#Most of the dream warriors are first try

[localtopegg]

Playing through Hollow Knight when I have the to force myself to take a break from income hunting. Forgot how frustrating and eventually understimulating Essence farming is. Specifically Failed Champion's fight. Can't believe I used to be good at this game.

[willowedspirits]

Hollow Knight Linked Universe AU! I've finally finished it!

If you don't know much about Hollow Knight, a lot of the technicalities might not make sense, and I would encourage you to look into the game. Or you could just enjoy the chain as bugs and see them off on their buggy adventures!

I've made this AU trying to keep as close as I can to Hollow Knight's story, but some creative liberties were of course taken.

My main idea is that the infection is the equivalent to Dark Link's (who does exist in this) infected monsters and it's up to them to try and slow/stop the infection. My first thought was to have the infection start to spread outside of Hallownest, and the chain needs to go and stop it, but I'm still going back and forth on it.

I'm still open to changing concepts if I find something that works better, but after literal months of working on this on and off I'm happy with how this has turned out!

Rambling about character details below!

Small note: I've set this AU at roughly the start of the infection, when Radiance was starting to take over Hallownest.

Time

Is not from Hallownest. He traveled to Hallownest from a distant land, where he met Malon and settled down with her.

He encountered Radiance upon entering Hallownest, but was protected by a god that had already laid claim to him, Fierce Deity, who protects him from the Radiance's infection.

He and Malon live in the Howling Cliffs.

His wing and antenna injury are from Radiance when she tried to infect him.

He is not able to fly because of the injury, and now fights with a heavy nail.

His wings used to be green, but after encountering the Fierce Deity, they slowly started to change in color until they were blue.

I'm not sure if I would do anything with the eyes on his wings, I was trying to make a connection to Majora in that, but I'm still debating whether to add it.

Twilight

Is a part of the Traitor Mantis tribe that lives in the Queen's Garden.

He met a Sibling (Midna) that escaped from the Abyss. They gave him the ability to harness Void.

Still working on the detail for how exactly they give him this ability, but my rough idea is that perhaps both of them were attacked by and infected villager, and they saved him by giving up their Void essence.

He's grown up wanting to be infected by the Radiance. He was taught the Radiance was a god that gave bugs great strength, but after seeing what the infection really does, he starts to have second thoughts.

The cloak he is wearing is new. The one he wore before was damaged. I'm still debating on when exactly he gets it, but I think it's something he makes after he leaves the traitor village.

Warriors

He is the head knight of the Hive and oversees whoever enters their territory.

His scarf is a gift from the princess of the Hive given to him when he leaves to join the group.

Since he is a bee, he is connected to the Hive via the hivemind. He uses this to check in on his home whenever he can.

This also makes it very dangerous if he gets infected, since it would quickly spread to the other bee's.

I kept his nail the same as Hive Knight's, but it's open to change.

Four

(I'm still very iffy on Four's story concept, but here's what I have so far)

Lives in Green Path.

He has a passion for weapon smithing, and planned on moving to the capital of Hallownest (City of Tears).

But he accidently stumbled on a weak Unn, and agreed to help protect her while she recovered.

When she did recover, she blessed him with a power that allows him to split into 4 parts of himself using his SOUL.

He can split while in the physical world, but will always be split while in the Dream realm. This also makes it difficult for Radiance to infect him.

Wind

Lives in the Kingdom's Edge and works as a guide across the acid lakes. Most of the travelers are those who are seeking to fight in the Colosseum of Fools.

This is how he found the Colosseum, and regularly attends (but not participate in) some of the fights, which is how he meets Tetra.

He is just learning to fly, but is picking it up really fast.

I wanted to keep the lobster apart of his design... But there are no lobsters in Hollow Knight... Then I remembered this was an AU and I can do what I want with it. So lets just pretend that Lobsters are seen as these awesome ancient beings that he wishes to see one day.

Wild

He was a guardian of the Beast's Den before he became infected, leaving the Den to reside somewhere in Deep Nest.

He is cured by the Dream Nail when the group meets him, and the last to join.

His shell is cracked and damaged because of the infection. The cracks have healed over time, but will never go away.

He has trouble with his memory due to being infected for so long before being cured. He is slowly regaining his memory, but there are still a lot of pieces missing.

His infection spread through to his arm, but is hidden under his cloak.

He uses his nails almost as throwing needles.

Legend

Is a shop owner in Hallownest's capital. He sells all kinds of items from all across Hallownest, small things he's found that could be valuable.

He's managed to make his way into the upper class of the capital due to his shop. His cloak is a modified version of the upper-class wardrobe. He dyed and added the hood himself.

Has a great sense of exploration, and has been all over Hallownest, but still has some places he needs to check off.

His jewelry are all gifts from Ravio.

My original concept for his design was to give him 4 arms. I was thinking of the Collector when designing him, and thought it fit. But after working on finalizing the design, I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it. I still love the concept though.

Hyrule

(Again, I don't have a clear story concept for him but I have some notes)

Lives in the Ancient Basin.

Has learned how to use SOUL, and is in hiding from the residents of the Soul Sanctum because of it.

He has access to spells and is able to heal himself using SOUL.

I originally gave him a cloak, but couldn't decide if he looked better with or without it. So he does have it, but only sometimes.

Sky

Is the wielder of the Dream Nail, which can be used to cure infected bugs by purging the Radiance from their dream's.

Has wanted to learn to fight with a nail since he was little, and would practice his skills.

He learned about the Dream Nail after some of the moth tribe became infected. He left shortly after he learned this infection was spreading through Hallownest, with the goal of stopping it.

He isn't the only one that can use the Dream Nail, but is the one dubbed the "owner" of it.

And that's what I've got!

I didn't go much into Dark Link here, but would be happy to show some concepts I have for him as well if anybody is curious. I'm making him almost like a living version of the Radiance's infection, and is able to spread it from bug to bug without needing to access their dreams. This is mainly why I'm torn on having them leave Hallownest. If Dark Link could spread the infection to farther lands, or to keep him inside Hallownest and just spread it faster there.

I thought that using the Dream Nail was a good equivalent to the Master Sword here, so I just mashed them together, and a lot of the motivations for the chain trying to stop the infection is "I'm seeing this awful thing happen to these bugs that I don't want to see happen to others," with some small variations here and there.

I've been working on this for so long, I just want to share by bug boys. I would love to gush and ramble about them some more. I have stuff I want to do with this AU.

[anjelicawrites]

In the night

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: written as a part of Targaryen-Dinasty’s 3k milestone celebration. Whenever sleep evades him, Aemond can find refuge in his spouse’s embrace. Tonight he needs a little something more to fall deep into slumber. Read the other fics for this celebration here!

Warnings: breast kink, pregnancy kink (reader is not pregnant yet), a dash of lactation kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), Aemond coming untouched thanks to pussy eating

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used. One instance of “Lady” and “Wife” used.

Aemond has never been a deep sleeper, or someone capable to have a full night’s of rest, since his marriage to you, his habits have improved. Having your soothing presence by his side has helped him relax behind closed doors, resting his head on your bosom to listen to the beating of your heart has lulled him to sleep for countless nights, after long days at court.

But Aemond is a man, flesh and blood and fire, with carnal urges only your soft, willing body can fulfill.

He wakes up slowly, his head is hidden in the curve of your neck and he nuzzles the skin like a cat; he’s not sure of the time, the thick draping around the massive bed hides the windows and lets just flickers of the candlelight in, the silence he hears tells him it should still be night.

He doesn’t know what has woken him up at first, his mind is still clouded by the tendrils of the dream already fading. He doesn’t remember it, just the feeling of warmth and contentment coursing through his body, until his eye had opened, groggily, and you were next to him, keeping him warm and safe in your arms.

A long moan leaves his lips when his hips brush against your body, and his hard cock presses on your thigh. Oh, he thinks, that’s what it is then.

On instinct, your sleeping body curls tighter around his, almost trying to shield him even in the sanctuary of your shared quarters; he smiles at that. He’s the trained warrior, the prince who rides the biggest dragon in the whole world, you’re a lady, soft and gentle, but with a core of steel no one can imagine under the silks of your flowery dresses.

Against his naked chest the light material of your nightgown shifts, the loose bindings closing the neckline open to let a your heavy breasts spill out.

Not for the first time since the wedding, Aemond thinks that your body is made to carry forth pregnancies, that you have the wide hips for it and such a gentle disposition, that your children will never feel misunderstood by the person who should love them the most.

The thought of your body growing full with a child makes a pang of need burn in his lower belly, your breasts swollen with milk, your nipples tender and oh, so sensitive!

Aemond has to take a deep breathe trying to control himself and his raging erection. You were so tired last night, having to deal with all the guests at court for days, showing the ladies around and chatting with them for hours about inane topics. He saw how exhausted you were after another official dinner, where you had to keep a fake smile plastered on your face and pretend you weren’t bored to death: you deserve your rest for the night.

Trying not to wake you up, Aemond lays his head on your soft bosom and tries to make himself as small as possible to fit your frame, hoping that the lavender smell of your bathing oils will lull him to sleep.

He tries to relax and enjoy the closeness you two have been denied these days, tries to let your soft body envelope his into slumber again, yet having you in his reach only fuels the desire inflaming his loins. His neglected erection seems to grow, instead to flag, the longer he lays close to you, drunk on your lovely scent and silky skin.

You move in your sleep and the nightgown slips down your shoulders to show him more of your breathtaking body, as if the Gods are tempting him, as if barely being able to see you for days hasn’t hindered his self control enough!

Only a taste, he thinks, a quick taste without waking you up.

You’re, usually, a deep sleeper, dead to the world, you wouldn’t stir, would you?

As silent as a deadly snake, Aemond slides down your body, leaving butterfly kisses on the exposed skin that make goosebumps appear wherever his lips land, until he’s between your legs, slightly splayed in your slumber.

He has to bite down on a moan, when he lays on the bed and his erection comes in contact with the cotton of the bedding, his skin feels raw already and he has done nothing, yet.

Careful not to wake you, he spreads your legs more and rucks the light material of your nightgown up to your chest observing, adoringly, your soft tummy and heavy breast, trying to imagine how you’ll look like when you’ll be full of his child and he’ll take care of you in every way possible.

In the barely illuminated darkness he can make out the patch of hair adorning your cunt, the lips he loves to kiss and the small pearl that has you whine in his hold; his mouth waters with the phantom taste of your honey: if he could, he’d live off of that only, forever.

He lays between your legs, his hands take a loose hold of your splayed tights, before the tips of his tongue breaches your warmth, with a moan.

Just a taste, his brain says, a quick one, yet he’s already lost in you, his face plastered against your cunt, his tongue slowly fucking your hole; above him you start stirring, small flames of warmth licking at the edges of your consciousness have you whine, the pleasure a soft caress on your nerves that awakens you with a moan and your back arching.

For a moment you don’t know where you are, lust clouding your mind, before you feel the warmth of your husband’s hands on your skin.

“Aem… Aemond.” You moan, grabbing blindly at his hair.

He doesn’t respond, he’s too drunk on your taste to be coherent, his hips fuck the mattress and he groans against you, hungry for your essence.

You arch again, and squirm against his hold when his lips find your pearl, to suck it hard and fast, with wet sounds of appreciation. Fingers breach you now, and curl against that spongy part inside of your body that makes you jump against his arm weighting you down. His fingers fuck you faster, following the rapid shift of your hips, your muscles clench against his intrusion as pleasure washes over you, stealing you words away, leaving you squirming and moaning, tears streaming down your cheeks when his teeth gently nibble your pearl.

Uselessly you try to plant your feet on the mattress to push against him, your muscles liquefy against the pleasure, against his tongue writing nonsense on your pearl and his fingers so deep inside of you, fucking your tight hole.

He moans and whines against you, torn between his raw cock and your soft cunt, his orgasm so close he can feel his stones draw impossibly tight against his body as he finger fucks you with squelching sounds.

“Please!” You beg, voice drowned by the carnal sounds. “Please!”

Your legs wound tight around his head, forcing his face closer to you, the lack of air only spurring him on to add another finger inside your hole to spread you open and torture your battered insides when he feels you tremble against him, your end so close, so close.

You explode against his face, back arching painfully and he follows you, spending his seed on the bed sheets with a long groan against your center that makes you shudder.

You’re breathless, your legs lay splayed on the bed as you try to find purchase on Aemond’s naked skin to pull him closer to you.

On cue his face finds refuge on the hollow of your shoulder, so that he can look adoringly at your tired face before he makes himself as small as possible to fit against your body.

“Hello husband.” You smile tiredly. “Shall I ask what bought that forth?”

Aemond’s long fingers find yours to play with, lazily in the tendrils of light of the candles the canopy of the bed lets in.

“I woke up hungry, wife.” He answers.

The eyelid of his injured eye is closed to cover the hollow there, as he is not wearing his sapphire; it fills your with pride that your husband is showing himself to you, fully, even the parts he believes to be too ugly for you to see.

“Have you satisfied your hunger, my love?”

Aemond’s smile is sleepy on his cheeks, his cute dimples showing, a rare sight to behold.

“Come.” You say, before he can actually answer. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

Like a satisfied cat Aemond pushes his face against your bosom, until all he can smell his you, and he relaxes fully, lulled to sleep by the gentle carding of your fingers through his hair.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess, @xcharlottmikaelsonx, @qweencrimson

[yandere-wishes]

｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you. 

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy. 

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. 

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most. 

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too. 

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones. 

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick. 

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange site to see excitement in such a strict man. 

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told. 

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy. 

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud. 

"You can call me Paul..." 

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless. 

There is no bottom, no end. 

Only darkness, vast and perpetual. 

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers. 

The sand grows thin. 

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom. 

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too. 

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun. 

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust. 

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune. 

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show. 

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb. 

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor. 

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you. 

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.  

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either. 

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship

with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue. 

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you. 

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides. 

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to. 

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you. 

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue. 

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes. 

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression. 

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-" 

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux. 

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds. 

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes. 

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable. 

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes. 

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still. 

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound. 

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you. 

 "The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?" 

No. 

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode. 

No.

Please no. 

It's easier to love than to be loved. 

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples. 

The halls scream in silence, 

Hollow, employed out. 

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone. 

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor. 

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold. 

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red. 

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream. 

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does. 

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar. 

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning, 

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand. 

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net. 

and then like a shadow, he's over you. 

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd. 

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant. 

Everything feeds into his endless beauty. 

Why are your lips pulsing? 

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss. 

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world. 

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming. 

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat. 

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh. 

Once

Twice. 

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now.  Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations. 

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.  

 when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste. 

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting. 

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand. 

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love. 

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing. 

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied. 

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

@deertaur , @fragileheartbeats , @yandere-romanticaa , @galaxyquirks , @feedmestraycats , @peachysunrize , @slytherinholland , @missbeeentertainment , @moonchild-artemisdaughter , @shiranai-atsune , @therealoutereffect , @frenchgirlinlondon , @purplefrogella , @yzuposts , @whiteoakoak , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @pomtherine , @goldenatreides , @sorianis , @howibecameabadassbitch , @sansaorgana

[just-a-ghost00]

Crush series : what would they tell you if they could?

