathed, scrambling to their feet and taking a couple of shaky steps.

The Yaksha leaped forward to catch them as they swayed.

The Traveler blinked at their savior.

“Xiao?” They breathed, their eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Are you ok,” he asked gently, trying not to spook them in their disorientated state.

They blinked at him slowly, before pushing themselves upright. They seemed to be focused on something in the distance.

He shook them slightly, they startled at the contact. They turned to face him, the glassiness in their eyes fading slightly.

“We need to check on Azhdaha,” their tone showed no room for argument.

Xiao had many questions he wanted to ask, but, well.

The Traveler is never this serious. Only a couple times before have they seen them with this look on their face, that was always in the heat of battle.

He wanted to argue, but he knew that they wouldn’t ask like this without cause.

Not to mention they’d probably go investigate without him if he didn’t agree.

He exchanged looks with Paimon, who whilst still looking understandably stressed, seemed to to know better than to argue with the Traveler in such a state.

So he nods in agreement, offering his hand to take them to Nantianmen.

In a swirl of Adeptal and Anemo power, the three disappeared.

~~~

As the trio raced towards the base of Mt. Hulao , they noticed an issue.

A glaring issue,

The biggest landmark, the proof of Azhdaha’s sealing.

The crystalline tree that became the dragon’s tail.

It was gone.

It also seemed that they were not the only people who came to investigate.

A handsome gentleman in a brown and gold suit stood at the edge of where the tree used to be.

At the edge of a giant crater.

“Lord La- Zhongli,” the Yaksha breathed, stalling to a stop behind him.

The man in question turned at his call, his gaze tired as it swept over the three of them.

“What happened,” the Traveler demanded, walking up to him.

He sighed, seeming very old and tired. “It seems that Azhdaha has passed on.”

There was a moment,

“WHAT!” Paimon’s shriek echoed through the meadow.

“But, I thought you said that the energy from ki-” Zhongli raises a hand, interrupting her tirade.

“A normal death would result in a backlash that would level the entirety of Jueyun Karst, that is true.” He turned back to the edge of the crater, “But this is no normal death.”

The four of them peered over the edge of the crater.

A small bedraggled figure lay there in the center, their white clothing stained with dirt and soot.

“It seems,” he breathed, “that he’s given his energy to someone else before passing on.”

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

This one is a little shorter, but I just had to end it here, its such a perfect cliffhan- I mean ending.

Again, the next couple updates might take a while, but I promise I'm trying my best.

My askbox is always open if you have any question, concerns or just wanna chat about Genshin.

Behold, the taglist!

@bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi, @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa ,@mel-star636, @chericia, @aithane, @mmeatt, @xrosegorex

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin cult au #My writing

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alicentofhightower · 6 months ago

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the dragon and the crab

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!celtigar!reader

synopsis: boys seem to catch your eye more, as of late. you wonder if that’s the reason why you’re helping this drunken fool of a prince.

includes: drunk aegon, he’s actually not that bad here. so sorry if this is ooc this is my first time writing a oneshot for him!

WC: 1.5k

a/n: this was written with ty tennant’s aegon in mind because it’s set during laena velaryon’s funeral, but you can envision tgc’s aegon too i don’t really care. i did not proofread this so im sorry for any mistakes, i literally just wrote this on my phone in bed because i miss aegon and im bored. i might write a part 2 idk

The first time Aegon sees you, he cannot help but wonder why you take such a liking to Helaena.

Laena Velaryon’s funeral had been an uneventful one. A bore, to be honest, but his mother would smack him if he’d ever voiced that thought aloud. He’d never known the noblewoman well. Honestly, his mind was more preoccupied with the looming thought of his upcoming wedding.

It was tradition for Targaryens to be married to relative. They’d practiced it for hundreds of years, long before the doom of Old Valyria. His mother had always seemed so intent on practicing the customs of her Andal forbears, and Aegon wished she’d been the same for his marriage.

Deep down, he knew why Helaena would be his wife. It was to keep her close to Alicent. If she’d been wed to some fat lord in the Riverlands, or a foolish one from the Reach, it would make no difference; there was no real confirmation that she’d ever be kept safe. His mother would not have another Aemma be made of her only daughter.

“We have nothing in common,” Aegon complained, constantly having to brush his silver waves away from his face. The wind from the beach was relentless.

He stood off to the side next to Aemond, away from where you yourself sat next to the Princess. She seemed to speak in riddles, with the way she mumbled of ‘spools of green and black’, but you did not mind. You could tell she was of a sweet nature.

Helaena handed you another shell to hold, her fingertips tracing the texture of it. “She’s our sister,” interjected Aemond.

Everything about Aegon was improper. The way he could not seem to let go of his cup of wine for even a minute, the way his eyes wandered towards the skittish maids, even down to his posture; hunched and lazy. “You marry her, then,” The elder prince said, his fingers loose around his chalice. If he wasn’t careful, he’d probably drop it, make a fool of himself as he always had.

“I would perform my duty. If mother had only betrothed us.” Aemond did not speak out of genuine desire for his sister, only his yearning to be the firstborn son. To be given the duties of his unwilling brother.

“If only,” He scoffed.

His blue eyes traveled to where you were, listening closely to every word of his weird soon-to-be wife. Aegon did not pay much attention to his Old Valyrian lessons, much less his history, but even he could recognize which house you were from by the dress you wore; ivory and scarlet, the colors of House Celtigar.

Your house was a Valyrian one itself, though far less proud than the one of his own or the Velaryons. You wore a veil of mourning to honor the late Lady Laena, but he could see the earrings you adorned beneath it; crabs, closely resembling your sigil.

You could not hear what the young princes spoke of, but your eyes had averted over to them occasionally, though most of your attention was paid to Aegon. His face was scrunched together as he studied you, trying to figure out why you’d ever willingly be in the company of Helaena. Mayhaps you were just as off-putting as she was.

Blooming into womanhood, you could not help but take notice of boys your age; Aegon himself was quite handsome, though lustful and foolish, and your mother had personally warned you to stay away from him on the way to Driftmark. It only made you want to talk to him more.

Soon enough, Aegon made his way over to another servant, grabbing the pitcher on the platter she held and pouring himself more Arbor gold… away from where you were. You wondered if that’d be the last you saw of him.

It wasn’t.

Sleep had escaped you. Taking a stroll outside was far more appealing than tossing and turning in your bed, so you’d wrapped your robe around your nightgown and snuck out of your chambers.

You almost gasped when you saw him. There he was, at the end of the stairs, drunk and hiccuping with his eyes closed. He sat against the stone of the railing, head drooping and hands still grasping his goblet tightly.

“My Prince?”

No response.

Descending down the steps, you poked his hunched shoulder. He did not even start. It took a harsh shake of his forearm to wake him, and Aegon threw his head back when he did, smacking it against the marble behind him.

Aegon’s pale hand flew to cradle the back of his skull. He hissed, features squeezing together as he let out a sharp breath. It reeked of wine, and he appeared to be startled that he hadn’t been smacked yet. “Grandsire?” He asked, eyes still scrunched shut.

