#Sulfur baths

[mercless]

the nose shape... 🥰

[suetravelblog]

Tbilisi Thermal Sulfur Baths Georgia

[morningbloodystar]

they arent to hot right?

they're amaaaaaazzzzinnnngggg. my mou' fee's like - like - sulfu' ba'!

[gonzodangerfeels]

Classflow presentation keeps going to the first slide.

[cauliflowercounty]

Knives Dance (Part I)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

After years of writing *literally nothing,* I never expected bald Austin Butler to inspire me again :)

Life does wonderful things sometimes.  Feyd Rautha is a fucking snack. And whoops it looks like I invented a planet and a culture :/

Summary: You're the daughter of the Duke of the House of Ronen, and your father and Vladimir Harkonnen have arranged a marriage between you and Feyd-Rautha to join your two houses.  When the House of Harkonnen pays a visit to your planet, Feyd discovers something unforeseen within himself during an assassination attempt…

Reader: she/her pronouns 

Warnings: innuendo/suggestive content, attempted assassination, blood, violence, multiple murders

Word Count: 4.2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

--

The hydraulics whirr as the black metal ramp of the Harkonnen vessel opens downward onto the stone landing pad on planet Youra and hits the ground with a low thunk. Feyd follows his uncle as he floats out of the vessel toward the doors of the Youran citadel, which is nestled in the center of a towering mountain covered in dense forest. Through the canopy, he sees the flickering lights from within the treehouses that adorn the forest cover. 

The fortress itself is bathed in a warm, yellow glow from the round floating lanterns that surround it.  As they hover, they seem to spiral upwards in a concentric spiral and extend their reach up into the night sky. A line of Youran soldiers flank the walkway, dressed in ceremonial garb of earthy, brown leathers with teal accents and intricate geometric patterns.  As the Harkonnens pass, the soldiers bow their heads to them, allowing the carved silver helmets to shine in the evening light. 

The environment here could not be further from that of Giedi Prime with its cold, industrial landscape devoid of color and the stench of sulfur and gas.  The jungle air here is saccharine and floral on Feyd’s tongue.  He feels the brush of the evening breeze flowing past him out toward the sea from the surrounding jungle. As he breathes in, he notices the richness of the air, imbued with the essence of all the flora that have made Youra a treasure trove for natural resources and experimental medicines, reminding him why he and his uncle have arrived on this planet.

The endeavor to secure spice on Arrakis had not gone as smoothly as the Harkonnens had hoped, especially with constant Fremen attacks sabotaging their forces and Rabban’s pitiful attempt at countermeasures. The current state of their operation and the number of soldiers they were losing daily called for acquiring a new tactical advantage.  As much as they hated to admit it, they would have been foolish not to seek one out. 

The advantage lay on Youra, the planet of island rainforests and the home of the minor House of Ronen, where an uncountable number of plant and animal species flourished, supplying the population with life-saving natural compounds the renowned scientists had been extracting from nature and developing for centuries.  Through this arranged marriage, the wealth of chemical knowledge and access to the raw materials would become House Harkonnen’s. Feyd could begin to taste his ascension to power. This was simply the next step necessary to turn the tides of this conflict on Arrakis, which would inevitably end in him assuming the title of Baron if not Emperor. 

With a low rumble, the double doors in front of Feyd open to reveal your father and yourself.  Laying eyes on you for the first time, Feyd stops in place, his heavy black boots almost stuck on the ground.  When the conversation of an arranged marriage came up with his uncle, he was beyond apathetic, knowing that this would be a political move in which he had no obligation to have any investment. The woman would become his wife only by title.  To his astonishment, he is entranced by your beauty, to the point of speechlessness. He almost completely ignores your father’s greeting and speech about the union of your two houses. You are radiant with your skin that glows in the light, unlike that of the Harkonnen women he is used to seeing. You look into his eyes, and he feels almost locked in, the rest of the world fading until all he sees is you. 

“Welcome to our home, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you say to him, not breaking eye contact from underneath your headdress. Your striking eyes bore deep into his soul. It’s almost as if they’re calling to him.  What’s most interesting to Feyd is that they don’t seem to contain a hint of fear or apprehension. He is used to making those around him crumple under the weight of their own terror with his mere presence so he can exploit those emotions and manipulate them as his own personal playthings.  In defiance of his reputation, you seem undeterred by him staring straight at you. As your eyes glimmer in the lamplight, he feels his breath almost catch as they taunt him, draw him. Snapping himself out of the trance, a smirk forms on his lips, remembering how his uncle taught him to behave. He forces himself to relish the thought of toying with your apparent resolve. 

As he looks down, he eyes your lavish, floor-length regalia. The same deep brown and teal that your father and the soldiers wear decorates the patterns on your cloak. He notices lines of gold thread woven into your hair, an appropriate show of the natural resources of your planet. 

Strange, he thinks. The cloak is rather large and heavy. Despite matching the designs of the other Youran garb, it seems out of place to be a traditional outfit for the aristocracy of a rainforest civilization where the warm and humid conditions should prove inhospitable for cloaks of this nature. 

The delicate, meek flower he was expecting to relish picking apart with ease you are not. He’s figured out you're a woman with something you’re intent on hiding from him.  You’ve put on this front either bravely or stupidly, and Feyd-Rautha will peel back every layer one calculated move at a time until you are finally entirely his.  

He steps forward and reaches down to take your hand in his. “My betrothed…” he whispers to you, his voice low and gravelly. “We finally meet, Little One. I must say you look exquisite. I expected nothing less.” He brings your fingers up to his lips and brushes his lips across them before pressing firm a kiss on the back of your hand  His uncle seems most disgusted by Feyd’s tenderness, but Feyd keeps his gaze on you through hooded eyes, knowing that the first move in any game is imperative to the success of his endeavor.  He sees yours flicker for a moment as your body tenses listening to his praise. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

–

Dinner is filled with monotonous diplomacy, tiresome pleasantries, and planning of the wedding to take place on Giedi Prime, but Feyd hasn’t let his attention break from you. It’s as if the kiss he planted on your hand was the catalyst for the first crack in the wall you’ve put up, and now he’s waiting for the perfect moment to make his next move.

All of dinner he’s watched as you attentively listened to his uncle and your father exchange words and eat your dinner. He hasn’t failed to notice how your eyes dart over to look at him through your lashes. With every gesture you make and every word you say, he feels unequivocally enraptured. As much as he’s tried to suppress his emotions and stay faithful to his uncle’s teachings, grounded in violence and viciousness, his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what must it be like to have your touch flutter across his chest when he watches you delicately grasp your water goblet.  When you fold your lips around your cup to drink, he imagines what they must feel like on his skin if you were to drag them down his neck tantalizingly slow. What if you were close enough to him to have your breath fan out across his skin as your lips caressed his? What must it be like to hold your softness in his hands? The very idea makes his breath hitch. 

Of the many thoughts he has as he watches you, many of them becoming increasingly lewd as dinner continues, one remains in his head: if he is this captured by just your face and gaze, basking in the light of what you’re concealing under your cloak, must be heaven adjacent. 