I just couldn't wait to post this PAC lmao Mainly because I just thought the overall vibe was just so cute. I mean, look at these Jiji emojis <3 They're just purrfect. I found them on Pinterest. This site is just a gold mine for readers lmao

Group 1 - Intrigued Jiji

아직도 그 자리에 멈춰서 난 I'm not going, going, going, going (to) let you down 마음은 더 갈 곳을 잃어 떠나 다시 going, going, going, going let you down

The Revolutionary, The Weaver, The Observer, Power, The Warrior

Is your crush an Aries or a Taurus? Because you got yourself some stubborn AF lover here. They would tell you that no matter the circumstances, they are willing to fight for you and work hard for this connection to work out. They would do anything in their power to protect you and make the odds work in their favor. That they don't intend to run away and should you need them, all you have to do is to call them. They would tell you that no matter what you think of them, no matter what life has in store when it comes to your connection, they will always keep an eye on you and watch over you. That you lit a fire inside of them they didn't know they had. That ever since they met you, they've found a new purpose, a new source of motivation. That they're willing to play with the threads of fate if it means being victorious, getting closer to you. For some of you they would tell you they ask readers about you and your connection. That they ask the Universe for help in getting closer to you. Maybe you rejected this person at first, group 1. Or they feel like somehow you have no interest in them. Well, they're wrong lmao Otherwise you wouldn't be reading this post, would you? I asked for further information and you got Withdraw in reverse. They would tell you that they are done running away from you and/or that they wish you would pay more attention to them. That they are done acting like you don't mean the world to them when in reality they would be devastated if they ever lose you. Looking at the translation of Snooze, they would tell you that they wish you the best. That they hope all your dreams can come true and should you feel tired or in pain, they will always be there to support you and soothe you. That even if you hated them, they would never cease to love you. That they encourage you to live your life to the fullest and they have no doubt you will be succesful in whatever you do.

Group 2 - Dizzy Jiji

You're the coffee that I need in the morning You're my sunshine in the rain when it's pouring Won't you give yourself to me? Give it all, oh

Compassion, Get wild, Play, The Magi, Higher perspective, Reflect

They would litterally tell you that you make them dizzy by the amount of feelings you trigger in them. That they feel so touched by you that you give them wings. In your presence, they get nervous but also reckless. They want to do things they would never try in other circumstances. That they feel like there's magic in the air whenever you're around them, that your connection is special to them and they believe it was fate that brought you together. They would tell you that they see themselves in you, that you feel very familiar to them though they barely know you. They would tell you they want to get to know you better, have fun with you, explore this connection further. That they think you're their soulmate. They would tell you how good they feel in your presence. They would tell you how excited they are about whatever it is that they feel because to them it is the most beautiful feeling. That whatever the outcome may be, they're willing to wait for you. They would maybe ask you if you performed a spell on them because they can't seem to forget you. They would tell you though they're pinning for you they don't want you to feel sorry for them. That they can handle the rejection, should you not feel the same way. They would tell you that they feel like you're as interested in them as they are and that if that's the case, they would be very happy to investigate this connection further. That they wish you would feel comfortable enough with them to unleash and be your true self because they would never judge nor hurt you. That you can trust them and be assured that they would never play with your feelings, despite their flirty and lighthearted appearance. That the reason why they appear so light and playful is beacause you give them butterflies and make them so happy they feel like they're on cloud nine. They would want to let you know that their feelings are genuine.

Group 3 - Enamored Jiji

Now I'm shaking, drinking all this coffee This last few weeks have been exhausting I'm lost in my imagination And there's one thing that I need from you Can you come through?

The Pillar, Paradox, Trust rx, Versatility, The Revolutionary, Love

Before I even dive into the meaning of the cards, I want to point out that while I was shuffling a big amount of cards fell from the deck without turning over. So this person has a lot on their plate that they don't tell nor show you. This is something that would be difficult for them to say because it puts them in a very vulnerable position. They would tell you that they don't know what to think of this connection but they sure as hell know that you put their world upside down. That everything they thought they knew about love has been crushed ever since they met you. You uprooted any belief they had about falling in love, finding someone that they liked. Maybe you are very different from what this person deems as their type or thought that they would end up with. They would tell you that their heart has been a mess every since you last saw each other. That as much they love how you make them feel, it also scares them because they feel like things are spiraling out of control. You hold the key to their heart and they were not prepared for that. They would tell you that a part of them believes that this connection is too good to be true. That they fear your intentions and theirs aren't in alignment. That maybe you seek to take advantage of them or that you're only interested in their body and not their soul. They would tell you that they feel like they're under your spell. That they're confused because they're not the type to fall in love so easily. That they're fighting against these feelings but somehow they just can't make them stop, no matter how hard they try. I asked for clarification as to why they were repressing their feelings and got the Explorer card. On this card is drawn a compass without directions. The only two symbols are one eye on top and a heart at the bottom. The reason why they are repressing their feelings is because they don't know what they want. They are currently without direction, lost at sea. There's an inner struggle between what they envision for themselves and what their heart truly desires. Maybe you don't fit this person's plans of what their life should be. They might be the type of person that always had a vision of the job they wanted to do, where they wanted to live, with whom they were going to live their life and so on. Those ideas could have been influenced by their family. Yet, you don't seem to fit those dreams. So they are puzzled as to why they feel so strongly for you when you don't align with their course of action. They wonder whether they were lead astray or if this is actually their destiny.

[bumblesimagines]

Longing

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Old feelings are ignited when a childhood friend arrives at Kings Landing to help the war cause.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, references to vizzy t and Alicent's marriage, Alicent trying to justify what happened to her, free my girl from the clutches of the show writers who seem to think she has no trauma from being married to Viserys