“No,” You said softly. “It’s just me, my Prince.”

His eyelids shot open. It took a moment for him to recognize you. “Why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be abed?”

Gods, maybe your lady mother was right about avoiding him. He’d already begun to irritate you, and you’d been speaking to him for less than a minute. “Shouldn’t you?”

His head lolled to the side, falling to rest on his shoulder. “What will you do? Tattle on me to my mother? I’ve already been scolded today,” He grumbled, his words slightly slurred.

Really, you should just leave this fool of a prince alone, act like this never happened, and climb back into bed. You won’t. It’s normal for men of his age to indulge in their vices, but some part of you tells you that this is wrong; that he shouldn’t be out here in the cold night, slumped into a mess of his own limbs. You feel bad.

Boldly, you reach forward again, grasping his wrist. “Come on,” You say to Aegon, your tone softer. “I’ll help you back to your chambers.”

“I’m too tired.”

He yelps when you yank him up, stumbling forward, his hands scrambling to grab your shoulders to keep him upright. “You should not treat a Prince so roughly.” Despite his words, Aegon allows you to wrap an arm about his shoulders, guiding him forward.

His eyes are wide as he looks down at you, seemingly trying to figure out why you’d pour this much time into someone you don’t even know. There’s a flush becoming all the more apparent on his face, and unbeknownst to you, it’s not because of the wine.

You’re sure there will be a scandal made out of this. An unmarried young noble-lady taking King Viserys’s firstborn son, drunk, back to his chambers during the hour of the owl? Certainly the maids will begin to whisper false tales of your relationship with the Prince, and your father will reprimand you on the ship back to Claw Isle. He might have you married even sooner to dispel them. You cannot find it in yourself to care.

“This way,” You whisper, walking towards where the innermost hall is, where the royal chambers are. Aegon’s steps are uneven and irregular. If you’d not been holding him, he’d probably have fallen twice already.

He’s even more beautiful under the torchlight. Soft cheekbones and plush lips, he’s the very image of his mother, though he certainly does not act like it. Your lips almost part at the feeling of his nose nudging against your cheek, though you attempt to ignore it.

He’s drunk, you tell yourself. Pay no mind to him.

The knights on patrol raise their brows at the sight of you when you make your way past them. An awkward position you’re in. Both his and your arm are wrapped around the other’s shoulders, and his knees are bent so he can be at the level of your face. He’s not even looking forward to where you’re trying to go, his eyes analyzing the look on your face.

He was so talkative when you woke him. You wonder why he’s gone quiet, but reason it to be that he’s exhausted. “What’s your name, again?” He sputters.

He nods rapidly when you tell him it, as if he’ll remember it on the morrow.

Finally, you make it to his room; even the doors to it are grand and tall, befitting one of his status. Yours are farther away from his, in the corridors practically across the keep. It’ll be a long walk back.

You find you don’t know what to say. “…Well, good night, my Prince,” You say softly, letting go of him to let him stand by himself. He wobbles.

Aegon turns to leave, but whips his head around before his pale hand can grasp the handle of the door, his eyes darting around the features of your face. He wants to remember you, it seems.

“You won’t stay?” He can barely pronounce the words correctly, let alone stand up, choosing to lean on the door behind him to keep his balance. Somehow, it’s both endearing and pathetic.

Your cheeks flush at the mere idea of following him into his bedchamber. What was he thinking?

“No, my Prince. It’s best I leave you be.”

Aegon nods solemnly at that, tongue running over his slightly chapped lips. He bows his head in thought, then raises it again, a peculiar glint in his eye that you cannot decipher.

“….’s Aegon. Just Aegon,” He says, quiet, like it’s a secret only the two of you know.

“Good night, Aegon.”

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #team green x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon the usurper x reader #aegon the elder x reader #hotd fluff #aegon ii targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fluff #the greens x reader

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professorcalculusstanaccount · 1 year ago

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I've been watching the adventures of tintin 1991 with my sister and were watching the blue lotus part 2 and when Chang showed up I literally sat up in my chair and pointed at the screen like he was a famous actor. He has entered my brain forever, and I have you to thank for it.

for a character that popped up for only two adventures he left quite an impact on me too. I can imagine he'd make quite an impression when staying over in Belgium and making some appearances in the paper!

my sister was studying the opium trade and its links with colonialism so we were watching the 1991 cartoon episodes for The Blue Lotus and The Crab with the Golden Claws. I remember a) cringing every time Mitsuhirato appeared b) cringing at the voice they decided to give Chang and c) my sister turning around and looking at me every time a Chinese Musical Sting™ would play (we're Chinese)

#asks #fanart #animation #2d animation #tintin #adventures of tintin #chang #snowy #milou #gif #gifset #idk how but the 1991 animated blue lotus somehow felt more racist than the original comic????#they changed chang's design but for some reason kept mitsuhirato exactly the same?????#if they changed chang's design for no reason why not fix a racist caricature???#why did they make chang's voice like that #they kept the same voice in tibet even though he's visibly older?????#he looks as old as tintin but tintin sounds like a man and chang sounds like a little kid????#if they wanted him to be younger why not change his tibet design?#tbh i dont like any of the voices in the 1991 show other than calculus but calculus is always the best part of any tintin adaptation #i liked the voice cast in the bbc radio play adaptation of tintin in tibet #rant over sorry lol #racism cw

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gfdazai · 10 months ago

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Combing his hair. ♡

Dazai is implied to have a negative mental health episode, established relationship, blah blah blah. GN reader. 750~ish words. I still don't know how to end fics.

Dazai feels broken. Useless. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, and it's 11am. He should've been at work three hours ago, yet he can't find the will to.

He's lying there, wanting to move, but he can't. He can't bother even rolling over to get a drink. The bottles from the previous night lie by his bed, some knocked over, some still standing up.

He forces himself onto his side, trying to ignore the stinging pain of his back, and the pounding, repeating pain of his headache. His groan goes quiet when he hears the front door unlock, open, and shut.

You're here... Again. He did say you could stop by whenever, but he doesn't want to see you right now. Not when he's like this — not when his apartment is like this. He wishes he could shove you out, deep clean and then let you back in.

"Doors open." He barks lazily once he hears you approaching the door. He wants to turn and get up, give you a kiss; but he can't find it in him to even roll over and face the door.

He can barely spare a blink when he hears the door creak open — he's been meaning to get you to fix that. "Osamu?" He slowly blinks, forcing his gaze away from the wall and to your form.

"Bad day?"

"Mm." He hums blankly as an answer, his eyes slowly following you as you get on the bed beside him.

"Wanna talk about it?"

He doesn't answer, feeling you move him a little. His head isn't on the pillows anymore, now on your lap. It's a bit of a distraction from him feeling his clothes on his skin.

"...You wanna take a shower?" You question softly, feeling his forehead to check for a fever. He seems colder, rather than burning hot. He shakes his head a smidge.

"Well, uh... I'll admit, I don't know what else to offer." You chuckle, and he melts a little at the sound. You're always so sweet and gentle to him, it makes him nauseous. He doesn't... Deserve this.