His desire to use you and leverage your own will against you is being chipped away little by little. Feyd’s hardened persona that his uncle helped construct is withering with every second he spends in your presence. The notion is nearly frightening to Feyd, but with every single glance and gesture, his heart, which may have turned to stone long ago, is beginning to accept it.  

Feyd rips his attention away from you as your father stands to thank the Harkonnens once again for coming. “I shall have my servants show you where you shall be staying,” your father announces as he rises from his seat. “I have arranged for our head researchers to show you what progress we have had in our synthetic undertakings as of late. I guarantee you will be very interested in what they have to offer.” 

As you stand, he notices how your hands pull together the front seam of your cloak, preventing it from opening. Curious.

You bid him goodnight and turn away to head to your quarters as a Youran servant beckons him to the guest wing.  That night, Feyd cannot rest as he lays awake in bed in the opulent guest suite, images of you running through his head, and he almost smiles thinking about when you say his name so sweetly.

 “Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

–

The next day, Feyd sees little of you.  In the morning, he makes his way to your quarters only to be informed by a servant at your door that you have already departed for the day.  When he asks where you have gone, the servant provides a murky response about your duties as Lady of the House and wedding preparations, which he as her betrothed would “surely understand.” Just as he decides he will find you himself, he is seized by his uncle as to meet the Youran ministers of culture, science, and development to learn about their acquisition.

Feyd cannot deny that your homeworld is impressive.  It’s steeped in centuries of exploration and inquiry with unmatched record-keeping of not only science but tradition, too. The ceilings are vaulted and adorned with gold. The walls of the citadel are covered in elaborate murals painted on with vibrant colors or carved into the surfaces. Some depict traditional folktales, gods, and ceremonies while those opposite them describe the evolutionary lines of species, a true testament to Youra’s modernity and dedication to preserving your peoples’ history in living memory.  If only he knew which mural decorates the wall concealing you. 

As the picture of your world’s history becomes clearer, the air of mystery surrounding you only grows. Not once has he heard talk of you after his interaction with that servant, but throughout the day he has sensed hushed whispers that are almost certainly about him instead. As he passes soldiers, some of them almost seem to leer at his presence.

 A few times, he thinks he can almost see the hem of your cape disappear around corners, but when he goes to investigate, there is nobody there.  The anger he expected to have inside him due to your avoidance is nowhere to be seen, and only a burning intrigue remains. 

“What a little enigma my wife is,” he thinks to himself when he enters the banquet hall for dinner as the last ray of sunlight fades from the windows as the sun dips below the horizon. 

Almost on cue, the doors to the hall open again and to his gratification, it is you.  He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He cannot deny his own inclination when you smile at him softly, putting him at ease.  

“Good evening, Na-Baron,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Your dulcet tones go straight to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting long.”

“Not at all.”  He takes your hands in his once again, running his thumb along the back of them and savoring the feeling of your soft skin. This time when his heart swells, he lets it happen, surrendering himself to your charm. “I would wait an eternity for you,” he says, realizing you enjoy it when he romances you.  

“You don’t strike me as a man who likes to be kept waiting,” you reply, looking up into his eyes. “I am surprised you are not frustrated with me.”

“I make exceptions,” he replies, noticing how your lips curl into a small smile. “… for when it truly matters.  Since you’ve been absent all day, tell me, Little One, what have you been doing while you were hiding from me all day?”

You let out a gentle exhale. “I assumed you might be curious about that,” you say to him, as you clasp his hands in yours, beginning to tug him backwards to the doors.  “Would you join me outside before we eat, Na-Baron?  I have something I want to show you that I’ve been working on in preparation for our marriage.”  

Allowing you to lead him, he follows you as you pull him through the halls of the fortress.  He senses the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself are within his grasp.  You both head outdoors and descend a grand staircase toward a courtyard nestled in the center of the fortress that overlooks the ocean that is now a murky midnight blue. 

The nighttime lanterns light the way once again, and you both continue into the courtyard which is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. The ground seems to be a single sheet of rust colored stone that is marbled with shards shimmery metals.  The slab has massive circles cut into it spaced in a perfect grid.  Inside the circle is a golden pool of luminescent water.  Tall, half moon shaped walls cradle each pool with glyphs and carvings etched into them. 

“What is this place?” he asks you, basking in the light emanating from all of the pools that surround the both of you as you continue down the center aisle.

“This is my favorite place in the castle,” you explain.  “It’s where we keep one of every species our researchers are currently studying. The rock wall above the pools describes each evolutionary line and the discoveries about it we’ve made. There’s one I want to show you if you would allow me.”

He nods as you bring him to a pool whose accompanying slab remains blank. Looking down into the water, he spots a single indigo fish with long, delicate fins that trail behind it in the water. He watches as it circles the pool. It slows and shudders momentarily. A single incandescent scale breaks off and floats to the bottom of the pool. You kneel to gather the scale from the bottom, holding it so that he can see how the light flickers off its surface.

“Does it intrigue you?” he hears you ask, and he nods in return as something he thought he lost long ago begins to emerge inside of him: his sense of wonder.

“I have never seen such a creature. Would you tell me about it?”

 “It would be my pleasure,” you grin. “This fish was discovered on an archipelago on the other side of the planet. I’ve been studying this fish with our most expert researchers. The pools it lives in almost disappear during the dry season, but we’ve found that they survive to the wet season because of their scales somehow.  My father doesn’t know any of this. He still thinks we know nothing of this creature.”

“It’s marvelous,” he whispers to you, eyeing the small bubbles floating to the top of the water from the fish’s gills. 

“I wanted to show you this fish because this is at the heart of our culture on Youra.  Our people are on a constant mission to learn and discover, so we can help and care for those we hold dearest.  With our marriage, the House of Harkonnen will be a part of that endeavor. I’m showing you this fish because when the fish shed their scales at the beginning of the wet season, they contain a high concentration of a novel compound that allows living things to retain water.”

He sees you fidget with your own hands as you explain. You’re nervous, he realizes. 

“We have been able to extract it from the scales they drop,” you say with a slight waiver in your voice. Here you are bearing your hard work and dedication, your soul to him. Your vulnerability is evident.  Before you were so confident with your gaze and now your eyes never stay on him for more than a fraction of a moment. If you were anyone else, he would have taken full advantage the opportunity to leverage your weakness, but he cannot bring himself to do so.  “This knowledge is my gift to you na-Baron. I have been aware of your endeavors on Arrakis. I realize you may not be as invested in this arrangement as we are, but I wanted to give you this to mark the beginning of what is to come… I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Only wanted to communicate my intentions.”

His heart quivers as his mind darts back to the countless times his uncle has “gifted” things to him as rewards for doing his bidding.  The concubines, armor, and weapons all fall to the wayside; now they’re all tainted in Feyd's mind by his uncle's conniving ways.  They were never gifts in earnest, always being transactional or part of another of his uncle’s Machiavellian schemes. Never in his life had he been given something so thoughtful, something intended to truly protect him. The previous notions he had before of possessing you are bitter on his tongue. Now, he could never and the shame he feels for maybe the first time in years begins to burn into his psyche. 

