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[grillpartshub-blog]

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[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter One

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.6k

Masterlist | Next

You awaken to the familiar yet deteriorating landscape of the Dreaming. For years, your narcolepsy has transported you daily into this realm—a realm that, despite its barrenness and brokenness, has become your sanctuary. The muted grays and browns are beautiful to you, in a special way, but you know that the true majesty of the realm cannot emerge without its master, Dream. A being you've never met and only heard stories of. Yet, despite its decay, you have forged friendships here, finding solace among its inhabitants.

You walk through the desolate meadow, the grass crunching underfoot like dried paper. The sky is a dull, oppressive gray, reflecting the sea of sand and rock that neighbors the palace ruins. Your destination is the Library, a place that has barely managed to retain some semblance of order thanks to Lucienne’s tireless efforts. As you approach the grand, time-worn doors of the library, you feel a pang of sorrow for the state of this once magnificent realm.

“Lucienne?” you call out, your voice echoing through the cavernous hall as you step inside.

From behind a towering stack of books, Lucienne appears, her face lighting up with a weary smile when she sees you. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you would pop up. How are you today?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “It’s hard to see the Dreaming like this. It feels like a part of me is withering along with it and it was already withering to begin with.”

Lucienne nods, her expression somber. “We all feel it. The absence of Lord Morpheus has taken a toll on this realm. But we must hold on to hope. Things may yet change.”

"It's been over a century, Luce," You point out, "I've been visiting for at least a decade and we've never seen hide nor hair of him. What— what if he's not coming back?"

Lucienne sighs softly, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf. "Maybe not," she admits. "But we can't give up...we must continue searching."

All of the residents that remain, a precious few, were adamant that Dream would return. You believed them, you truly did, but what being abandoned their people like this?? Something terrible must have happened, it was the only explanation you can think of. You were staying strong and hopeful for them, after all, the Dreaming was there home. It was only a temporary place for you to wander until you rouse from your episode. As you ponder what you would do next in this dream, the palace creaks and shakes, the sounds of more stone breaking off and falling to the ground greets your ears.

"Perhaps it would be best if you get out of the palace and visit the brothers? Maybe play with Gregory?" Lucienne offers to you, hoping to get you out of the crumbling palace before you decided to were going to spend your time assisting Mervyn.

"But what if Mervyn—" The librarian cuts you off with a stern look over her spectacles. You glance at Lucienne, her stern expression brooking no argument. With a resigned sigh, you turn and head out of the library, feeling the cool air of the Dreaming settle against your skin. The path to Cain and Abel’s house winds through the remnants of what once was a lush garden, now overrun with thorny vines and twisted trees. At least that's what Mervyn had told you.

As you approach the brothers’ abode, you hear a faint rustling sound followed by a series of thuds. Rounding the corner, you find Gregory tangled up in a net of brambles, his wings flapping uselessly as he tries to free himself.

“Gregory!” you exclaim, rushing to his side. His large, expressive eyes brighten when he sees you. Like a giant puppy, he chirps at you and wiggles his body. You chuckle softly as you begin to untangle the brambles from around his wings. “What happened this time?”

Gregory chirps again, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and sheepishness. You carefully work your way through the tangle of brambles, pulling each thorny vine away from his stone skin. The gargoyle’s weight shifts as he tries to help by flapping his wings, but it only makes the process more cumbersome.

“Hold still, Gregory. You’re not making this any easier,” you mutter with a half-smile.

He lets out a low rumble, a sound that almost seems like an apology. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to free him. Gregory stretches his wings wide and gives a joyful hop, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Feeling better?” you ask, brushing off your hands.

Gregory nods vigorously, then nuzzles your shoulder with his large head. His granite skin is always surprisingly warm against your own.

You laugh softly and give him a pat. “Come on, let’s find Cain and Abel.”

The two of you make your way toward the brothers’ house, Gregory trailing close behind like an oversized shadow. As you approach, you hear the unmistakable sound of an argument brewing inside. The voices grow louder until you can make out individual words.

“It was mine! You had no right to take it!” Abel’s voice trembles with indignation.

Cain’s reply is sharp and dismissive. “You never appreciate what you have! Someone needs to teach you a lesson!”

You exchange a knowing glance with Gregory and push open the door. Inside, Cain stands over Abel, who is clutching something close to his chest—a small, tattered book by the looks of it. Both brothers freeze when they see you.

“Is everything alright here?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Cain straightens up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just a little brotherly disagreement,” he says coolly.

Abel’s eyes dart between Cain and you before he speaks up in a softer voice. “He took my journal. I was writing in it, and he just—”

“It’s just a book,” Cain interrupts with a wave of his hand. “No need to get all worked up about it.”

You step closer to Abel and gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Abel, would you like to show me what you’ve been writing?”

He hesitates for a moment but then nods slowly, opening the journal to reveal pages filled with neat handwriting and detailed sketches—mostly of Gregory in various playful poses.

“These are wonderful,” you say genuinely, flipping through the pages. “You have real talent and Gregory is a stellar model!”

Abel blushes slightly under the praise while Cain rolls his eyes but doesn't comment further on the topic. Cain then suggests you stay for tea, his tone surprisingly warm. "Why don't you join us for some tea? Abel's been perfecting his recipe."

You nod, sensing the tension ebbing away. "I'd love to."

Abel beams and scurries off to prepare the tea. Gregory settles down near the hearth, his tail curling around his feet like a giant cat. You take a seat at the table, watching as Cain busies himself with setting out cups and saucers.

"So," Cain begins, filling the kettle with water. "What brings you here today?"

"Lucienne thought I needed a break," you say, leaning back in your chair. "She suggested visiting you and Abel."

Cain chuckles. "Smart woman. This place can be a bit... intense."

Abel returns with a tray of biscuits just as Cain sets the kettle on the stove. He places the tray in the center of the table and sits down across from you, his expression shy but hopeful.

"I hope you like them," Abel says quietly. "They're Gregory's new favorite."

You smile and reach for a biscuit, breaking it in half and offering a piece to Gregory. The gargoyle's eyes light up as he delicately takes the treat from your hand, chewing with surprising grace.

"These are delicious, Abel," you say after taking a bite of your own half. The biscuit is buttery and sweet, with just the right amount of crunch.

Abel's face lights up with pride. "Thank you! I've been experimenting with different ingredients."

The kettle whistles, and Cain pours steaming tea into each cup before passing them around. You take a sip, savoring the warm, fragrant brew.

"So," Cain says after a moment of silence, "how have things been with managing your narcolepsy Have your doctors come up with any new treatments?"

You take another sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through you. "It's been challenging," you admit. "They've tried a few new medications, but nothing seems to make a significant difference. I'm still visiting the Dreaming just as often."

Cain nods, his expression thoughtful. "It must be difficult, living between two worlds like that."

"It is," you agree, "but the Dreaming feels like a second home now. Even with its current state, there's something comforting about it."

Abel looks up from his tea, curiosity in his eyes. "Do you ever meet anyone else in your dreams? Other than us, I mean."

You think back to the fleeting faces and shadowy figures you've encountered over the years. "Occasionally. Most of them are just passing through, I think. But there are a few regulars."

Cain raises an eyebrow. "Regulars?"

You nod. "People who seem to visit the Dreaming as often as I do. We don't always interact, but there's a sense of familiarity. Like we’re all taking the same bus to work.”

Gregory nuzzles your arm again, reminding you of his presence. You smile and give him another biscuit piece.

"Maybe they’re like us," Abel muses, stirring his tea absently.

"Maybe," you say, watching Gregory's eyes follow the crumbs that fall from your hand.

Cain leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, if you ever need a break from your other world, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you," you say sincerely.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as you all enjoy your tea and biscuits. The tension that had filled the air earlier has dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie.

After a while, Abel stands up and starts clearing the table. Gregory helps by nudging dishes towards him with his nose.

"You know," Cain says thoughtfully, "I've been working on something in the garden. Would you like to see it?"

Your curiosity piqued, you nod eagerly. "I'd love to."

He leads you outside to a small patch of land behind their house where he’s cultivated a modest garden despite the Dreaming’s decay. It's filled with strange and beautiful plants that seem to shimmer in the dim light.

"It's not much," Cain says modestly, "but it's something to focus on."

"It's wonderful," you say sincerely, admiring the vibrant colors and unusual shapes.

Gregory chirps happily beside you while Abel joins Cain's side with a proud smile on his face.

You find yourself at the crumbling gate, alongside Lucienne, helping her clear away some of the rubble that has fallen from the deteriorating structure. The two of you work in  silence, the only sounds being the crunch of debris underfoot and the occasional groan of the ancient walls. Where was Mervyn? He usually helped out with clean up since he was the custodian and grounds keeper.

As you lift a particularly large piece of stone, a sudden gust of wind blows its way past where you stand, carrying with it an eerie, almost tangible sense of presence. You glance at Lucienne, who has frozen in place, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and hope.

“Lucienne?” you begin to ask, but she’s already moving, dropping the rubble she was holding and rushing towards the source of the disturbance. You follow her gaze and see him—Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams—lying amidst a swirl of sand. His dark form contrasts starkly against the desolation around him. Lucienne reaches him first, her voice trembling with a blend of reverence and concern.

“Lord Morpheus!” she exclaims, kneeling beside him. “Sir! Sir!”

You make it to where Lucienne crouches and Morpheus lays. His form is gaunt, his skin pale as moonlight, but his presence is undeniable. Lucienne's hands hover over him, uncertain whether to touch him or not.

“Is he...?” you start to ask, but Lucienne shakes her head.

“He’s alive,” she says, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and disbelief. “He’s come back.”

You watch as Morpheus’s chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. His eyes remain closed, and his expression is one of exhaustion. You kneel beside Lucienne, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“What do we do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. But before Lucienne replies, Morpheus stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open.

Lucienne gasps softly and leans closer. “Lord Morpheus? Sir?” His eyes focus on her slowly as if waking from a deep sleep. When he finally speaks, his voice is weak but unmistakably his own.

“Lucienne,” he whispers. Tears fill her eyes as she takes his hand gently in hers.

“Welcome back,” she says softly.

Morpheus’s gaze shifts to you briefly, a darkness flickering within his eyes before it disappears. You rise to your feet and step a few steps back, unsure of what to do or say. Morpheus slowly rises to his feet, his eyes scanning his surroundings with a distant look. He finally focuses on Lucienne, then shifts his gaze to you. His expression is unreadable, a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Who is this?” he asks, his voice carrying an otherworldly echo.

Lucienne glances back at you before answering. “This is one of our regular visitors. They’ve been coming here for the past decade.”

Morpheus studies you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you visit so often?”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I think we have more pressing concerns at the moment, Lord Morpheus. The Dreaming, she's suffering." Morpheus's eyes bore into you, searching for something unspoken. You hold his gaze, standing your ground even as the weight of his presence presses against you.

"You're right," Morpheus finally concedes, his voice a shadow of its former strength. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He turns to Lucienne. "What has happened here?"

Lucienne hesitates, glancing at you before she begins. "After your disappearance, the Dreaming started to decay. Parts of it have crumbled away entirely."

You nod in agreement, stepping forward. "We’ve been doing our best to maintain it, but without your presence, it’s been difficult."

Morpheus looks around, his expression hardening as he takes in the desolation. He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers against a nearby fragment of stone, and you see a flicker of energy pulse through him. The stone vibrates slightly, as if responding to his touch.

"It will require time to mend," he mutters, mostly to himself. Then he faces you and Lucienne. "But we will reconstruct." Although he directs his words to Lucienne, his eyes focus on you, filled with hostility. You feel unwelcome.

Date Published: 7/10/24

Last Edit: 7/10/24

Masterlist | Next

[doctorsilverhead]

Great! Can I request a G1 Soundwave x Autobot reader, and the two are like arch-enemies in a way? Reader is a hunter, making them sharp and able to block out Soundwave's mind-reading abilities, having been able to track him down on many occasions. Reader also has minicons, one dog-like minicon to track down prey through scent, one owl-like minicon to have eyes on the sky, and one minicon who specializes in making traps. Reader and Soundwave had clashed many times, but one day, when reader wanted to take a day off with their minis. Reader went to a quiet forest, and ends up encountering Soundwave who also was having a day off. Not having the energy to fight, the two agree on a temporal truce and allow the minis to play with each other. Maybe the two end up sharing funny stories about their kids.

An Unexpected Truce (G1 Soundwave X Autobot Reader)

In the ever-evolving landscape of current events, where the lines between allies and adversaries blur, an unlikely encounter unfolds. Amidst the tranquil embrace of a secluded forest, two formidable forces find themselves on common ground, if only for a fleeting moment.

The Reader, a skilled hunter with a sharp intellect and an uncanny ability to evade Soundwave's mind-reading prowess, has tracked their arch-nemesis down on countless occasions. Accompanied by their loyal minicons – a canine tracker, an avian scout, and a master of traps – the Reader has proven to be a formidable adversary.

Soundwave, a towering figure with a reputation that precedes him, is no stranger to the Reader's relentless pursuit. Their clashes have been the stuff of legends, each encounter leaving an indelible mark on the annals of their ongoing conflict.

However, drained from the constant battles and recognizing a mutual desire for a brief escape from their roles as soldiers, Soundwave and the Autobot reader agreed to a temporary truce.

In a rare moment of understanding, a temporary truce is forged. The minicons, sensing the shift in the air, seize the opportunity to engage in playful antics, their carefree spirits a stark contrast to the weight of their masters' responsibilities.

As the Reader and Soundwave observe their minicons frolicking, a sense of camaraderie begins to take root. Laughter echoes through the trees as they exchange humorous tales of their respective charges, each story a testament to the unique challenges and joys of parenthood, even in the most unconventional of circumstances.

In this fleeting respite, the lines that once divided them blur, and they find solace in the shared experiences that bind them together. The forest becomes a sanctuary, a place where the burdens of their roles can be shed, if only for a brief moment.

Sitting side by side, Soundwave and the Y/N began to exchange stories not of battles and conquests, but of the lighter moments they've experienced with their minicons. Laughter, an uncommon sound on the battlefield, echoed through the forest as tales of mischievous minicons and their antics unfolded. For a brief moment, the forest became a sanctuary where the line between Autobot and Decepticon blurred, replaced by a shared understanding of the bond between a warrior and their companions.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the clearing, the Reader and Soundwave find themselves reluctantly parting ways. Yet, in that moment, they carry with them a newfound understanding – a realization that even in the midst of conflict, there exists a common thread that binds all beings together.