"...Can I brush your hair?" You ask softly, placing your hand gently on the back of his head, rubbing your thumb against his messy, greasy hair.

He blinks slowly, forcing himself to nod a little. "Mhm.." He swallows, trying to wet his dry mouth. "Please." His voice is weak... Broken, and shaky. Like he hasn't had a drink in the past week... Or maybe that's because he hasn't water in the past 24 hours.

You smile a little, "okay." You say softly, looking over at his nightstand. You grab a dark blue comb, gently sectioning off his hair, before starting to comb through it.

A few minutes pass, and you're onto the next section. "I bought you more crab. Some of it is canned, but I got some of that fancy stuff that you said you wanted last time we went out together." You say. He blinks a few times, clearing his throat halfheartedly.

"...Really?" He mumbles softly. "That's... Too much. I can pay you back." His finger twitches as he starts to force his hands to move, but he stops when you press him back down.

"No, it's really nothing. Think of it as a late, uh... Present for national crab meat day?" You smile a little, and he smiles a little back.

"Oh?... Thank you." He sighs softly, feeling you move onto the next section of his hair.

A few moments pass... "...Are you mad I didn't stop by last night?" He mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed, not wanting to see if he hurt you. He hears you sigh, and his heart drops. This is it — he fucked it all up, he's gonna be alone again, and you'll move on, and he'll end up —

"Of course not. You did say that you might be too busy to stop by." He blinks, opening his eyes and looking up at you.

"...Oh." He mumbles. "I didn't think you'd be so... Okay. About it." He swallows, eyes falling back down to his mattress.

You finish combing his hair, grabbing a hairtie from your pocket and gathering as much of his hair as you can, tying it up. "Ta-da." His heart melts at your giggle.

"Mhm..." He yawns softly, closing his eyes. "Love you." He mumbles, exhaling gently...

"Love you too, 'samu." You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, before leaning back against the headboard, letting the silence play for the both of you.

Please don't steal my work, nor feed it to any sort of AI. Thank you! ♡

#꒰ ＃ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑠' 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.ᐟ ࿐ ꒱#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #osamu dazai x y/n #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd x reader comfort #dazai comfort #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd fluff #bungou stray dogs x reader

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niechys · 1 month ago

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Now how does one know if an ask has been eaten? but I guess nevermind? I also did a few revision so I'm posting it here is stead.

So, this is a bit of my spin on @keferon #tf mecha universe. Basically an au of Transformers francise where some of the characters are human who pilot robot but some are still Cybertronian and how they interact.

First Aid is a medic turned pilot who pilot a mech haunted by Vortex.

I think we haven't explore a lot about First Aid being a freak. So Ima take some time to do just that. This should go back to before First Aid got used to connecting to Vortex.

Also an excuse to write some gore. I totally wasn't going for that but I guess I needed it.

Also probaly lots of grammar errors incoming.

----------------

It was in biology class when he first got to dissect an animal at school. His friends had looked at him weird because he was a little too enthusiastic about it. Most kids were curious alright, but he already knew these stuff. He read in the books and was ecstatic to see the real thing, to cut the real thing apart.

After that He learned to keep it down. To hide the sparkle in his eyes even as he entered medical school. People don't cut things open for fun. Even if he did it for study, he shouldn't be having fun doing it.

---

It started with a soft mumble.

Felix curled into a ball on the pilot seat, knees hugged tight to his chest. Restraint in place but not connected to the neural link, not touching the controls. Watching intently as Vortex sliced through monsters' limbs.

It was one of his early mission as a pilot. Hot Rod was sent out with him. The red mech fighting several hundred meters to his right. The Quintesson had sent monsters with long, jointed legs and tentacle. They looked like someone cross bred a spider crab with an octopus with a hundred arms. Except they are the size of a big building. A bunch of them together look like mountains were moving to meet them.

Vortex's twin blades cut through tentacle, splashing green blood everywhere. Sometimes he wondered if Vortex got his callsign because of this move, twirled the two blades around himself, cutting everything in his path like a tornado.

The blade hit a hard plating on one of the legs. He had to pull back before going for another tentacle instead. Or hacked at the leg until it came off. It wasn't a big trouble for Vortex, but then he heard a small voice from inside his cockpit like a whisper.

"Hit the joint"

"Under there"

"That seam there"

First Aid was still curled up in a little ball on the pilot seat, watching. Something sparkle in those blue eyes behind his visor. Mouth mumbling occasionally, telling body parts or directions.

At first Vortex ignore the words. But when he started looking for the parts First Aid says and hit them, he realized it was more effective. It's like a weak spot had been pointed out.

Amidst the carnages, text appeared on the screen, overlaying the visuals.

[Stop backseating and connect to me]

"Huh..?" Felix asked, looking around as if he could see the ghost talking to him.

[Speaking is slow. Connect to me now or I feed you to big ugly over there]

Not wanting to test Vortex's patient, First Aid reached for the neural link with trembling hands and snap it to the connector on the back of his head.

He felt like he was falling, the next second he was standing outside, face to face with the monster. A threat. A living thing waiting to be diced up. His body made of metal, his sight are not just sight but sensors and infrared and targeting module.

Killed or be kill.

His mother dragging him along as they ran for the shelter.

Scalpel making precision cut on human flesh.

Kill it before it kill you.

His hands deep in someone's torso, Pharma lecturing through the process.

Blade cutting into flesh. His hand gripping the control, forcing it to cut through the bone.

Mangled body of another pilot in the seat he had to pry off.

Tentacle with barbed tip stabbing into the cockpit, into his face.

An alien's organ kept in quarantine.

Onslaught yelling at him.

Blood in his eyes.

Pain flaring through his body

The cockpit shook violently. The monster slammed into him.

'Concentrate'

The impact pulled First Aid back to the present. Vortex's voice echoed in his head. Then he realized he was seeing memories, both his own and Vortex's.

Slowing his breath, he concentrated on the sight before him. The crabtopus monster is still there, tentacle snaking onto his -Vortex's- midsection.

He looked at the tentacle, not where it coiled, but where it came out of the body. His blade stabbed at the base of it, twisted, sliced and the tentacle came free, falling slacked from Vortex.

'You aren't half bad for a medic'

Vortex's voice in his head. He almost panic again before remembering that he was connected to Vortex and not dead. He was still capable of thoughts.

And so First Aid looked on.

The giant monster was before him, preparing to strike again. They didn't just see the enemy. But analyzing it at the same time, even as they dodged the attack and raised blades to cut with renewed surgical precision.

He was seven years old when he cried his eyes out after taking a beetle apart and realized he couldn't put them back together alive. He never wanted anything to be hurt or die.

He just wanted to know how they works. What the inside were like. He wanted to open them up. If he know how they works, surely he would know how to save them, right?

Or know how to kill them better.

The blade penetrated the seams under hard shelled armor, then pried off the shell, revealing tender flesh underneath. The monster screamed, lashing at them with tentacles. They ignored the attack, instead, Vortex stabbed at the flesh repeatedly until the monster went still.