“Na-Baron,” you plead, bringing him out of his own thoughts.  “Say something, please.”

“Thank you,” he finally says, taking your hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I am grateful for your generosity, my little flower.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a relieved sigh before your emotions bubble out of you.  “You cannot fathom how happy I am to hear you say those words,” you say, bringing your hands to his again. “I was so worried about showing you this!”

Right when he opens his mouth to respond, his instincts as a warrior kick in as he hears the soft whistle of something flying through the air towards the both of you. In a flash, he’s grabbed you by your shoulder to force you to your knees as you let out a bewildered yelp.  The sound lights his veins on fire and fills him with rage.

Against the blank stone slab of the fish’s pool he sees it: a green splatter of a sinister substance that drips down the stone in long tendrils. Below, the shattered remains of a poisoned dart sinking into the water.  You’ve seen it, too. He swivels himself around in the direction the arrow came from. A hooded figure is emerging from behind another one of the stone walls, a serrated dagger in hand, poised to strike you down.  Feyd reprimands himself for leaving his weapons behind in his room in the name of diplomacy, but he’s prepared to fight empty handed to protect you and punish your assailant.

Before he realizes, you’ve shed your cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor behind you and Feyd can finally see what you’ve been hiding. You’re wearing a sage green dress with a bodice plated in iron that’s been secured to in place with intricate leather straps and golden loops that wrap deliciously around your figure. The symmetric slits in your dress that extend almost to your hips reveal your garters where two silver daggers that curve into formidable hooks are secured to your outer thighs.

As soon as he realizes you’re armed, you’ve already grasped the leather wrapped handles of your weapons and drawn them from your thighs with a flourish, launching yourself at your attacker. The ground reverberates with your power, and your blades ring out as they clash with your opponent’s. The man grunts upon impact and with a vigorous push, you knock his weapon upwards and away from you as you swipe at his face with the other hand. When he stumbles backwards, his face covering is swept to the side. 

“Ozran!” you growl as the man regains his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Traitor!”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Ronen, revealing our secrets to that Harkonnen!” Ozran snarls at you, his eyes wild as he begins swiping sloppily at your head, which you dodge with ease. Feyd knows the man is getting desperate. Ozran is quickly realizing running away would have been the best option after his poisoned arrow missed.

Ozran attempts to shake off his regret by hurling himself at you, trying to recover the situation now that he’s committed to one-on-one combat with you. “I will not stand by and have the rewards of our peoples’ work reaped by them.  Without a daughter to marry off, our intelligence will remain ours, and I will protect it to the end, even if that means killing you.”

Feyd hears you tisk at his pitiful attempt at your life as your heel makes contact with his nose.  Blood gushes from his nostrils and drips down his chin in thick droplets.  He staggers back and loses his footing as you drive your blades into him, your footsteps smearing his blood on the floor as you move.  Ozran’s hope drains from his eyes, and he coughs as you pull your knives back, his blood spilling onto the stone floor from the gaping hole in his body. He drops his weapon and it clatters on the ground beside him.

“Too bad you couldn’t get close enough to actually do any damage,” you say sweetly to him as he wheezes. “You were never a man worthy of battle. I’m surprised you even worked up the courage to merely attempt to kill me.”

“D-don’t worry, dear Lady,” he sneers as his knees hit the floor.  “There are more of us who don’t appreciate our leaders betraying our ideals. They will avenge me, and you will join me in death.”  With that, his body crumples in the pool of his own blood. Drawing his last breath, Feyd sees Ozran’s consciousness fade.  From the shadows and behind the other stone walls, he senses more figures lurking.

“Na-Baron!” you call, as you throw Feyd your second knife, which he catches with a flick of his wrist as you pick up Ozran’s weapon.  Your dagger is robust and extraordinarily crafted, truly a weapon worthy of your status Feyd thinks. With that, he joins you in battle when Ozran’s allies pounce, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. One by one, he cuts the treasonous soldiers down with you by his side, slashing their throats, stabbing them in their backs, hearing their bones break, and tendons tear.  It’s exhilarating, fighting not just for you, but with you in perfect synchronization.  

When the last one falls, their mangled bodies are piled around you.  He looks at you with complete admiration in his eyes.  Without a second thought, he pulls you close with desperation. Cradling your face in his free hand, he kisses you roughly and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the familiar tang of iron. As you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his senses sing, he uses his other arm to pull you close, if he’s worried that you will join the souls of the dead around you and leave this world, something he can’t bear to think of now.   

Reluctantly, you both break away from the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another.  Your breaths are thick and heaving.  You look down at his dominant hand, which still holds your second dagger.

“Are you going to kill me now, Na-Baron?” you ask as you look up at him, and he instinctively throws the knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He shakes his head.

“I never anticipated my betrothed to have such prowess in battle,” he whispers lowly, returning his hand to your body.  He drags his fingers across the places where the straps of your dress make indentations in your skin, making you shiver at his touch. His grip on your waist tightens when he palms your supple skin. You hum a sigh of satisfaction that is almost music to Feyd’s ears, and he could listen to it all day.  “Watching you cut down each of them… What a lovely surprise it was… You are truly an unexpected paragon, my dear.”

“Unexpected…” you chuckle, blushing at his flattery. “May I ask another question of you?”

“Of course,” he replies, peering down at you with an ardent stare.

“Before coming here, were you aware there are many dangerous things in the rainforest, Na-Baron?” He nods. “Then why would you assume I am not one of them?”

“Clever girl,” he grins, pressing another kiss on your forehead. 

“From now on, my blades will fight for you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“And mine for you, my love,” he replies as he dips his lips back down to yours.  What a fool he was before, anticipating so little from his future wife. Now he knows better.  He realizes who you really are, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough.

--

Thank you for reading!

Knives Dance Part II OUT NOW!

Let me know if you want to be added to my Feyd tag list

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[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter Three- The Coronation

Summary- The coronation has come about on an even day.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Incest. Mention of (dragon) depression. Bitchy Cregan Stark. Cunnilingus. Fingering. P in V sex. Descriptions of child sexual abuse. Aemond’s brothel trauma. Still angsty babes.

Author's Note- This chapter is a beast besties (10.3k😬) brace yourselves. Link to the full story belowwww

series masterlist

This high up, surrounded by nothing but the mist of the clouds and the frigid air, she feels as though she could go anywhere. It would be easy. One word and Silverwing would turn and fly across the Narrow Sea, deliver them both to the Free Cities. She could live well enough in Pentos or Myr, surviving off the good will of others and the menace that comes from her dragon. It would be an easy life, one that is becoming more and more appealing as the descent brings them lower, but she does not have Silverwing turn. Instead they continue their descent over Blackwater Bay, casting a dark shadow over the half repaired city below them before landing before the ruins of the Dragonpit.