"Maybe you are not much of an ass Megatron says you are." Soundwave said as he gestured it was time for him to go.

[ofsappho]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART II: PAUL

He pressed play on the filmbook viewer again. Before Paul’s eyes, the swamps of Ecaz came back to life, the projected mist swirling through his room so thick he could barely see his hand through it. The boy could almost taste the sweet moss and rich earth on his tongue if he breathed in.

What would it be like, to wander those marshes and see the fogwood bend to his thoughts? To watch weavers knot krimskell rope with their practiced, scarred hands?

Paul swallowed thickly. He’d never be allowed to go off-world until he was older. He passed his hand through the fog again and pretended he could feel beads of water gathering on his palm.

Father had started him that day on his lessons with Hawat. He remembered the weight of the Duke’s hand on his shoulder as his father brought Paul to the study chamber where the old Mentat waited. Before he could turn and ask his father to stay, he was gone. Not even the Duke had time enough now for his heir.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Paul felt ashamed of himself. Father had enough on his plate. What sort of son did he make, gathering resentment? A poor one.

The filmbook switched to the glittering gems that miners could find on Hagal. He sagged back into his chair and watched the images flicker on his wall.

Mother liked to smooth his hair back with a single palm and say in that still-water calm tone of hers that he would be greater than his father someday. Paul brought his knees up to his chin. The lonely dunes of Arrakis replaced the scenes of shining jewels trundling from the depths of Hagal mines.

No one could be greater than Father.

He’d watched the Duke turn down the dimly-lit hallway before the Mentat retainer rapped the table with his wizened knuckles to call his attention.

Thufir Hawat was pleased as always to see him, if a bit gruff in his mannerisms.

He’d set Paul to a variety of tasks that were difficult, at best. Thinking that felt like admitting defeat.

How was he supposed to be the heir to House Atreides when he couldn’t even memorize the endless formulas and calculations Hawat laid out in front of him?

Mother always told Paul he was good at remembering and liked to play games with him over breakfast. What had changed in their dining room that day?

She had endless patience and endless persistence. Thufir had comparatively less of the former and about the same amount of the latter.

He bit back the urge to throw the cup next to him filled with day-old tea at the wall.

Day in, day out. Filmbooks, lessons, meals with Mother.

Even if Paul wanted to leave the compound to explore the same pastures and beaches he’d wandered a hundred times over as a little boy, the chafing security team his father insisted upon would have followed him around.

He wasn’t a little boy anymore. Paul was too old to play around in the sand like a baby.

Last week, he’d pestered Duncan to start his combat training. “I know you think you’re old enough,” the swordmaster had said. “But you’ll have to wait a little longer, Paul.”

It wasn’t fair.

Paul unfolded his lanky frame from the chair to carelessly pick through the steel toy figurines of an Atreides legion on his side-table, now arranged in a battle against a battalion of porcelain Imperial Sardaukar.

The Sardaukar, crouched behind their defense of a stack of filmbooks, were losing.

He could imagine how glorious the battle would be!  Paul Atreides with Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck by his side, victorious, a field of felled enemies before him-

With a random twitch of his hand, he accidentally swept the Atreides soldiers onto the floor.

Paul despised his occasional clumsiness.

The boy bit back a sigh as he bent to collect the fallen figures.

He studied one of the toy soldiers, the battle lance in its hand and the shield on its wrist. Perhaps he ought to steal a shield from the training room. The weapons were kept separately, locked up where only the swordmasters could get them, but the swordmasters kept the shields in locked cabinets. If Paul could show Duncan he knew how to use a shield-

A conspiratorial smile came to his face. With a shield, Duncan would have no good reason not to begin his combat training. The Ginaz swordsman might even cheer him on for his ingenuity.

With that pllan in mind, the young boy turned off the filmbook viewer and slipped out of his chamber, careful not to make a sound as he padded along the gray stone hallways towards the closest training room. The cupboard that housed the shields was only loosely padlocked; shields were hardly the most dangerous things in this wing of the manor.

There was no key to be had nearby. Not that Paul expected one - it wouldn’t be nearly as impressive if he’d simply unlocked the cupboard with little fanfare.

Mother liked to repeat odd little sayings to him with an expression on her face that told Paul he really ought to understand them more than he did. He figured it was some sort of weird Bene Gesserit thing. Sometimes the sayings stuck; other times, they didn’t. “My mind controls my reality.”

He’d come to resent that one. It’s not like if he thought hard enough, Father would see him more often, Duncan would start his combat training, and Thufir’s games would come easier.

The padlock was standard, with knobs and buttons that had to be arranged in precisely the correct pattern and order for it to open. Each time it closed, the pattern and order would change.

Paul had opened these dozens of times if he thought about it.

In his hands, the lock came apart quickly. The remnants were put to the side softly so no servant walking past could hear him rummaging in the cabinet.

Some of the wrist units were dusty, old things probably made in the year he was born. The new shield units were… there!

He reached out and grabbed one that looked like it might fit.

Paul was far too intent on measuring his prize to his wrist to hear the barely-there sounds Duncan made as he snuck up on the boy.

“Paul.”

The swordmaster’s voice, low and rumbly, scared him. Paul tried to hide his instinctive twitch, but from the self-satisfied look on Duncan’s face, he hadn’t succeeded.

Oh no. The shield. The Atreides retainer had already seen it in his hand. He tightened his grip on it and tried to square his shoulders to look Duncan straight in the eye. Much to his dismay, Paul had to tilt his gaze up.

His voice sounded tinny and high in response. “I got it, didn’t I?”

“I’m impressed. You did.” The older man made no move to take the shield from the boy’s death grip. Duncan looked at him sternly for one long moment. A fond chuckle followed, and he reached out to ruffle Paul’s hair. Paul hated it when he did that but could never duck out of the way fast enough. “And you thought stealing this would be a good idea… why?”

He set his jaw and tried for some of Father’s severity and larger-than-life presence. “I know how to use the shield. I’ve got one. You needn’t worry about my safety now, and you have to teach me how to fight.”

One of the man’s scarred eyebrows raised. “Do I?”

“You do!” Why wasn’t Duncan taking him seriously? “I order it.”

“Young master, when you can look me in the eyes without looking up, and your voice drops lower; I’ll consider following your orders. In the meantime, I only follow the orders of your father, the Duke.” The good-natured tone in his gruff voice did little to mitigate the sting of his words.

Paul slammed the shield down on the empty weapons table in frustration. “It’s not fair. I’m not a little boy anymore. And- and if you don’t teach me to fight now, when will I learn? How long do I have to wait?” No, it wasn’t enough for the swordmaster to chastise him like he was a baby. Of course, Duncan had to just stand there and not say anything back to him at all. The lack of response made the boy feel infinitely worse.

“For my father, the Duke, to decide I’m ready? He doesn’t- he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even see me every day.” Paul’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake.

He’d gone too far to back down now.

The warrior broached the distance between them in two long strides.

His large, scarred hand clasped Paul’s jaw in a tight grip, forcing the boy to look up at Duncan’s face instead of staring, shamefaced, at his bare feet.

“You’re a good kid, Paul, so I’ll say this once, and we’ll be done with it. Duke Leto Atreides, your father, is the best man I have ever known. Everything he does, he does for the prosperity of House Atreides. For your prosperity.” Unbidden, tears began to form in the boy’s eyes. He did his best to will them to stop.

“You don’t know anything about what your father, my lord, has done. What he’s sacrificed.”

Even in Duncan’s grasp, Paul kept his jaw tight and shoulders back. His pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything else.

“The Duke may be too busy fending off the Harkonnens to chastise you properly, but I’m not. I’ve allowed you to be a little shit right now in my training room. Do not expect me to permit this behavior going forward.” His tutor let go of him suddenly, and the boy staggered back. “You will sit your studies. You will behave. You will learn how to fight when we deem you ready to learn. Above all, you will not disrespect your father like that again.”

Resentment bloomed in Paul’s chest, hot and heady. He tamped down on it with the control Mother taught him. “I understand.” The bitterness was replaced by painful embarrassment. How immature must he have seemed to the great Duncan Idaho, lashing out like the baby he professed not to be?

Father… Shame coated his throat. His father was out there somewhere in the Imperium, risking his life fighting Harkonnens, and Paul was here in his mother’s wing, throwing tantrums.

The swordmaster’s bearing softened slightly at the sight of Paul’s embarrassment and shame, scrawled plainly across his charge’s face. “I get it. I understand what you’re feeling.” Duncan clapped him on the back. “You’re the heir. One day I’ll serve you. Better you get that outburst out of your system now than let your father see any of it.”

The floor suddenly became very interesting.

He tucked his chin to avoid the older man’s regard.

“I don’t reward bad behavior. You know that. I am, however… impressed that you managed to get into one of the cabinets without the code.” Paul caught a glimpse of the shield in Duncan’s hand as he lifted his head.

He caught the shield band in one hand before he had even realized the man had tossed it at him.

“Get used to wearing that all the time, as we do. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. We won’t be starting live edges. I will see you in this training room every day for practice on your sayaw forms. If you behave, we’ll spar with bokkens.” Elation ran through him. Paul had thought himself well and truly in trouble for a moment there.

Forms training every day was a far better outcome than nothing. He would make Duncan proud. And Father would be proud if Duncan gave him good reports on Paul’s progress.

The Ginaz swordmaster strode from the room. Before he exited, he stopped in the doorway. “Paul…” The boy could see no traces left of sternness left on his rugged, tanned face. “You’ll be alright, kid.”

Paul watched him go.

He thought of the filmbooks. Ecaz. Hagan. Arrakis. All the places he could go one day. Paul looked at the shield in his hand. He would do his best in the classroom with Thufir. He’d show Duncan that he deserved to fight with live edges. Resolution formed in the depths of his mind. Paul would surpass them all.

-

Mother had found him later that week in the same training room. Duncan left much earlier, while Paul elected to stay behind. Pattern after pattern, he whirled on the training mat, weaving around imaginary opponents. The sayaw forms were the foundation upon which the Atreides Eskrima rested.

His skinny limbs ached, and he could feel sweat trickling down his back under his loose tunic, but Paul kept going. Duncan had called the forms a type of dance. While he hated the dance lessons his mother kept him in, the rhythm of the sayaw forms was far more appealing.

A fight had the same beats as a live pulse, he’d found.

The new training regimen gave Paul something to do, a goal to work for. But when he wasn’t training with Duncan or struggling through Thufir’s mind games, the emptiness would creep back in.

Paul would watch filmbook after filmbook on the countless planets of the Imperium. Even anything with information of what lay beyond the Imperium. Anything but the hollowness of the Atreides manor.

Even the promise of live-edge dueling shortly did little to stave off the immense pressure Paul faced when he was alone with himself or the lingering fear that he would never live up to that pressure.

He attempted to take Duncan’s words about his father to heart. The bitterness that welled up inside Paul remained. The Duke deserved a better son, he thought. But he would have to make do with me.

When Mother came to him that afternoon, he could feel the tiniest bit of terror emanating from her serene countenance. Her face was calm as always - yet the slight razor-edge of her fear sent a chill down Paul’s spine. “Paul.”

“Mother,” the boy said, pulling out of his lowered stance to stand up straight, wiping his brow with the edge of his tunic.

She pressed her lips together. “Come. There is someone you must meet.” Without another word, his mother turned away from him sharply.

Curiosity and dread warred for dominance in Paul’s thoughts. His mother, Lady Jessica, was Bene Gesserit and fearless. What could frighten her?

Dutifully, he followed after her. Just as Duncan had taught him that week, he took extra care to make his steps as silent as possible.

The lady stopped abruptly in front of her presence-chamber. Paul could see his mother’s reluctance to enter, though she conquered that reluctance after a moment and pushed the door open. A slip of a girl sat on the bench by the far wall. Her face was blank and hollow under the light of the glowglobe. He thought she looked awfully skinny, even more so than him.

“Paul, this is Chryse. She will be joining our household as my new handmaiden, though she is still in training.”

The boy looked over Chryse once more. His mother rarely took on new handmaidens and always ones that came to her fully trained. Perhaps that knowledge should have put him on guard, but Paul somehow knew he had nothing to fear. The girl’s dark almond-shaped eyes, too large for her face, met his gaze.

He straightened up under her scrutiny. Paul wanted her to… be impressed. “Hello.” The boy tried for the deep resonance of his father’s voice but only sounded gravelly. He winced.

“Hello.” Someone else might have been daunted by the expression on Chryse’s face - like a frozen-over lake on Lankiveil. Lankiveil’s eternal winter was inconceivable to Paul. He’d only seen snow in the filmbooks.

Even around him, his mother’s own look never defrosted. The boy was used to it.

Lady Jessica stepped forward as if to come between them. “She will be joining you for some of your lessons. I’ve already spoken to Duncan. I hope you will come to regard her as a… companion.”

A new sparring partner! Well, that made the girl’s presence chafe less. Paul disliked his mother’s implication that he required a companion. He was doing just fine without one. Then an unexpected wave of giddiness swept away his dislike. Sparring with Duncan was unfairly one-sided. Paul enjoyed the thought that he could have an opponent against whom he might win. Maybe when she wasn’t attending to his mother or in lessons with him, Chryse would watch filmbooks with him. Paul could show her everything he knew. The girl might command his Sardaukar figurines while he fought her with his Atreides legions. He wasn’t entirely sure how girls acted typically, but his mother’s new handmaiden seemed like she’d be willing to play with him.

Thoughtlessly, he darted over to her and grabbed her hand. Paul dragged her with him as he skipped towards the door. Mother made an odd choked sound in her throat at the sight of the two of them, but he ignored her.

The girl stopped suddenly just before the doorway. He turned towards her and his mother. Why the delay? “Well, come on! You haven’t explored our wing much, have you?”

Chryse looked to his mother for a moment as if silently asking for permission. When she received a nod, the girl turned to look at him once more. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice quavered. To Paul, she sounded like she didn’t speak often. Weird.

“Let’s go!” His mother let them leave her chamber without any words in protest.