First Aid knowledge informed Vortex's action at the speed of thought. There was no need to think. They combined mind knew how to take this thing apart effectively.

Vortex was bleeding into him. First Aid was lost in a whirlwind of violence. They tore one monster to pieces and move on, hacked the limbs off the other before stabbing it through one of the joint, deep enough that the mech's arm went inside the body and tore out god knows what from the hole.

All the ones in front of them were gone. They turned, there was another monster, half of it on fire, trying to mow down the red mech. They grabbed it, peeled it from Hot Rod's mech and slammed it to the ground. Hot Rod backed away, swaying a little on his feet.

The fire slowly died down leaving a half cooked monster, screeching, writhing fruitlessly while being pinned to the ground with Vortex's blade.

'Where's the heart?'

'I think...here...'

'Haha! look at that, you're right!'

'So that's what it looks like....'

It was still squirming. Vortex step on the head and it cracked open, green liquid splattered out.

Insects are insects. No matter the size.

You can take them apart and never have to feel guilty ever again.

+++++

"---ome in. First Aid come in. This is Hot Rod. Can you hear me?"

'why don't you answer him before I hit that guy too. He's been calling for a while' Vortex speak in his head and he came back to himself.

"oh..."

First Aid took a while to realized Hot Rod was radioing him from his mech. The fire had died down, it seems that the other mech isn't in too bad a condition.

"Hot Rod. This.....This is First Aid. I can hear you"

"How's your condition?"

"I'm...I'm alright. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. You stole my last kill."

"I...um...sorry...."

"Nah. Also, don't forget to put that down before return to base"

First Aid looked down and saw that the monster's heart was still skewered on Vortex's blade.

'Why don't we keep it as trophy'

"Where am I gonna keep it? It's the size of a fridge"

"Pardon?" Hot Rod asked. First Aid was still on the radio.

"Sorry I was talking to my self. I....I will return in a bit. First Aid out'

With the radio off, First Aid leaned back and let out a long breath.

He just realized he was sweating. His hands squeezed the control so hard that they were trembling. When he could let go, his palm sting.

Vortex put the heart down, using the other blade to nudge it off, then cleaved it in half while First Aid watched.

'You like that, hm?'

"I......well....yeah" he was going to deny it. But Vortex probably saw everything already. "I just want to know, okay?"

'Sure, First Aid, sure' He can just hear the grin in Vortex's voice inside his head. He could only shake his head at it.

On the way back, First Aid feel for the link on the back of his neck and disconnect.

[What. Leaving already?]

"...I...just need some time. That whole thing just now was...."

[That whole thing just now was good. We make such a good team]

"How was that good... My head is still spinning. And how would I know you won't melt my brain"

[Your brain is too freaky to melt. I like it a lot.]

"What do you even mean by that"

But First Aid heard a rattling sound echoing from somewhere in the mech like a deep rasping laughter.

He couldn't sleep that night.

------

Once the battlefield has gone quiet, the mechs returned and parameters secured, the science team and rescue squads are dispatched.

They passed the mechs on the way back. Vortex lagging far behind the others, covered in green blood, blades still slicked with what ever was inside the alien guts. Every step shaking the earth beneath.

"Don't you think this is creepy?"

"What?"

"The aliens... they are in pieces.....".

"Well, think on the bright side. Sample extraction is really easy now. They even cut the organs out for us." That would be true. Except for the ones that was turned into mince meat.

"That doesn't make this any less creepy"

"I heard the pilot used to be a medic. Maybe that's why he cut them like this"

"Why did a medic decided to pilot that thing?"

"Beats me. Some people were saying Vortex chose him"

"Poor guy"

--------

Also I want First Aid to interact with other pilots. Hod Rod seems fitting and he hasn't show up a lot so here he is.

#tf mecha universe #texaid #transformers #maccadam #tw gore #tw blood #alien blood tho #I hope its not weird #also I wanted to write the experience of the drift #first aid experience the joy of killing through vortex #and vortex feel the curiosity ad wonder through first aid #I just love them so much okay?

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bugcreditcard · 3 months ago

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Law grunted, dangling above the water in the grip of a man ten times his size. If only he hadn't been so distracted by what happened this morning, these nobodies wouldn't have been an issue.

The early morning had been cold. The sun barely peeked through the tall outlines of Swallow’s signature snow-covered pine trees, casting lazy shadows in the dawn. Law rubbed his hands together letting his hotter breadth warm up his chilly fingers for a second before continuing on to his destination. He had left the mittens Wolf gave him behind. They were slightly too big for him and he wanted full dexterity of his fingers. When he got there, it would be brighter out anyways.

He was off earlier than normal to an isolated lake that he had found during one of his explorations mapping out the terrain of Swallow Island. Isolation meant no people, and no people meant it was a perfect place to practice the boundaries of his Op-Op-no-mi powers.

His powers were something that he was still getting used to, not quite sure where the 'theoretically' possible became the actually ‘now’ possible. He knew already that he could use them to heal once-thought incurable illnesses, his own body a constant reminder of that fact, but it also seemed to aid in fights as well. It would be around a month since he had used the devil fruit’s powers to save his new roommate, an anxious polar bear mink by the name of Bepo, from being poached by two eggheaded wanna-be hunters. The two young adults waving their guns around, cruelly boasting about their valuable catch had him rubbed the wrong way even before he saw the polar bear on the ground. Law was glad they never saw those shambled rocks until it was too late.

(And he would never be unprepared again.)

A few minutes of walking later and he was here. He approached the edge of the shore, his attention quickly caught upon a struggling trout that had somehow made its way onto land. As luck would have it, there was also a crab desperately hanging onto it (no doubt it's dinner gone wrong) that had managed to be flipped onto its back. At the time, it seemed to be a waste to not utilize the situation to perform some experiments. For what he had in mind to test, he would be needing two 'test subjects' after all.

Quickly he walked a few paces around to make sure there wasn't anyone in the vicinity. Pine trees enclosed a small area where land met the frigid lake that hadn’t quite frozen over yet, several smaller channels branching off, snaking their way farther into the land and probably the ocean. The lake was too small to set up fishing boats and it was far up enough in the mountain to make any sort of trek here not worth it. Satisfied, his hand moved to hover over the fish and crab, a small familiar blue encapsulating it. His brow furrowed in concentration. Attention pinpoint focused, his fingers twitched slightly and with a (admittedly) satisfying pop, the lower ends of the crab and fish switched places, slotting into place without any bleeding or seemingly outward complications.

"Holy fuck did you see that!"

"Shhhhhh!" Followed by a quick splash that had Law paranoidly whipping his head around. He stood up, hand clenched into his fist, heart hammering loudly in his chest.

The Crab-Fish and Fish-Crab wiggled uselessly on the ground below.

There was no one around. No one moved across the treeline and the lake was barren, lazy ripples scattering across the surface from the wind. Who saw him? Law took several steps back, his eyes darting around. Was it Doflamingo? "Hey." Law started off before raising his voice in anxiety and anger "HEY! Show yourself!"