It has yet to be touched since the storming of the pit, only the bodies having been cleared away, graves dug for the Dragonkeepers nearby. Being here makes her feel sick but it is the only place near enough to the Red Keep that can accommodate a safe landing. Even here though, it is difficult, Silverwing hovering in the air for a moment before finally managing to find a place clear enough of rubble to land comfortably.

Ser Willis Fell is waiting for them nearby, sitting proud atop his horse with the reins of another clutched in his fist. He inclines his head in greeting when she looks his way but she takes her time in dismounting. She stays in the saddle for a moment too long, only coming down when Silverwing lets out a mildly irritated huff, more than prepared to return to her nest after flying for so long. Though she loves to fly, she has noticed her dragon longing more and more for her nest these past few months. She has assumed that the loss of Vermithor, of her mate, has made her melancholy and she cannot find the heart to push her when she is so clearly devasted. They are two fragile beings now, broken and battered, and she can do nothing but pray that their bond will help get them through this.

Silverwing drops her head when she finally dismounts and she raises a hand to her muzzle, running it over warm dragonscale. Silverwing lets out another huff, bathing her in the smell of sulfur and ash with her breath and she lets her forehead rest on the dragon's nose for a moment. She breathes in the comforting smell of dragon, not quite ready to return to the Keep yet but knowing she has no choice, before stepping back with a nod. Though Silverwing hesitates for a moment, eventually she manages to depart, the beat of her wings sending the dust around them swirling.

With a haggard sigh, she turns on her heel and makes her way toward Ser Willis and the horses. They both balk somewhat when they smell the dragon on her, taking small steps back to distance themselves, but they are well trained enough not to run. Ser Willis dismounts at her approach, inclining his head, and she manages a small smile.

"Ser," she greets, acutely aware that this man was present on her wedding night, the memory forever lodged into her mind like an axe in a tree.

"Your grace. I trust you had a pleasant ride," he says, ever the picture of duty, one hand offered to her while the other holds the reins steady.

"I always do," she sighs, taking his hand and allowing him to aid her in mounting her horse.

She turns her chin up to watch Silverwing as she leaves, wings spread wide as she returns to the caves above the sea. Already there is a longing in her chest, wanting nothing more than to go with her, but instead she looks toward Ser Willis and offers him a nod, allowing him to lead the way back to the Keep.

With the coronation scheduled to happen the following afternoon, the main streets are far too chaotic to attempt to travel them. With so many lords and ladies still scheduled to arrive throughout the day, they are too crowded to so much as walk through, much less ride through on horseback or, Gods forbid, in a wheelhouse. Instead, Ser Willis takes them through the backroads, riding so close that their horses are all but pressed chest to flank. It is a poorer part of the city so she knows what he is expecting. For some cutthroat or beggar to come lunging from a dark corner in an attempt to slit her throat or steal his money purse, but other than a few bewildered stares followed by hasty bows, no one comes forward. She assumes they are all too busy watching the arriving lords, the current retinue making their way through the opposite street to so much fanfare she feels she may go deaf.

She looks over her shoulder to glance at Ser Willis, eyes still locked on the opposite street. "Who's arriving, do you know?"

He follows her gaze to stare through the awnings, squinting in an attempt to make out the heraldry. "House Karstark, I believe. No doubt Lord Stark is not far behind."

That gets her attention. She looks at Ser Willis for a moment, knowing her disbelief is palpable. Jace had written to her about Lord Cregan, every word filled with admiration and respect. He had gushed about how she must meet him, how after the war they would take their dragons and fly north so he may show her everything he had experienced there. He had raved about the weirwood forests, the Old Gods, the people who lived there. He had loved all of it but he had loved Cregan most of all. They had gotten on so well she had half the mind to believe they were brothers separated in the womb from the way he spoke of the young lord. When we go north together, he had said, you will see what kind of man he is. You will love him as I do.

She had wanted to meet him.

Jace had wanted her to meet him.

Read the rest here :)

Taglist- @ammo23 @bellstwd @kckt88 @aemondsbabygirl @shygardengalaxy @duds31 @at-a-rax-ia @ladymarg0t @queenofshinigamis @drakar-i @cl-0-vr @castellomargot @moonlightfoxx @ladybug0095 @marihoneywk @the-common-cowgirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @bunny24sstuff @helaenaluvr @toodlesxcuddles @eternally-passionate @herfantasyworldd @lokiofasgard12 @ashovertheriver @hypocritic-trash-baby @heavenly1927 @bunbunbl0gs @divxnee @hopebaker

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[shmreduplication]

HAPPY MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Please try to have a few good moments for my birthday by:

listening to jazz at kcsm.org (and consider donating a little 🙏 [they're a local radio station to me and they also broadcast worldwide online, it's almost entirely listener-funded and they have some jazz history educational programming with the music, and the music sounds so nice with the lab machinery noises at my job])

watching some cute cat videos by heidiwranglescats (instagram link)(and consider donating a little 🙏 [she's my brother's friend and does cat TNR in Brooklyn and rescues the kittens and adopts them out. The videos of the kittens getting sulfur baths are my favorite because they don't know what's happening and then they're covered in yellow soup, it's adorable])

looking at baseball hats from a small artist on kickstarter (and consider purchasing 🙏 this one has a nice koi fish design as their next stretch goal link [i collect baseball hats and kickstarter has a lot that fit my design requirements of nice embroidery, no text, and something I'd actually wear and supporting one kickstarter will encourage other artists to also do baseball hat campaigns on kickstarter and then I'll get to support even more small artists worldwide by buying their hats!])

[quack-quack-snacks]

Elephants In Love

Pairing(s): Inexperienced!reader x Inexperienced!Arisu Summary: This is basically a rewrite of Season two episode six, the elephant scene, except with the reader and smut. They’re both virgins and awkward as shit but they like each otherrrrrr Warnings: Fluffy fluff fluff, fingering, sex kinda in water (Don’t do that it’s kinda dangerous), unprotected sex (Def don’t do that, wrap it before you tap it), super soft fluffy sex. Word Count: 3,513

“Oh. My. God.”

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

“Arisu!” You called out to the boy. He was a ways away from you, checking out a puddle on the ground. He dipped his hand in but then flinched back. He faced you with wide eyes, realizing the same thing as you. “It’s a hot spring!” You exclaimed excitedly. “The water’s perfect over here! It’s hot but not burning, you know?”

He smiled at you sincerely, watching as you clenched your fists to resist the urge to jump up and down in joy. Although the smell of sulfur in the air made his nose twitch, he held back any complaints to not ruin your moment. “Really? Then let’s get in!” He prompted, running toward you and taking off the flannel over his undershirt. “When’s the last time we took a bath? We can’t pass this up!”

“You want to bathe together?” You questioned, looking away in embarrassment at the thought. 

“Huh? Oh,” he said quietly, realizing his words. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “How about I go over there,” you pointed to the part of the spring behind a rock. “And you can stay here?”

He nodded in agreement, a light hint of pink dusting his cheeks, covered just enough by the lack of light that you couldn’t see his visible embarrassment. 