The younger girl’s hand was cold in his, but as her palm warmed, she began to match his tight grip.

 When Paul looked back to see if she was paying attention to him, he saw the slightest smile on her face directed at him.

Man tumblr was tweaking when I tried to post this the first time. I had three chapters of this story completed before I dropped it and I'm now writing the 4th. Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @redskull199987 @itsemy01 @blahzaiblahsheep @herebereblogs

[mychlapci]

When Prowl goes to mate with Unicron, he'd need to bond with the Unmaker. Somehow.

Unicron's metal tentacles would just wrap all around him, holding him tightly as he gets lowered to the center of the Earth, where the godspark is. Ans Prowl would be lowered all the way down, past the Unmaker's corona until he's completely engulfed in the dark spark energy.

Prowl could struggle and protest all he wants, but the moment those tentacles pry open his jacks and plug into him, it's game over. He just goes limp as his modesty panels open, blankly deepthroating his soon to be conjunx's appendages as it dribbles mind bending drugs down his intake. Body and mind both falling under the spell of arousal as he starts changing.

As his brain gets so very slowly and thoroughly reprogrammed, each electrical signal just wipes any attempt at conscious thought out of his cerebral circuitry. Smaller tentacles with needle tips would stab themselves into his lines, bleeding him out and simultaneously replacing his blood with the Unmaker's own.

There is a part inside him that's screaming in agony as he loses himself, but it gets smothered with each surge of pleasure as the new code just flows into his defenseless processor. That's when he starts reciprocating, suckling on that tentacle in his mouth. Larger tentacles penetrate his valve with no resistance, his cervical gate opening upon contact, welcoming all of his master's fluids into his warm forge.

As the tentacles slowly frag him, Prowl becomes more and more enthusiastic in his participation, perception of his past life becoming more and more warped. A slim tentacle comes up to his pressurised spike and coil around it, pumping it until he cums, then resuming almost immediately when he stops spasming, intent on milking all of his transfluid out. When his reserves are dry, a much, much thinner tentacle, not unlike the needle-tipped ones, inserts itself into his spike duct, filling his emptied fluid stores with more dark energon.

Brain almost completely fried from the series of intensifying overloads and ongoing stimulation, he's all but a slave to the Unmaker by that point. Every ounce of resistance and reluctance harbored when he came to Earth in Sentinel's stead erased from his thought processes with core-deep code edits.

He's audibly pleading by the time a pair of hollow-ended tentacles latch onto his exposed tits, draining his stores while more injectors penetrate his pouch linings, the pain barely even registering in the ocean of arousal. More tentacles would encircle the rest of his body, sneaking under his plating, twisting his limbs in their sockets, flooding his internals with more fluids.

Time becomes immaterial when locked into cycles of non-stop orgasms; if anything, he's likely spent cycles suspended in the Unmaker's sparkchamber as the dark god croons sweet praises into his head. His body doesn't get a single moment of reprieve, the tentacles ensure that every single drop of fluids in his frame is replaced with dark energon as they continue to violate him. Over time, Prowl's body gets altered to suit his master's tastes, mechanical limbs fucking the changes into his frame, carving out his new and improved form.

His hips are wider, waist denser, wings longer, tits fuller, legs stronger... processor so, so much faster. And when he's deemed sufficiently prepared, only then does Unicron command Prowl to open his chest, baring his virgin spark to the dark spark before him.

And when that corona opens, the barriers between their spark energies are no more. Like an ocean crashing into a bowl, Unicron's spark energy would flood into Prowl's microscopic ember in an instant, sending him into what feels like an eternity of pleasure as the bond takes. Unmade, and finally claimed in not just body and mind, but also in spark. Severed from Primus without the counterinfluence of the Matrix to buffer the connection. Thus, when Prowl dies, his spark would not return to the Allspark, and would instead become a part of the Unmaker's.

And so, when it is time for him to return to Cybertron, there is only one thing on his mind: his master's bidding, which is the downfall of Cybertronian society. The death of his dearest Brother's children at all cost. How fortunate for Unicron that there is no mech better situated than Prowl to orchestrate such a scheme. no? Sentinel really, really.shouldn't have shirked his duty at all.-🔌

Unicron bimbofied Prowl holy shit… Turned him into an irresistible doll that's going to tear Cybertron apart with his bare hands. and beautiful plump thighs,.

[tanoraqui]

I think the way I'd do the Oath of Fëanor in D&D would be modeled on a Paladin Oath except that the 3 or 4 elements of it now replace your subclass elements no matter WHAT class you are. You're not a Wild Magic sorcerer anymore; you're a sorcerer Oath-bound to seek the Silmarils, and if necessary kill anyone who gets in your way. You aren't a Battle Master fighter anymore; you're a fighter Oath-bound to seek the Silmarils, and if necessary kill anyone who gets in your way.

Also, if you want to cast a healing spell - any healing spell, as any class of spellcaster or by using a scroll - you first have to made a WIsdom saving throw vs your own spell save DC (Charisma if you don't have one) in order to reconnect with the part of yourself that isn't just a weapon forged in the conflagration of rage, grief and vengeance.

Elements would be something like,

1 - Oath-Bound: You can spend 10 minutes in meditation in order to sense the general direction of the Silmarils. You can sense the directions of all three of them at once. You may do this accidentally if your mind drifts for long enough; you often wake from sleep or reverie thinking about them.

Also 1 - Enduring Fire: When you go down to 0 HP no you don't, you go down to 1 HP instead. You can do this once per Long Rest. You do not have a choice as to whether or not this happens.

2 - Lighting Sparks, Fanning Flames: You have Expertise on any Persuasion or Intimidation checks relating to the Oath.

3 - Kinslayer: When in direct pursuit of a Silmaril - eg, it's within 120ft of you and you know it - you have Advantage on all attack rolls and make a critical hit on a 19 or 20.

4 - Spirit of Fire: When you roll a natural 20 or a natural 1, the nearest flammable object within 120ft of you which is not worn or carried by another creature catches fire, just kind of for ambiance. It will not go out until put out.

Also 4 - Forsaken: You are resistant to magical damage by any caster or creature classifiable as "divine." You serve something worse, now.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Lissala: Kurshu the Undying

CR 15

Lawful Evil Large Outsider

Adventure Path: Shattered Star: Into the Nightmare Rift, pg. 88-89

"Lissala?" I hear some of you ask in confusion, "who's Lissala? I've never heard of her!" And as I turn from the chalkboard to explain, the unfortunate who asked is teleported before the decrepit and mummified Kurshu to receive a fate worse than any I could bestow: an in-depth history lesson of an empire which survived for thousands of years before being struck down by an apocalypse. I speak, of course, of ancient Thassilon--the very same empire ruled by the archmages known as the Runelords--of which Lissala was the chief deity. When Thassilon was destroyed by Earthfall, so too was Lissala's faith, an organization of millions reduced to a fraction of its glory in mere moments, which inevitably dwindled until basically nothing was left. Lissala was not killed by this event (though many believe she was), but faded into total obscurity on Golarion, leaving behind countless markers upon history and a great many of her divine creations, Kurshu included.

Even in the modern day, there are very few beings in existence who even know about Lissala, let alone worship her, but nevertheless there are some who still fervently hold onto their faith that she may one day return, chief among them Kurshu herself and the Rune Giants who remain slavishly devoted to both Lissala and the dwindling Runelords. Now and then a true Cleric of Lissala will rise up and show actual divine power, but it's a coin flip as to whether they've truly forged a connection with the lost Thassilonian deity or are being deceived by some other entity... and if they ARE, then they have Hell to pay when Kurshu tracks them down to investigate.

Having spent many thousands of years wandering Golarion and the Great Beyond in the hopes of finding traces of Lissala's presence to soothe her (which the book hearbreakingly describes as "similar to a widower smelling his dead wife's clothes in the hopes of sparking a lost memory"), Kurshu has grown to possess a paradoxical resentment for her deity and creator for abandoning her to wallow among the filth and ruin left in the wake of Thassilon's fall. Though she remains devoted, this devotion is described in a way that almost feels like a drug addiction than a true bond, with every part of Kurshu screaming for any sign of her goddess even while she's is painfully aware of how pitiful it's making her and how much she desires to simply stop and find something else. She hates Lissala. She loves Lissala. She resents her, and yet is fully aware she would gladly crawl back into her master's lap if it meant never again feeling the longing she does now. She is pitiful, but she despises the idea of being pitied. Do not bring up how relieved she looks when a Cleric of Lissala shows true promise, or when she finds some artifact or place which resonates with the power of the lost goddess.

While many Heralds possess duties they're expected to perform, Kurshu is a free agent, able to pursue her own goals. These goals continuously revolve around Lissala and Thassilon, but she is free to pursue them with her endless time, pausing only occasionally for a snack break, but we'll get to THAT in a moment. Unlike other Heralds, Kurshu has no goddess to direct her and is free to respond to the summons or prayers of ANY being that invokes her regardless of alignment should see use in it. She is also able to track down anyone wishing to learn more of Thassilon and its rune magic to teach them, and can actually replace the target of a Greater Planar Ally spell being cast by a Lawful Evil-aligned caster if they're not careful in how they word their requests for knowledge. Guarded by her own obscurity, most beings don't know just who or what they're dealing with until it's far too late, and she's seized control of them. But what will she do once she has someone on a leash? Let's find out...

Kurshu has two primary motivations in any encounter: survive first, and locate more Thassalonian lore after. To aid in her survival, she often has a menagerie of Outsiders of varying alignments and strengths at her beck and call, a small army she is prompted to stock with subject hovering between CR 8 and 10 due to her horrific hunger. You see, without Lissala's divine power flowing into her, Kurshu suffers from Divine Separation, an affliction which imposes 1 negative level every day she goes without devouring the corpse of an Outsider (including Native Outsiders; tieflings and aasimar beware!), which often means that--if she's trying to be economical with her livestock--she's encountered with anywhere between 2 and 6 negative levels to sap her otherwise potent skills.

Further confounding the issue is the fact that she refuses to consume Lawful Evil Outsiders on principal (but will if she's desperate), AND that in order to alleviate her hunger, the consumed victim must have at least 8 Hit Dice; she cannot simply feed upon Quasits to stave off her decay, she must at the very least be slaying creatures like Succubi, Choral Angels, and Pelagastr, creatures which can actually fight back against her. Every HD from a consumed Outsider instantly removes an equal number of negative levels, meaning she can "waste" her food by eating Outsiders with too many HD, something she's painfully aware of and which can often cause her to wait a little longer than advisable between feedings, weakening her if her enemies are trying to hunt her down. Similarly, if she knows she's being hunted she may burn through her supply faster than she intends trying to keep herself at full strength, forcing her into a desperate catch-22 as she runs out of minions to slow her adversaries down.

But how does she keep this army of hers in check? Limited Wish. Unlike many monster entries where Limited Wish is simply a blank check, the book goes into a lot of detail about how Kurshu manipulates this powerful spark of divine magic she retains and can use, for free, 3 times a day. She primarily uses it as Charm Monster to snare the minds of her prey, keeping them docile and willing to listen to her for two weeks per casting, weakening them with a Wished up Mind Fog if need be, though she can also save a wish casting by instead heightening her spells with a 3/day Power Surge, a swift action she can invoke to raise the save DC of the next spell she casts by +2.

In case you thought she only had her wishes available, this is far from the truth. She has a LONG list of 3/day spells available to her, including but not limited to Cure Serious Wounds, Hold Person, Stinking Cloud, and Slow, with simple but potent offensive options like Fireball, Lightning Bolt, and the reliable Vampiric Touch. She can counter enemy tricks with Dispel Magic and defend herself or a valuable ally with Displacement, and of course she can use all of these while flying*, leaving her foes to tangle with her ground-bound allies while she rains debuffs, damage, and debilitation upon them.

*NOTE: There's an error in her Archives of Nethys sheet; she's supposed to have a 60ft Fly speed (Good) maneuverability!

The book amusingly notes that her tendency to have a flock of Chaotic Outsiders with her, and her own withered appearance, causes many of her enemies to waste powerful anti-Chaos or anti-Undead spells upon her in the mistaken belief she is also some minion of chaos or undeath, often giving her just enough time to retaliate with a powerful blow of her own. In especially dramatic cases, someone may rush up and hit her with a powerful Cure Wounds or Heal spell in the hopes of ending her, only to watch her HP refill and invite her retaliation.

She's no melee fighter and prefers to keep at a distance for fear of death, but the token melee abilities she has are quite potent: her lashing tail can slam victims for 1d8+2 damage, then Grab and constrict them for 1d8+5 damage each round until they either escape or succumb to whatever spell she prepares to melt their brains with via Limited Wish (such as the crushing, no-save-allowed Geas, a spell that LW allows her to cast as a standard action!). And speaking of brain-melting, I'm sure there's a very select audience reading this that will enjoy knowing the snake woman can also shave 1d4 Intelligence off any creature she strikes with either of her two slam attacks (1d8+5 on their own), allowing her to literally beat someone stupid.

Defensively, Kurshu is a tank to a degree matched by few other casting-focused Heralds. 30 AC, DR 10 that's only bypassed by a magical cold iron weapon, and a decent 26 SR to fizzle most spells being cast by the creatures she's hoping to face. She's also got 30 Resistance to (almost) every element but Force, severely cutting down on any attempt to damage her with elemental power... unless that power is Acid damage, which not only does she have no resistance to, but is the only damage type that shuts off her Regeneration 5, an ability she will take full advantage of by keeping out of reach or even teleporting away to heal up.

Kurshu does not wish to fight to the death, and will use her 3/day Greater Teleport or Plane Shift to escape any encounter that begins to turn against her, and trying to counter that with Dimensional Anchor or similar may see her using Limited Wish to break the effect without risking a dispel check failure... or simply teleport her enemies away instead of herself. "Wait, that's not a spell effect in Pathfinder!" To which I smile and point at the fourth line in Limited Wish: "Produce any other effect whose power level is in line with the above effects, such as a single creature automatically hitting on its next attack or taking a -7 penalty on its next saving throw." The example lines on LM's spell card are merely to show the power level it can manage, its actual effect can be anything that roughly matches a 6th level Wizard or Sorcerer spell in terms of power, which a hostile Dimension Door effect to send multiple people hundreds of feet away falls into. Even if she can't get the full party with it, splitting them enough to let her either pick off one or two key members or simply flee the combat is a good enough use in her eyes.