There was no answer.

With an urgency that Law refused to say was paranoia, Law scooped the proof of his actions into his bag and broke into a sprint into the treeline. If it was Doflamingo he would have already been dead, Law chanted under his breath - the thought did little to settle his beating heart. Wolf’s house, yeah he would be safe there for now: he could pull himself together and form a plan there.

Continued here: In the beginning there was me and you (and you)

#penguin one piece #penguin op #shachi one piece #HeartsMermaidAU #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law #one piece fanart #one piece au #law one piece #one piece fanfiction

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starsisstars · 4 months ago

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Pointless ISAT Headcanons

Hi I have to get up for opening shift tomorrow but who CARES it's time for headcanons. Except not the normal or angsty ones, it's goofy ridiculous hours ONLY. (Please send me more goofy niche headcanons I want to consume silly details like candy.) Filled with spoilers despite the sillies.

Bonnie invents potato chips 10 years after the end of the game after many failed attempts to make Sif like potatoes (Sif LOVES their chips, so this is Bonnie's win in the end).

Immortality fiction is super popular in Vaugarde because they're witnesses to change over decades but are prevented from changing themselves. Tragic wisemen usually. This got way less popular post-King.

Teachers get paid good wages in Vaugarde because they help kids through the period of the most change in their lives.

I think it's so funny everyone in fanfic thinks Sif sleeps in trees. It's universal and y'know what? Sure. I'm adopting that. Y'all had me scrolling through dialogue for ages just to make sure I didn't miss any tree nap mentions.

Loop spent the majority of Sif's first run through Dormont and the House training their voice so that it wouldn't be a dead giveaway to their identity when Sif showed up. They wanted it to sound like Odile. It does not even a little bit.

Mira is RED. Bonnie is ORANGE/YELLOW/BLUE. Odile is PURPLE. Isa is GREEN/BROWN. Sif and Loop are MONOCHROME.

Mira has a notebook FILLED with edgy poetry from when she was small. She buried it somewhere but knows exactly where it is and once every couple years digs it up just to make sure nobody found it.

Bon is a reptile person. Wants a bearded dragon as a pet.

Mwudu is Acadia (in the same way Vaugarde is France, etc.). Not a colony of Vaugarde or anything though, just a lot of cultural exchange. (Vaugarde is NOT imperialistic.)

Post-canon Sif sometimes has such a tight grip on Isa in his sleep that Isa can get up and walk around with them still latched onto him. One morning Isa even brushed his teeth and styled his hair before the Sif on his back woke up.

Nille is swole af. Taller than Odile too. I like it when people give her a braid.

I changed my mind; everyone has really ugly colors because they can't see them and they all look terrible. I do not care about the practicalities of more colorful dyes being difficult to obtain; this is fantasy logic and I say they all should cause eyestrain.

Sif's all-black look under the cloak and hat (both of which he didn't choose) is the only good fashion choice they're capable of making. If you ask them to get creative it's a disaster. Isa indulges this anyways because hell yeah fashion disaster rights, but Sif will inevitably ask for help once he actually sees the design in person.

Isa was a hardcore STEM person, while Odile was properly studying anthropology/writing but is actually SUPER into linguistics.

Fishermen from the Forgotten Country were given additional pathways to easy fishing crabs on Vaugarde's shore because Vaugarde didn't want 'em. The overfishing caused a minor ecological crisis that was then fixed by Wish Craft.

Pre-canon Sif tried to make some money via an eating competition in one of the unnamed countries but was so uncomfortable with the attention from winning first place they refused to ever step foot in the country again. They don't even remember why they refuse to visit anymore but still don't wanna go. It wasn't even that big a contest nor a big deal emotionally long-term (like the party would suspect) for Sif, they're just stubborn.

Since we have a classic RPG setup I think the party's inventory is not limited by logic and they carry around 78 tents and 23 cottages somehow.

#ISAT #In Stars and Time #ISAT Spoilers #In Stars and Time Spoilers #Starspost #Fandom Starspost #Oh God She's Listing Again

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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♡ｃａｋｅ ♡

♡ I got a Big Matthew request ya'll! I love this man so much and never met someone else who loves him so, like, yay ♡

♡ Pairing: idol!boyfriend!bm x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You've been feeling insecure dating your idol boyfriend but a weekend away quiets your worries

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Word Count: 1.3kish

♡ Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, & that's all babes

When your boyfriend suggested that you rent a house by the shore for the weekend, complete with your own private stretch of beach, you thought it was kind of excessive given the price. Even still, Matt insisted that nothing could ever cost too much when it came to his girl and you were on your way to the beach house in a matter of days. Now, as you sit along the white sandy beach on your striped towel reading that one book you’ve been putting off reading for ages, you’re happy that he convinced you to come.

Nothing in recent memory has been as soothing as the clear blue water crashing to shore. Birds fly above singing the sort of song that could lull you off to sleep in minutes. The bright rays of the sun are softened by the few clouds that surround it. You smile to yourself thinking of how hesitant you were to come only to find yourself dreading the thought of ever leaving. “Baby!” You hear Matt’s voice booming in the distance.

You peek over your shoulder to glimpse his muscular 6 '1 frame waving to you from the balcony of the beach house, not too far from where you are. In nothing more than a pair of gray sweatpants, your mind can’t help but drift off to the filthiest place possible at the sight of him. “Hey you!” you shout back, smiling sweetly despite your recent thoughts. Matt smiles back, his phone casually held up in your direction, “Say ‘hello’ to the people!”

“To the people?” you ask, eyes squinting as you notice the phone in his hand, “What people?” “I’m on Instagram live, baby. Get up. Come on!” In an instant, your heart’s in your stomach. Instagram? Live? You jump to your feet, wrapping the towel around your sheer black bikini. “Matt, you’re joking right?” you laugh, praying you’re right, “You can’t do that can you?” A part of dating an idol that you never questioned was the secrecy with which you had to navigate your relationship. No one besides his inner circle could know, especially not his fans.

It was honestly a relief for you. Not because you were afraid of how his fans would react but because you were nervous it might be weird for him if everyone knew he was with a plus sized woman. Matt has never made you feel anything short of beautiful yet somewhere inside of you there still exists this fear of how things might change if you went public. How he might change. You feel every single one of these thoughts flooding your brain at once. And, like the little hermit crab scurrying past your discarded book, all you want to do is hide.

But you won't have to because he’s not embarrassed. From the moment he flipped the camera onto you, you’d officially gone public and the only thing he’s done is look out at you with stars in his eyes. “She is cute, isn’t she?” he says in response to a commenter, “Oh! Baby! Baby! Show them the bathing suit I got you! Her body in this? Oh my god!” “Stop it. You’re just saying that” you blush, softening in the presence of his adoration.

“I’m not. I swear you look so good, Y/N. Your body’s everything.” Matt’s excitement rubs off on you, even from a distance. Before you can second guess yourself you’ve dropped the towel, standing there feeling shyer than you ever have but somehow…liberated? “Yeah! Come on, girl! 360! 360!” he chants and you roll your eyes, offering him a graceful pageant spin.