Walking over to the rock, you took a glance back at Arisu but quickly looked away when you saw him taking off his shirt. You scolded yourself for having feelings for him, but it was just so easy. He was so easy to fall for, with his beautiful face, high cheekbones, and kissable lips. He was kind too; always sacrificing himself to help you and others. It was rare to see him so happy, so excited; it was beautiful and you cherished each moment he shared his happiness with you. 

You took off your clothes, setting them down on a piece of broken rubble near you for when you got out. Stepping into the water, you went slowly to adjust to the hot temperature until you finally settled down. You let yourself float on the water, soaking in the feeling of a bath after going so long without one and letting your head go under the water for a few moments before returning to the surface and smoothing your hand over your face to get rid of the water that collected there. 

You heard Arisu let out a pleased sigh. “I could die right now and I’d be happy.”

“Don’t go dying on me just yet, we still gotta get home so I can be your friend in the real world,” you demanded, half joking and half serious. 

He was silent for a moment before he replied. “Yeah, I’d like to be your… friend, too.”

You were about to reply when the strangest thing in front of you appeared. You let out a small sound of surprise. Arisu started calling your name, worry in his tone, but you just were unable to form any words. He appeared from behind the rubble and his eyes landed on the same thing that captured your attention. “That’s not possible,” he breathed out softly, stepping more towards you. “They can’t be real, can they?”

In front of you were two large elephants, their feet three feet deep in the water. You were absolutely mesmerized, so much so that you didn’t even realize how close he was to you and how naked your body was under the crystal-clear water. 

“They’re taking a bath too,” he said with a childlike wonder that was so precious. 

“I’m pretty sure there was an animal exhibit relatively close to here. Maybe they escaped there after everyone disappeared,” you theorized.

“If we hadn’t been brought here, we’d have never seen this,” he spoke again. The thought was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. You never wanted to be in the borderlands, you were just thrown in without any explanation. But if you never made it in, you would have never met Arisu. You would have never seen the elephants in front of you; never met the friends you made through the games. 

A sad smile made its way onto your face as you watched one of the elephants stick its trunk into the water. “Yeah,” you whispered.

“You know what’s kind of crazy?” He asked rhetorically. “I’m feeling emotional, and I’m not entirely sure why.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the exact same way. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

After a moment, you turned your head to look at Arisu only to find him already looking at you. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, just basking in each other’s presence and the calm atmosphere. Your eyes began to travel down his face to his chest. Water droplets collected on his skin as he stood tall. The lower part of his body was covered by the water and the thought brought you out of your haze. You turned around quickly, pressing your hands to your cheeks to calm the heat collecting there at the expense of your embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry!” Arisu apologized from behind you. You could practically see the awkward position he was probably in at that moment. “I didn't see anything! Just elephants! I’m only looking at them,” he reassured. “I love elephants.”

At the end of his rant of an apology, you turned back around to face him. “Arisu,” you called. He stopped in his tracks as he was walking back to his designated bathing spot. “It’s okay,” you said shyly. “I- I didn’t mind,” you confessed, cursing yourself for the lack of confidence you had in the words. They were true, you genuinely didn’t mind, but it sounded so hesitant when it came out of your mouth. “You can stay.”

He turned around slowly, looking at you for confirmation which you nodded at. He then lowered himself into the water until it met his broad shoulders. You had a small smile on your face as you watched him. He was just so beautiful you couldn’t believe it. Even if nothing came out of this, you would be happy just to stay by his side as a friend. 

Arisu slowly walked up to you until barely two feet were separating the two of you. Your eyes locked and it was like the world stopped at that moment, just allowing the two of you time to look at each other without any interruptions.

That is until one of the elephants collected some water in its trunk and sprayed it over its head and back. The two of you looked over in awe, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you unconsciously let your fingers skim against his. You didn’t even realize it until Arisu let out a soft gasp and looked down at your hands. You looked down as well but didn’t raise your gaze to meet his, too nervous to see what his expression would be. Instead, when you realized he didn’t pull away, you softly, with a barely-there touch, pressed your fingertips against his. Your lips formed a soft smile when he took the next step and interlocked your fingers. 

Finally looking up, his eyes, soft and adoring, stared back into yours. His smile mirrored your own: gentle, hesitant, hopeful. It was when his eyes drifted away from yours to look at your lips that you finally saw the signs in front of you. 

He liked you too. 

You’d had the thought of him returning your feelings fluttering through your mind on occasion, but you always pushed it away, thinking he was just being friendly. You should have just listened to Usagi, she always knew he liked you and encouraged you to confess your feelings. She was right, as usual.

You lifted your right hand to place it on his cheek, lightly brushing your thumb along the scar on his cheek. It was one he’d gotten during the whole fiasco during the Ten of Hearts game back at The Beach. You don’t like the memory that accompanies the wounded tissue on his face, but you always thought it was beautiful. 

He leaned his cheek more into your hold, letting out a deep sigh and briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them, he lifted his free hand hesitantly before placing his palm on the side of your neck, pulling you toward him ever so slightly. He gave you every opportunity to pull away but you didn’t want to. You just wanted him to close the distance between the two of you and kiss you. He stopped again when he was less than an inch away from your face, your lips brushing with each breath. Deciding to take it into your own hands despite your nerves, you pushed forward and pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss. It wasn’t a very long kiss but it felt like forever before you slowly disconnected yourselves. He didn’t let you stray far as he rested his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” he confessed. 

You grinned, leaning back in to give him a short kiss and giggling when he tried to chase your lips as you pulled away. “Me too,” you admitted in a low voice. 

He gently disconnected your interlocked hands and you started to pull away, thinking the moment was over until he wrapped his - now free - hand around your waist. In a frantic and panicked attempt to stop you from pulling away, he pulled you toward him with a little too much force and your bare chest crashed against his. The hand that held his cheek fell to his shoulder while your other instinctively placed your palm just below his collarbone. His eyes were wide as he gazed into your surprised ones, his body stiff as a log when your breasts pressed against him under the water. The both of you stayed still, trying to figure out what to do in the unfamiliar territory. It wasn’t until you inched the hand on his shoulder to the back of his neck that you felt him relax, your own body relaxing as a result. 

You pulled him back in to connect your lips again, both of you feeling more confident with the situation. He gently started to lead you backwards until you met a large slab of slanted concrete that was halfway in the water. It was tilted just enough to make it so that you were still being caressed by the soft ripples of the water but you weren’t fully submerged as Arisu carefully lowered you onto it with a hand protecting your head. He pulled away from the kiss, looking to make sure each thing he did was wanted. 

It was.

You let a finger trace over his neck, smiling proudly when you felt the high speed of his pulse and the subtle shiver that ran down his spine. He watched you with such awe as your fingers skimmed up to his jaw, then his cheek, then his lips. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, caressing the dimples caused by the smile he was shining down on you. Pulling him down, the two of you kissed again, though this time it seemed more heated; more passionate. His mouth found its way down your neck, leaving soft pecks against your skin until he reached just past your collarbone. He leaned back to look at you as if just realizing your position. 