Having spent millennia avoiding her own death with a fear matched only by mortals, Kurshu has no end to emergency options. As mentioned, she can Greater Teleport or Plane Shift away from conflicts she wants no part of up to 3/day. In addition, she has both Craft Wondrous Item and Scribe Scroll, but can combine them with her unique Spell-Like Crafting, allowing her to use her spell-like abilities to meet the prerequisites when creating magic items, something that would normally prevent her from having three or four Limited Wishes on her belt waiting for her personal supply to run out. The same can be said for her transport spells, or scrolls of Tongues (which she can use at-will), Stinking Cloud, or Slow. Such valuable items also act as potent bribes to make other Lawful creatures more likely to serve her by their own free will, if she doesn't simply wish up a pile of valuables to pay them.

Kurshu can be a frightening and powerful foe, even moreso than most other Heralds due to the lack of divine restriction she operates under. She does not need to be invited into a situation by Lissala's worshipers, she can simply show up of her own free will with a small army of fiends, monitors, and celestials at her beck and call, and now everyone simply has to deal with her presence and whatever nonsense her ensorcelled "allies" are getting up to. Why is she here? That's probably the true mystery of the adventure, and solving it brings the party one step closer to making her leave without provoking her potentially apocalyptic wrath.

You can read more about her here.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Close Shave

[A/N: What up homies, it’s me, ya girl, steadily adding to my Honorable Men-tions while my husbands watch me like 👀 bitch?

This fic is inspired by the scene & song from Skyfall- I hope you like it :) Feedback is always appreciated, as well as requests for fics or new characters to explore!]

007 glides silently through the doorway, a jungle cat on the prowl for his next meal. He eases the door shut with a soft click, then moves stealthily down the hall in search of his target. A single lamp illuminates the modest London flat casting wicked shadows on the walls surrounding a small feminine figure. He creeps forward, ready to pounce, the next phase of his plan already formulating in his brain.

“Hello, James,” you murmur, not even sparing him a glance as you casually flip to the next page of your novel.

His warm chuckle caresses your skin like a lover’s gentle touch, his honeyed voice stoking the fire in your belly spurred to life by his mere presence. “How is it that I can sneak up on assassins but not a museum curator?”

Your mouth turns up in a smile and you offer your cheek in greeting, scrunching your nose at the feeling of coarse stubble against your skin. “I can smell the cologne I bought you for Christmas from a mile away.“

“Hm.”

“And I may have pestered Q into telling me when you’d be home.”

“Pestered?”

Folding your legs under your body, you swivel to meet his steely blue gaze with a grin. “Bullied,” you concede. “Only so I didn’t almost accidentally kill you with a fireplace poker.”

“Again.”

You wag your book in his face with a raised eyebrow. “That’s what you get for breaking and entering at four in the bloody morning with no prior warning!”

He grunts in concession before easily lifting you off the couch, only to take your seat and tuck you against his body. You hum in delight at the prospect of having him home, however short lived his visit may be, placing your book aside before nuzzling into his chest and pressing kisses to the underside of his strong jaw. Scraping your nails along his cheek, you muse, “You need to shave.”

He gives you an indignant look, carding his fingers through your hair. “Some women happen to like a beard, you know.”

“Then go break into one of their homes,” you fire back, letting your teeth graze along the path forged previously by your lips.

He lets out a throaty laugh that dissolves into a soft moan as you work your way over his jaw to press your lips to his. You share a few innocent pecks before your longing takes over, and you shift to straddle his lap as James’ tongue slips past your willfully parted lips. His fingers work their way under your shirt, trailing along your ribcage before settling on your hips with a gentle squeeze. You release a contented sigh into his mouth, all of the tension leaving your body and allowing you to relax against him.

Running your nose over the sharp planes of his jaw, you murmur, “Let me. Please?”

“Let you what?” He nibbles at the spot just south of your ear and you gasp, rocking against him and feeling him growing hard beneath you in response. Static fills your mind as your senses are overwhelmed by everything that is James, but you press on valiantly. “Help you shave.”

Calloused digits knead the soft skin of your thighs as he hums, contemplating. “Is this another attempt on my life? Replacing the poker with a razor?”

“James!” you admonish, laughing before growing serious as your fingers dance across his handsome features. “You know that my expertise lies in handling art delicately. What kind of curator would I be if I allowed any harm to come to my favorite exhibit?”

He turns his head to press a kiss to each of your palms, then meets your gaze with a cheeky grin. “That’s all I am to you, hm? A specimen to be ogled?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you retort with a roll of your eyes. Climbing off his lap and taking his hand to lead him to the master bathroom, you tack on, “You conveniently double as a bodyguard.”

You slide the cushioned seat from your vanity over to the sink and tap it twice with a coy smile. James settles into his spot obediently while you hunt through the cabinets for his straight razor and shaving cream, placing them on the counter before moving to stand behind him. You study your reflections in the mirror as you run your fingers through his hair, your body growing warm at the sight of him subtly shifting his hips when you tug on the short strands. You walk your fingers down his neck and over his broad shoulders, kneading the taut muscles along the way to the apex of his dress shirt. “May I?”

He opens his eyes to meet your gaze in the mirror, ocean blue eclipsed by a sea of inky black. “Always, my love.” His voice has dropped to a low growl that sends a thrum through you. Deft fingers hastily unbutton his shirt with the promise of exploring his body after too many days and nights spent apart. You tug the fabric off and toss it aside, kissing his neck while your hands glide along his muscular chest. “Darling,” he rumbles out through a laugh to get your attention, and you look up to find several marks blooming across his previously unadulterated skin. With a bashful smile, you respond, “I just can’t help myself around you.”

Rounding the chair to squeeze yourself into the space between his legs and the counter, you lower yourself to your knees. He watches your every move with rapt fascination, his breathing picking up ever so subtly when you reach forward to release him from the confines of his fitted slacks. You tug his pants and underwear off before delicately trailing your fingers over his length, marveling at the weight in your hand and how responsive he is to your touch. Peeking up at him from beneath your lashes, you lean in and swipe your tongue over the head, a needy whine escaping your lips at the taste of him. “Darling,” he calls out again, now with an edge to his voice, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with forced restraint. He threads his fingers through your hair and gives a gentle tug, guiding you forward once more. You wrap your lips around him in earnest, gliding down his length while one hand comes up to massage his balls, the other resting on his lower abdomen. With each swirl of your tongue and pull of your lips, the toned muscle beneath your fingertips ripples and liquid heat pools between your aching thighs.

Replacing your mouth with your hand, you look up at James with nothing short of utter devotion in your misty eyes. “I missed you so much, my love,” you rasp out, an involuntary shudder racing down your spine when his fingertips brush over the apple of your cheek.

Tucking his hand under your chin, he directs you to stand and pulls you close for a tender kiss. You continue twisting your wrist along his length as his tongue slides against yours, a sharp gasp punching out of you when he unceremoniously rips your underwear off and runs his middle finger along your slit, the useless lace now pooled on the floor.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he rumbles lowly, slipping his finger inside you and groaning in appreciation at how greedily you clench around him, “you really did miss me, hm?”

“More-” You whimper into his mouth when he adds a second finger, and then a third, lovingly preparing you for his thick cock. “More than I can even describe.”

He draws his fingers out, caressing your sensitive walls as he does so, before replacing your hand with his own at the base of his cock. The obscene sound of your spit and slick gliding along his length as he draws his hand over himself has you clenching around nothing, a desperate whine of “James,” falling past your pouting lips. He soothes you with sweet words, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth while his free hand comes up to your hip to guide you down onto him. You cry out at the exquisite stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as you circle your hips to sheathe him inside of you as deeply as possible.

Tucking your face into his neck to pepper his glistening skin with kisses, you beg, “Don’t move. Just let me feel you.”

He hums in concession, gently tugging your oversized sleep shirt off before running his fingers along the column of your spine. The tingling sensation has you rolling your hips against him, moaning when the movement presses the head of his cock against just the right spot.

“Now, darling,” he mumbles against your hair, his large hand possessively cradling the back of your neck, “I do believe we came in here to accomplish something.”

“Can’t remember,” you sigh out. “Too full.”

His ensuing chuckle warms you from the inside out, and you gasp when he leans forward to reach the countertop, shifting his position inside you. He presses something cold into your hand, and you blearily open your eyes to find his razor glinting at you in the muted bathroom light.

With a sigh, you relent, “Fine,” but his firm grip on your hips stops you from rising. “But then how will I-” Your line of questioning comes to an abrupt halt when you spot the smirk playing on his sinful lips. “Oh.”

“Go ahead, love,” he croons, inclining his head toward the shaving cream while his hands come to settle on the globes of your ass. You gather some of the foam between your fingertips, then trace two delicate lines on his cheek in the shape of a heart. Glancing at your work in the mirror, he questions, “How can you be so damn adorable while full of my cock?”

You answer him with only a wink, then get to work coating his stubble with the shaving foam. Once he’s sufficiently lathered up, you ease the blade out and plant your non-dominant hand firmly on his shoulder. “Don’t move, James,” you instruct softly.

He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, smiling at the way your tongue peeks out between your lips in concentration, and murmurs, “I won’t.”

You run the blade down James’ face in precise, delicate strokes, mewling in delight every time you stretch to rinse the razor off and he pulses inside of you. Several minutes into your ministrations, he arches his hips against yours with a ragged sigh, moving impossibly deeper as he cranes his neck to look in the mirror. “Halfway there. Doing well, sweetheart.”

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” you attempt a laugh, but it morphs into a strangled moan.

“That would certainly be less than optimal.” He runs his index finger down the side of your neck as you take your next swipe of the blade, your breath hitching when he wraps his hand around your throat and adds the smallest bit of pressure.

The razor stills on his cheek, momentarily forgotten, and you shiver in delight. “What are you doing?”

“Focus on the task at hand,” he chides softly, and you obediently return your attention to the remainder of his beard even as his other hand comes up to massage one of your breasts. You clench around him reflexively, and the hand on your throat squeezes in kind.

“James,” you growl out, this time purposefully flexing your walls around his throbbing cock. He answers your show of defiance with one of his own, both hands tightening their grip and eliciting a whine from you.

“Tit for tat, darling,” he mutters softly, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a wicked smile.

With every movement, every precise flick of your wrist, every droplet of water running down your arm and dripping onto your thigh, your walls squeeze around James’ cock and his fingers press deeper into your skin, and your vision starts going blurry around the edges with need. Finally, mercifully, your lover sits before you clean shaven once again, and you smile proudly at your work.

Nuzzling your nose against his, you sigh at the idea of having to separate yourself from him. “I forgot a towel.”

“Top cabinet?”

“Mhm.”

Tucking his hands underneath your thighs, James stands and settles you on the counter, still sheathed in your warmth. He pulls back to open the cabinet and collect a towel, and you keen at the loss of the fullness until he slots himself back between your thighs.

“Christ,” you hiss, digging your nails into his biceps and arching your back.

“Easy, love,” he murmurs smoothly in response, hiding his smirk behind the cloth as he pats his face dry. You lock your ankles together behind his back, shifting closer and trying to entice him to move. “This is turning downright torturous.”

Dropping the towel on the counter, he shifts his attention back to you and lovingly squeezes the pillow of your thigh. “I always take care of you, don’t I?”

“Sooner rather than later would be preferred in this instance, Bond,” you sass back.

“Patience is a virtue,” he hums with an infuriating calmness to his voice even as he draws his hips back and drags his cock along your sensitive walls.

“I wouldn’t- oh god- consider what we’re doing to be entirely virtuous,” you answer through a moan, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to quiet the noises spilling out of your mouth.

“Darling girl,” he tuts softly when he recognizes you’re trying to muffle your cries, fingers ghosting over your cheek before he grips your face and his hips pick up speed. The pressure has you releasing your lip from beneath your teeth, your mouth falling open and allowing wanton moans to escape. James tucks his other hand behind your knee, tugging you closer and letting him sink deeper with each stroke. He smiles down at you when you call out his name and rake your nails down his back, cooing, “That’s it, love. Let me hear you.”

Ever obedient, you moan unabashedly, your cries competing with the sinful sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the marble bathroom. “James! Oh god, James,” you keen, clawing at his shoulders for purchase as your consciousness threatens to leave you, “I can’t- I’m going to-”

He hungrily mouths at your skin, soft pants falling past his lips between kisses as he makes his way up the curve of your throat. Moving his hand to grip the back of your neck, he draws you close to his body and grits out, “Cum for me, my darling.”

You feel your body shudder with the force of your orgasm washing over you, every nerve alight and buzzing as the sound of James’ beautiful moans fill your ears. Your mouth drops open but no sound comes out, your eyes rolling back when you feel the warmth of his release painting your walls. Holding your waist firmly, he presses his hips against yours as his cock twitches inside you, claiming your body completely.

“Good girl,” he pants in your ear, and you whimper at the praise.

“Yours,” you sigh out, completely spent. You turn your head to dot lazy kisses along his cheek, your lips curling upward at the feeling of his freshly smooth skin.

He notes your self-satisfied smile and chuckles warmly against the shell of your ear. “Pleased?”

“Mhm,” you respond sleepily, nuzzling his face and emitting a sound dangerously close to that of a purr.

“I’m glad,” he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Shower?”

“Can’t,” you mumble. Swinging your legs, you clarify, “Jelly.”

“Bath, then.”

James guides your arms around his neck and you latch on obediently as he lifts your sore body off the countertop. He slips out of you when he hitches you higher up in his arms, and you mumble out a protest despite the aching between your legs.

“What, darling, haven’t had enough?”

Fighting sleep, you tighten your hold on him and nip at his ear. “Never.”

“Naughty thing,” he chides playfully, landing a light pat on your ass before setting you on the edge of the tub.

“You know,” you begin, trailing your fingers along his back while he adjusts the water temperature, “it’s your fault for being so utterly irresistible.”

He grumbles out an undoubtedly unamused response under his breath before climbing into the tub and beckoning you to join him. Carefully maneuvering your shaky legs, you settle back against James, resting your head in the crook of his neck and sighing as the warm water caresses your sore muscles.