“Damn, I love you girl!”

“I love you too!”

You break into a fit of giggles, covering your face with your hands. Matt switches the camera back on himself, throwing up a peace sign. “You guys, I've gotta go. I’m…kinda in a mood now so take care of yourselves, okay?” Hanging up the phone, he leans over the railing, biceps flexing as he grips the ornate metal. “Meet me downstairs” he says in a voice…the voice…that lets you know exactly what he’s thinking. He winks at you, disappearing into the house, and you’re running to meet him like it’s Christmas morning.

Your bodies collide in the luxuriously decorated living room. Matt scoops you into his arms, kissing along your neck as you adjust your legs around his waist. The air conditioning’s off but you still get chills when his lips gently run along your collarbone. “You sure you should’ve done that?” you ask, playing with his short neon green hair. He looks up at you, his expression serious enough that you can’t question a word he says next.

“I know what you were worried about. It could never be that with us. I’m so proud to have you.” You almost tilt your head down, flustered beyond words, but he kisses you before you can. Having his lips against yours, his tongue exploring parts of your mouth only he’s ever been able to reach, is getting you wet already. “So beautiful” he whispers, long fingers slipping between your thighs to stroke your slit. Your bikini might be moisture wicking but there’s no denying how wet you are.

Pushing the material to the side, he presses two fingers into you. You gasp into his mouth, palming the thick bulge in his pants. “You want it?” he teases. “Mmm” you hum, nibbling at his bottom lip, “Just shut up and give it to me.” You’re rarely this bold but it drives him crazy when you are. In the blink of an eye he has you against the wall, a breadcrumb trail of clothes behind you. Your hands ride smoothly across his sculpted body as he caresses the softness of yours, guiding his head to your quivering entrance.

When he raises his hips, pushing into you, you whine and all he can do is groan at how pretty you sound. The way it feels to have him inside of you…it’s like electricity prickling at the tips of your fingers. It’s the waves of his movements washing against your shore, giving and taking from you all at once. He holds you so effortlessly, makes you feel so light, that the only thing you have to focus on is the pleasure that reverberates through your core when he grinds into you.

“Oh…fuck. Just like that” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Matt slams into you harder, hitting your sweet spot every time, “Like this?” “Yes…mmph…I’m gonna…” You lay your head on his shoulder and he strokes your hair, his other arm keeping you steady for him. “It’s okay, baby” he coos, kissing your shoulder, “Come.” You’re shaking, doing your best not to scratch him but you can’t help it, when you finally come apart, gushing around him.

You press your face into him, muffling your moans. Matt tugs your hair, gently tilting your head back, “I wanna hear you.” So you let him, filling his ear with every noise you can make. Some you didn’t even know you could. When your body collapses, your muscles reduced to jello, he carries you over to the couch and lays you on your back. “You good?” he asks, caressing your soft belly before resting his head on it. “Are you good? You’re kinda big for this couch aren’t you?” you tease, legs wrapping around him once again.

“Shut up!” he shoots back, lifting his head to kiss your stomach. Nuzzling against you, taking deep breaths of your scent, he stares up at you the way he did on the balcony. “Mine” he sighs, “Now everyone knows it…” And for once the thought of that isn’t scary. In fact, you’ve never been happier ♡

#bm kard #big matthew #big matthew x reader #kard smut #kard fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader #chubby smut #plus size smut

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spinningwebsandtales · 1 year ago

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Vita Nova

Orm Marius X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of death, crying, hurt/comfort, reader has some trauma, suggestive themes, angst, and fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Fic Swap with @the-marshals-wife

(A/N:) Happy (belated) New Year everyone! And my first fic of 2024 and it turned out to be a whopper! My lovely best friend and I just adore the Aquaman movies and in light of the new movie that dropped around Christmas we decided to do a ficswap together! This bad boy is my contribution and you lucky readers get to read it! I hope I can make the other Orm fangirls happy with this as I honestly had way too much fun writing it as you can see! Over 4,000 words of just Orm goodness! I look forward of sharing more writings in this new year and I'm glad I could open up with this! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Reader's POV is in italics.

SPOILERS FOR AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM BELOW

DO NOT CONTINUE AHEAD IF YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE MOVIE!

Orm stood upon the beach, his toes buried in the warm sand as the setting sun painted his features in orange and pink hues. His heart longed for Atlantis once more as homesickness always reared it's ugly head when he was feeling alone. While tension still remained between him and his older brother, deep down he was grateful for Arthur, giving him a new chance at life. With Atlantis finally revealing themselves to the people of the land, he no longer had to be so secretive about himself, except when it came to Atlanteans. He had burned too many bridges that most likely would never have the chance to be rebuilt. He sighed deeply as the warm salty foam washed over his feet.

Orm turned, leaving his regrets and longing to drown in the crashing waves. While he could see why his brother loved the land dwelling humans, Orm normally avoided them as much as he could. Especially when it came to his time on the beach, he rather not be bothered. And despite the world knowing, he still swam in deserted parts of the beaches he visited. His favorite places were around the docks where the shade kept him cool and various sea creatures stuck around. The fish and small crabs made him feel a little less lonely and made everything feel more like home.

Orm's bare feet padded against the planks of the dock as he tugged his shirt over his head. The breeze rippled his blond locks and whispered promises of a good evening swim. His vision staying straight ahead, Orm was preparing to run and dive into the bright blue water when a yelp caused him to stumble and he fell to the dock. He almost slid off when a slender hand caught his wrist and kept him from rolling off and slamming into a boat.

"Are you okay?!"

A feminine voice had him blinking against the pain in his skull before he finally got his eyes to focus. Orm sat up quickly, backing away from the woman looking at him with genuine concern. It was an emotion Orm was unacquainted with.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," the woman blushed getting to her feet and brushing the front of her shirt and shorts off. A quick flash of annoyance had him glaring before Orm sucked in a deep breath and calmed the raging tide threatening to overtake him. She offered him a hand up and old him would have swatted it away with a snarl, but new him remembered his older brother and took her offered hand. She shuffled her feet before him awkwardly, refusing to look up in embarrassment. Though Orm was worried he was intimidating her, though he wasn't trying at the moment.

"Sorry again," she apologized once more only to break the silent tension between them.

"I wasn't paying attention," it was the most polite thing he could say. "Though I can't help but ask. Why were you laying across the dock?"

Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, a pretty red color, and now she really refused to look up at him, more interested in her bare feet. This in turn made Orm feel more awkward, like he had pushed across some threshold that he should have never even touched.

"You'll laugh," she mumbled. Her gaze quickly darting up towards him before once again looking away. When she noticed that he wasn't going to say anything else her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I like watching the fish. They feel like they're my friends and they're so peaceful living their lives without a care in the world," she whispered. "I've also always dreamed about Atlantis and going there and now that it is truly real I can't help but long for it even more. Silly huh?"

Orm shook his head and smiled remembering his home fondly, "No it's not. I think it's a wonderful dream."