With the placement of your body on the rock, the whole of your torso was out of the water and put on display for Arisu’s eyes to roam freely. He blushed when his gaze settled onto your breasts, still dripping from the water of the spring and with your nipples slowly becoming pebbled from the growing excitement in your core, but he wasn’t able to tear his eyes away. 

“Are you just going to look at me all day or are you going to do something?” You asked him. Your tone was teasing but he caught the slight vulnerability laced beneath the words. He noticed the way your fingers twitched as if wanting to reach up and cover yourself from his judgemental - or at least, in your mind - eyes. 

“You never told me you had a body built by the Gods,” he said genuinely, hesitantly tracing a hand down from your neck to your breast, going slowly in case you changed your mind. Your body continuously tensed up and relaxed in excitement as he skimmed his fingers over your right breast. You let out a soft whimper and saw his eyes dilate, lust filling them. He got more confident and wrapped his hand around your breast, squeezing gently. 

“Arisu,” you moaned out softly as you grabbed the hand not fondling your breast, and moved it down your body towards your core. “Please-.”

He watched in awe as you led his hand under the water to where your cunt was slightly distorted from the water but wet for other reasons. 

You moaned out and dropped your head back on the rock as his fingers swiped through your folds, bumping your clit each time he went up. 

“I’ve never done this before.”

Your head snapped back up to look at him as he nervously looked into your eyes. You could see the fear of judgment and insecurity in his gaze; you could also see the confusion when you smiled at him. 

“Me neither,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to caress his cheek. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. 

“Do you want to?” He asked, being extra careful about making sure you wanted this.

“Arisu,” you deadpanned, but he quickly cut you off. 

“Ryōhei. Call me Ryōhei, please. If I’m going to be making love to you then I want you to call me Ryōhei,” he pleaded and you had no choice but to concede. 

“Okay, well, Ryōhei,” you started again and he let out a little moan of approval into your neck that made you blush. “We wouldn’t have gotten to this point if I didn’t want it,” you reassured and he raised his head to look at you. “I want you, I have since the day we met.”

He smiled at you before resting his head back into the crook of your neck. “Okay, then. Are you ready?” He asked as he lined his fingers up to the entrance of your core. 

You nodded and he gently latched his teeth onto your neck, making you gasp before he slowly entered his middle finger into your wet, warm cunt. The feeling was similar to what it felt like when you played with yourself but so much better. Ryōhei’s fingers were longer and hit places you could never find. He may have been inexperienced but he was obviously naturally skilled at it. 

He started to slowly pull it out before pushing it back in, rougher than gentle but not too rough. Your moans and whimpers encouraged him to continue and he did. He brought his thumb down to try and find your clit, finding it after a few seconds of effort. He was glad he at least knew a bit about the female body and how to properly please them (he partially had porn to thank for that). The choked moan you let out the moment he pressed his thumb to your bundle of nerves made him grin cockily into your neck. 

“That’s it,” he whispered against your skin and you breathed shakily. When he slowly pushed his ring finger into you alongside his middle finger, your legs, which had been wrapped around his waist for the majority of your activity, squeezed around him as your moans slowly got louder and your breathing picked up. You weren’t sure how he was able to make you reach the edge so quickly but you didn’t really care either. “I’ve got you, just let go,” he reassured you, pressing kisses along your neck and shoulder. It was the needed push for you to reach your high. He kept pumping, riding you through everything and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

Once you reached the end of your orgasm, Ryōhei slowly pulled his fingers out of your pussy and brought it over to massage your thigh as you breathed heavily. When you opened your eyes, you saw him looking at you with the most awestruck and lovesick look in his eyes, it built your confidence but also made you overly shy. You forced yourself to not look away from his intense gaze, staring straight back at him with a look that had Ryōhei grow harder than he already was. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asked you, having brought both hands down to your thighs to massage them and love on them. Your heart clenched at his sweetness and you knew this was the boy you wanted to marry someday. 

“Please,” you answered in response with a nod. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a loving kiss. He smiled into the kiss and slowly started to readjust you so you were higher on the rock, your - still dripping - core now on full display for him to see. 

When he pulled away, he immediately lowered his gaze over your body and eventually to the pussy he would be inside in a few minutes. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?” He asked rhetorically before letting his right hand leave your left thigh to grab his erection and drag the head through your fold, circling your clit with it every time he passed over it. “Are you ready? I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he reassured. You looked down at where he was still dragging his penis over your cunt and realized just how big he was. 

And you meant it when you said it was big. 

Despite your nervousness about his size, you nodded and pulled him down so this time you were hiding your face in his neck. “I’m ready.”

As soon as you said that, he slowly began to enter his dick in you, going so slowly as to not hurt you. You whimpered at the stretch, the pain mixing with the slightest bit of pleasure. When his hips pushed flush against the backs of your thighs and ass, he stayed still, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit to help you adjust to the pain. It worked. The pain morphed into a dull ache and the pleasure started to take over. “Please,” you whined and squirmed just the tiniest bit against him. He got the message and slowly pulled out until only the tip remained, only to push it right back in again. He was so deep, you swore he hit your cervix. The pleasurable pain of the feeling made your head fall back and your legs squeeze around Ryōhei’s waist. He kept one of his hands to press against your hip and keep you in place while the other rubbed tight circles on your clit. 

It was such an intense feeling that you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. You were losing your virginity, but most importantly, making love to Arisu Ryōhei, the boy you’d been falling in love with since the day you met him in this dreadful world. You wished the moment would never end, but you knew it had to.

Especially since you could feel your orgasm coming up on you very quickly. 

Almost like the two of you were in sync or he was reading your mind, Ryōhei said, “I won’t be able to last much longer. Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned out. 

“Me too,” you whined, bringing him down to your level again so you could messily slam your lips against his. The kiss was little more than the two of you breathing heavily into each other’s mouths until you could feel the warm feeling of Ryōhei’s cum painting the inside of your walls. Him cumming triggered your own orgasm and the two of you moaned into your interlocked lips. 

He continued to thrust the two of you through your highs until he slowed to a stop and gathered you in his arms for a cuddle session. You laughed under your breath and wrapped your arms around his as well to return his affection. 

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed into your ear from where his head was resting against your temple. His lips traced against the shell of your ear as he spoke and it made a pleasurable shiver run down your spine. You smiled at his confession of love and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“I am so in love with you, Ryōhei.”

You were quietly grateful for those elephants because they ended up being the whole reason you and Ryōhei found your way to each other, this time as lovers instead of friends.

[sashiavi]

•·····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓢𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑·····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#7•𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐•#7

𝙰𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝙸𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ³ᵏ

Contrary to popular belief, Arataki Itto was actually a very clean man. He took pride in his appearance, always carrying a comb for his wicked, thick hair, just in case he needed to gussy up. His embellishments on his clothing were always polished and replaced if missing, not a stitch out of place. His large fangs were pearly and white, brushed thoroughly every morning and night, his form bent over a small sink with frothy toothpaste dribbling down his chin was a sight to behold. Itto's skin was (freakishly - in your opinion) clear - minus the stark red tattooing that painted his body. He claimed he had a 'Super Duper Top Secret Special Arataki The One And Onsen Enjoyer Itto' method to having immaculate skin. Not that you were particularly listening to him.