“Wet your hair for me.” You stifle a yawn, barely opening your eyes to fix James with a quizzical look. Always a man on a mission, he holds your gaze, unrelenting. “Humor me, darling, will you?”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, you grip the sides of the tub and scoot your body forward until you can lower your hair below the waterline. After a thorough soak, you sit up and nestle yourself back between his legs, closing your eyes once more.

You hear the telltale snap of a bottle being uncapped, and then James’ expert fingers are massaging your scalp as the scent of vanilla and honeysuckle pervades your senses. You let out a hum of pure content, thoroughly enjoying being pampered by your love.

“I can’t explain,” he peppers your shoulders with delicate kisses between words as he works his fingers through your hair, “just how much I missed you.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” you sigh, responding to the pressure of his fingertips by tilting your head to grant him better access.

His silky smooth voice settles like a warm blanket on your skin as he runs his nose along your neck, and you shiver in delight. “You are absolutely exquisite.” He splays one hand possessively across your belly, the other dancing over the curve of your hip. “Divine.” Moving to grip your chin, he turns your face towards him and you feel his warm breath mingling with your own. “My own personal masterpiece.”

Drawing a trail of water down the column of your throat, between the valley of your breasts, and lower still to the apex of your thighs, he eases your folds apart once more and sheathes himself inside of you. Your mouth drops open wordlessly and he takes the opportunity to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

“You took such good care of me, my love,” he murmurs, delicately threading his fingers through the soapy strands of your hair as his hips press up against yours. “Now let me take care of you.”

[grillpartshub-blog]

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[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Oh, hello!

It’s time to replace my original pinned post with a more permanent choice, so here’s the quick, updated scoop on what you can expect here:

I love all things Tolkien and looking at, thinking about, and talking about those things. So I will absolutely reblog your fan art of Thranduil draped across his throne in that sultry pose or like your fic about how Tuor came to love Voronwë as a brother on their long journey to Gondolin. But in my heart, I’ve always been a Rohan kind of girl. That’s where you’re going to find my interest most often drawn, and it’s what I write about almost exclusively (with the very occasional tangent into Haldir-related content, which I understand is totally inconsistent, but the heart wants what the heart wants!).

So, if you could talk about the Eorlingas for hours on end, if Éomer is the Middle Earth king of your dreams, if you find yourself unreasonably attached to minor characters like Háma and Elfhelm or have tons of opinions about how amazing Théodred is, if you’re personally invested in Karl Urban’s dimples …maybe we should be friends! And if you like those things, then maybe you’d get something out of my fics. Or not. Either way is fine!

Those fics are now collected in one place below, which I’ll try to keep updated. I make no claim that they are fine works of literature, but they make me happy and that’s their primary purpose. While they’re all consistent with each other and exist in my unified headcanon, they tend to be one shots based on some particular thing I was interested in–a specific plot point, an unanswered question, a desire to see a certain character grow/develop a certain way. Anyway, you get the idea. So thanks for being here, click through to the master list (such as it is) and FORTH EORLINGAS!

Rohan: (stories in rough in-universe chronological order)

Éomer-focused:

TFW Siblings Prompt: Éowyn is frustrated by Éomer’s attempt to protect her from Wormtongue.

Turning Points: Éomer is back from the war of the ring with a changed worldview and an intention to get married. Includes the first look at the character who becomes his wife.

A Vigilant Eye: A marital scene between Éomer and his wife, Mereliss, focused on Éomer’s stubborn need to never admit weakness. This is as spicy as any of my fics get, which is to say…only very mildly spicy.

A Need of the Soul: Éomer is teaching Faramir how to speak Rohirric as a surprise for Éowyn. Cute brotherly bonding moments, remembrances of Boromir and Théodred and lots of horse talk.

TFW Parent-Child Prompt: Éomer becomes a father for the first time and has lots of feelings about it.

TFW Extended Family Prompt: Éomer’s father in law, Elfhelm, realizes what he means to Éomer in light of the many losses Éomer has already experienced.

Nowhere Else: A look back at how Éomer met his wife, told from both sides of the meeting. Includes a look at several other sweet moments from over their years together.

Théodred and Éomer art by Valeria Salo

Théodred-focused:

TFW Cut Ties Prompt: Traces the unshakable bond forged by shared grief between Théodred and Éomer, enduring all the way to Théodred’s literal last words.

What Do We Say: Théodred and little Éowyn have a heart to heart when she starts tormenting the women who are potential brides for him.

Into the Breach: My most comprehensive look at Théodred the person and his backstory, told in the few days leading up to his death. It's more or less my answer to the question of what Théodred was doing in/around major canon events from LOTR. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Ties That Bind: A look at how Wormtongue’s manipulation of Théoden affected the larger royal family, as seen through Éomer’s experience when Théoden had him jailed. Théodred's fiancee is a key element of this fic, so I'm putting it with the other Théodred stories though he's not directly in it.

A Life Interrupted: Éomer reckoning with the death of Théodred. My original story with details of Théodred's life and my HC for him.

Háma-focused:

Háma art by @ rinthecap

Those Worth Fighting For: Family fluff of Háma being a sweet dad to his little girl while shielding her from the reality of the increasing danger posed by Isengard.

TFW Freeform Prompt: Háma and his wife struggle with how to protect their children from the increasing likelihood of war.

Not This Time: The discovery of Háma’s body after the battle of Helm’s Deep has major consequences.

Other Rohirrim:

TFW Ancestors Prompt: Théoden’s father, Thengel, returns from exile against his will to take up the throne in Rohan.

Unwary: The story of the deaths of Théodwyn and Éomund, the parents of Éomer and Éowyn.

Untitled intro piece about Guthláf: A short musing on what it means to Guthláf to be Théoden’s banner bearer.

Where Now the Horse and the Rider: The love story of Guthláf and Wídfara, trying to hold it together as the world falls apart around them. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8.

Untitled ficlet on Elfhild: A short intro to Théodred’s mother, who had a premonition she wasn’t going to survive his birth.

Lórien:

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel: Haldir meets his perfect match while posted for 3 weeks with a substitute marchwarden who understands and appreciates his natural reserve.

The Guardian: Haldir finds a lost and scared little human girl while on patrol in Lórien. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Epilogue.

[udretlnea]

The Divine City: Some Slices of Life

Part 1 \ Part 2 \ Part 3 (here) \ Part 4

It wasn’t my fault. So no, you can’t blame me. I didn’t know anything and thus didn’t know what to expect. It hadn't even been an hour when there came a loud crash where I organized the swords to realize something was wrong. Very wrong.

Oh no, here it comes- the blacksmith apprentice mentally braced himself.

“Andre! Git over here!” A thick, deep voice yelled from several rooms over.

The teen opened his mouth. “Yes sir!”

He stepped quickly into the front desk of the store. To his left were several silver swords lying on the ground. Andre wasted no time picking them up carefully and replaced them on the shelves. With a polite bow, he retreated to the forge as quickly as he entered.

The apprentice sat back in front of the anvil. His gaze leveled at the furnace as he watched with observant eyes. Currently, his job was to maintain the fire and make sure it wouldn’t go out. Andre silently reminisced while observing the flames. 

“Come here boy,” Master Hugh beckoned him over to the furnace. A young Andre grimaced as the temperature increased when he stepped closer. The kid pulled out a chair and leaned forward to watch.

Master Hugh picked up a pair of tongs. With dexterity that contrasted with his bulky, towering form he picked up a white hot rectangular piece of metal and placed it on the anvil. He got to hammering immediately. It got flatter with every swing until it was practically flat as paper.

Then, the blacksmith picked it up again and dunked it in a bucket of water. Steam hissed as the metal was cooled almost immediately. After several seconds, Hugh inserted it back into the furnace. The process repeated itself several times over until it produced a sharp blade piece for a sword.

Master Hugh picked up an empty grip and laid it out. He carefully inserted it into a slot and proudly held it in the light.

Andre sighed. That memory was one of many that he cherished. A part of him thought it was childish, but it couldn’t deny that that was what gave him a reason to get out of bed every morning.

He wordlessly got up to pump more air into the fire to prevent it from going out. Andrew was about to sit down when he heard footsteps approaching.

Master Hugh’s wide body took up the whole door frame. Light brown eyes zeroed in on the apprentice. 

“Andre. I need to go meet a potential client over by the commerce district,” said the stocky man. He walked around the teen to hang his apron on the wall before grabbing a plain brown cloak. “I need you to watch the store for a while.”

“You want me to…man the store?” He repeated with wide eyes.

“Aye. And don’t worry about customers because the lunch rush has ended. I imagine people will be busy preparing for Volksfest and all that. But still, try not to mess it up like ya did with the sword display, eh?” The blacksmith smirked.

Andre distantly felt his ears grow red. In lieu of a response he simply nodded. Without another word, Master Hugh walked out of the room. The distant sound of a door opening and closing told Andre he was now alone.

Andre let himself forget about maintaining the furnace. He went to his room where he examined his appearance. Using his fingers to comb his short black hair back, he did his best to look appropriate. At least, as appropriate as a teenager in an apron and plain clothes could in a highly respectable shop.

Still, managing the store shouldn’t be terribly difficult. I’ve seen Master Hugh do it enough times that it’s practically embedded in memory! He thought as he went to the counter with a chair in hand. 

Andre rested his hands on both cheeks as he stared out the window. Behind the glass, scores of people were walking past. He absentmindedly began counting the number of people who were merchants or civilians as if determined to make some kind of mental record.

The count had gone up to 201 civilians and 99 merchants when the door opened. 

Andre automatically put on a smile and recited a line almost robotically. “Welcome! Feel free to browse our wares. Claymores are in the back by the way.”

The customer that entered was a young lady - probably a teenager judging from her looks - with blonde hair and red eyes. She wore a simple green dress under a plain tan coat. Not exactly what Andre would call “loaded with money,” but he wasn’t complaining. 

She blinked at him as if registering who just greeted her. Andre saw confusion in her eyes before it settled on acceptance. He sat up straight when she made her way to him.

“Do you have any knives?” the girl asked, crossing her arms with what Andre thought was a guarded expression.

What kind of ominous sounding question is that? He thought bemusedly. Andre nodded. “Yeah!”

He pointed to a shelf in the far corner where they usually kept the more general supplies.

The girl nodded as thanks. She came back with a single knife, then fished out a small pouch of Mora. “Thank you for having these in stock. This was literally the the third place I stopped at. I can’t believe that no other shops here sell-”

She paused as if she suddenly realized she was talking out loud. “Er, anyway. I appreciate the good service here.”

Andre thought she was embarrassed since she sputtered that out quickly. The girl turned and left as quickly as she entered. 

The apprentice made a mental note of the vent before returning to idle mode. Hours passed into the evening and Andre just switched the sign’s shop to closed when he heard the back door open. Heavy footsteps made their way to the front.

“Welcome back Master-” Andre turned to see his teacher covered head to toe in…white powder? “Uh…did everything go okay?”

The man simply grunted in response. He disappeared into the hallway.

///////////////

A/N: Andre...Andre. He's definitely one of the simpler characters I've ever written. Dude wants to follow in his master's footsteps. I'm 110% sure that point was made, but it's pleasing enough to me.

Last one before stuff hits the fan and things can really get going. I can't wait to shake things up!

///////////////

"Sir": Hm. Apart from the drawing lacing texture I'd say this chapter was a success.

P-34: Indeed. And Andre seems like a reliable fellow.

"Sir": The thing about blacksmiths is that you can rely on them to make a good weapon. Usually.

P-34: Speaking of, did ya see what happened with Hugh back there?

"Sir": Bro, how can I not? I can't believe we got that on camera!

P-34: I know-huh? Keyboard clicking That's...odd.

"Sir": What's wrong?

P-34: I'm getting readings. From the vault? But it's been dormant for years...

"Sir": I'll go check it out. Stay here and keep monitoring for energy signatures. Hopefully it's just a false alarm.

[acornminiatureslog]

Hounds of Terra Lore Overview

Ok, I've been trying to get more of this stuff written down, so here's a crack at that. This is just bullet points and timelines, though I am trying to improve my writing skills enough to throw together a short story down the line.

The Hounds of Terra are a successor chapter of the Brazen Claws, established as part of the 23rd founding in late M37. They were granted the world of Euros IV on the furthest reaches of the eastern fringe as a chapter homeworld. The intent with their founding was to secure the region and allow for the withdrawal of other imperial forces. The Quintand Gamma subsector the world resides in was key in keeping more easily secured worlds supplied, even if the subsector itself was not good for much more than raw resources.

A lieutenant of the Brazen Claws serving within the deathwatch, Devros Avidon, was selected to be the chapter's first Chapter Master, as the High Lords desired a seasoned commander to be appointed so far from terra. Besides Avidon, a handful of squads who survived the Brazen Claw's assault on the Eye of Terror but believed their chapter destroyed were directed by the administratum to the newfound chapter. Undetected in these veterans, the taint of the warp had twisted the fine details of their geneseed.

Over the next few decades, the chapter's apothecaries were more and more confounded by the decline of the chapter's geneseed. Eventually discerning the cause, the chapter command fiercely debated what was to be done. The chaplaincy eventually won out, arguing that as no marines had turned to chaos, this was merely another test the chapter must endure, pushing themselves as far as they can bear in service to Him on Terra.

The apothecarium and forges of the tech marines together forged the new path for the chapter's aspirants. The mutations had destroyed the function of the Sus-an Membrane and Omophagea, as well as put the Betcher's Gland and Larraman's Organ into an overactive state. In addition, the geneseed was no longer receptive to the standard pool of aspirants, the apothecarium finding that women were more receptive to the chapter's geneseed than men. Among more mundane medical complications, his made it so each aspirant would have to endure their throat being burned out from inside before they could be fitted with corrective augmetics. Any aspirant deemed to not have endured as they should is denied augmetics, forced to succumb to their injuries.

This means that the entirety of the modern chapter is equipped with augmetic vocoders where their voice boxes once were, with the standard rite of passage for an aspirant elevated to full marine is to allow them a few days and the aid of a tech marine to customize their vocoder's sound. As a result, the common euphemism for promotion out of the scout company within the Hounds of Terra is for one to "earn their voice."