This had been sitting in my drafts for a whileeee

~~~

With each quiet inhale and exhale, the strong scent of incense and smoke filled her senses, soothing and familiar. It filled her head with fading memories of all the times she prayed beside her mother back as a little girl when the Keep seemed so big and intimidating and she'd yet to find a friend in Princess Rhaenyra. Her mother always reminded her to trust in the Faith, in the Seven, for they were always listening. And perhaps they were, seeing as she'd prayed almost daily for the safe return of their soldiers and they'd only returned wounded. 

Her eyes parted and she swallowed thickly, her hands clutching the skirts of her dark green dress as she rose onto unsteady feet, thoughts about the Gods and their opinions of her consuming her mind. It would hardly count as sin, she hoped, to pray for the return of a man whose face she's scarcely recognized.

Her husband was dead, thus leaving her a widow meaning she could think of others without the guilt of being tempted. But a part of her still couldn't help but be consumed by that sinful guilt; after all, there'd been many a time she'd silently wished ill upon her husband so the dashing knight she thought of so often may save her. 

The knight of her dreams seemingly consumed her every waking moment, even then as she strolled out of Baelor's Sept and descended the stairs toward the awaiting carriage. She remembered him vividly from the times she accompanied her father on visits to Oldtown, eager to see her family and the place she would've called home if her father had been anyone else but Hand.

In those times, Gwayne's hair was longer and rested over his forehead in curls that resembled her own but what she remembered most of her brother was his closest companion: (Y/N) (L/N), one of her uncle's many wards who'd quickly become Gwayne's partner in crime. 

She'd been fairly young then and with her mind alight with tales of knights and damsels, her imagination and hopes ran wild once her cheeks lit ablaze and her typical shyness heightened around him. He'd still been a boy, merely a lord's son with dreams of being a warrior, but he learned the way of the sword swiftly and Alicent oft' thought of the many ways he'd use the sword to save her.

Part of her had hoped he'd object at her wedding, that he'd rise and declare his love for her but instead, she watched him laugh with Gwayne and the other knights and dance with different ladies throughout the feast. 

It'd surprised her when a wave of giddiness and anxious anticipation washed over her when she heard the news he'd be amongst the soldiers riding for the Keep to serve under Criston Cole's command. She'd been relieved to see her brother after so many years, of course, but to know he'd be there too and she'd finally see him in all his dashing glory compared to little else. Her presence in the courtyard that day had been brushed off as a sister waiting for her brother but her eyes had remained locked on him when he entered on his horse, his head held high and his expression calm. 

It'd saddened her when they'd hardly had more than two days to speak before Criston led them off to their first small battle, and the sickening news he'd been injured in battle reached her through a letter from Gwayne. Despite herself, she'd managed to keep her distance and only politely ask about him as any good queen would but her worry and need to see him bested her. 

Upon returning to the safe walls of the Keep, Alicent dismissed her handmaidens to return to other duties before she began the walk to the temporary bedchambers he'd been given whilst he fought for her son's claim. She knocked twice with her knuckles and twisted the handle to step inside, her eyes sweeping over the room before they focused on him and the young maester unwrapping the bandages around his waist. The maester dipped his head in greeting and resumed his task. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N)'s voice rumbled and sent a chill down her spine. He regarded her with a polite yet warm smile that made her head feel fuzzy. "Are you in need of something?" 

"I simply wished to check you were recovering swiftly," Alicent responded and gave the maester a small nod, her feet guiding her closer to him until the subtle smell of soap still clinging to him reached her nose. The maester stood and bent at the waist, offering her the fresh roll of bandages before taking his leave. "I hear it was an unexpected attack."

"Yes, it was," He nodded, watching her brush her palm over the back of her dress as she sat down beside him on the couch. His arm lifted and rested along the back of the couch, drawing her eyes to his shirtless upper body. "But we fought well, even if Cole is rather... inexperienced in commanding an army. I suppose I wouldn't be any different if I were in his position." 

Alicent gave a quiet hum and peeled back the bandages, almost wincing at the fleshy pink scar across his skin. She set the old bandages aside to be disposed of later and carefully ran her fingers around the skin surrounding the injury. "I hear you gave Gwayne quite the fright," Alicent murmured, her attention drifting from the scar to study the rest of him. "He nearly struck Cole, or so rumors say." 

(Y/N) laughed and then winced, his lips twisting into a brief frustrated pout before tugging into that familiar smile. "He apologized if it matters; It almost sounded sincere. I'm certain Cole learned why nobody enjoys being on the bad side of a Hightower." His amusement appeared to be infectious and a smile spread across Alicent's face. 

"I'm glad you have each other." She told him and dipped her fingers into an ointment before gingerly spreading it over the injury. "I'm thankful Daeron has been raised by the both of you."

"He's a good lad, perhaps the best of the young lot we have." (Y/N) told her warmly. "He does not use what he knows against others, as is common with boys of his age who have such skills, and he's.. gentle.. kind. He is young but with time he would make an ideal Hand, and I'm certain once he is man-grown, you will receive many pleas from ladies desiring to be his wife. He makes a fine soldier but he'd make an even finer husband and father, I'm sure of it." 

Alicent exhaled shakily and busied herself with unraveling the roll of fresh bandages to wrap around his waist. "That- That is good, I'm glad. He- I'm-... I'm truly thankful he's had the chance of having a fatherly figure in his life. I'm afraid his brothers lacked that warmth and love in their youth and now suffer the bitterness that comes with being deprived of it." 

(Y/N) stared at her silently, his lips pursing slightly as he shifted to help her wrap the bandages. "Were you happy as Queen Consort, Alicent?" He asked quietly and her hands stilled, her breath catching in her chest and constricting inside her. He grimaced at her silence and carefully wrapped his hands around hers, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry you were unable to find happiness. Perhaps it would have been better if you'd remained in Oldtown with Gwayne."

"What was it like?" She asked quietly, studying their intertwined hands. "Growing up in our beautiful city?"

"We spent much of our youth training under Ser Frederick and Lord Hightower's watchful eyes to ensure we were the best knights Oldtown could offer. We had our fun, though. When the city grows damp, the coddled streets grow slippery. Gwayne and I and a few of the other boys would place bets on which unlucky Oldtowner would wind up falling after rainfall." (Y/N) recounted with a breathy chuckle. "There's a dog whom we named Melon. He's as free as the wind and as naughty as a jester. Ser Frederick gave up on trapping him, so he still roams the streets and training yard hoping to steal a wooden sword or meal right out of an unsuspecting lad's hands."

Alicent gave a quiet laugh, blissfully envisioning the older man rushing after a raggedy old dog who viewed it as a game. She envisioned herself there, as well, standing on the sidelines with the other ladies who watched the young knights train and giggled over which knight they desired for themselves. "It must've been something to grow up alongside Gwayne. He's as dutiful as is expected of a knight but he's always loved a bit of trouble." 

"Ah, yes," (Y/N) grinned. "He's left a trail of broken hearts in Oldtown. The ladies swoon over him but he's fully committed to his vows and duties. He doesn't refrain from some flirting, though."

"And yourself? I'm certain the ladies swoon over you, as well." She'd already heard plenty of whispers from eligible courtiers in the Keep, certainly it was no different in Oldtown where the ladies had watched him grow and mature. Alicnet dragged the pad of her thumb over the skin of his hand, her insides twisting at the idea of hearing his interest in another. "There are.. many eligible ladies here in Court. A wedding would do wonders for the atmosphere of the Keep." 

(Y/N) lips quirked and he tilted his head back along the top of the couch. "I've been approached by plenty of lords and knights wishing to bring forth a wedding but being chosen for Ser Frederick's position as master-at-arms and taking care of Daeron has allowed me to give plenty of excuses. I suppose it may be the time to begin eyeing the marriage mart." 

Alicent hummed forcibly and freed her hands from his loose hold, rising from the couch and walking around it toward the pitcher with wine. "Lady Alysia Westerling has recently come of age, although you may find her too young for your tastes. Her sister, Lady Eleana, was widowed a few years ago and is searching for a new husband." Her ears picked up the quiet grunt that slipped from his lip when he stood up. "Lady Ellyn Baratheon has been betrothed to Aemond but the rest of the Four Storms remain eligible. The Lady-"

"The idea of arranging a marriage for me upsets you," He mused, sounding closer than she expected. "Your brother used to say you'd beg your parents to allow us to marry. He claimed by the age of seven, you knew precisely how you wished the wedding to go."

The horror of having an older brother, Alicent almost sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. Her skin flushed with the soft laugh that left him and she raised the chilled wine to her lips, flooding her mouth with the taste and hoping it'd flush away the swirling feelings in her chest. "Gwanye's always had the habit of overstepping when it comes to family." She murmured, running her thumb over the rim of the cup and tilting her head toward him. 

His eyes flickered over her face and her breath hitched in her throat when his hand touched the back of her neck, his fingers calloused from years of working with them yet they felt far gentler than the touch of her late husband. Her lips parted to release a shaky exhale, her hold on the cup tightening and imprinting the designs into her palm. Her eyes fluttered shut when he neared her, their lips pressing upon each other, mixing the taste of wine and herbal tea when he pressed further against her mouth.

Goosebumps rose along her skin and she clumsily set the cup down, some of the liquid spilling over with her movements. He moved, his front pressing against her back and lips pulling away to press against the dewy skin of her cheek. His arms wrapped around her, caging her in a warm embrace that made her believe for a fleeting moment that everything would be fine, even with the prospect of a bigger battle at Rook's Nest. His fluttered kisses down to her jawline and then the side of her neck, his breath fanning against her shoulder. 

"You are a widow, a woman no longer bound to a man and his house." He reminded her, his finger tracing the start of her off-shoulder sleeve. Her hands slipped toward her back and her fingers fiddled with the laces of her dress, pulling them free and loosening it enough for him to begin peeling the dress off her arms. "You've always spoken too lowly of yourself when you've always been the most eligible lady of the Crownlands."

She shakily exhaled when her dress slipped down and slumped around her ankles, her heart beginning to race and skip as it once had when she'd been a young girl. His fleeting and peppered kisses along her collarbone felt foreign, his warm tough new. Her late husband had always been rushed and clumsy, focusing on himself and muttering his late wife's name under his breath each time. It'd been her duty, something ladies did for the sake of their husbands and so few little enjoyed. But something old and forgotten ignited in her, a fire she'd long thought had been smothered. 

Her eyes stung with salty, warm tears. Was this how it felt to be cared for by a lover? Was this the addictive feeling that had Rhaenyra returning to Ser Harwin Strong all those years? She longed for what could've been, for the years wasted away solemnly tied to a man whose heart remained with another and who offered her the minimum of care.

She'd told herself so often that she was one of the lucky few, one of those ladies whose husbands were kind but standing in the arms of someone she'd longed for so often, she wished she'd been left behind in Oldtown.

"Would you have married me?" She asked softly.

(Y/N) kisses the back of her head, his fingers kneading and massaging her hips. "I still could." He murmured into her hair, leaning back when she turned around to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Her doe eyes were widened, hopeful and pleading. 

"I have prayed to the Gods since I was a girl for this." She told him, her hand resting against his cheek. "They have finally proven merciful, and have answered my prayers for the first time in years. Do not leave my side again, (Y/N). I do not wish to be betrothed to anyone but you."

[jweekgoji]

can i please.. request more of sentinel prime tfone… 🙏🙏 starved actually.. i LOVED ur fic..

TFO!Sentinel/High guard!Reader/Starscream [NSFW]

tw: pre-TFO, advisor!Sentinel (still a huge dick here as usual!), leader of the high guard!Starscream, possessive behavior, threesome, doggy style, gn!reader but they have a valve, PiV, blowjob. word count: ~1200 i wanted to post other fic i did before, but plans changed so yeah....i would sleep less but at least i made a sex fic with hot alien robots! anon, you asked for Sentinel but you also get Starscream as a gift :р

The fact that Starscream and Sentinel knew each other, at least to a level where one felt comfortable enough to mock the poor seeker while the other wants the false Prime dead...it just never leaves my thoughts. I wonder, how was their relationship before the fall of Primes? Before Sentinel became the self-proclaimed leader of Iacon?

As one of the high guards and protectors of Iacon, you always find yourself tied to Primes. As one of their loyal warriors, you are ready to defend your home against Quintessons in a sparkbeat. It is your duty, after all.

Your remarkable loyalty is one of the things that caught the attention of Starscream, at first. Attentive, obedient to the orders, respectful, what more could a commander dream of? You eventually find yourself right next to Starscream most of the time, during your shared missions.

But it seems a certain advisor of your well-beloved Primes just can't help but force himself between the two of you whenever he has a chance. It's hard to tell if Sentinel does this just to mess with a seeker, or was it a glimpse of jealousy you see in those pretty blue optics?

It wasn't really bothering you, really, most of the time, Sentinel was a nice company to kill some time with, even though you had to deal with grumpy Starscream on your back by the end of it. Be ready for him and his not so subtle, loud expression of dissatisfaction about it. If you had any idea what a parrot is, he would have reminded you of one.

“Can't you see that this fool is slacking off his duty just to come here and annoy me—no, us!?” he walks from one side, to another, a deep frown on the seeker's face, as he tries to control his anger.

“Yes, I can see that, Starscream,” you reply with a usual calmness, which, for some reason, just annoys him even more, as he gives you a glare.

“No you don't understand!” ...aaand here he goes again.

Regardless of the rivalry between the two bots, which mostly looks like a one-sided competitiveness from Starscream's side, you all have to work together, as one. That's why you can't just tell your Primes that your commander is a pain in the aft, because their advisor is apparently trying to drive their high guard's leader to nuts! What a day, huh? Imagine putting up with this for cycles. The idea of being able to live for millions of years doesn't sound so good now...

Sentinel tends to act in a more subtle way. The way he always makes sure to walk past you, flashing you a pearly white smile of his whenever he can, or maybe cracking some jokes, that would make both of you laugh. You barely even notice how he lays his servo on your shoulder, the act is so casual and yet, can't help but gain another hiss from Starscream, mumbling another curse towards the mech under his nose.

If you want two bots to start cooperating, make them share. Even though deep inside, they're all too greedy to do so. You can't exactly say that this is...what you quietly pleaded with Primus for. Not in a way like this, at least.

Finding yourself between the two mechs was overwhelming, suffocating, even. The proximity you find yourself in makes you shiver, your knees and arms hurting and slightly shaking, as you're positioned on all fours. Not to mention, that the position is more than just awkward.

“Now, now, can't you lower that squeaky voice of yours? Even our friend over here can't handle it,” Sentinel says, a voice hiding mockery by the image of concern, his servo encouragingly pets the top of your helm.

You can hear Starscream huff in return, his own pair of servos tightening around your waist, tugging you a little closer to him. Despite the situation, where the two were supposed to share, Starscream still keeps being a brat about it, you were his first, right? His comrade first, his subordinate, his, his, his— Why should he share with Sentinel, of all bots?

“You should shut your mouth before I slap it off your fragging...”

The way your valve clench around the seeker's spike makes him let out a strangled moan in pleasure, words dying on the tip of his glossa before he even has a chance to finish them, which only gains a cocky smirk on Sentinel's face.

“You're doing so good, sweetspark, you should see his face now,” Sentinel says lowly, his optics focused on your face. “He's speechless.”

Can he really blame Starscream for wanting to keep you all to himself? When you take him so, so well, swirling your glossa around the tip and making those cute little sounds, whenever he forces your head down his spike? You can feel his spike twitch in your mouth, leaking droplets of translfuid, and a short after - receiving a groan from the mech.

Does it really take all of this just to get some peaceful and quiet moments with you three? For both of them to finally shut their mouths and concentrate on more important things to do right now? Not like you're totally against it, though.

The way they're both, panting and overheating mess right now, squeezing, holding, and caressing every smooth part of your armor makes you arch your back into the touch, wanting..no, begging for more. Starscream is more than happy to serve, his hips snapping back and forth, driving his spike deeper inside you.

If the circumstances were different, he would have held you closer, pressed tightly against his chassis, with his servos around your waist and his face hidden in the crook of your neck. Would you like that? Be this close with him? Or you're just doing that because that blue moron is with you now? Starscream might annoy you with his constant complaints about this and that, but you certainly love him more. Are you? Please don't make him this desperate.

You feel Starscream's servos gripping your thighs harder, the feeling of your walls practically squeezing his spike makes his urge to overload right now almost unbearable. Almost, almost there, you can tell this by the way his optics are half lidded, and he bites his lip so hard, just to keep his own needy noises hidden. It would kill him to let Sentinel hear him this pathetic just from a quick fuck in one of the abandoned rooms.