"Aren't you permanently prohibited from the Hot Springs in Inazuma City?" You quip at him. You weren't wrong, he was in fact banned. For life. Your boss seemed to terrorize the city in the most underwhelming fashion possible.

Somehow, you found yourself atop a high mountain, skin bit at sharply by the cold wind, you were surprised there wasn't any snow. You press on, nearly dragged by the aforementioned Oni, he insisted that he would graciously share his little secret with you. Through a set of thick bushes and trees you come across a small clearing, a steaming hot spring nestled by thick boulders and cliffs. The air was wet and humid, the water slightly clouded, but the scent of sulfur was welcomingly absent. Itto puffs his chest out, clearly proud of his little discovery, already showing you all of the 'cool and awesome features' it had to offer.

"This rock could totally be used as a cup holder!" He bouts. Did he even bring a cup?

Before you can even reply Itto was already working his clothes off, untangling the intricate buckles and straps adorned over his body. You're quick to look away, finding a sudden interest in a lavender melon, though, not before you catch a glimpse of his large naked form. You hear the water ripple softly as itto climbs into the spring, groaning out a long "Ahh" as he sinks into the steaming water. You glance back, his arms stretch over the slippery smooth stone behind him, resting his elbows on the lip of the pool. His thick, painted chest peaks above the murky water, large pecs rising with his deep breaths. Weirdly, he looked as though he were in his natural habitat, this large hulking creature resting, relaxed in his own personal bath. Itto definitely had an essence of dominance, as if he owned the place, he probably thought he did considering he had found it.

"C'mon! Are 'Ya comin' in or not?" He calls from his spot. Oh, right. You were here for a reason, to experience the spring he had gushed so highly about. The idea hadn't fully set into your brain, you didn't really have time to think of the logistics of the activity - to be naked with Itto; The boss of the Arataki Gang, the Gang you were very much apart of, therefore your boss. Naked, with your boss, practically sharing the same bath. Maybe it wasn't too late to take a leap off of a nearby cliffside. Did Itto experience embarrassment? You were starting to think he did not. You pressed your lips into a thin line, the water was clouded, if you kept your body submerged maybe he wouldn't see you.

"Can you look away?.. please?" You plead softly, the last thing you wanted to do right now was perform a strip tease for him. A strip tease? Why was that the first thought to pop into your head? Alright, maybe you have had the one off, maybe several, countless sleepless nights thinking about the large Oni. Archons, It wasn't your fault that he was beautiful. The man of the hour shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head back against the lip of the spring and shuts his eyes. You were doomed. The soft swell of his Adam's apple accentuated by his extended throat, his sharp jaw angled prettily under the tree's shade. Was he aware of just how handsome he was?

You blink away from him, carefully removing your clothing and folding them into a neat pile. The cool mountain wind makes your skin shiver, prickling with goosebumps, the steaming spring was looking especially tempting. You wrap your arms around your chest, ineffective against the breeze but still bringing you a slight comfort, at least some part of you was covered up. Tentatively, you dip your toe into the spring, the warm water swells under your touch. You carefully step in, bypassing the slippery stoned ledges naturally carved into the pool. Your arms stay around you as you sink into the pool, sitting directly across from Itto, a good few feet away.

Itto peaks an eye open, downturned from his position, he gives a cheeky smirk and lifts his head to face you. You sink further under the murky water, cheeks flushed from more than the steaming spring. Archons, could this be any more embarrassing?

"Why are you all the way over there? I don't bite!" It apparently could. Itto's voice was ever boisterous, you were sure he alone could cause an avalanche, maybe that was just what you needed. You'd never have to think about this situation ever again. Reluctantly, you cross the length of the hot spring, carefully making your way over to where the large Oni sat.

You weren't careful enough it seemed. You felt as though something brushed against your calf, slimey and thin like a tendril. Oh Gods, there was surely a flesh eating whopper flower about to pop up and snatch you for dinner. The thought is stupid but your brain wholeheartedly believed it for at least 0.2 seconds - So did your body. You jolt unexpectedly, yelping shortly as a little tendril of grass attacks you under the water's surface. Your foot slips on the slick rocks beneath you, launching you straight into the unsuspecting Oni.

If you weren't already embarrassed (you were), you sure as hell were now. Could the Abyss just open up and swallow you whole? Please? Your body was frozen in place, your soft tits pressed into the Oni's hot skin of his chest. Your hands brace his large shoulders, your finger's barely wrapping around the swell of him. Your legs were stuck, straddling the thick quad muscle of his thigh, flexed hard due to the startle of you slipping on to him. Archons, Itto was handsome, never have you seen his face so close before, his strong, pretty nose, sharp brow and jaw, soft, parted lips. He looked stunned, crimson eyes wide, tongue poking behind his thick canines.

Everything about your current situation was warm. The warm steaming water, the hot press of his skin, his warm breath on your lips, sweet and strawberry scented. His tongue wets his bottom lip, stained red from one of the many lollipops he'd nursed on during the hike up to the spring. Your eyes dart to his mouth and back at his face, he follows suit, swallowing thickly as he inches ever so slightly towards your lips. You're not sure who closes the gap, but your lips end up on his, slow and tender. He breathes you in, his broad nose knocks into your own as he tilts his head. Your tongues collide, slipping and rubbing against each other, as sweet as candy. Your tongue swirls against his, lips open and pressed together, drinking up each other's soft moans. Slowly you pull away, only just, hot spit connects your mouths together, barely getting a chance to snap before you dive back in. His thick canines carefully bite at your lips, irritating them deliciously, making them ache and swell.

Your hips move on their own, grinding your achey cunt on his thigh. Itto's breath catches in his throat, growling lowly on your tongue. A large palm squeezes at your hip, slowly guiding you in his lap. You moan sweetly into his mouth, chest rising heatedly, a soft pressing ache blooms in your clit as you squirm on his thigh. The water below dribbles from your palms as you slide them from his chest to his neck, wrapping your arms snuggly around his shoulders. You card your wet fingers through his hair from the nape of his neck, tangling the strands with the moisture on your hands. You feel his unoccupied hand slide down your front, over your bellow and towards your navel. He thumbs at your clit, rubbing slow circles over your achey bud.

"I-Itto!" You wine into his mouth. He mutes your cries with a harsh press of his lips, Archon's he couldn't get them off of you. He drinks in every little noise you make, swallowing them up with his tongue. The pads of his fingers press elsewhere, dipping ever so carefully into your hot cunt. You sigh as he slips his thick middle finger into you, tugging at the hair growing from the nape of his neck. His finger teases you, fucking into you with quick short curls before slowing down, pressing his thumb to your clit. His pace alternates, always surprising you, earning him the sweetest whines to eat up. A second finger joins, nestling into your pussy, rubbing at the sweet little spot inside of you. You can't help but grind into them, wiggling your hips down on his yummy fingers.