As a marine of the Hounds of Terra weathers multiple campaigns, they develop a network of scar tissue from nearly any wound. Over time, this will impede the marine's motion, requiring amputation and replacement with augmetics. By the time a marine is granted the rank of Veteran, they are likely to have replaced two or more limbs.

In the lead up to the great rift, the Hounds of Terra lost their homeworld, driving the chapter to the stars. As the eye of terror spread and darkened the light of the astronomicon, the Hounds crossed paths with the remnants of another Iron Hands successor, the Twilight Hawks. The Hawks had fallen prey to the predations of chaos, losing most of their chapter and their fortress monastery to a slaaneshi uprising.

Given the unprecedented circumstances, the Twilight Hawk's first captain, Tetys, agreed to have the remnants of his chapter be integrated into the Hounds of Terra, benefiting from the Hound's resources, while the Hounds were able to stabilize their chapter's geneseed with the careful introduction of what reserves the Hawks had.

The acquisition of primaris modification further improved the stock o the chapter, although it also caused a crisis within the chapter's ranks. An argument started by lieutenant Duskova escalated into a shipboard engagement, resulting in the self destruction of the strike cruiser Adamant Shield.

At present, the chapter is doing what it can to support the imperial forces out in the eastern fringe, whilst also seeking the means to refit the chapter flagship into a vessel truly worthy to hold the title of fortress monastery.

[midwestmade29]

Collaboration 🤠

Part 1

This story has been a month in the making! It’s a collab between @madhatterbri and myself that came together randomly one night. It was (and still is!) amazing to me how quickly and easily we were able to come up with something so awesome together! This story has pieces of us both in it and we are so excited to finally share it with you all 🖤 ✧ @madhatterbri's masterlist can be found here ✧ My masterlist can be found here

Disclaimers: Cursing, intimidation, threats, unprotected sex, angst. Read at your own discretion.

Word count for part 1: 1,831

GIF credit: @cardinalbiggles

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Stay tuned for part 2 🙂

This is 100% pure fiction.

Your past follows you around everywhere you go, but a certain cowboy tries to help you heal from it...

Over the last few months, you had settled in to your new role on the production team with AEW nicely. You finally felt like you were coming out of your shell, finding your way around the production truck and backstage all while getting to know the rest of the team and the wrestlers! There was one person that you hit it off with right away, Hangman Adam Page. He was one of the first people to introduce themselves to you and the kindness he showed you was like a breath of fresh air! Whenever both of you had a free moment, you often found yourselves laughing and smiling together. If you weren’t mistaken, sometimes it felt like he was flirting with you too! Hangman loved to see you flustered and he enjoyed making you squirm a little with his words. You’d never admit it out loud, but you loved the way he looked at you and how easily he made you blush.

Every interaction you had with Hangman you tried your best to keep on the down low in fear that your ex might see you two together. Swerve Strickland wrestles for AEW too and even though you were no longer together, he still liked to keep a watchful eye on you. At work you lived with your head on a constant swivel, always looking over your shoulder for him or one of his associates. Swerve is a master manipulator, fiercely intimidating, jealous, and always delights in destroying your psyche. His words are always demeaning and harsh, well thought out and always packing a punch! All the awful things he said to you during your relationship live rent free in your head, the wounds they left on your heart have never healed. His most recent strike was when word had gotten back to him about a conversation you were having with The Young Bucks backstage. Hangman was the topic being discussed, The Bucks attributing his recent change in demeanor to you! “We haven’t seen him smile like this in a long time. Whatever you’ve been doing, keep it up Y/N! He’s a good man and deserves to be happy,” Matt expressed. As your exchange went on, you swore you saw someone emerge from behind a nearby storage crate and hurry away. The smile you had on your face was now replaced with worry!

“Boss! Boss!” Prince NaNa called out. “Y/N, and those Bucks! Th-they were t-talking about the cowboy a-again!” he tried to spit out in between his attempts to catch his breath. Swerve didn’t speak, just kept his icy stare on NaNa as he explained the conversation he overheard, sparing no detail. “What are you going to do about this, boss? You’re not going to let her get away with this are you?” Swerve only smiled a wicked smile at his associate, no words spoken as he walked in the direction where you were standing, Prince NaNa not far behind him. You were looking over your notes when you felt a shift in the atmosphere around you. Your body tensed up when a familiar voice uttered your name from behind you, “Y/N. So, I hear you’re into cowboys now, huh? A former champion at that! You trying to fuck your way to the top or something? I think your sights are set a little high with that one. The man will get tired of you just like everyone else has and ride off on his little pony in search of his next plaything. You’re damaged goods, baby. Don’t ever forget that.”

It had been two weeks since your last encounter with Swerve, but his words still echoed through your mind. You were doing your best to ignore them, at least for tonight since it was a big night for Hangman. His championship match was set to be the main event for Dynamite, and you had promised to celebrate with him afterwards if he was able to win the belt! He made his way down the ramp while you watched on a monitor backstage with a huge smile on your face. The crowd was incredibly into the match, chanting “cowboy shit!” in support of Hangman throughout the whole thing! He was clearly the favorite to win, and he almost had it in the bag until his opponent landed an exceptionally stiff clothesline on him that left Hangman completely dazed in the middle of the ring. You stared at the monitor in shock, whispering a silent prayer to yourself that he was okay! Your heart sank when Doc Sampson slid into the ring and immediately began examining Hangman while everyone around you gasped when the replay of the incident was shown again.

Once Dynamite was off the air, Hangman was taken back to medical for further evaluation. One of your fellow production team members agreed to take over your final tasks of the night so you could go and check on him! You were practically running as you made your way to him, dodging all obstacles and people that were in your path, not caring who saw you in your panicked state. After taking a deep breath and knocking on the door, you opened it and saw Hangman sitting up on the table while Doc Sampson checked him for a concussion. “Wow, Doc! I must’ve really taken a hit to the head. I think I see an angel,” Hangman teased. His smile was radiant as you walked over to him, it helped ease some of your worry, but you knew it wouldn’t go away completely until the doctor gave Hangman the all clear. “Well, how is he doc?” you asked with your eyes locked on the cowboy. “No concussion, but he’s going to be feeling the effects of a hit that hard for a while. I recommend taking a week- maybe two off to recuperate. He’s got some cuts I need to bandage up too.”

Even Doc Sampson couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as Hangman continued to tease you, “Still have your little headset on and everything! Do you always rush to check on all the wrestlers, or am I just lucky? I don’t know about you Doc, but I think someone has a soft spot for the Hangman!” You swatted his chest playfully and he grabbed hold of your hand before you were able to pull it away. The doctor excused himself from the room when he noticed the way you both were looking at each other. Hangman held onto your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and something inside you hoped that he would never let it go! You could tell he was about to say something, but before he had the chance, the door swung open and hit the wall with a loud thud.

When your brain registered who the intruder was, you immediately pulled your hand away from Hangman’s and took a step back. Swerve sauntered into the room, eyeing you and the cowboy before breaking the silence, “Well, what have we here? A patient and his little nurse, how cute! Looks like I interrupted your exam. It’s a shame what happened out there, cowboy. Almost like those hits were stiff on purpose!” It was obvious Swerve’s presence made you uncomfortable, and Hangman took notice. His voice was dripping with annoyance when he responded, “Y/N is just making sure that I’m okay, and unless you’re here to do the same, I think it’s best if you and that Dollar Store prince leave.” Prince NaNa was standing guard at the door and whipped his head around when he heard Hangman’s comment, but he knew better than to say anything! Swerve made his way closer to you which caused Hangman to stand up protectively, but he stumbled a little when he suddenly felt dizzy. You placed your hand on his shoulder encouraging him to sit back down and it was obvious that it triggered Swerve!

“You gotta keep better company, Hangman. It doesn’t bode well for you to surround yourself with someone so…promiscuous. I think Ms. Y/N here has been everyone’s flavor of the week at some point,” Swerve spoke meticulously, making sure each word got under Hangman’s skin. It was a job well done when he jumped off the table again and immediately got in Swerve’s face, “You watch your mouth, dumbass! I already gave you the chance to leave once and you didn’t take it. This is my final offer for you to leave on your own without having my boot shoved up your ass!” You watched as both men stood with their faces mere inches from each other, neither one of them daring to back down. Prince NaNa’s words echoed through the room as he warned his boss that someone was coming and that they needed to scram before someone sees them. Swerve remained cool and collected, offering Hangman a warning of his own, “You don’t wanna fuck around with this mogul, cowboy. You have no idea what I’m capable of. Enjoy Ms. Y/N’s services.” He laughed manically as he left the room.

After that night, Hangman started to pick up on things more and more. He could tell how tense you would get whenever you heard Swerve’s name, how nervous you appeared to be when you were talking to him at work, and how often you looked over your shoulder. Whenever he would ask about the situation with Swerve, you blew it off or changed the subject. You just couldn’t bring yourself to burden Hangman with the details about your tumultuous past! Every time you looked at the cowboy, you could feel yourself falling for him more and more, which terrified you. Even though you tried your best to push him away, Hangman still stuck around. He was starting to feel like your safe place, like someone you could trust. Hangman proved that he felt just as strongly about you as you did him the night he kissed you. While you still couldn’t wrap your brain around why this cowboy stuck around, you were sure glad he did. You’ve been to hell and back, but Hangman was giving you a taste of Heaven on earth.

He does whatever he can to show you that he’s worth trusting and he refuses to give up on you even on the difficult days. He takes his time with you, showing you grace and giving you patience because he knows you deserve it. Despite his best efforts, there were moments when the voice from your past would creep in and feed you lies. There were days where you kept him at arm’s length even when you knew it wasn’t warranted. One day he left you astonished when he whispered against your lips, “Y/N, I got you. Please, give me- give us a chance. Let me take care of you and show you how wonderful you truly are. No matter how many times you push me away, I will always stand firm. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

[randomwritingguy]

The Myth of Y/N (Korra x Reader) Part 32

BROKEN

Korra's POV

My eyes snap open wide, sweat trickling down my face like a waterfall.

The first thing I notice is that I am no longer at Laghima's Peak. Now, I am surrounded by nothing but rock and crystalline gems. They would be beautiful if not for my dire situation.

The second thing I notice are the chains.

Chains wrapped around my wrists and ankles stretching them apart to the point I become a human starfish, they shackle me high above from the ground. I am completely, hopelessly trapped.

Then, finally, I notice Zaheer, Ghazan, and the water-arm lady along with two Red Lotus members. They stand on the rocky planes before me with stone-cold expressions.

Images of our battle flash across my mind, including the final moments of Dad.

Dad!

"Say hello to the Earth Queen for me!"

NO!

"You." I growl at Zaheer with all the hate from within. "You killed my father!"

The rage overwhelming me, I breathe out flames so hot it could burn the entire cave to the ground!

But it is in vain. It barely reaches him.

Zaheer doesn't even flinch in my anger. No emotion at all.

"I understand your grief." He tells me, sounding truly genuine. "I also lost someone I loved today. But your pain will soon be over."

What?!

He then turns to the two members at the back. "Bring the poison."

POISON?!

They walk forward in silence, holding some sort of bowl with a silver liquid inside. Then, one begins to bend the liquid into the air...

I have never known a poison like that before...

What will it do?

No. Worrying about it won't do anything about it. I need to escape! They will pay!

"When I get out of here, none of you will survive!" I snarl, my rage returning.

Despite my threat, Zaheer still shows no traces of fear. "You won't get out, unless the Metal Clan has taught you a way to bend platinum. Once we administer this poison, your body will naturally react, forcing you into the Avatar State in an effort to keep you alive. Sadly for you, you'll be entering it for the last time."

My heart comes to a stop when I realise what he meant.

NO!

NO!

NO!

"No!" I let out, desperation quickly replacing my anger. "The Avatar Cycle!"

"Yes." He coldly responds, his trace containing no hint of sympathy. "When we dispatch you in the Avatar State, the cycle will end. So, we lucky few, this band of brothers and sisters in anarchy, are witnessing the beginning of an era of true freedom. Together, we will forge a world without kings and queens, without borders or nations, where Man's only allegiance is to himself and those he loves. We will return to the true balance of natural order. And though you will never again be reborn, your name will echo throughout history: Korra, the last Avatar."

This...This is madness!

NO!

I shake frantically, desperate to snap the chains with all my strength and break my way to freedom, but it is a futile gesture.

I stare into the metallic liquid suspended into the air.

A poison for me.

A poison for all future Avatars.

A poison for the world.

"Administer the poison." Zaheer commands.

The silver serpent slowly heads towards me...

No, no, no, no, no, no!

Splitting into four sections, the poison sinks deep within each of my lips and immediately my insides engulf into blazing flames!

IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH!

On instinct, I can feel my body within me beginning to bring forth the Avatar state as a way to keep me alive!

NO!

"Get ready." Zaheer tells his companions. "As soon as she's in the Avatar State, take her out."

The waterbender bends the very ends of her tendrils into ice while Ghazan uses his mastered skill of lavabending to fill the floor before me with boiling magma.

NO!

I HAVE TO RESIST!

IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS!

"Wait." The lavabender speaks out, stunned and bewildered. "Why isn't she staying in the Avatar State?"

"Give it time." Their leader cooly replies. "She can't resist for long."

NO!

I use all my strength to resist. I have to resist!

Flickers of the Avatar State break through but I force it back down, the process causing massive strain on my body and mind. I don't know how long I can keep this up!

"I told you, Korra."

That voice...

I know that chilling, calculating voice...

Gazing down to the source of the voice, I see Zaheer's face suddenly crack and crumble, falling away to see the infamous mask of...

Amon.

"The world doesn't need you anymore." The hallucination of Amon tells me, taunting me with sadistic pleasure.

NO! DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!

Then, Ghazan's face twists and turns a full 360 degrees and reveals the face of my uncle!

"The time of the Avatar is over, Korra. Give up."

NO! NEVER!

Finally, the waterbender morphs into the dark, kite-shape of the dark spirit Vaatu...

"You're too weak to resist, and I'm stronger than ever. There's no use fighting. Let go."

NO!

I CAN'T!

I WILL NOT LET THE WORLD PLUNGE INTO DARKNESS!

But the voices of Amon, Unalaq, and Vaatu continue their taunts, overwhelming my inner voice with their cultish chant of death.

"Let go."

"Let go."