If only the poor seeker had any idea how much of a desperate mech himself Sentinel is right now. His spike is pulsating and jerking more frequently with each passing second. Unlike Starscream, Sentinel would make sure the other mech heard everything. The soft “keep going”, “just like that”, or a “taking us so, so good, sweetspark” constantly heard from him. He likes how good your mouth feels around him, making him buck his hips into the feeling, he also likes how good his own voice sounds (he's a self-centered bastard, what do you expect?), but he likes it even more watching the other mech in such a state. If every time he toys with and teases the leader of the high guard, he ends up in a situation like this...Sentinel would love to keep this up.

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 2.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Y/n feels like a wagon drove her over. There's a drumming pain in her head and her shoulder. She groans and massages her forehead. Slowly, she opens her eyes, not wanting the light to sting her eyes too much. To her surprise, the light is dimmed by a red fabric that is stretched above her. "A tent?", she thinks to herself and stretches her hand upwards to touch the fabric. It feels like leather and... is warm? Suddenly the fabric moves and is jerked away. When a bony structure comes into vision, y/n realizes it's a wing, not a tent.

"Oh gods, it wasn't a bad dream", she realizes and tries to sit up carefully. Her joints are stiff and her muscles hurt with every move. "I really pushed myself to my limit", y/n thinks and massages her injured arm. She hears a raspy breath beside her and she remembers that she is sitting next to a very real and very alive dragon. She turns to her side and is met with a giant, red lizard eye. Fear pulses through her veins and her heart rate immediately picks up. She tries to scramble away from the dragon but her aching legs and arms barely have the strength to move her. The dragon shows no attention to follow or attack her.

The smell of smoke and roasted meat fills her nose. Only then y/n manages to take in her surroundings. The dead men on the other side of the clearing have disappeared and y/n wonders for a second if they were ever there. Right behind her is the fire she's smelling. The strange man is standing in front of it and roasts a piece of meat over the open flame. His back is turned to her and he shows no intentions to turn around to her. "I guess he doesn't consider me a threat.", she thinks. Y/n watches as the stranger pours some oil on the meat and turns it over again. Y/n swallows thickly. Her throat feels dry and itchy. She wonders why she's still alive. When she turns her head to her shoulder she notices the bandages that are wrapped around it. There's no arrow. "Did he pull it out?", y/n ponders. "Must be this way. It probably wasn't the dragon", she thinks to herself and gives the dragon a side-eye. The dragon has placed its head back onto its front paws and closed its eyes. Y/n relaxes a bit. Seems like neither the dragon nor the stranger is a threat to her right now.

Y/n tries to get up. Her legs are wobbly and she barely manages to get up. She tries to support her with her arms and a sharp pain shoots down her arm. She really should not use that arm for a while. Y/n staggers over to the stranger. "Uhm, I'm sorry?", she says timidly. Her voice sounds hoarse and deep. The man barely takes notice of her. Y/n stops in her step, scared to get closer. The man gives her a glance and sits down on a tree trunk behind him. He still doesn't acknowledge her presence. Y/n slowly walks up to him and sits down next to him on the trunk. She leaves some space just to be sure.

"So, uhm, did you treat my wound?", she asks carefully. Her voice still sounds awful. The man grunts and reaches to the ground. Without looking at her, he hands her over a bottle. "Uhm, thanks.", y/n says and takes the bottle. She takes a sniff and decides that it's water. She quickly takes some chugs of it. The water feels like heaven to her abused throat. When she's done, she hands back the bottle of water. For a while, the two of them sit in silence. After a while, y/n relaxes a bit. The man gets up from time to time to turn around the meat. Eventually, he takes the meat down and puts it on a plate. Y/n eyes how he cuts it in two. He takes a piece with his bare hands and hands the plate to y/n. Y/n stares up at him. "Am I allowed to eat this?", she wonders as she stares at the meat in her lap.

Finally, the man turns to her with his mouth full of meat. He says something unintelligible and points at the meat and then at her angrily. "I guess that answers my question.", she thinks and carefully picks up the meat. It's still hot and y/n almost burns her fingers. Quietly, she starts eating. The meat is good. The man must've put some spices on it. Only after the first bite, y/n notices how starved she is. When she's done, she hands the plate back to the stranger. The stranger starts tidying up around the campsite and y/n watches him. When he's done, he turns around and faces her.

Stinging red eyes pierce hers and y/n almost jumps from the intensity that lies behind them. Y/n suddenly feels very small under their burning gaze. Again the man says something y/n doesn't understand and points towards her. Y/n thinks he sounds angry but maybe it's just the language he speaks that makes him sound like that. When y/n doesn't move or say anything, the stranger stomps over to her and grabs her uninjured shoulder roughly. He turns her around and starts undoing the bandages on her shoulder. Y/n doesn't turn her head to see what he's doing. She's not too keen on looking at the wound. If it looks as terrible as it feels, she'd rather not look at it. She feels how the man peels something away from the wound and how the air hits the wound. It feels kind of cool. She hears the man scramble through some things. Suddenly a burning liquid is poured over the injury and the man wipes at the wound ferociously. It hurts and y/n flinches.

The man barks something at her and grabs her other shoulder roughly. "He probably wants me to sit still.", she thinks and tries her best to sit still as stone as the man continues to probe at her wound. Eventually, he wraps her shoulder up again and y/n watches how he puts the bandaging materials back into a bag. Carefully, y/n touches the bandages the stranger put on her. "I guess he is kind of nice after all.", she thinks to herself, "Although I really don't want to get on his bad side." She shudders at the memory of how the man sliced open the villager yesterday.

Y/n clears her throat and she notices how the stranger gives her a side-eye. "Thank you for treating my wound.", she tells him. The man sits back on the trunk again and pulls out a knife. He starts sharpening the end of a branch into a spear. "So, what's your name?", she asks him. The man gives her an angry glance and scoffs. Y/n scoots a bit closer. "He probably doesn't understand me either.", she concludes.

Softly, she touches his arm. And the man immediately jerks it away from her, looking at her as if he's about to spit out a string of curse words. Y/n points towards herself. "I'm Y/n.", she says. Then she points at him. "And you?", she asks. The man doesn't answer her. If he didn't look so angry, he probably would look confused. Y/n points at her again. "Y/n.", she says and then points at him again, looking at him expectantly. The man turns away from her and continues to sharpen his branch. Just when y/n gives up trying to find out his name, the man says without looking at her: "Katsuki".

"Katsuki.", y/n repeats and tries out how the name feels like rolling off her tongue. When she turns to the stranger, or Katsuki, she gives him a soft smile. Katsuki stares at her intensely with his red eyes and y/n wonders for a moment if she pronounced it wrongly. Then, he turns away almost looking embarrassed.

*~*~*

Actually, that's exactly how Katsuki feels like. When he told y/n his name, he did not expect her to say it this sweetly. He's been annoyed with y/n since she showed up at his camp. Even more annoyed with the men behind her. He's not sure why he helped you. In his world, nothing else matters besides his own tribe, his own people. The only time other people matter is when his people can gain something from them. May it be coin, intel or ... heirs. Maybe that's why he saved her. She's a woman after all. His people painfully learned how important it is to keep their women safe. There's not much of a future without them.

He sighs and runs a hand through his uneven hair and gives y/n a glance. Y/n stares at her hands, unsure what to say or do next. He's not sure either. In the past few years, it has become a custom that men from his tribe take women home from their raids. Since most of the fertile women of his tribe succumbed to sickness, it's their only option to ensure their future. So far, it's not very successful. These women weren't like them. They don't understand his tribe's culture. Hell, most of them don't even speak their language. Like the woman sitting next to him. They're just frail little things, taken from their homes, living in fear of their new home and their new mates. Y/n doesn't look any different from them.

Katsuki gets up angrily and shakes his head. Why is he even thinking about this? He's not taking this woman home. It has never been in the cards. There are different plans for his future. This pathetic female should be thankful that he took the time out of his day to kill those bastards for her. She should just run along, going back to her sad little life. He scoffs and starts gathering his weapons. He has come here to hunt. To bring back a victory for his people. To show them that they can rely on him. Whether to lead them into battle or to feed them. He doesn't look back at the woman sitting by the fire.

*~*~*

Y/n watches as Katsuki gathers his gear. She's not sure what she's supposed to do. Does he want her to leave? Does he want her to stay? Even if she can't understand him, at least he could say something. Katsuki fastens the satchel on his dragon. "Is he leaving?", y/n asks herself. Without sparing her another glance, the man mounts the enormous beast and with three mighty swings of its wings, the dragon is in the air. Y/n throws her head back and watches as the warrior becomes smaller and smaller. Dumbfoundedly, she spins in a circle. Y/n notices that the man left most of his supplies. Cooking utensils, the medicine bag and some other things are neatly tucked away beside the fireplace. Y/n furrows her brow. Was she supposed to look after this stuff? Or does he simply not care if his stuff gets stolen?

For the next twenty minutes or so, y/n walks the clearing up and down playing her limited interaction with Katsuki over and over in her mind. Did she miss something? Lowkey, she hopes he just needs to get something quickly and that he returns to the clearing in no time. When it's clear that he won't return anytime soon, y/n decides to leave as well. She feels stupid lingering around waiting for a man who will maybe never come back, or worse, who gets back and is angry that she's still around. Considering what happened yesterday, she really doesn't want to become the focus of his wrath. Or the one of his dragon.

Y/n stomps through the forest, figuring out her next move. Though stomping would be the wrong word. Her legs hurt so badly, she must look like a scarecrow that has come to live and not stagers around on its wooden legs. After a short while, she already needs a break. The pain in her shoulder has gotten worse again. She leans against a tree and watches the treetops move in the soft summer breeze. Suddenly, a deep feeling of despair hits her and she sinks down the tree trunk. Tears burn in her eyes and before she can stop them, they overflow.

All of a sudden, it hits her in what kind of situation she is in. She is all alone in the middle of nowhere. Everything she needed to survive got either stolen or destroyed. There is no place she can return to. She could try her luck at the capital. However, her brother probably departed to another place in the kingdom and she has no way to contact him. Hell, she probably wouldn't make it to the capital without supplies or coins. Moreover, who knows if her brother would even take her in. They never had a bad relationship but it also wasn't strong enough for him to stick around.

Y/n weeps and sorrowful sobbs fill the quiet forest air. She doesn't realize it but she hasn't cried since her parents died. It's like everything that she's bottled up over the years suddenly burst out of her. She cries until her head hurts and her sleeves are soaked with tears and snot. Only when she physically can't cry any longer, she stops to catch her breath.

Slowly, but steadily, she calms down again. She stares up at the sky for a while until she finds the strength to sort her thoughts. "It's no use", she tells herself, "I need a game plan. Otherwise, I won't survive". She gets up with newfound determination. "I need to ensure that basic needs are fulfilled first before I can think of things like getting to the capital.", she figures.

Firstly, y/n inspects what little she has in her bag that is slung around her uninjured shoulder. A small carving knife, some yarn, bee wax for her lips and cheeks, an empty glass jar, a pair of fingerless leather gloves, a notebook and a pencil. It's not much but in her head, y/n is already figuring out what it can be used for. The knife will be useful for sure. The yarn could be used for building a shelter. She can carry water in the jar. The bag itself leaves some room for provisions.

Food, water, shelter. That is her new focus. Y/n puts her things back into her bag and decides she should look for water and food first before finding a shelter for the night. Y/n puts her bag over her shoulder and starts walking. Wandering from place to place and walking for long distances between settlements, her people taught her how to find water in the wilderness and what plants are edible. Her father even taught her how to shoot squirrels with a bow for meat but since she has no bow, she will have to settle for something vegetarian.

After gathering food and water, y/n needs to take a break. Her shoulder and injured ankle hurt badly and she can only limp by now. The shadows on the forest floor get longer as the sun disappears behind the tree crowns. Y/n shivers as she tries to figure out what to do about shelter. Her thoughts are interrupted by a loud detonation somewhere North of her location. She sits in silence as she hears screeching birds fly away. It's distant enough for her not to worry about it but close enough for her to wonder what the sound was. "Didn't sound like a tree falling over. Maybe a landslide?", she wonders. However, she's sure it sounded more like lightning striking something. Considering that there's no cloud in the sky, that's unlikely.

Y/n decides not to test her luck and to look for shelter in the opposite direction. She makes only slow progress. She hopes to find a cave or a hollow tree to sleep in. She's sure that she won't be able to build a sturdy shelter with her injured shoulder. Suddenly, there's a whooshing sound above her and when she looks up, she sees the tip of a red tail disappearing out of her sight. That damn dragon. She shouldn't be surprised that she's not out of its range considering the slow pace she had to settle into due to her injuries.

Y/n hesitates for a second. She was moving in the direction that the dragon had just flown into. She's not really keen on meeting that thing again. Then again, that strange noise came from the other direction. Y/n decides that the dragon might be responsible for the sound earlier. Still, turning back is not really an option considering that she did not find any place for shelter earlier. Taking a deep breath, she continues her way through the undergrowth. She just hopes the dragon covers more ground than her or returns to Katsuki's camp eventually.

*~*~*

Katsuki's pissed off when he returns to his campsite. He's been following a flock of deer for a couple of days now. He has his eye on a mighty stag. It sure will be a trophy to bring back home. However, so far his luck is not good. Yesterday's encounter and the noises of the bastards he killed must've startled the flock. They must've fled the area and it took most of the day to track them down. When he finally found them, he missed the stag by an inch. Which of course startled the whole group and tomorrow he can start tracking them down all over again.

Almost, he forgot the strange woman he left at the clearing. Upon his arrival, he didn't even notice her absence at first. When he does notice, he only scoffs angrily. "Good", he thinks, "She got the hint". However, while he prepares dinner, his thoughts drift off. He wonders how far y/n could've gotten on her injured foot. He wonders if the woman knows how to clean and dress a wound. If the wound on her shoulder gets infected, that will be a death sentence for sure. Especially out here in the wilderness. Unless her tribe is close and can take care of her. Then again if those bastards from yesterday were from her tribe, it's probably better if she doesn't return. Actually, if there are more of these bastards out there, her cards are bad anyway.

Frustratedly, Katsuki groans and throws his cooking utensils on the ground. His dragon looks over at him curiously. "What'cha looking at?", he mumbles and ruffles his hair. Katsuki stares into the flames of his bonfire pondering on what to do. Eventually, he jumps up and whistles at his dragon. Within seconds, they are in the air.

Katsuki steers his dragon to fly low above the treelines. He keeps his eyes on the ground, looking out for y/n. They patrol the area for a while until it gets too dark to see and Katsuki is sure he wouldn't be able to see the woman even if she was directly beneath them. He turns his dragon around and sets course towards his camp when he sees the flickering light of a fire in a short distance. "Gotcha.", Katsuki smirks and steers the beast towards the light.

With a rumble, the dragon's feet touch the ground. Y/n is kneeling in front of a small fire. Clearly, the woman has not been paying attention as she pushes herself back from the giant monster in front of her. Katsuki slides off its back and stomps towards her. "What the fuck are you doing?", he yells at her. "The whole forest can see you here! Can't believe you managed to stay alive on your own for a whole day.", he continues to scold her. Y/n only looks up at him with a dumbfounded expression. Actually, she might look a little scared.

Katsuki regains composure. He's yelling at a woman who doesn't understand shit. Of course, she's scared. He scoffs. Y/n's campsite is pitiful. Katsuki is surprised that she managed to light a fire on her own. Still, that light could lure in all kinds of nasty stuff. Unsure what to do, Katsuki hovers over her for a moment. Eventually, he tries to grab her. Clearly, the woman has been expecting him to make a move and struggles against him. Katsuki manages to get a hold of her nevertheless, considering he's taller and stronger than her and y/n's mobility is restricted due to her injuries. Katsuki throws her over his shoulder and saunters over to his dragon. He places the woman onto the saddle and climbs up behind her. With a click of his tongue, the dragon rises into the air.

*~*~*

Y/n clings onto the handle of the saddle for dear life and pushes her back into Katsuki's chest. In her lifetime, y/n had little experience with heights. Turns out, she's deadly afraid of them. Maybe it's also due to the gigantic lizard between her legs or the wild, barbarian man who just kidnapped her. However, right now, that man is the only person holding her into place and keeping her from falling to her death.

When they land at Katsuki's campsite, y/n is as pale as a ghost and when Katsuki pulls her off the dragon, her legs give out under her. The man lets out a string of sentences that sound like complaints and drags her over to the fireplace. Y/n tries to regain her composure as she watches Katsuki light up a fire and skin a rabbit. When he starts gutting the animal, y/n turns away in disgust. It's not like she finds the act itself gross. That's something she herself has done multiple times before. It's just that her stomach still feels queasy from the involuntary flight earlier and it's not the most appetizing process in the world.

A headache starts to form when she listens to Katsuki piercing the rabbit with a long stick and roasting it above the open fire. "Why am I here again?", she thinks to herself. It didn't strike her as if Katsuki wanted her around. After all, he left her here earlier today without sparing her a single glance. If he'd wanted her to stay around, he could've made that clear even without saying a word.