Though home always brought a smile to his face, in this moment of his life it brought a pang of sadness with it. One mistake had taken his chance of ever seeing that beautiful city ever again. And here he just met a mere human upon an empty dock longing for the same as him. Maybe he had more in common with the humans of this side of the world than he had first realized. She smiled and nodded, happy to have someone not laugh at her for a change. She walked away moments later leaving him to ponder upon the dock as the waves whispered softly against the sand. Then Orm dived in.

Usually Orm moved around a lot. If he liked a place more than others he'd normally stay for a few days. But for reasons he didn't want to know he had stayed in this particular spot for weeks. And it wasn't because the food was anything extraordinary nor was the beach one of the most beautiful he's seen. If he dug down deep inside he knew it was because of that one moment, where he had seen a glimpse of that beautiful humanity that Arthur was always talking about to him. So Orm did what every normal man would do, he kept his distance and watched her from afar. She visited the dock he had found her at nightly, just to talk to the fish and to watch the sun set behind the horizon of the ocean. She would hum tunes, almost stroking the water with her gentle hands. She would hide sometimes as people would come to the beach calling out a name he had never heard. What would shatter his heart more than anything was when she would come some nights crying. His heart would clench as her salty tears dropped into the ocean. He shook his head fighting the urge to go towards her. But she was different, she wanted to know his world, that she had no idea he was from. That he had once been a prince, let alone a king of that world but it didn't matter, not anymore. He was dead to that world and he had to find his place in this one.

It didn't take many times of him watching the lone girl sob on the dock before Orm concocted a plan. Atlantean technology to help humans make the trip undersea had yet to be brought to them. Except for the scuba gear the humans already had invented, but Orm wanted his plan to be perfect. So he would do something that would make his older brother proud and possibly bring an end to his life. To get what he needed he would have to venture back to the Sunken Citadel and hope that the pirates that still lived didn't kill him at first glance.

You didn't know what kept bringing you back to this particular beach, though you had a inkling that it was in false hope of finding that same blond haired man that you had tripped. He was a complete stranger and yet you found yourself hoping to see him once more. So every night you came, no matter how bad things got at home you escaped bringing yourself to this little place of serenity, hoping, waiting, that you would see him again. But every night became a disappointment, though you enjoyed seeing the fish. The sun quickly set seeping the warmth from the Earth but the ocean water still held those waning rays of warmth. The lights of the dock quickly blinked on illuminating the surrounding water so you could still watch the fish swim peacefully by. You hummed a quiet tune as the waves lapped against the barnacle crusted wooden posts. A shadow darted by causing you to suck in a quick breath. Sharks would sometimes come up or a curious dolphin but this creature was too fast to be one of them. Your heartbeat quickened but against your better judgement you stuck your hand back down along with your head, trying to find this mystery that had suddenly come upon you.

Orm had a difficult time in the Sunken Citadel and he had gotten into a few brawls, but he did get what he searched for. It had cost him, but if his well thought out plan worked as well as he hoped, it would all be worth it. He made his way back to the normal spot and he had timed his return just right. As his mystery woman he had begun to adore made her way out onto the normal dock. She was light on her feet and she greeted some of the boatmen, who were leaving, politely before going to her same spot Orm could always find her. She stuck a hand in the water tracing the patterns of the fish below as they swam close to the surface. She had a small content grin on her face as she enjoyed the creatures below the surface. Orm moved his arms slower, trying to keep from interrupting this moment as he was more than happy to watch her for a little while. She hummed a tune while tucking strands of untamable hair behind her ear, only for a breeze to send them back to fluttering. He sucked in a breath letting the peace of her presence wash over him. And then he went under the surface and swam close by and quickly. He heard her gasp and he grinned to himself. He could have a moments fun at her expense, especially with the gift he was bringing her. Despite not knowing what he was she braved the unknown and he had to admire that about her. She was proving his theory of humans being a cowardly race wrong every moment he watched her.

You searched timidly for any sign of the shadow you had seen. Your eyes darting across the eerily still waters. You were about to pull yourself back up onto the dock when an arm breached the water and grabbed onto your wrist. You screamed yanking yourself backwards and the person attached to the hand around you came up with your panicked movements.

Orm laughed loudly at your terrified face while he treaded the water. He had never been one to play tricks as he had been trained as a prince of Atlantis, but he found it quite fun. The woman he had yet to put a name to a face laid on her back panting, trying to regain some form of control.

"Why did you do that," she screeched once she finally found her breath.

"Think of it as payback for making me fall on my face the first time we met," Orm smirked as he lifted himself from the water easily.

She took in the fact quickly that his upper torso was bare and the form fitting pants only seemed tighter by the fact that they were dripping water everywhere. She looked away, pink coming to her cheeks.

"You come out here every night," Orm said after a few moments of awkward silence.

Her head whipped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know that? I never see you around!" Those moments of wishing to see him again, hoping he'd be around, and he had been hidden from her the entire time.

"I was," Orm paused. He knew he couldn't just tell her that he had been watching her from afar. But he didn't want to lie. "I was swimming."

"Swimming?" Now she was suspicious of him. As she rightly should, though they had already met once he was still a stranger.

"I'm a decent swimmer." Understatement of the century Orm thought to himself.

"I can see that," she gestured towards him before darting her gaze away once more.

Orm chuckled. He liked that little of color that would pop up in her skin. He found it endearing and despite himself his heart began to pick up speed. He offered out a hand and she glanced at it warily.

"I'm Orm," he offered in greeting. "Orm Marius. I should have introduced myself that first day we met."

She laughed, taking his offered hand. "(Y/N). And I should have thought of it too. But I did almost make you faceplant into the water. Though it seems like it wouldn't have bothered you so bad if you had."

Orm shook her hand, reveling in how smaller it was compared to his. "Do you mean to tell me that you wish you had let me fallen into the water now? Instead of rescuing me?"

"Well after you just basically scared the daylights out of me, yes."

Orm pouted playfully, "And here I brought you a gift."

"A gift?!" Once again those beautiful colored eyes glowed in delight. It sent his heart a flutter and he could have sworn it skipped a beat. Is this what his mother had possibly felt when she looked upon the man that fathered Arthur?

"I think I am rather partial to it now," he teased. "Maybe I will just keep it for myself."

"You can't just say that you brought me a gift and then keep it for yourself. That's mean," she whined.

Orm couldn't keep stringing her along though he was finding it fun just to get a rise out of her. He brought the gift from behind his back and he wasn't expecting her to jump up and down. Her confusion was to be expected and he found himself grinning once more. She was so expressive, he found it endearing.

"Your dream of seeing Atlantis stuck out to me and their technology is above what your people have. I wanted to show you a part of that life even if it is just a small glimpse."

He was revealing himself. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest. He had kept his identity a secret, revealing nothing to the humans he had contact with. She would be the first and he didn't know what to do if she didn't accept. She placed her hands on the oxygen helmet, a question on her lips. But without a word he once more grabbed onto her wrist and lead her to the end of the dock. She wordlessly tugged the pirated good on her head and with no hesitation followed Orm into the water.