"Let go."

MEANWHILE

Y/N'S POV

Marching through the dark corridors of the cave, I feel the fires within me breaking to be free.

When Korra was taken, I thought that was it. I thought there was no way we could find her in time. That I lost my best friend.

Much to my surprise and delight, however, a new hope emerged in the form of Kai riding a baby air bison.

When I saw Tenzin, Mako, Bolin, and Asami riding the flying creature I was stunned. I was even more shocked when I saw Kai! I was so sure that he was taken along with the rest of the airbenders! I was so wrong.

When we all grouped up and recuperate, the young Air Nomad told us that after he was blasted from the sky by P'li he woke up on the side of a mountain. There the Oogi, who he called Lefty, found him. He went back to the Northern Air Temple to try and help and that's when he saw an airship leaving and he followed it to some caves.

The caves where the airbenders are.

Where Korra is.

We all couldn't follow Lefty on Oogi who managed to escape as well. A lot of good people had to stay behind on Laghima's Peak including Kuvira and the rest of the Zaofu Guards who were recovering from the injuries of the battle.

Tenzin was in an absolute terrible state. Bruised, battered, cut, blooded, he looked just like I was immediately after I was tortured by the Earth Queen: A walking corpse.

If my rage wasn't already at its peak after Korra's capture, seeing what the Red Lotus did to my mentor would have certainly done the job.

Now is not the time to think about the past, though. Now, it's time to act.

While Tenzin stays behind with Oogi, too injured to follow, Suyin, Lin, Tonraq, Kai, the rest of Team Avatar and I follow down the narrow pathways of the crystal cave.

I failed Korra at Laghima's Peak. I will not fail her again.

"Wait!" Lin speaks up, silencing us all. We all freeze like statues.

In a quick motion, Lin lifts her right foot, sliding back the bottom of her shoe with her bending, and slams it into the stone ground to use her seismic sense.

"The airbenders are just beyond that wall." She tells us, pointing to the dead end ahead. "There are also two Red Lotus guards too.

Before anyone can respond, Lin immediately rushes to action by smashing the end of the corridor, hurling it right toward one of the guards. He lands face first into the wall and lands backwards completely unconscious.

The other Red Lotus guard, snapped out of his shocked trance, bends boulders of destruction right towards us in retaliation. Suyin, reaction times faster than lightning, steps forward and bends a barrier to cover us, followed immediately by Asami leaping over, sliding underneath the guard to avoid his attacks, and flipping back upwards while zapping the guard with her electric glove in a matter of seconds.

"Mum!"

The squeal of delight from Opal slightly lightens the tension and Suyin rushes over to hug her daughter...only to be almost immediately shoved to the sight and hugged by Bolin. Typical Bolin.

"Y/N!"

I turn to the source of the voice and I see Eshah. She looks pale and exhausted.

"Eshah!" I exclaim, rushing forward. "Are you all right?"

"Never better." She jokes, trying to keep brave face. Her features harden. "Those crooks need to be stopped."

I nod in agreement. "They will."

When all of the airbenders have been released from their shackles and begin to rise, Lin speaks up in a commanding voice. "We have to get these two out of here now. They don't look so good."

Bumi, the stubborn commander that he is, retorts to this. "What are you talking about? I feel great!"

The coughing he makes immediately after that statement tells us all we need to know.

Beifong's right. Some of these are in terrible state.

"We'll split up." I tell everyone, standing tall and confident. "Tonraq, Bolin, Mako, and I will go and find Korra. The rest of you get out of here with the airbenders."

I start walking away from the group, assuming I will be followed by the people by mentioned, but Jinora's voice stops me in my tracks.

"I used my spirit projection! I know where Korra is!"

What?!

We all turn to her, eyes widened in shock.

Frowning, I stare at her with deep concentration.

"Where is she?"

MEANWHILE

Korra's POV

I have resisted as long as I can but the pain...the pain is too much!

Finally, after who knows how long of trying to be strong, the Avatar state bursts through like water leaving a sewer pipe, coming out all at once!

Almost immediately, I hear Zaheer's declarative command.

"Now! Destroy the Avatar!"

NO! NOT LIKE THIS! THEY WILL PAY FOR KILLING DAD!

The waterbender tries to throw an ice shard towards me, sharp as a dagger, but it is no use against the fire I breathe out, melting it into nothingness immediately. Using the newfound strength I gained from my powerful state, I rip off the chain from my right arm and swing it towards Zaheer only for him to quickly dodge it while my previous attacker gets knocked to a wall by it!

Ghazan, realising that things are quickly going sour, intervenes by flowing lava towards me with his bending. It is in vain like the other's attack as I quickly use my airbending to change the lava's path towards him, forcing him to jump away!

Now! It's time!

Ripping off the chains from my legs and propelling myself upwards with my airbending, I finally snap off the chain on my left arm with my firebending and land directly in front of Zaheer, the man who killed my father.

They will pay! They will!

Using the power of Raava surging within me, I lift four massive boulders of destruction of the ground, spin them around to position them just right, and send them flying in a cross-like directions, causing the entire cave to shake and crystals shattering on impact!

It doesn't work! Zaheer is still alive!

In outrage, I let out a screaming roar of fire with a temperature so hot and dangerous it overpowers the heat of the sun! Zaheer, the coward he is, starts flying away despite my attempts to knock him out of the air with my firebending and begins flying upward to daylight!

NO! HE WILL NOT ESCAPE! HE WILL PAY FOR KILLING MY DAD!

With a powerful leap of my firebending, I give chase...to kill Zaheer!

MEANWHILE

Y/N'S POV

By the time we finally arrive to where Jinora told us where Korra is, it is already too late.

Despite Tonraq's attempts to gain Korra's attention she doesn't listen, too consumed by rage, hatred, and pain to even notice. Amidst the whole chaos, I saw the glowing white eyes of the Avatar state. Before any of us could try and get closer, she is already flying towards the outside in pursuit of Zaheer with her firebending!

Shit!

"We have to help her!" Tonraq yells out, panicked beyond belief.

"Look out!"

What?!

Before I can even say anything, Bolin pushes us to the aside and lifts up a barrier to block an incoming attack from Ghazan, his attention focused on us.

Brilliant.

"You help Korra, we got this!" Mako tells Tonraq, not letting the dire scene to shake his confidence. He then turns to me. "You too, Y/N!"

For a split moment, I briefly consider the idea. Korra is in danger, more danger than ever right now.

But then I remember last time...

The last time Bolin, Mako, and I fought the Red Lotus we lost...miserably. While I barely managed to defeat P'li, the brothers lost against the other two members. They needed us alive back then. But now? Now, they have no reason to show us mercy.

They may no longer have the combustion bender and Bolin may now have lavabending but things are still uncertain...

It is then, I make my decision.

Right now, Mako and Bolin need my help. I can't just abandon them.

"I'm staying! You two need help!" I tell Mako, my tone making it clear that there is no room for argument. I then turn to Tonraq "Go!"

With a nod, he rushes off.

Then, we leap into the battle.

While Mako rushes off to fight the waterbender of the two, I go and support Bolin in fighting Ghazan. While Bolin distracts him with boulders as projectiles, I rush towards him with lightning-fast speed. In quick motions, the lavabender lifts a rock barrier whilst simultaneously sending a flow of lava towards me!

Knowing he was going to do that I use my chi-blocking acrobatics combined with my airbending to leap right over, twirl in a circle, and land an air kick right into him, knocking him backwards slightly.

"A two on one?" Ghazan speaks up, rising from the ground with a smile. "Sounds like cheating to me."

I don't say a word. Instead, I throw a powerful air punch right at him. He easily dodges it, rolls across the ground, and does a sweeping kick across the ground causing it to be engulfed in lava. He thrusts his arms into the air, causing the flow of orange liquid to rise in a powerful tide towards me!

NO!

Before the tsunami of lava can wrap me in its fiery embrace, it freezes into stone-cold rock!

"I don't think so!"

I turn to the right and see Bolin, arms raised and palms wide open towards the flow of stone. Using this brief distraction, I flip backwards to create some distance.

"Ah." Ghazan says, clearly sounding amused by the demonstration. "So that's how you escaped the temple. Very good. Okay, let's see what else you can do!"

Multiple streams of lava shoot out from the ground in tendrils of pain right towards us in a speed too fast for eyes to register. Luckily, Bolin rises a barrier of earth to block the attack. Immediately, and perhaps irrationally, I leap over the wall, land with a roll forward, and raise my arms and clap my hands together to create a powerful gust of wind shooting right towards him like an arrow and knocking the lavabender right towards the crystalised wall. The diamonds shatter like glass on his impact.

"You've been a real pain in the ass!" He shouts with frustration.

Before he can retaliate, however, a blinding hot flame lands right by his feet as a warning shot!

Huh?!

Turning to the left in the direction, I see Mako with a raised fist and standing tall and powerful. He's by himself...meaning he has defeated the waterbender.

Smirking in pride, I turn back to Ghazan who now has a shocked and panicked look on his face. Bolin leaps over his barrier to and all three of us advance towards him.

"Give up, Ghazan!" Bolin says with confidence. "You can't win!"

The lavabender glances all three at us, shifting his gaze from left and right and weighing his options, and then finally stands straight with a furrowed glare that signals that he made his decision.

"I'm never going back to prison!" He exclaims with complete declaration and determinism. "If I'm going down today, you're coming with me!"

NO!

Time freezes to nearly a stand still. The lavabender's motion of raising his arm in preparation for what he is about to do move at a snail's pace.

Not allowing him to commit the murder-suicide, I throw an air punch which forces Ghazan to dodge away from the attack, giving me the chance I need to rush forward and land chi-block punches in all the right areas of his body. When my work is done, he falls to the ground...unconscious.

Gazing down at the body, I let out a large exhale of air as I pant wildly.

That was a close one.

I turn back to Mako and Bolin. "You guys alright?"

"I'm fine." Mako says.

"Ditto." Bolin adds.

Nodding frantically, I walk over to Ghazan and with ease I pick up his unconscious form in a messed up bridal style.

"We need to get to Korra, now!"

We all begin rushing out of the cave turned battlefield. Our battles with the Red Lotus took a lot out of us, not to mention the fact that I am carrying a full-grown man, and so it takes a while as we watch our steps to make sure we don't trip or fall deeper into the dark crystal cave. I'm just glad Ghazan wasn't able to destroy it like he intended. That would have caused trouble.

As daylight finally enters out vision and we reach the exit of the cave, my heart, mind and body freezes into stone at what I see.

No...

I ignore everyone else. I ignore Lin, Suyin, Tenzin, and the freed airbenders. I even ignore the now trapped Zaheer in an earthly cocoon.

There, right before us, Tonraq is holding Korra in his arms...

No!

Dropping the lavabender's body without any care or thought, we run right towards her.

No, no, no, no, no, please, no, not her. Please, not her!

As I get closer and closer and see more of her battered, bruised, and scratched form with blood all over her my blood gets colder and colder. When we reach them, I see Tonraq's pained eyes desperately trying to grasp some sort of hope that his daughter she will be okay.

"Korra. Sweetheart." He gently says, voice so soft and so worried. "It's me, Dad. Please hang on."

I don't say anything. I just stare at Korra.

Please, not her. Please, spirits, I beg of you.

For a brief moment, she reaches out to her father with her shaking hand...and falls. Her eyes shut in an eternal sleep.

No...

No...

NO!

She-She can't be-I...

NO!

I collapse to my knees, the strength within me now vanished, and fountains of tears begin rolling down my cheeks.

Korra's...dead.

My best friend, the woman I love, is gone...

NO!

A loud, insane cackle fills the deafening silence.

Zaheer's cackle...

Zaheer....

"What are you laughing about?!" Lin barks out, anger reaching its absolute peak.

Zaheer, still laughing like the evil sadistic man that he is, tells us. "You're too late! The poison has been in her system too long. The Red Lotus has won!"

No...

NO!

ZAHEER!

KORRA IS DEAD!

The dragon roars inside of me now, no longer merely whispering into my mind, and shouts two words and two words only.

KILL HIM!

KILL HIM!

KILL HIM!

Yes...

YES!

I WILL KILL HIM!

I WILL AVENGE KORRA!

Teeth grated together and fists clenched together, I begin to rise-

"You can save her! The poison is metallic!"

The urgent voice of Jinora silences the dragon as does my murderous anger.

What?!

Before I can even think of what the young air nomad meant, Suyin rushes towards Korra and holds her by the shoulder and forehead and takes a deep, long breathe.

What is she doing?!

Then, Suyin begins moving her hands in a gentle motion, grasping and pulling out invisible streads...like she's metalbending.

Wait...

WAIT! Is she...?

My internal question is answered almost immediately, as silver liquid pours out of Korra's mouth, her eyes now wide open with brilliant white light, and she gasps and coughs!

Gasps and coughs!

She's alive!

KORRA IS ALIVE!

"Dad." Korra weakly speaks up, voice full of surprise and relief. "You're alive."

Tonraq, overcome with emotiona, pulls his daughter into a tight fatherly hug full of love. "I'm here for you. I'm never gonna let you go."

As I watch their embrace, I let out a tense breath I didn't even realise I was holding in.

Korra's alive...

We-We won!

But then I look at Korra's battered body...

Yeah, we won. But at what cost?

TIME SKIP

Our victory, Korra's sacrifice, cost us so, so much.

We soon realised this when Korra couldn't feel nor move her legs. She's paralysed. I don't know if its temporary or...or permanent.

The trip back to Air Temple Island was silent. Despite defeating Zaheer, the mood was sombre and biter.

When we finally arrived, many of the Air Acolytes and Kyuni were waiting for us...

The look of shock, pain, sadness, and terror on Kyuni's face when she saw us, saw me, sent shivers down my spine. Even more so when she saw Tonraq holding Korra in his arms.

"What happened?"

One small question and yet...such a long, long answer.

I told her everything. My parents, Zaofu, the Red Lotus, Korra. All over it...

And now...

Now, I'm with a crowd of people waiting for Korra. The crowd being Tenzin, Pema, Bumi, Kya, Lin, Suyin, Tonraq, Lord Zuko, and President Raiko.

It isn't long before Asami wheels Korra out, the latter in a beautiful dress with sad, bagged eyes.

Spirits...