Suddenly she feels a nudge in her side. When she opens her eyes, Katsuki holds out a piece of meat to her without looking at her. Y/n is not really hungry but takes the meat anyway. They eat in silence. When they're done, they sit in front of the fire for a little while. Eventually, Katsuki breaks the silence. In a low, calm voice he talks to her. Of course, y/n doesn't understand him but she finds his voice soothing. She wonders how a person can sound so diverse. She finds it a lot nicer when Katsuki talks like that than how he did when he found her earlier. Despite her best efforts, she finds herself getting drowsy. Her eyes start to fall close and her whole body starts swaying. She doesn't notice how Katsuki slides closer to her or how her head hits his shoulder when she falls asleep.

*~*~*

Katsuki's not sure why he moved to catch her head. Also, he's not sure why he went after her in the first place. He runs his hand through his hair. "How annoying", he thinks. He stays at the fire for a little while longer letting y/n rest on his shoulder.

Eventually, he prepares to get up. Slowly, he pulls y/n onto his lap and gets up lifting y/n up with him. He already noticed yesterday how light she was. He wonders if this woman gets enough to eat. Carefully he carries her over to his bedroll. There's not really enough space for two people, so he lets y/n rest on it. He puts his red coat over the woman. Almost gently, he pushes some strands of hair out of y/n's face.

He puts out the bonfire and settles next to his dragon. Leaning against it, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the dark forest surrounding them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[youremyheaven]

Random Mini Astrology Observations: Vedic Edition

Warning: This is just a string of random thoughts lol, don't compare it to my best work on here. It's a bunch of stuff I've had in my drafts and I'm trying to clear it all out

Before I get into this, I just want to say, that whether my observations are positive or negative, it won't apply to every individual who has these placements. 8 billion people exist on this planet, and not everyone will exhibit the same good or bad qualities. I hate having to put this PSA because some people don't get it but yeah "not all Lunars/Venusians/Nodals/Solars/Jup/Sat are going to be the same".

Jupiter influenced men are known for being introverted cutie pies who kinda have that mature-dilf-y vibe.

Obviously, another category of Jupiter men are often loud, extroverted and very outgoing but I've noticed these placements heavilyyyy in celebrities "known" for being private and introverted. They are also often known for being generous and kind hearted.

Prabhas, Vishaka Stellium (Moon, Mercury and Venus)

He is known as "darling star" and brings food that he has prepared at home for everyone on set (he is an actor). He is known for being very shy and introverted but also super sweet, generous and kind.

Sidharth Malhotra, Vishaka Moon

Sid is known for being extremely lowkey which is RARE for a Bollywood actor. He's also quite gentlemanly and charitable

Ratan Tata, Vishaka Moon

He is an Indian billionaire entrepreneur who lives in a small 2bhk apartment and has donated most of his personal wealth to charity. He is known for having led his company in a very humane way (there are lots of controversies and im aware of them but compared to the work culture and quality of life that most other indian companies offer its employees, TATA is in a different league).

Keanu Reeves, Punarvasu Moon (and stellium)

i dont have to explain but Keanu is the king of kindness and generosity

Mads Mikkelsen, Vishaka Moon

unlike his characters, Mads is actually a sweet guy and very private

Adam Driver- Vishaka Sun

he's so private that nobody even knows he's married with a kid

Tom Hanks, Punarvasu Sun

known for being a gentleman and quite modest. the OG nice guy and obviously very private

Ethan Hawke, Vishaka Sun

another lowkey, private guy who is known for being nice

2. Rashmika Mandanna and Surbhi Jyoti, Swati Moon

I find their eye area to be kinda similar?? I know they don't look alike but there are some overarching similarities between them and I think its bc they have the same moon nak.

3. I came across a comment that Akshay Kumar made about Asin and her CEO husband Rahul Sharma.

“He is madly in love with his wife, his child. It’s like he treats her like a goddess.

and guess what?? Rahul is a Purvashadha Sun 🥺😌😌

4. Ashwini natives often have post-apocalyptic dreams

Since its the first nak and is ruled by Ketu and is in complete darkness, symbolically representing the stage before creation (which happens in Bharani), the subconscious mind is susceptible to having really strange, fcked up, war-like dreams/visions. Also bc Aries rashi is ruled by Mars, God of War.

5. every Venusian man I know kinda has a voice kink

6. Many Punarvasus crave for a simple, rustic, relaxed type of life. In fact many famous Punarvasus live on a farm

Kaley Cuoco- Punarvasu Moon

Bretman Rock - Punarvasu Sun

MS Dhoni- Punarvasu Sun

Dennis Quaid, Punarvasu Moon on his ranch

7. Jupiter and Venus are 'Brahmins' or priestly, the Sun and Mars are 'Kshatriyas' or warriors, the Moon is 'Vaishya', or a trader, Mercury is a 'Vaisya', Saturn 'Shudra', or a lower caste and Rahu and Ketu are outcastes.

This is not an observation but just an astrological fact that I thought I'd mention

8. Magha girls are often the spoilt daughters or come from very bougie families where they're the princesses. They might emotionally suffer but materially and otherwise, they're very comfortable

Shruti Hassan- Magha Moon

she has spoken about how rough her childhood was bc of her parents' tumultuous marriage and subsequent divorce but that doesn't change the fact that she's the daughter of Kamal Hassan, one of the biggest stars in the history of Indian cinema

Kiara Advani- Magha Moon

Kiara is from a very wealthy and illustrious family, and she grew up as a much loved, spoilt ish daughter<3

Wonyoung- Magha Sun

Wonyoung is from a filthy rich family and she has said that she grew up very pampered. And that she didn't have an allowance bc whatever she asked for she got. However she became a trainee at 12yrs of age and that journey could not have been easy. Despite being born rich, she's had to go through a lot in life to be where she is today

Aditi Rao Hydari- Magha Moon

she's of actual royal lineage so she's a real life princess but her parents divorced when she was a kid and she grew up with a single mom in delhi and not in a palace

9. DMX- Mula Sun (dog yoni) was obsessed with dogs

The late rapper DMX's relationship with dogs, which seems almost mythical. He was born in 1970 - the year of the Metal Dog, and in his teens he ran away from his abusive household and befriended stray dogs while vulnerable on the streets. He began to gather dogs for protection, intimidation and family, and was sent to prison for stealing a dog (a neglected dog chained up in a scrapyard). In prison, he wrote a lot of his early songs, in which he came up with his "dog" mythology, in which he imagines himself as a monstrous dog-themed gangster who barks and howls. He had a huge tattoo of his favourite dog Boomer on his back. In 2008, his 12 dogs were taken from him by cops after there were reports of animal cruelty - DMX had paid a negligent caretaker to look after the dogs while he was on tour. (The dogs lived out the rest of their lives as therapy animals in a women's prison)

I think its interesting how our yoni animal influences our life

10. As Vighati graha, male planets are: Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Rahu; female planets are: Moon, Venus, Ketu whilst two eunuch planets are Mercury and Saturn. All the standard rules for determination of the sex of the child are applicable, female signs are: Taurus, Gemini, Virgo, Scorpio, Capricorn and Aquarius; male signs are: Aries, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Sagittarius and Pisces. Exalted planets indicate male issue and debilitated planets indicate female.

11. Mercurial men and Jupiter men are soooo flamboyant, sassy and gender non-conforming

RuPaul- Vishaka Sun & Moon

Elton John- Jyeshta Rising

Jeff Goldblum- Jyeshta Moon

Prince- Vishaka Rising

Jimi Hendrix- Mars in Vishaka atmakaraka

[zara-renata]

Alike and Cornered Beast: Sylus's POV

Summary:

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. So I uh wrote it myself. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities.

A/N:

Sylus x gender neutral reader/MC, second person POV (but we don't use Y/N in this house). Brief, derisive mentions of Xavier and Zayne (this is Sylus's POV after all, don't come for me). I love all the LIs, but Sylus has his hand wrapped around my throat and I see him as arrogantly having something to say about the other people who are also interested in his shiny treasure. He has mean thoughts about the other LIs, but he can be mean and we love that for him. Slightly canon divergent if you believe Sylus can't tell that MC is scared and repulsed by him until the shopkeeper informs him. I however believe this man is a little more perceptive than that. CW: violence, cursing, rude language, death, grief, murder, ok this is Sylus hello, non-consensual (non-sexual) touching of MC, metaphors involving hunger and blood, overuse of the word "lovely," but Sylus is a simp and it's mostly his POV so we must endure it. SFW, although clearly there is a thread of desire running beneath the interactions depicted ao3 link here

He doesn’t need the aether core in his eye to know how you're feeling. He can see it in the way your lovely jaw is locked tight, teeth clenched behind soft lips twisted into a tight line. The shudder you’re trying and failing spectacularly to repress, desperate to conceal your weakness: the fact that almost as much as you fear him, you hate him.

Almost from the very beginning, things have been going sideways for Sylus. First, that imbecile having the hubris to believe he could just pilfer what had clearly been claimed as belonging to Onychinus.

Second, the palpable fear that had juddered through you as he had graciously relieved the larcenist of the burden of his pathetic life, only for that fear to flare into bright, barely controlled hate once you figured out that using yourself as bait had succeeded in reeling in the largest predator in the N109 zone.

Third, even when he sauntered close to you, allowing you to drink your fill of his face, no other spark of recognition fired besides that of the leader of the most powerful criminal organization in the region. You didn’t recognize him personally at all, even as he hungrily mapped your face with his eyes and felt the bottomless well of want deepen even further in his heartless chest.

You didn’t remember a fucking thing. And for some reason, you hated him more than his worst enemies. And he had quite a large body count in the worst enemy column of the ledger of his existence.

The fear, he can understand. Onychinus is on the Hunter Association’s Naughty List, and you’re one of the Association’s true believers, a jewel in the hilt of their blade composed of naïve warriors. And like the noble, naïve creature he knows you to be, you firmly believe that any intel they fed you about him and his organization was the pure, unfiltered truth.

But the hate? He muses as he looks down into your upturned face, a face that has been carved into his dreams for weeks now, ever since Mephisto had reported back after scouting the Flux Nexus in the no-hunt zone. Ever since the night he finally found you, stumbling around and battling at the side of your sleepy, cunning rabbit of a partner in the dark wood, oblivious to the real danger perched amongst the leaves, watching through mechanical eyes. His lips twitch in an ironic smile, as he knows he should be grateful to the rabbit for the fact that you’re in front of him now, so agonizingly close. He can see the rise and fall of your chest. The breath you exhale, for him to inhale. All he has to do is let his hand do what it wants—reach out, fingertips drifting softly along the curve of your cheek, your throat, the pulse point that betrays your racing heart. You’re close enough that he could swallow you whole. A good man might be grateful, but he isn’t a good man, and he doesn’t have it in him to be grateful; he only catalogues the threat, and tucks away the thought of the light evolver to be a problem to contemplate, and solve, another day. Right now, he needs to solve the problem of why you hate him on a level that professional distaste can’t explain. The hate he sees in your bright, sharp eyes is personal.

Consequently, he might not need the aether core in his eye to know that you hate him, but he sure as hell needs it to figure out why.

He knows he should wait to use his power on you. He knows that strategically, the best play here is to move slowly, to rebuild your trust, to tease out what he wants from you, to prove to you that despite every instinct that the Association has indoctrinated in you, he is not a threat to you and never will be. He knows all too well that one can’t force trust and forge an equal relationship from coercion, but he doesn’t have the time. Not with the entire Nest on the hunt for his Prey tonight, not with his own house in chaos with Sherman running amok and running up the bill on collateral damage. He needs to know why you hate him so that he can deal with it now, all of it. To borrow the vocabulary of another one of your hapless suitors: now is the time for triage, and after he has assessed the carnage, then he will begin suturing the aftermath. Sylus may be a businessman, but he can appreciate a surgeon’s precision in approaching a crisis. Even if Sylus can’t appreciate the iceman himself, if only for the lingering looks the doctor indulges in when his patient is looking the other way. Sylus files this problem away, like the other, to be solved in quiet solitude another day.

So he indulges in a lingering look of his own, fingers twitching with the need to touch where they’re deceptively, casually resting on his hips. And then: Sylus lets himself look. He can feel the familiar warmth increase within his eye socket, the ember beginning to glow hotter and hotter, until it’s almost unbearable, and then truly unbearable, as it is every time, the price he must pay so that he may see.

A little silver apple on a chain.

A pair of smiling eyes.

An old woman’s hand placing a dumpling on a plate.

The relief of realizing that the danger has dissipated, and dinner is still waiting.

A strong, broad back, shoulders shaking with laughter as a door swings shut.

Almost from the very beginning, things have gone sideways for Sylus. He shuts his eyes, feels the heat and the pressure fade like grief with time, as the power in his aether core goes dormant once again. But you haven’t had time, have you? It’s still fresh, the wound still hemorrhaging. You think that he caused this. You’ve been bleeding for months, thinking it was his hand that wielded the knife lodged in your heart. Or rather, detonated the bomb that incinerated the only family you’ve ever known, leaving a smoking crater where your heart used to be.

Sylus’s mind races, compiling this new information, archiving the whys and hows, constructing and reconstructing his carefully assembled plans and all of the contingencies in between, laughing derisively at himself for not seeing this possibility coming. Sideways is an understatement. Things are well and truly fucked, Sylus thinks, looking into your lovely, livid face.

For a moment, an unfamiliar sensation drifts through his chest. He tests it gingerly, letting it cascade through him before he can identify it: despair. After all this time. Every year, month, week, day, second, breath, he has been carving a path towards you, littered with the broken dreams and broken bodies of others, and now he has finally found you, and what should have been his greatest victory (the spoils? His fingertips drifting up your silken skin, his fingers entwined with yours, home), may have been his greatest loss—a loss that is for once, despite all of his crimes and all of the corpses at his feet, every terrible thing he has ever done, not his fault at all.

He savors this strange feeling for a few heartbeats, indulging in it, pressing into it like a bruise, if bruises would actually remain under his skin. And then he discards it: the unexpected rarely obstructs his carefully laid plans, but nothing about you has ever been expected, has it? If he were the kind of man to resign himself to unexpected loss, like the other men clumsily flitting around you, he’d have been a dead trophy tossed at the feet of an enemy long ago. So the rules of the game have changed. So what? Sylus will adapt, because no matter his fucking luck, he is playing to win.

Because while gazing into the depths of your beloved eyes, Sylus not only saw the why of your hate, but the only thing that could soothe it. Something that you refuse to admit, even to your fundamentally honest self. Something you can’t admit, as you spend insomniac nights training until collapse, as you slice, maim, and end wanderer after wanderer, as you bare your teeth a little too savagely as blood spills beneath your fist and blade. You need vengeance. You need someone to hurt as much as you’re hurting. And not just anyone—the wanderers and criminals that you’ve trained your fists and pistols and blade on do not satisfy the blood-thirst burning through your veins. You need to punish the person responsible for the inferno in your chest. Maybe then you’ll be able to sleep again. Maybe then you’ll be able to not smile again, but at least retract the fangs that have been frightening the people around you for months now. The fangs you feared were always there, underneath the careful façade of the well-adjusted, law-abiding, healthy paragon of a hunter you’ve built to keep the nightmares at bay for years, to show your colleagues, your partner, your doctor and your superiors: Look, I’m harmless and righteous, the perfect tool, love me, love me, love me, please do not leave like everyone else I've ever loved.

And Sylus? Sylus has always, and will always, endeavor to give you everything your damaged heart could possibly desire. He knows that you will not believe that he was not the one who ripped your ‘family’ apart. And he knows that it will take time, time that he does not currently have, to rebuild what has been lost between the two of you. He recalibrates, sweeps aside the despair, and reinforces his resolve. If you want to exact vengeance on the person you think is responsible for all of your indescribable pain, Sylus will give his heart to you on a bloody platter, regardless of the pain it will cost him.

You need someone to hate right now to stay strong? So be it. He will be that for you, until he can locate the actual culprit. As he reaches out, ever so gently trailing the backs of his fingers along your hauntingly lovely face, he tells himself for a moment that he can't bring himself to use something so impersonal as the energy of his evol on you. But who is he kidding--Sylus is many things, but a liar is not one of them. He admits to himself that this is just him finally giving into his deepest desire, as he lets his hand drift from your face to the side of your neck, closing around your throat and lifting. He does not want to handle your precious form with such brute, concise strength, but he needs to hurry, he needs answers and he needs to fix this, now now now and you need him to be the enemy. This is what is best for you at this moment, in this place, and he only ever wants what is best for you, so he plays the part you need him to play:

"From your past to your future...to even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit. After all, you and I...we're the same. True kindred spirits."

As your body goes limp from his chokehold on you, he catches you, cradling your head in his hand, grateful for the strength of his body, the shelter he can provide you as he lifts you in his arms, holds you tightly, your chests finally close again, yours too full of a maimed heart and his missing one entirely, complementing each other, completing each other, even though you’re out cold and it will take so much—too much, too much, it’s already been too much time, you’re finally here, you’re finally in his arms, where you should have been all along—time to be able to have you in his arms like this but with your eyes wide open and fixed on his.