Orm dived down, keeping a good grasp on her hand, their fingers interlaced as he didn't want to hurt her by tugging on her joints by the speed he could swim at. The oxygen mask was working like a dream and despite the time of the evening the moon was doing a good job of lighting the sea life below the ocean. She gasped in awe at the sea creatures and plant life below. But mostly she gaped at him.

"You are," she hesitated saying the word.

Orm nodded. "I am."

You absolutely couldn't believe your eyes. A true Atlantean. It was everything that you could have ever dreamed of and as he kept you from floating away this moment was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Orm didn't want anything left unsaid. This was his chance. His chance to be himself and to stop being so alone in this world that he was learning more about every day. His time in Atlantis was done and now he was going to have to start anew. Maybe you were that new chance that he had been needing for a long time.

"It's okay," she answered. Her voice muffled in the helmet. Fish swam by coming near to Orm, pecking at his arm. He shooed them away gently causing her to laugh. "You don't have to explain yourself. We had just met that day and even at this moment we are still basically strangers. But I'm glad I met you Orm and your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," he choked. Gratitude had been lost on him long ago but as he looked at this young woman, so genuine and beautiful in his eyes, that feeling was no longer a stranger. "Would you like to see more of my world?"

"Absolutely!" No hesitation and no fear. Orm kept her close, keeping her safe as he swam them further out into the sea.

Back on dry land you couldn't believe what your eyes had beheld. The world under was far beyond anything you could have ever imagined as Orm helped steady you. Spending that much time in the water had left your legs a little wobbly and you glared at Orm walking perfectly though he did have to take a moment to cough up water. You held out the helmet towards him but he shook his head pushing it back into your chest.

"Keep it," Orm insisted. "I want to take you out more now that you have it. There's so much more I wish to show and tell you. I hope that you don't mind."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "I would like that so much."

Without a second thought she embraced him, squeezing Orm tightly before backing away, that familiar blush coming back to her cheeks. Reaching out Orm brushed a stray droplet of sea water off her cheek.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered and she nodded quickly.

Days had followed that moment before it had turned into weeks. Orm met with her daily, the helmet in tow every time as they explored together. She the underwater world he had grew up in and him emotions never before explored. Orm knew he couldn't take her far below the surface as he wished. He was trying his best to get a suit that would keep her from being crushed by the water pressure or freezing from the depths, but it would take some time. The helmet was easy to obtain, well easier than the suit. But she didn't complain nor did she beg him for more. Always content with their outings he began to realize that he looked forward to every second they spent together every day. It didn't take Orm long to figure out the emotions he was feeling and everything seemed to fall into place. She was beginning to swim closer to him as every day passed. Gentle touches and encounters that would leave her in awe and him trying to not overstep his bounds.

She swam closer keeping to his side as the day began to wan and like everything good in life their time together was ending that day. Orm always took his time bringing them both back to shore whenever it was time to head back in. She never seemed to be in a hurry herself and it had Orm wondering on things that he couldn't ask her when they first me. He wondered why she came by herself every day and those moments she had hid on the dock as several people had come searching, yelling her name. He wondered at the days that she had came crying as if she could no longer smile. And now that he had gotten to know her more it was something he could no longer keep himself from asking about.

Back on shore she removed the helmet and rung the sea water from her hair. Orm stayed near as he gathered up the courage to ask her. He was about to ask her about something she had yet to give up willingly and he didn't want to cause her to shut him out. He honestly didn't know if he could take losing her. He breathed in deeply gathering up all his courage, he stepped closer and grasped onto her shoulder to gain her attention and steady himself. She grinned up at him before it fell at the seriousness in his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asked covering his hand with hers that still laid upon her shoulder.

"Why do you come to the docks every day? And why do you hide from the people that call out to you and cry on some days?"

There he asked and he felt faint as she looked down at the waves lapping at their bare feet.

"You saw those moments too?" She whispered.

"I did," Orm confessed. " I've come to care for you these past few weeks and I can't help my curiosity getting the best of me. Knowing that you hurt or have any reason to hide is too much for me to bear."

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength. "I was in a bad relationship. I got out of it but the pain is still there and some days are worse than others. I find peace out here and that's why I always come and then I met you. And despite me telling you why that day, you didn't laugh at me like he and several other people did. I was really glad. You made me happy. Part of me was hoping that I'd get to see you again and yet I was afraid of getting hurt again too."

"That was brave," Orm cooed bringing her into his arms. He was warm despite the lack of shirt and all the time spent in the water. She shook from the cold and from telling things that had been hard on her. "You're the bravest and kindest person I have ever met."

"I'm not really," she answered.

"You really are," Orm breathed. "I'm the coward. I didn't like this part of the world at all. I tried to destroy it because of my older brother. I blamed him for a lot of things and I hated him. I still don't love him as a little brother should but my hatred cost me. I was prince of Atlantis once and I was even it's king for a short spell. But that was taken from me and now I am thought of as dead. I cannot go back there because I have officially been killed in action." Orm sucked in a deep breath as he feared what you would do now that you knew about his darkness, though he kept going. "This is both my punishment and my new life. This is both my brother's way of blessing me and cursing me. But I don't see it as a curse anymore, not that I know you now."

"Orm," she sniffled.

He tugged her in, her trembling body pressed to his as he tried to will any form of comfort into her smaller body. He felt lighter and more at peace than he had ever felt and while she held onto him tightly, Orm lost the battle on his emotional restraints. Holding her out he took in the sight of her, clearly seeing everything about her for the first time. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly loved. Not for being royalty of Atlantis or because they had to. Genuine love that asked for nothing in return. He leaned down towards her his stature always towering over her and it wasn't until his lips met her warmer ones did the fireworks start shooting off in his head. She didn't shove him away and she didn't protest so Orm pulled her closer. Deepening the kiss as he could taste the salty water still on her mouth and the scent of the ocean breeze on her skin. In that moment she was everything to him and he could want for nothing else as long as she stayed. She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin before Orm finally pulled away. His chest heaved and he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet. He continued to hold her against his chest, not ever wanting this moment to end.

"Is it okay that we start a new life together," her voice quivered in uncertainty. She felt like she was going too fast or overstepping her bounds.

"I think I would like that more than you know," he agreed. This was when his life started. That new beginning he wanted for so long, that he dreamed about in that prison cell. This was the moment he longed for and had no idea. That moment he met her had been fate and had lead him to this moment. Their days together didn't have to end when their feet touched the shore, it was only the start of something on the shore. While he was her guide in the water, here on the land and in the midst of people it was her turn to guide him. She took his hand, taking the responsibility for teaching and leading in stride. They would learn together what this life meant and what it meant to know each other and keep together through thick and thin. Orm had baggage and come to find out she did too. But Orm didn't see that, he saw a woman who could light his way. She saw a man that had found redemption and was looking for a way to claim it. The sun had set behind them on the beach but the dawn was rising before them as they left hand in hand towards the life they would find together. Like two ships destined for each other, a new life was just beginning.

#Orm Marius X Reader #Orm Marius / Reader #Aquaman #Orm Marius Imagine #Aquaman Imagine #Orm Marius Fanfiction #Orm Marius #DC Universe #Not My Gif #My Writing

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