Asami was the one who helped her get ready. Since the whole ordeal, she wouldn't leave her side. She has been nothing but caring to her. She's lucky to have such an amazing friend like her.

I would have offered to help but...

But...

But I can't. I...I can't even look at her in the eye.

This-This is my fault. I...I should have gone with Tonraq to help her! Maybe, maybe I could have done something. Or, even before that, if I followed my gut and not trusted fucking Zaheer when we were in the Spirit World I could have warned them and prevented all of this!

It should have been me! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING ME!

How can I look my best friend in the eye now after I fucking failed her?! HOW?!

"Y/N."

Snapping out of my intrusive thoughts, I see the group already walking up the stairs with Korra, Asami, and Lin at the top, the latter earthbending them up there. I turn to the source of the voice and I see that it is Bumi.

"You okay, kid?"

No.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

When I rush forward to catch up with them, I hear discussion amongst Raiko, Tonraq, Tenzin, and Zuko.

"She's not looking good."

"Neither would you if you'd gone through what she had.

"She'll be fine. She just needs time to heal. The poison took a great toll."

"Of course. I'm just saying, with the Earth Kingdom in complete disarray since the loss of the Queen..."

"And even with Zaheer locked up again, we still don't know how many Red Lotus members might be out there, hiding."

"Exactly. With the world getting more and more dangerous, we need the Avatar now more than ever. Who will protect us while she's in a wheelchair?"

I resist the urge to punch Raiko in the fucking face when that question leaves his lips. He doesn't even fucking care that Korra isn't like this!

I clench my fists instead of participating. This is Jinora's big day. She's getting her airbending tattoos. I don't want to ruin it by causing a scene.

Then, after a few minutes later, we arrive at the ceremonial hall. Rows upon rows of Air Nomads are seated before the stage in an explosion of red and orange. I even see a few newcomers have just joined the nation, wearing their typical green clothes. On the stage, Jinora, robed in yellow, stands confident in front of a row of other nomads and a stone-symbol of the culture, large and powerful resembling its rebirth.

I'm with Kyuni, Mako, Bolin, and others on one side, gazing on. Korra, Asami, Tonraq, Zuko and more on the other.

Standing by his daughter, Tenzin begins.

"Jinora, come forward."

She does so and kneels beside her father without saying a word.

"Today, we welcome the first airbending master in a generation. And I couldn't be more proud of my daughter." The wise airbending master starts, a hint of fatherly pride in his voice as he gazes at Jinora. When the existence of our people was threatened, when the Avatar's life hung in the balance, Jinora never gave up hope. Thanks to her leadership, I see a very bright future for the Air Nation. Of course, there would be no Air Nation without Avatar Korra: she opened the portals and somehow the world began anew for us. And she was even willing to lay down her own life in order to protect ours. There's no way we can ever repay her for all she's done. But we can follow her example of service and sacrifice. So, while she recuperates, the Air Nation will reclaim its nomadic roots and roam the earth. But unlike our ancestors, we will serve people of all nations, working wherever there is corruption and discord to restore balance and peace."

He turns to Korra and gives her a respective and honourable bow. "Avatar Korra, I vow that we will do everything in our power to follow in your footsteps and bring harmony to the world."

I don't look at her. I can't. I just can't.

"Now, let us anoint the master who will help lead us in our new path."

He pulls down his daughter's hood and we see her in her glory. Where once her hair had been, bright blue tattoos consume her head and arms and legs. The audience erupts into cheers and rounds of applause while the airbenders behind her bend smoke from burning incense sticks all the while sounding wind chimes throughout the room, so loud that it overpowers the cheers of joy and celebration.

If only I can feel that joy...

I still don't look at Korra. I can't.

Shutting my eyes tight and clenching my fists, I resist and hold back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

I feel a light touch on my shoulder. I know it's Kyuni. She doesn't say anything. Neither do I.

It's warm...but not warm enough.

This...This is all my fault. I wasn't strong enough.

But next time...I will be.

While Korra recovers, I will train and train and train until my bones crack and break and my mind is overwhelmed until I learn everything from Tenzin and the culture.

I will become stronger. More powerful.

I will never let anyone hurt my friends again. Never again.

Even if it kills me.

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

And like that we have ended Book Three!

I will post a prelude for Book Four at some point soon but after there will be a short wait. Book Four will connect heavily with future books so I am planning on ironing out some of the details. I hope you all understand.

I hope you all enjoyed it! :D

Feedback is appreciated!

See you all in the next chapter!

[voidsentprinces]

Before going further I feel like I should make a ramble post about Emet-Selch. Like any villain in the series I am kind of lukewarm on him. I don't ship with him. I just sort of nod him in passing when the narrative wants him around.

But, Personally, I feel Emet-Selch is our Lex Luthor. He had all that power and the ability to do good but chose not to for his own reasonings. He IS a tragic figure but a figure who has done and cause a lot of death and a lot of bad. As the Emperor of Garlemald, he is the reason for most of the bad happening around the world at time of A Realm Reborn. Occupation of Doma causing Yotsuyu, the coup of Ala Mhigo and then invasion leading to Fordola. Knowingly sending Nael and her Legion to investigate Dalamud knowing full well of tempering and what would follow. Leading to Gaius's decision to go off on his own, he must of known Lahabrea's involvement with the XIVth Legion and shrugged it off. And then when that Legion is wiped out at Praetorium. Chooses that point to destablize Garlemald in a Civil War. Even when Varis ascends its a shaky one, he loses his childhood friend and Gaius's replacement to the Warring Triad. Ala Mhigo and Doma break the chains of tyranny rule. Cause Garlemald to go scorched earth, razing Dalmasca in the process.

Which leads to causing the Eastern Alliance to forge against it while contending with the Eorzean Alliance. Causing Varis to look into the Black Rose which succeeds in one time line already. But fails in this one. Leading to the world to burn in Fandaniel's ambition and Zenos's apathy. Speaking of Zenos, Emet-Selch turns a blind eye to his great grandson's suffering. Beaten on the daily to near death until he can kill his master and become the monster of the Empire and later to burn it to the ground. Which in the irony of irony leads Zenos in become instrumental to the destruction of a half formed Zodiark, Emet's prized God amongst Gods. Not to mention Emet causing interplanetary and dimensional genocide when aiding in Calamities.

Like, despite my light hearted jabs and depictions of him in some shitposts. I am under no illusion, he is a really bad guy. A kind of tragic villain who had all the power in the world and decided to use it for ill because he felt the ends justified the means. Even if he ignored the big question as to how they were going to rejoin the Thirteenth Shard which was steeped in void from Igeyorhm's failure. He is very flawed, contemptuous and charismatic enough to draw an entire Empire with his quirky sassiness. At the end of the day he was a megalomanical dictator. So like know that while I am making these somewhat postive Emet-Selch posts, my position is like:

But, its fiction. Enjoy your characters as you take em. Like all villains I ain't gonna rain on your parade if you like them. Enjoy your stuff. Its not like you're shipping yourself with Josef Stalin and people are now reimaging him like that one Founding Fathers OC. That was...uhh...that was fucking surreal.

Also while you're here I am room temperature with Zenos. But like I've made many a post about him practically just sitting around and doing nothing for a large part of the story. So I don't feel like repeating myself ad naseum. And my burning passion for Asahi and Fandaniel by proxy is only because I never got a cutscene where I straight up sucker punch them sons of bitches. I mean we even get to beat up Teledji Adeleji in Palace of the Dead. And Ilberd before he introduces his scalesona. Kind of want to lower Yuyuhase and Laurentius into Hell's Lid though.

[glowingmin]

analyzing the adjuration ravio board

ALRIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS SIT DOWN SHUT UP WE'RE GOING OFF 4 CUPS OF WATER AND A MIGRAINE BUT WE ARE GOING TO COPE

i unfortunately have an abysmal zoom so i've Enhanced the writing for bits I couldn't quite read but anyways LETS GET INTO IT. WITNESS THE ANALYSIS FROM AN IDIOT WHO BASICALLY ONLY KNOWS THE LORE OF FOUR SWORDS.

@not-freyja hi i hope you like this insane loveletter to adjuration (idk how else to. share it. yay)

alright starting off with the timeline and all the looping fuckeries (motherfucker got more arrows than an ikea checkout lane)

time is scratched out and replaced with sapling. because of the war of eras? nickname yipee?

the music notes linking time to wind must refer to how the song of time sent time back and left that timeline w/o the hero's spirit

the triforce linking legend to time has to mean something but my minimal zelda lore knowledge is leaving me to die. ik its the downfall timeline, so is it a reference to how the triforce got Fucked Up by pig man? did it get messed up??? never actually played cards meaning to learn /reference

there's so many scribblies around hyrule (i love the hearts on the 'i's its adorable). hyrule found the book and thats why he gets loops?

[ hi revision glowmin here. had a thought: what if there's multiple timelines that branch out from when rulie first used the book. what if the first visit wasn't legend. how many fractured timelines could that one event have caused ]

from chapter 49: “So this entire situation is Rulie’s fault?” Twilight’s side moves as he talks and Hyrule leans away from him, falling into Wind instead." haha no don't dump all the fault on hyrule you're so sexy aha /reference

'dink does something fucky' has me cackling. is wild's existence caused by dink? three question marks, 3 parts of the triforce, mmmm that is cooking?? or could just be irony

that line also points to rulie again so i Think this has something to do with. the blood curse. that i only know about from fanfiction.

ALSO THE LINE CONNECTING RULIE TO WARS!! IS SCRATCHED OUT!! (also from chapter 49: "Dead, lightning bug,” Ravio soothes. “He’s dead, you killed him.”)

who's dink is it anyways

the line about four's shadow has me. okay listen i don't remember the chapter but i KNOW there was a line abt the yiga talking about a small town forge. is that four's home from minish cap.

bc back when they met ravio the first (? i forgor) time, ravio told four to remind him about some dark magic (??) book. i thought this would be to revive shadow. is it. is it to revive red instead??

i am not okay abt red death

okay back to the flowchart: shit they haven't been to skyloft yet. i did not realize that until now

'palace' you mean the fucking TONGS FOUR SWORD PALACE??

the line drawn to the underlined dark link beneath time: 'hylia said "mouth of the river". i think this could either be time or sky. time bc he breaks the timeline into 3, sky bc he literally got cursed for being too cool

rulie: i am going to fucking SCREAM. the line from cia to rulie has 'why' written next to it and that's what i wanna know!! 'not safe' is in a fucking box!! underlined question marks!! ravio bbg please.

oh and 3 x's but idk if thats more triforce analogy or just. there to be There

recycled ganon had me cackle. inconsistent dates tho,,, is that like. linking up to why they're going in reverse in wild's time? bc twilight is the direct predecessor iirc???

wind: i cannot read what it says next to dead. looks like,,, 'masko' maybe? evidence of there being a dark: i have not beaten wind waker yet but I HAVE got the master sword. is the time lock shenanigan at the bottom of the ocean dink's fault or the master sword's fault.

i know like 2 things from hyrule warriors: traitors are cringe and cia apparently is creepy. thats probs why talking about dark versions of him is 'personal'. i wonder what 'safe' means in this context; safe to visit? safe to rule out? shaking ravio like a paper bag.

wild drives ravio to apple juice alcoholism more at 11. it is personal is underlined. is it wild's dark? rulie's dark? why are they going backwards? are they going to show up in wild's hyrule for when he DIES because they're going backwards? bro what is up with kyle.

the visits lets fucking go

WHY IS 8 VISIT BLANK. HOLUP

revision glowmin again. We’re not at visit 9. I have no clue why I thought we were there. Migraines are shit.

visits 2 and 3 being about shadow and red. dont look at me i'm crying | visits 2 and 3 are in the same order both for ravio and the links. hmmmmm that's Odd

RAVIO LEARNING WHO RED IS AND THEN NEXT VISIT HE'S FUCKING DEAD. HE GOES TO WAR AND THEN HE'S FUCKING DEADDDDD

visit 6 'got em' what did you get ravio. huh?? you silly merchant man what did you get??? it certainly wasn't bitches

this is the part of the lore board that i actually fucking. bro the circles this is running me through is insane. like how do i even analyze this its making my headache die so we're just gonna spitball.

it. kind of goes in reverse? not really but kinda?? visit 9 is first for all the links, but last for ravio. is this linked to wild's visits being in reverse?

if it ends at 9 i'm gonna throw a sock at my wall

for visit 5 on ravio's side it looks like it says pregnant. ik it doesn't but i cannot make out what it is

[ revision glowmin here again. its research. why did i think it said pregnant. that has literally nothing to do with the fic. ]

crying begins because i can barely ready any of this so bear with me here (BEAR WITH ME!!)

the first like. act of the fic summarized in 1 easy (/s /lh) flowchart. they see the what? rooms? runes? ruins? rains? god i'm illiterate

starting panic for the Dark. singular. i forgor how/if they figured out it was just one.

ravio crossing out where wild should be in the timeline is sending me. i think he's got shit from all 3 timelines in his hyrule (yadda yadda A GAME THEORY) so that would explain why they all just cross each other out.

'wind said shit' that's a good observation. is this as in he said STUFF or as in he cursed and actually said the shit word. important distinction. maybe Wind says something in the war of eras??

the question mark between cia and rulie. is that dink. whats up with the question marks after hyrule. does that imply that it fucking disappears at some point?? or do they just not know

the part where i think ravio's mental state went wewewewewewewwoowowwowow

'evil god hylia?' the Potential though. i don't think its gonna happen but man that'd be a twist. how do you stop the reincarnation of your lover's soul: fucking kill all of them

'evil blink' is that. vaati?? nvm it says evil link i'm illiterate again oopsies!! now we know how ravio came up with dink. cooked

'inconsistent travel more than one person in control' yeah fucking kohga is in on this. drag him ravio

'resurrected monsters by blood curse/blessing' is this related to hyrule's blood curse. i don't think dink wants to revive ganon so what does he need the blood for. is he wanting to ascend to godhood?? vague sputtering sounds

one timeline makes sense when we hear abt why ravio didn't tell everyone about red's death. still sad but that line paired with 'so we keep going forward [...] no counting on do-overs [...] one step at a time [...] together [...] or not at all' really hits home.

this took 3 hours but yeah i'm Normal about this