Later, when you wake up, in a dark room with this familiar stranger disdainfully staring you down through crimson eyes, as his evol winds itself around you, as it jerks you onto his big lap, you clench your teeth, you fight the tears of frustration and fury—why do you always cry when you’re angry? Is it not humiliating enough to lose control of the leash on your emotions, without tears spilling down your face to betray you to the object of your rage?­—and you fight desperately against the immovable force pinning you in place.

"I want to kill you myself," you grit out, through the tears and the snot running down your face.

And then this man places your gun in your hand, eyes bright as blood never leaving yours, in answer to the quietest, deepest buried desire of your limping heart that he has driven you to saying out loud. Your hate flares, because how dare he expose you to yourself in this manner? Who does this motherfucker think he is, casually extracting from your own mouth and offering you that which you couldn’t before name in hushed whispers, as if it means nothing to him, as if it costs him nothing, his sharp jaw relaxed, a ghost of a smirk curling the edges of his wide mouth? You fight it, the surge of hunger that chokes your panting breath—you fight it so hard, you’ve been fighting it for so long, ever since the piercing ringing in your ears began to sound that replaced your grandmother’s and Caleb’s laughter, the ringing silence that followed as debris rained down on your useless, injured body. You are not a mindless animal. You will not give in to this voracious want. You and this man holding your gun to his own heart are not the same, and never will be.

“Do you need some help? Yes? No? Maybe so?” His voice is the purr of a jungle cat, his hand, large and just as calloused as yours, envelops your own, with that same bizarre gentleness that you can’t even begin to interpret the why of, his finger drifting along your own, until it slowly tightens over yours. Your mouth says “No,” and you see how his eyes dart from yours to your lips and back again, but the hunger inside you howls as this man presses your finger against the trigger and the sound of the bullet leaving your gun drowns out all of the other noise in the cacophony of your thundering heart.

His big body jerks back, head hitting with a painful sounding thump against his melodramatic throne (ok, so it's just an antique chair, but honestly, where do villains buy ridiculous props like this?), and for an endless moment in time, the hunger is satiated, and a sense of triumphant relief courses through you instead. And then your vision sharpens, as blood the color of this man’s eyes begins to pour through the hole he—and you, we, together—just shot into his fucking heart.

He jerks the gun from your grasp and tosses it with a loud clatter to the concrete floor.

“You—Are you fucking crazy?” You’re moving before you realize it, palms pressed over his heart (a spiteful part of you hopes that it hurts him, even as you are suddenly overwhelmed with the terror that he is actually going to die, before you get any answers, before you get any help, before you’ve accomplished anything at all).

“You wanted to take my life,” he pants. It never hurts any less, no matter how many times it happens. He can feel his flesh knitting back together already, each stitch as painful as the one before. “And so you’ve taken it.”

Despite the pain, Sylus watches you leisurely, drinking in the blood splatters across your lovely neck and chin. My blood, he thinks with satisfaction. He wants to soak you in it. He wants to watch you bathe in it. He shakes his head, tucking that urge away for later contemplation. He is finally in the position to do what he has been craving for so, so long. He has given you what you want. Of course he will always give you what you want. However, that doesn’t mean that he can’t simultaneously get what he wants—Sylus strongly prefers deals when they’re win-win. He has given you what you wanted, and the slate is now clean. Now, it is time to begin negotiation of the highest stakes deal of his life: the acquisition of your body, heart and soul. Back at his side, where you belong.

“Now what? Have you already figured out how you’ll pay me back?”

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruins | 1

[Series masterlist] [acotar masterlist] Summary: you come from a long line of healers in the dawn court, but it seemed to have skipped you completely. So you find that your mind is more equipped to read magical objects, fixing broken or cursed relics. What you don’t expect is an Illyrian warrior seeking your expertise on his favourite broken dagger. 1455words

The blade on the table rattled to a stop, whatever secrets it whispered, you did not understand the language it spoke.

A shadow lurked over the table, you glanced to the night courts high lord, Rhys opposite you, a smirk pulling his lips as his eyes flicked from you and his friend behind you.

“Are you going to stand over me whilst I work?” You raised a brow, neck aching as you twisted in your seat and looked to the Shadowsinger.

Rhys muttered an apology on behalf of his friend. Azriel stepped back from your desk, allowing the light to creep back in. You swatted one of the stray shadows still lingering, it rolled over your finger like the curl of smoke.

The small studio space you rented, barely allowed enough room for you to navigate. Tables and shelves filled with an assortment of objects still screaming at you to fix. You were sentimental when it came to the place, the first and only part of the court that was yours. Knew the layout like the back of your hand, large windows that bathed the area in light that no dark corner could be found. And you hated the dark.

You bit your lip trying to suppress the smile at the awkward Illyrian’s taking up the space. Their Highlord’s wings vanished before he entered the confined space, the other two however had tucked their wings in tightly and tried not to move too much within the organised mess.

The longhaired one, Cassian had given you some valuable information on a shield you’d given up on decades ago. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile whenever he offered you one, brows scrunching as he translated the text engraved on the metal.

The other winged male did not speak to you, he hung back clouded by shadows. Every now and then, little black wisps brushed against the tip of your short hair, a breeze ghosting over your shoulders.

But when he did finally speak, you found yourself wanting to look at him. The knot in your stomach twisting, his smooth voice called to you and it felt familiar, comforting. You wanted to hear it again.

“How long do you think it will take to mend?” Azriel leant on the desk, gloved hands supporting him as he gazed down at you. His attention solely on you, even up close he was breathtaking.

You blinked, hands fumbling over the desk as you knocked a pile of ancient tomes over. Dust settling in the air, the action kept going on like dominoes. A cannon ball hitting the mannequin of ancient armour into the hoards of Elven bows stacked up high.

Cassian tried to catch the next thing falling, but his wings flared ever so slightly as he tried to keep his balance. Forgetting about the tight space, his wings swiped the entire contents as well as the shelf off the wall. Metal clanged to the floor and he froze.

“Do not touch that,” you snapped, running to Cassian, your fast movement making him step back. “Unless you want it to haunt your dreams for the next hundred years.” You nudged the fallen contents with your boot, keeping them all together.

“We would not want that,” Rhys paused, glancing around the studio and the mess scattering what was left of the floor. “Perhaps we should allow you the time to do your work.” He flicked his wrist, the Elven bows stacking on top of one another.

You couldn’t help but gasp, it would have taken you hours to sort out the mess, but Rhys had put most of it back in its original place. Except the items you warned them not to touch, even that being extended to another persons magic.

The three men walked through the studio, you following closely behind them. Your hands hovering behind their wings as if waiting for them to knock into more things as they went.

Cassian doesn’t meet your eyes as you stand in the doorway, the three of them tense as if waiting for one of them to speak. You turn to Rhys expecting him to say something.

“We have business with your Highlord, so we will be around if you need anything,” Azriel said, bowing his head slightly. His shadows twirled in frenzy, black wisps tangling in your hair one more time.

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the pesky wisps.

Azriel cleared his throat, shadows returning to curl round his ear as if to tell him a secret. “How long do you think it’ll take to mend the truth-teller?”

“It will take me a while, I need to familiarise with the energy surrounding the blade.” You could already hear truth-teller beckoning you. A broken echo, the voice not quite pronouncing your name properly. But it called.

They bid you goodbye and you returned to the room of relics. The noise always a welcome distraction than listening to your own thoughts.

*🦇*

Azriel’s shadows had not stopped mumbling of the girl of sunlight. He kept swatting them away, the text he was trying to read in front him blurring at their constant interrupting.

“You think she knows?” Rhys asked, his hands in his pockets as he watched the sun bathe the sky in dusky pinks and orange hues.

The thought crossed Azriel’s mind, part of him thinking there was a moment when their eyes met, but the way she retreated from his shadows made him think otherwise.

“Nah, there’s no way. Too much energy in that room. Don’t know how she can surround herself with all those relics,” Cassian said, his fingers rubbing his temple.

Relics kept their energy and magical properties forever, outliving the ones that created them. They might not be able to wielded again, but if one was worthy enough to channel that power the object would call for whoever it could hear. Most times it was a distant mumble, only a trained ear or shadow could hear it.

“Now you know how we feel brother, when we spend too much time with you.”

Cassian pulled up the chair opposite Azriel, smirking as he got himself comfortable. “Maybe I should help her, you know familiarise that energy surrounding truth-teller. I do know some riveting tales…”

“The only thing snapping will be your neck if you meddle,” Azriel spat, he slammed his book shut as if closing anymore discussion on the mender in the dawn court.

The anger spread like wildfire in his chest, ever since the bond snapped he’d been overwhelmed with emotions. His shadows were equally as messy, not sure whether to follow him or stick behind with her. A few stray wisps fell back, hiding between the relics in her studio and keeping a safe distance.

Azriel couldn’t get her off his mind, he wondered if she’d ever been beyond her home or stepped into the darkness. He knew that his life wasn’t for everyone and didn’t want to subject someone full of so much light, to something so cold.

“Did you sense it whilst we were there?”

Cassian’s question dragged Azriel back to why they were truly there, the matter of his mate paused until they got what they were looking for. But Azriel didn’t realise that the one thing he’d be looking for was her.

“No, nothing.” Rhys turned as the doors opened, the dawn courts high lord entering.

“Well why didn’t you ask my favourite mender?” Thesan asked, but he waved his hand as if answering his own question. “She did let you in, did she not?”

“I fear that our missing relic is still under the mountain, her collection did not give us any clues,” Rhysand said glancing to Thesan, the warmth in his eyes dulled at the mention of the mountain. He too had been trapped beneath it, the last resort of returning was changing to a definite return.

“Ah,” Thesan paused, a strained smile twitched his lips. “ You see the mender is a relic herself. She too survived under the mountain and is the reason we have so much knowledge on the subject.”

Azriel felt the tight pull in his chest, so she had known darkness. He rubbed his chest, wondering if she felt the same jolt there too. His shadows being a reminder of her time there, maybe that’s why she preferred the light glaring down upon her. No curtains or furniture blocking the large windows that dominated the small studio she worked in.

“Would she be able to show us the way without actually going there?” Cassian asked. Azriel thankful that he had spoken up first. His thoughts were tangled, but they all led to her and her safety.

“You would have to ask her.”

[Part two]

I wrote this on my phone and not edited so might be some errors

[obliviouscxnt]

Home Azriel x Reader

a/n: forewarning I'm a firm believer in things getting worse before they get better. I hope you enjoy!:)))

synopsis: azriel has to resort to desperate measures in order to ensure your safety

Warnings: SA, depictions of RAPE, angst, violence, minor fluff

5.3k words

pt.1 | pt.2

The feeling was unshakable, those hands grabbing you, forcing you into the darkness. The freezing cold void of absolutely nothing and everything all at once. 

It’d been a day since the incident, the bruises and scratches on your body were already healing, getting better by the second. 

You hadn’t felt anything since then, no presence in the corner of your mind, no eyes on you, just silence. 

You didn’t know why its absence brought you no comfort. Why it made you feel worse. Like your body was trying to warn you about something your mind hadn’t caught up with yet. 

However, that was the last thing you wanted to think about as you lay beside Azriel’s form. Listening to his soft heartbeat. Letting the rhythm soothe you into a state of calm. 

You were so tired, you just needed a little bit of sleep, to rejuvenate your brain.  And if you had any hope of avoiding that nightmare you had to keep it far out of your thoughts. Distract your mind with other things. Conjure a nice dream for yourself. A dream about you and the shadowsinger. 

A dream where the two of you could just exist together. With no worries, no foreboding feelings in your hearts, just you and him, and your family, and happiness. 

Slowly that disturbed twisting feeling of unease faded away, and you closed your eyes. Ready for sleep to take you away.

Then it rushed you. 

Darting out from whatever crevice it had been lurking in. Invading your mind, taking hold of your senses. 

It tore apart your dream, cracked open your fabrication, and sent a shockwave through your system. It felt like the magic under your skin flinched. 

You gasp, eyes snapping open as you sit up. 

You feel Azriel’s hands on your shoulders, then you see his face in front of yours. Hazel eyes darkened with worry. 

It had been hiding from you, waiting for you to let your guard down. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab you and pull you into its never-ending darkness. 

It snapped your dream world in half. 

You shiver. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You confess to him. “It’s like it has a mind of its own.” 

Azriel’s hands grip you tighter and pull you into his chest. His wings cocooning you. “We’ll go see the sisters first thing in the morning. You can give it back to Elaine. Let her deal with it.” 

You swallow. Knowing that wasn’t an option. It would destroy her. And in turn, destroy Feyre. 

He reads your face. “You think you need to keep it? That because of your abilities you have some obligation to? You don’t. What if your abilities make it worse? At least, with Elaine it can’t take form.” 

You don’t voice your thoughts, you can’t fight with him. 

You don’t say that it would eat the newly turned Fae alive in her fragile state. Pick away at her mind until there was nothing left. That you at least had a fighting chance against it, even if you hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.

But you don’t need to say anything, not when he could see it all in your eyes. The shadowsinger sighed, so frustrated, so powerless, he wanted to do so much more, wanted to ease your stress, but he didn’t know how other than by being with you. Offering you his support.

It didn’t feel like nearly enough. 

He held you the rest of the night. 

*****

You’d abandoned sleep. Until you could find a way to counter this thing, to keep it caged, you would stay awake. 

You were very experienced in nightmares, probably the most experienced. You could manifest the perfect nightmare for any person, reduce the finest warrior into a sniveling coward at your feet. But you’d never taken somebody's nightmare before. Never had to hide from someone else’s fears.  

Even if you wanted to give it back to Elaine, you wouldn’t know the first thing to do. It was very different than twisting someone’s fears. 

So for the past week, you’d been doing research. Re-reading those books from Helion, scouring the library for anything else that mentioned dreams, nightmares, or the subconscious. When your brain needed a break from words you trained your body. Joining Cassian from time to time. 

The training backfired miserably, making you more tired, body aching with fatigue every hour, minute, and second of the day. 

But you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t go in that cauldron again. Not when it could hold you there. Keep you from waking. And even though Rhys had started sleeping at the House of Wind to ensure that you wouldn’t be trapped, you couldn’t risk it. 

You didn’t know if it would continue to attack you, like normal nightmares did, you had no way of knowing what its next move would be. It didn’t act like anything you’d encountered before. 

It could attack someone else next time, attack Azriel. 

That thought alone was enough to keep you awake for the past week. 

But with each passing day, keeping your eyes open got harder and harder. 

“You can’t let this continue.” 

Azriel hadn’t even noticed his brother’s presence. You’d taken all of his focus, diminished the spymaster to a man who couldn’t even hear Cassian’s footsteps. Which were not at all quiet.

The two Illyrians watch you from the library doorway. You sat with a multitude of books scattered around you, the one you were currently reading almost wider than the length of your hand and you were already halfway through. They watch your eyelids slowly fall, watch you try to fight it by blinking rapidly and shaking your head. 

Azriel was in full agreement with Cassian. This couldn’t go on.

Azriel feels hopeful when your eyes finally close, you’re head falling back against the sofa cushion. He holds his breath as he waits for you to sink deeper into sleep, not daring to make a sound in fear of startling you awake. But you shoot up a moment later.

Eyes flying open as you grab the couch like you had to catch yourself from falling. Head snapping to and fro as you frantically search for something that isn’t there. Harshly rubbing the sleep from your eyes over and over, but it only makes your eyes burn with a fire that could only be sated by letting them shut. 

In a moment of desperation, you grip your wrist, letting the sharp claws dig into your arm. Repressing the sleep in your system with pain.

Your hand is snatched away.

“Stop!” Azriel yells panicked. Watching as blood began to drip down your arm. “Fuck. Cassian can you-“ 

His brother was already handing him a first aid kit.

The sounds of shaky breaths and ruffling bandages fill the room. You don’t look at him as he wraps your arm, so mortified, so embarrassed he had to see you this way. That anyone could see you this way. So weak.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either. So much emotion filled his face. 

So much worry, and love, and sadness. 

Then his eyes harden. “You need to sleep.” You try to shake your head but can't with his grip on you. “It’s not a suggestion.” 

Tears fill your eyes. No. You can’t. Not when you knew it was salivating at the thought. If it managed to kill you in your sleep, only the Gods knew what could happen. If that horror would be unleashed on the world. 

You couldn’t risk it. You wouldn’t. 

At first, the shadowsinger was torn on what to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of ordering you to suffer. Still can’t. But you were suffering anyway. He couldn’t watch you deteriorate anymore. 

He would sacrifice your trust in him if it meant you were healthy.

 

*****

Dinner was quiet, Rhys and Amren were busy. So that left you, Azriel, Mor, and Cassian. The Acheron sisters ate in their rooms and kept to themselves, though you had seen the older sister a few times. She joined you in the library every once in a while. She never spoke, never looked your way, but she stayed.

“You look like shit.” Mor had said when she saw you, slapping a hand over her mouth as if realizing she spoke aloud. Leave it to Mor to speak the truth.

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, wanting to send her a smile to let her know you didn’t take it to heart but could only find the energy to slide ungracefully into the chair next to her. 

Mor turns to you, forgetting her full plate of food. “Gods, look at you!” You tense as she reaches for your face, fingers brushing the bags under her eyes. Her touch made sleep slowly enter your system again. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” She asks as if she didn’t know the answer to that question. Which she most certainly did. 

You don’t have it in you to say anything so instead you start shoveling the tasteless food in your mouth. Forcing yourself to swallow it even though it felt like you were chewing chalk. 

“You know we’re here for you, don’t you?” She continued, and the food became increasingly hard to swallow with every word she spoke. “You don’t have to fight this alone, it wasn’t even your battle to begin with.” 

Your heart drops at her words. Not your battle? 

That’s right, this all started with your selfish need to feel useful. So you wouldn’t have to lay around like a weakling. All you did was make everything worse. Of course, you did.  

You reach for your water when you feel the food start to rise back up. The water doesn’t help. Your whole body starts to feel clammy, and your head starts to spin. 

So you pause leaning back to take a few slow deep breaths through your nose, swallowing the spit that didn’t stop gathering in your mouth.

“Feyre would hate to see you like this.” 

Those words were the final blow.

You jump from your seat, hand on your mouth as you dash out of the dining room. Running for the nearest bin, the house seemed to hear your inner pleas because a bucket was waiting for you in the hallway. You fell to your knees in front of it. Too busy hurling up all the food you just ate to cry out at the pain of your kneecaps slamming into the stone floor.

You feel his warm gentle hands on you. Softly rubbing your back, and pulling away your hair. Waiting patiently for you to finish heaving. 

When you could breathe without gagging you leaned into him, letting him wipe your face with his sleeve. Ruining the fine shirt he wore. “Can you call Madja? Tell her I need another tonic?” 

The little shots of energy that’d kept you standing the last two days, were all you could think of. You needed them before it was too late. Before a week's worth of sleep could catch up on you. 

Before that thing was free to roam.

Azriel looks to Cassian, expression grim, and he nods. The general was rushing off the next second. You hope he’s getting Madja.

A moment later Cassian was running back over and crouching beside you, pushing a glass of water in your hands.  You wanted to protest, remembering how the water hadn’t helped just moments before, but Azriel takes the cup and puts it to your lips. 

“Drink.” You comply. He tilts the cup up and up and up until you drink the final drop. “There you go.” He whispers, setting the cup aside so both of his hands are free to soothe over your body. “That’s it.” 

The effect was swift. 

That magic that was always writhing under your skin begins to slow.  It’s vibrating energy dying out. Until it wasn't even a tingle.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and your heart dropped. What did he do?

Your head becomes foggy, and your body is no longer your own. You can’t fight it as you slump back, can’t do a single thing when your eyes fall shut, can’t even think as your brain powers off. 

All you could do was sleep.

Azriel holds you close to him, lip curling at the smell of your fear permeating through the air. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, though he knew you couldn’t hear him now. 

“It will work,” Mor said from where she leaned against the wall, watching you with a solemn look on her face. She, along with everyone else in the inner circle, was on board with the idea the moment Madja brought it up earlier in the week.

“It better.” He was reluctant until today, until he watched you hurt yourself. The fact that you couldn’t keep your food down was the cherry topper.

Azriel just hoped the Faebane in your system would last longer than the sleeping tonic.

The drug succeeded in quelling your magic, succeeded in its purpose of ridding your mind of that awful thing. But it also succeeded in other things. 

Without your magic, you were unable to conjure a happy dream for yourself. 

Leaving you trapped in your very own nightmare. 

*****

Your mother smiled with pride as she adjusted your hair. “Every male will want you.” Your whole life had led up to this moment, everything you had been taught was for this night. The night a male would choose you. 

The night you would submit. 

 So why weren’t you excited? 

“Stop that frowning. It’s unsightly.” Your mother leads you to a mirror. A pressure settles on your chest when you look at yourself. 

The sheer white gown did nothing to hide your body. Giving anyone who looked a full view of what was underneath. Your face was painted, your skin shaved and silky—glowing from whatever substance she’d lathered on you—and your wings were spread wide, fluttering at a pace that made every intricate design viewable. 

Your mother looked the happiest you’d ever seen her. The expression uncanny on her. “They won’t be able to keep their hands off you.” 

You felt something inside you twist at the thought. 

“Mother?” You say before you can think better of it. She meets your eyes through the mirror. She looked at you like you were a trophy, an object to be displayed not loved. Not that you ever knew the difference.

I don’t want to do this. 

The words were right there. At the forefront of your mind. All you had to do was give them a voice. 

But it was like your lips were wired shut. Your mouth doesn’t move, your voice doesn’t work. You say nothing. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if you had anyway. You didn’t have a choice, you never did.  “Don’t worry, child, none of the others can compare with your beauty. You will not be left unpicked.” 

Her words brought you no solace. 

You hold your chin high, as she leads you out of the hut and toward the growing horde. You make sure you stand straight, shoulders squared like you had been taught. Make sure your hips swayed just slightly, just enough to keep their attention like your mother had shown you. 

Make sure your teeth don’t grit, and your legs don’t shake. Make sure your wings don’t twitch, and your smile doesn’t fall.

Your mother parades you around for every male to see. Laughing at some of the comments they made, insinuating banter between the rowdy ones, reveling in the way they fought over you. 

With each laugh, each yell, each claim made upon you that pressure in your chest grew. Except it wasn’t just in your chest now, it was in your stomach, and in your head, and under your skin.

Your wings folded subconsciously, making your mother sink her sharp claws into your wrist. Not enough to bleed, she wouldn’t ruin all her work, but enough to hurt. Enough to make your wings snap back open. 

Is this really it?

The feeling gets worse when she leads you toward the other women, and then it doubles when she leaves to sit with the onlookers. Not so much as a goodbye, or even a second glance as she walks away. 

Your heart pounds as you blend yourself in with the sea of white. 

Maneuvering through the women was easy, each and every one of them was silent, tense, and scared. You try not to look at their faces for too long, didn’t want to be able to notice which ones were missing once everything was over. 

It wasn’t uncommon for males to lose themselves to the night, last year seven woman were found dead. Brutalized.

You swallow, heart beating so loud, so fast, it’s all you can hear. It drowns everything out. 

I don’t want to do this. 

You don’t hear the horn blow. You only know it did when everyone around you began heading through the woodline. You almost trip over yourself as you dash forward. You had to run. You had to hide before the second horn blew. You had to make it till dawn. 

Your bare feet don’t feel the sharp rocks and sticks that stab into them. Adrenaline fills your body, pumping through your blood, and muscles. Blocking out the pain.

The shimmering barrier is what makes you come to a stop. You’d never seen them before, the wards that kept your community safe, but there was no denying it. That wall of energy was where your colony ended.  

Beyond it, death was inevitable. 

There was no hope in flying, male wings are much different from females. Stiffer, sharper, stronger, the males would always be superior in the sky. 

So you stay on the ground hiding in a nearby thicket just on the edge of the wards. Arms hugging your knees to your panting chest, making yourself as small as possible. 

 You hoped nobody would search this far. But you knew the males in your community. They stop at nothing and do anything to get what they want.  

When a distant scream echoed through the woods you knew you’d missed the second horn. The males were already hunting. 

You hold yourself tighter, trying to force slow breaths in your nose and out of your mouth. Frantically trying to slow down your palpitating heart. But it felt like you weren’t getting air. Your whole body was shivering from the adrenaline, that pressure still building. 

You would get found by the sound of your breathing if you kept it up.  

“No! Ple-!” Your head snaps in the direction of the scream, much closer than the other one. You try not to think about how it cut off so suddenly, about what could’ve happened to her. What could’ve made her object to a male.

You just need to make it till dawn. Just need to keep hiding. For six more hours. 

It was hopeless, there wasn’t nearly enough ground to give the women a fighting chance. The men greatly outnumber the women, making the former even more desperate, even more competitive.

Where was the fun if everyone had a chance at winning?

No, they had to yearn for it. It was what made the Ritual work. 

Your head falls to your knees. 

You don’t want to end up like your mother.

Three years ago your father had grown tired of her, he participated in that year’s Flowering and never spoke to either of you again. As your mother is far from pure, she can not be used in the ceremonies. Instead, she was made a community whore. 

A female for the pent up males who had no luck on Flowering to fuck as they please. 

Your mother always said it was necessary. That all the things your people did, there were reasons for.  

That Flowering Night was a gift, it provided the magic that grew our blooms. The blooms that supplied our only food source. Nectar. 

Of course, you believed her, you’d never known any reason not to. The Middle wasn’t a resourceful place. It was too dangerous to send hunters beyond the wards, and there weren’t even any animals to hunt. Only other monsters. And even they weren’t worth hunting. Bodies usually emaciated with no meat on their bones if any at all. 

It was necessary, but that didn’t mean you wanted to do it. 

You wouldn’t know until much later that your people were just addicts. That hunting wasn’t an impossible thing, not when they had wings. That they could’ve flown to the Day Court to hunt, or even the Winter Court, but they chose not to. Because nothing could ever compare to their precious Nectar. 

Snap. 

Your blood runs cold as an older male sniffs around. Fifteen feet from you. His hard wings make a low buzz as they vibrate against each other with frustration.

The male was a brute, muscle stacked upon bulging muscle. 

You hold your breath as he slowly gets closer, the buzz becoming louder. If he caught your scent, no amount of shrubbery could keep him from finding you. 

He gets closer, and your heart pounds faster. That pressure you feel under your skin now throbbing. Pulsating.

He’s almost ten feet away, if he got any closer he’d undoubtedly smell the fear that left your body in waves.

White dots started filling your vision. You fight with your body to hold it. 

A blessing came in the form of a scream, this one even closer than the last. Your throat constricts trying to force air into your system. Your teeth ache from how tightly you clench your jaw.

The male started in that direction. Your throat burned, your head pounding. 

Just a second more.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from gasping for air. 

The male stops. Then he looks right at you.

You’d never known terror till that moment. 

*****WARNING: until the next scene change dark themes will be depicted such as rape and violence, if you do not wish to read proceed to the next “*****”

He pounced, dragging you out of the bushes by the base of your wings. Even though you don’t struggle.

He throws you to the ground, not wasting a second before straddling your thighs. Pinning down your legs. His hands grip the fabric of your gown, tearing it off your shoulder. You want to cover your body, but instead you lay still. Let him run his filthy hands over your breasts, let them squirm their way between your legs. 

You let him cause it’s all you’ve ever known. 

Even though your mind was screaming.

He is anything but gentle, forcing his way inside, digging around. You can’t stop the cry of pain that leaves you, the tears that fill your eyes, and he moans. Touch becoming rougher, harsher, trying to force another cry from you. 

The pain becomes worse when he adds more fingers, shoving his way though. 

Like he was trying to rip you open.

 His head buries into your shoulder. Sniffing and groaning in your ear. Rutting against you like a wild animal.

Then he bites down, and you scream. 

Your hands find his head and that pressure, that jerking energy under your skin devours him. 

The male collapses, body twitching on top of you. Teeth still embedded in your shoulder. You're stunned for a moment, but that's quickly replaced with revulsion.

Your arms shake with the effort it takes to roll him off of you. Whimpering when his teeth slowly leave your shoulder. 

His hands don't leave you, even though he was now out of reaching distance you could still feel them. Touching, grabbing, digging.

You feel nothing but disgust as you look at the male, watching him mumble, whine, and mewl in his unconscious state. You don’t even get the time to question it, to think about what happened. The heavy footsteps that head your way get closer by the second. 

I don’t want to do this. 

So you don’t. 

For once in your life you disregard all of your teachings. Every rule beaten into you. Each false instinct that’d burrowed into your body. And you run.  

Right past the wards. 

Because you’d rather die than end up like your mother.

You run and you keep running until your lungs are stabbed with pain, until your legs give out from beneath you, and you crash to the ground.  

Your nails dig into the soil as you lay there. To breathe. To think. To cry. 

Maybe you could just wait here till dawn. Maybe then you could go back. Nobody would have to know you even left. 

But the chill of the crooked woods laugh at you. You hear the sound of old trees creaking in the wind, calling you foolish. 

You couldn’t go back, you’d attacked a male. There was nowhere for you now, just death.

Still, there was a senseless part of your brain that hoped this was all a wretched night terror. That any minute now you would wake up to your mom’s voice. And you would be in bed. And Flowering will have already passed. And you wouldn’t have went because your mom knew you didn’t want to. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to go through it either, because of how ruthless the males were. And your life would go on until the next year came around. And maybe then you would be ready. Maybe then you would have accepted it.

The other part of your brain was ready to be done with it all.

“[name]?” 

Your breath catches, unsteadily lifting yourself from the ground. You look around, searching for that familiar voice. 

 “Mother?” 

“[name], my child…” You see her. She was completely bare, something you were used to, her beauty a stark contrast to the spindly trees around her. She walks toward you crouching before you, you sob when she rests a soft hand on your cheek. So, so different from how she usually held you. Then she spoke in such a soft voice, a tone you’d never heard leave her mouth. “You looked so beautiful when you were screaming.” 

The next moment it felt like you were punched in the shoulder, a heat unlike any other burned your skin. You look down to see a blade sticking out of your chest, a shriveled-up hand attached. Not the smooth skin of your mother.

When you look back into your mother's eyes they were no longer hers. Replaced with a milky white that gleamed in the moonlight. The face no longer female or beautiful. It’s skin was stretched taught over its thin bones.

Then as it spoke again with a smile so wide, teeth so rotted, and breath so pungent you knew what it was. 

“Cry for me, child.” It said, sounding like a million different voices at once. 

A creature that preyed on the weak, found pleasure in the act of killing. It cannot be reasoned with, its only joy is to watch the life leave someone’s eyes. To watch people die a sad miserable death in the form of the ones they loved the most.

The Mymic.  

You scream, and it laughs. You scream louder as it twists the blade inside you and then drags. Ripping each nerve, muscle, and vein as slowly as possible. So you could feel each and every tear.

The creature howled in ecstasy as it tore into you, cutting you open endlessly. 

No one would save you, not this time. 

Nightmares don’t have happy endings. 

“So beautiful…” It sighed pulling the blade out of your chest only to play with the blood that pooled out, finger-painting your white gown red. 

*****

He couldn’t stand it, you were so still that Azriel had to keep making sure you were breathing. He holds you against him, unable to keep his hands from wandering, soothing you. Shadows doing the same. 

You’d been sleeping for two days straight. Madja kept assuring him and everyone else that you were okay. That it was a good thing, that your body was responding well to the tonic and catching up on the sleep it needed. 

The Faebane had cleaned out of your system after the first twenty-four hours. But no Hybern soldiers made any appearance, no evil king, not even a flicker in the fae lights.

His head leans against yours, watching your chest lift up and down. He moves a hand to rest there, watching it rise and fall. Finding comfort in the repetitive motion.

Maybe you weren’t made for him. Maybe the cauldron didn’t deem you mates. Maybe he didn’t care.

Azriel was content to just share something so real with you, so raw. 

A bond didn’t make what the two of you had any less intense. He didn’t need to be tethered to you to know what you were feeling. Didn’t need fate to tell him you were the love of his life. 

He’d always pick you.  

A small sound reaches his ears, he was so worried about you that he’d started having audio hallucinations. But then he heard it again, louder this time, and he knew it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Your breathing becomes irregular, another little noise leaving your parted lips. Azriel’s hands rub you soothingly. Waiting patiently for the sleep to fade from your body. Whispering when he could tell you were conscious enough to hear him. “Hey.” He drawls, making sure he's quiet. When you open your gorgeous eyes and look at him his heart stops. “There you are.” 

You blink at him. “You drugged me.” 

Azriel flinches at the words. Actually flinches. Then he nods. 

“My magic… I can feel it now but it was…” 

His hand reaches for yours, feeling relief when you let him take it. He runs his thumb over the smooth skin. “Faebane. We got some when Rhys was captured.” 

You look down at your free hand, willing a small moth to appear there. Checking that everything was working correctly. The moth flies up toward Azriel but it dissipates before it can get far.

You weren’t mad. Quite the opposite. You’d woken up and found yourself relieved. Relieved to see him there next to you. Relieved to be home. 

You weren’t angry because you knew he did it to help not to hurt. Sure, he could’ve gone about it in a different way, maybe presented the idea to you instead of just slipping the drug in your water. But you couldn’t fault him for that either, Azriel was a man of action and few words. 

Still that didn’t stop you from asking. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I didn’t even want to agree to it at first. So little is known about your kind, your magic, there was no telling if the Faebane would even effect you. I didn’t want to risk you getting stuck in that nightmare without the ability to heal.” 

Your eyes widen at the information. If he’d told you that, nothing would’ve gotten you to agree. But he took that chance? Azriel wasn’t a gambler. 

Your face must’ve shown what you were thinking because he continued. 

“Then you hurt yourself and I couldn’t take it anymore, [name]. You needed to get better.” He squeezes your hand. “If I have to fight off a living nightmare so you can get a night's sleep, I will.”

“Did you?” You ask, wondering if the male had made an appearance or the Mymic. 

Azriel shakes his head. You sigh in relief. Ignoring the way your stomach grumbled with hunger, in no hurry to force down tasteless food. No hurry to leave your male. You lay your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You say, and he shakes his head at you in confused questioning. “For letting it get that far.” For not being strong enough to get a grip. 

The shadowsinger holds your head to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He presses his lips against your head, saying the words into your hair. “I wish I knew other ways to help.” 

Your hands grip him. Nails clinging to his bare skin. “I missed you.” The worst part about reliving that Nightmare, was that you hadn’t known he existed. That someone so amazing was out there, and capable of loving you. 

“I never left.” 

taglist <3: @acourtofbatboydreams @xreaderbooksreads @gorlillaglue25 @anuttellaa @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @mybestfriendmademe

[chaosheadspace]

You KNOW I’m gonna request 21 with Dreamling for the kissy prompts 🥺

🤘five-and-dimes

Hello @five-and-dimes, thank you for sending in an ask! Here you go.

At first, Dream does not really notice.

After all, he has so much to do when he finally escapes, and Hob is a welcome distraction, a haven where he shores when his duty and the voices of others become too much, too heavy. Hob is safety, Hob is respite, Hob is a breath after surfacing after diving.

Hob helps him acclimatise again, makes humanity palatable in a thousand tiny morsels. Where Dream still feels cold glass, still tastes stale air, still sees painted stars, Hob slowly but surely replaces one hundred years of solitude with little flickers of colour.

Hob feeds him, just a few bites, of every meal he eats in Dream's presence. At first, Dream is hesitant, but he owes Hob, owes him for his loyalty, and a little food cannot harm him, can it? And Dream is surprised, the first time, how hungry his body is. Not for the offered sustenance, no, but for the care with which Hob offers a forkful of his dinner.

Hob's other offerings are easier to accept.

Soft blankets, clothes, even a black plushie called, according to Hob, mothman. He wraps Dream in warm softness, encloses him in the promise of a barrier between him and the recent past.

Television, which Hob is very enthusiastic about. Shows, films, video games. It runs human emotion through Dream on an infinitesimal scale, one at a time, easy, distinct. He tastes laughter again, fear, sorrow, lust, even allows himself to dip his toes into his sister Despair’s realm, but only briefly. The emotion does not have to be his, when he is watching. It is not overwhelming. He can feel it, and let it go. It leaves him exhausted but better, small chunks of himself puzzled into the cracks the past put there.

But Hob does not touch him, not really.

He offers hugs, and cuddles, and readily lets Dream treat him as part of the sofa, putting his feet or his head or his whole self into Hob's lap. But, Dream realises, he has never really felt Hob's touch. A squeeze on his coat-clad shoulder, at most.

It puzzles him, because Hob readily offers and gives touch to other people close to him, Dream has had time to observe. Tight hugs, claps on the back, ruffled hair, clasped hands in earnest conversation, Hob always reaches for people.

But not for Dream.

He recalls countless situations where Hob changed his mind, though. Tentatively lifted his hand, just to take it away again, uncharacteristically shy. If it is shyness at all.

And so it happens that in the middle of the game show they are supposed to be watching, Dream takes one of Hob's hands, startling him.

Hob turns his head, puzzled, trying to jerk his hand away. Dream does not let him. “Wha—”

“Why do you not touch me?” Dream asks softly. He loosens his hold on Hob's hand, turns it over in his grip and gently smooths his index finger over Hob's palm.

Hob releases a trembling breath. “Dream—”

“Please,” Dream says, even quieter, not looking Hob in the eye. Instead, he watches Hob's fingers curl slightly in the flickering light from the TV, trails the mounds of Hob's fingers from index to pinkie.

Hob switches off the TV sound.

“My hands aren't pretty,” he finally says. “They're not soft. They're warrior’s hands, craftsman’s hands, and I thought—” he swallows. “I thought you've had enough roughness in your life for once.”

Dream smiles, just a little. “Tell me,” he says, taking Hob's hand in both of his, “have you not been gentle with me?”

He raises it, cradled, moon white on sun-kissed. “Will these hands not protect me?”

He places a kiss on the knuckle of Hob's thumb, and Hob takes a sharp breath.

“These hands have fed me,” Dream continues, touching his lips to the pad of Hob's index finger. “They have clothed me, garbed me in blankets to ward off the cold.”

Dream's mouth slowly continues its way, feeling out the shape of Hob's calluses and scars, breathing the words into the space between Hob's fingers.

“Your hands will not harm me,” Dream says, carefully placing Hob's hand palm first against his own cheek, “and neither will you.”

A hitching breath, almost like a sob, and then Hob reaches for him with his other hand, drawing Dream in by the back of his head, twining his fingers into Dream's hair. And Dream goes gladly, leans forward into Hob's warmth, follows the call of Hob's lips with his own, tasting care and love and fierceness all for himself.

Send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

[batboyblog]

https://x.com/magi_jay/status/1812914966560973238?s=46&t=9ilK5pqP73XDblTtTbb4Qg

This post motivated me to try something different: namely, name a good quality about the Democratic Party and its candidate.

Biden’s most admirable qualities are his general wisdom and steadfastness in the face of great challenges. While I might not always agree with EVERY choice he’s made for a number of reasons, I do think he’s shown that he’s much smarter than people give him credit for.

Furthermore, he’s very firm without being either too standoffish or trying too hard. One of the things I hated about his predecessor (I refuse to name him) was just how anxiety inducing and chaotic he was, something that sucks for me since I’m a very skittish person even if I try not to be.

Biden is steadfast and (media aside trying to make a conflict on him) has never made me feel like I’m on unstable ground. He’s like a rock in the storm:

Stand by him, and we’ll weather through the chaos.

I mean in part thats why I do my weekly lists of what Biden et al are up to, because every week, EVERY single week its something huge and transformative, for the first time in my lifetime people can write "The Case for Climate Optimism" we have a government pledged to ending hunger in this country reduce homelessness by 1/4th by next year we are doing big things in this country

a few political speeches are the pole stars of my politics, the center of what I believe in.

Harvey Milk's Hope speech "I know you cannot live on Hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living" tells me and teaches me to always be for something not just again stuff, and to always be the happy warrior, gotta give 'em hope.

Ted Kennedy's 1980 DNC speech "the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die." to always get back up and get into the ring, its not never over till you give up, the Dream Shall Never Die how ever dark it gets if you hang into it with both hands

but most importantly is Ann Richards 1988 DNC Speech, if you've never heard it, you should:

I’m a grandmother now. And I have one nearly perfect granddaughter named Lily. And when I hold that grandbaby, I feel the continuity of life that unites us, that binds generation to generation, that ties us with each other. And sometimes I spread that Baptist pallet out on the floor, and Lily and I roll a ball back and forth. And I think of all the families like mine, like the one in Lorena, Texas, like the ones that nurture children all across America. And as I look at Lily, I know that it is within families that we learn both the need to respect individual human dignity and to work together for our common good.  Within our families, within our nation, it is the same. And as I sit there, I wonder if she’ll ever grasp the changes I’ve seen in my life -- if she’ll ever believe that there was a time when blacks could not drink from public water fountains, when Hispanic children were punished for speaking Spanish in the public schools, and women couldn’t vote. I think of all the political fights I’ve fought, and all the compromises I’ve had to accept as part payment. And I think of all the small victories that have added up to national triumphs and all the things that would never have happened and all the people who would’ve been left behind if we had not reasoned and fought and won those battles together. And I will tell Lily that those triumphs were Democratic Party triumphs.

It is always worth it to fight, however hard it is, however bitter it may feel in the moment to take half a loaf or a part payment, it is always always always ALWAYS! better to take a half step forward than not to move at all, because its not chess, its not a game, its people's very lives

as to what I like about Joe Biden? I could say a lot of things, he's a guy the world has knocked down a lot of times, a lot of struggles and personal tragedies that in someone else could make them hard hearted and cold, but I see a guy who always takes the time to listen

thats who is, always to see Joe on a rope line talking to people is to understand their cares are truly his, he truly and I promise you this wants what's best for people.

and just for a second remember who he's running against, who that guy is on the most basic level, saying he couldn't have raped that woman she's too ugly

so do you want a President who stops everything to tell a kid its gonna be okay, that that kids can do anything, and gives him his phone number and calls him to help, or you want the guy who tells your kids "when you're famous they let you do it, grab 'em by the pussy" up to you.

[juanarc-thethird]

IS NOTHING!!!

Cinder: *Writing* I didn't want to eat with him, but I didn't have a choice

- Day dreaming -

Cinder is sitting in one of the dining room chairs. The room is decorated with the finest things she has ever seen. Across the small table from her, sat the most heroic knight, Sir Arc.

Jaune: You look beautiful~

Cinder: FUCK YOU! (Of course I look beautiful)

Cinder was wearing a beautiful black dress with hints of red. Just the size of her, a gift Sir Arc gave her. Cinder, feeling "pressured" by the gift, had put it on him.

Cinder: (How I'd rather wear my clothes, and not this silly pretty dress)

Cinder looks at her food and a question leaves her mouth.

Cinder: I bet you poisoned this

Jaune doesn't say anything, but takes a piece of her food. Thus proving that the food is actually safe to digest. Cinder then tastes the food.

Cinder: (Damn~💕 The food is just as good as it looks!)

But that thought only makes her angrier.

Cinder: (Who does he think he is! I don't need his fancy food!)

Jaune smiles at her. A sexy evil smile that highlighted his sensual jawline.

Cinder: *Blushing* (Damn it! I can't keep thinking like this. He literally kidnapped me! I mean, I was trapped in that tower with that evil Witch, but I never asked for this! I don't need him! His beautiful home! His delicious food! Or his beautiful dresses! Or the fact that I finally felt loved for the first time in years!!)

Jaune: Something bothers you, my love?

He says as he takes her hand, touching it lovingly.

Cinder: *red* (Damn it! I don't need this!)

she says to herself

Cinder: (I'm an independent warrior! I hunt for myself and I always will. I'll plot my escape... Just as soon as he stoops looking at me with those piercing...)

Jaune: *Worry* Cinder, are you ok?

Cinder: (Beautiful...)

Jaune: *Gets closer and puts his hand on her forehead* You're very red, do you have a fever?

Cinder: (Eyes~💕)

Jaune: Maybe you should lie down.

He lifts her in his arms like a princess to her bedroom.

Cinder: *Hold on to him tightly with a blush on her face* (God damn it!, I hate him...

- Back to Reality -

Salem: Cinder, what are you doing in your room?

Cinder: *Panics* NOTHING!!

She screams while trying to hide what she was writing

[silverthehedgehoganalysis]

Here is a list of traits Silver has shown in the games, Sonic Channel and other Sonic Team made content:

Righteous, has a strong sense of justice and is driven to make things right

Kind-hearted, puts other people’s happiness before his own and will drop his mission to help others, is motivated by his desire to protect smiles, wants to use his powers not for himself, but to help others.

Extremely Determined

Optimistic and Hopeful, believes there’s always a chance as long as you don’t give up, inspires hope in the people he works with in Forces, the final story of Sonic 06 and when he helps Elise through her performance anxiety

Pure, has a “sincere, unpretentious and kind” demeanor and wears his heart on his sleeve, this genuineness and purity gives him an “enduring charm” that is one of the biggest things his friends, particularly Blaze, enjoy about him and makes others want to support him

Forthright, is very direct and frank with people and has a straight to the point mentality, is straightforward in his actions and thinking

Earnest and blunt to the point of naivety, expects people to believe and cooperate with him when he says he’s from the future, hides very little and is so honest that he announces himself when attacking Sonic

Not trusting post 06, doesn’t give Sonic a Chaos Emerald until he proves he’s real in Sonic Generations and is the most suspicious of Dodon Pa

Snide and Sarcastic, sneers at Eggman’s theme park in Sonic Colors and has a snotty attitude towards anyone he can one up, remarks “What am I doing?” when going with Amy

Brash, has rude/informal mannerisms and can be abrasive, particularly to people who are not his allies

Juvenile, described as young and immature by his creator Shun Nakamura, this immaturity ties into many aspects of his character as well as his purity but is also the source of his snotty attitude and rude behavior, supposedly he doesn’t like green peppers which is the Japanese equivalent of children not liking broccoli 

Focused, proactive and practical mindset, seen particularly throughout Sonic Forces

Focused on his goals, Does not care what the plan is called in Forces, only that it works and when asked about his favorite race item he says that he likes Jade Ghost because “It lets him disappear and focus on the race”

Inquisitive and proactive, questioned others about how the world was destroyed in the Iblis future his whole life, fought Iblis to try and clear the sky himself, spent most of Team Sonic Racing cracking down on Dodon Pa and Eggman, reads into “Ancient Wisdom” in the good future

Sharp and intuitive, Figures out how to revive Sonic in 06, sees through Eggman Nega's disguises by noticing small details, does successful detective work in Sonic 06 and Team Sonic Racing, intuits Blaze trying to control great powers when seeing them for the first time, has solved various puzzles and mysteries by himself, “knows a lot” according to Sonic in Silver’s Sonic Channel introduction story

Skilled and Crafty, skillfully accomplishes various tasks during his Town Missions in Sonic 06, turns his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao in Sonic Rivals 2, Vector refers to him and Blaze as professionals in the Team Vector Nintendo Dream interview, has had jobs as a delivery boy, a figure skater, a “genius” skating coach and a butler

Trains off-screen and makes steady efforts to improve his abilities, seems to be self-taught in his skills 

Sometimes takes everything on himself

Warrior with a warrior mentality, described as a warrior, enjoys fighting and will fight his friends for fun, fought and struggled for half his life in the Iblis future, values bravery and facing things head on, dislikes cowardice and indirect tactics, can endure “pain beyond description” and is undeterred by injuries (Shadow’s infamous kick to the head only made him mad)

Competitive and proud/confident in his abilities, has a smug attitude about his abilities and can get competitive over something as simple as handling Orbot and Cubot, clashes with Blaze the first time(s) they meet because of this

Headstrong and Confrontational, confronts Infinite alone because of this, gets offended when Blaze she calls him “weak” and treats him like an amateur 

Very Emotional, tends to rush in and deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings and start confrontations because he gets heated, his passion drives him forward but this same passion can cause him to be rash as his actions are dominated by his feelings

Hot Tempered and impatient, can be easily angered and gets frustrated or indignant when things don’t go his way, can get annoyed at things that get in the way or impatient with things that aren’t to the point, his sense of justice causes righteous indignation at great injustices, his temper can be quite similar to Blaze’s

Has Aggressive energy in both his demeanor and body language, generally has confident or determined expressions, often makes fists, punches things when he's frustrated and gets up by punching the ground

Can be Ruthless, has resorted to playing possum, sneaking past Soleanna guards, robbing people and killing to accomplish his goals

Courageous to the point of being Reckless, puts other’s safety before his own, instantly reacts to protect those around him when attacked in Sonic Comic, Instantly battle ready when surprised in Generations, fought against Iblis and its monsters from a very young age growing up in an extremely hazardous devastated future, both values bravery and dislikes cowardice, recklessly went off to face Infinite on his own and is noted to not back down even in the face of his mighty power, will sacrifice himself without a second thought if necessary

His way of life inspires others and makes them want to cheer him on, this even extends to real life as the illustration at the top this post inspired everyone in the office to give him a high five that day

Cannot lie but can change the subject

Doesn’t know how to explain/express himself at times

Scratches his head with his index finger when processing his thoughts

Feels joy and anger loudly but is quiet in sadness and contemplation

Gets rowdy, riled up and puts his all into things he’s feeling but is very low and quiet when something is on his mind or he’s feeling down(He’s totally autistic, this is autistic volume)

Has a mischievous side

Like apples, ate apple flavored rations in the Iblis future

Deeply appreciates peace, prosperity and people‘s smiles, beautiful vistas and people living peacefully leave him breathless

His desire for peace is seemingly driven by strong empathy for both the people and environment around him, blue skies make him feel at peace, natural beauty and people living prosperously takes his breath away, desolate or destroyed areas sadden and upset him, he can’t help but smile when he makes others smile and can’t stand to see the suffering in his destroyed futures

Has a very quiet, introspective and empathetic side (he deeply and quietly reflects on the morality of his mission throughout 06 and quietly takes in everything about Elise’s past)

AB blood type meaning that he's dual natured and adaptable based on the situation

Is a Taurus