The thick length of his cock presses into your soft tummy, his fat velvety head rubs against your sternum. Archons he was huge, the thought of his cock splitting you open makes your pussy ache on his huge fingers. Your hand comes down to cup his fat cockhead, carefully rubbing up and down. You thumb at his slit, teasing and hot, it was his turn to whine into your lips. Your cunt clenches on his fingers, begging for something longer, thicker.

"Gods… Can I sit on it?" You whine into his mouth, biting against his plump bottom lip. You're fairly certain his mind short circuits, his very last brain cell is fried. His lips part with a soft moan, his cock twitches hard on your front, clearly he's entertaining the thought. His fingers curl hard in your sweet pussy, fucking you fevourishly. Your head tilts back with a short hiccup and he kisses across your cheek, warm lips land behind your ear. He nibbles softly at your skin, big teeth pressing so sweetly into your neck.

"If you can take me, Doll~" His voice is low and cheeky, Archons you've never heard him like this. You squeeze at his thick cock to prove yourself, flicking your wrist in just the right way. Itto moans a laugh, capturing your lips in a quick, searing kiss. You move to straddle his lap, legs already aching from just how big his body was. You rub your sweet pussy on his cock, catching his thick head on your achey hole. He groans as his fat cockhead slips through your folds, slick from the warm water and your own creamy arousal. Gods you must be dripping if he can still feel it.

"..Want you…" You keen, chest heaving, pretty tits pressing into his chest with every hot breath. Itto nods, his brows pitched up, eyes foggy and glossy. He wanted you too. You guide his fat head to your achey little hole, wiggling your hips over his cock as it nestles into your little pussy. His large palms brace on your hips as you *slowly* sink your cunny down on his length. Your pussy was somehow hotter than the steaming spring around you, creamy and tight and just so right for him. His cock stretches you nicely, stinging in the best kind of way. His length was never ending, sinking into you forever it seemed, Gods you swore you could feel him in your throat. Was this what heaven was? You were willing to sin again and again if this was your destiny.

"Take it all.. Yeah, yeah, lookin' so good in my lap-" Itto babbles. Gods he was so vocal - And you loved it. Your pussy kisses at the base of his cock, clenching sweetly on his thick length, squeezing lovingly. Itto continues to babble sweet praises, lips pressing into your neck and shoulder with every few words. His palms caress over your skin, settling on your plump ass cheeks, squishing the flesh with his fingers. He gently pulls you forward, rocking your hips on his cock, nestled so deeply inside of your cunt. It was your turn to whine, stringing sweet pet names into his ear, praising him for filling you so well.

You take initiative, carefully lifting your hips in his lap, dragging his length out of your warm cunt before dropping back down with haste. The sweet press against your cervix makes you cry out, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. You continue, fucking his fat cock with slow thrusts, relishing the thick stretch of your walls. It was slow, it was intense, and you never wanted it to end. Ittos breaths are heavy, laced with a soft pitch of his voice, his chest heaves against yours with his breathy pants. He has to resist fucking his length into you from below, resist grabbing your smaller form and having his way with you. His hips crane into yours accidentally, pushing his cock head well beyond where you thought was physically possible. You moan from your throat, whiney and high pitched.

"F-Fuck- 'm sorry Doll" He moans pathetically, soothing his hands over your behind. You shake your head, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip.

"No.. not sorry- Fuck me~" You keen. Your legs ached, the water's resistance did a number on your thighs. Itto's jaw drops and his eyes roll, Gods you were insatiable. He snaps his mouth shut with a click of his teeth. He squeezes your ass, fucking his hips up into your gushy pussy, relishing in the soft squeeze it gives his cock. He starts out slow, tentative, testing the limit of your creamy cunt, pressing his tip hotly into your aching walls. The hot water ripples around you, lapping in waves against the edge of the pool. You wiggle and squirm in his hold, trying to grind your sweet cunny down on him faster. He nips at your bottom lip, spreading your ass cheeks and bottoming out hard in your pussy. He relishes in the loud cry you give him, grinning dopily before he picks up his pace.

He thrusts up harshly, his fat cock fucks into your soft pussy over and over. He bounces you on his cock, the water of the pool splashes and laps at the slippery rock edges. Your pretty tits rub at his chest, sweet and bouncy, standing out insatiably against the red tattoos he adorns on his skin. Gods he was strong, battling the thick resistance of the water with his hips and forearms just to fuck you. Your puffy clit grinds into his navel, sending the sweetest ache into your cunny. You string a sweet babble of his name;

"Itto~ Itto! 's good Itto!" You hiccup, fucked stupid in his lap.

"Such a pretty girl~ P-Pussy's made for me~!" He babbles back. Archons he was drunk on your cunt, he couldn't get enough of you. He certainly wasn't letting you go after this.

"..'M close~ Itto- I-Itto 'tto~" You cry, breath caught in your chest, clit aching, pussy clenching over his fat cock. The water was hot, he was hot, your cunny aches and burns as he fucks you. A pretty little line of drool dribbles from your lips, Itto is quick to lick it up, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Your pussy clenches on him, your hips grind into his groin, your puffy clit aches and stings in the best way possible.

"..'M cumming- Ittoittoi-itto! Cummin-!" You squeal into his mouth, humping his fat cock into your cunny, somehow matching his impossible pace. Your pussy clenches his thick cock with your orgasm, squeezing his aching length so sweetly. Your lips kiss at his sloppily, hiccuping sweetly as you ride your high on his cock. Your orgasm spurs him on, fucking you with long, slow thrusts, bullying your cervix with his fat tip. He pressed in deep, groaning on your tongue, whispering sweet praises as he rides out your cunny. His fat cock shoots the thickest, creamiest ropes into your pussy, pulsing hotly with every spurt of his load.

When all is said and done, Itto runs his hands over your back, soothing your sweet hiccuping form. He kisses into your hair, giggling dopily, hugging your smaller frame and sinking further into the warm, steaming pool. You hum into his neck, nosing at his wet skin.

"My legs hurt" You snicker from your nose, lifting your head to place a firm kiss on his lips. He soothes his palms over your thighs, carefully lifting you, cradling you in his arms like a princess. Your head tucks against his chest, fingertips tracing over the thick red lines on his skin. Everything was warm, the steaming spring, Itto's skin, your heart. You relax into him, maybe coming along was a good idea.

You dread the trek down, maybe you can convince Itto to carry you. He huffs a short laugh and kisses your forehead. You hum, you don't think he'll need much convincing.

This... This was three thousand words I am so sorry

I just- I just think he's really really neat *sob*

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! Ily ♡

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[comfortless]

hi syl! omfg i cannot believe we are mutuals, i love your works so much. but have you heard of the midieval concept called “marriage on the gallows?” basically, a person who was given death penalty can still be saved when someone promises to marry them. all i can think about is könig going to a live hanging/ burning at the stake and using marriage on the gallows to have a wife.

not like she was framed or anything, right(????) but don’t worry, könig promises to make her happy and alive now that he’s her husband. or maybe knight! ghost was the one who was about to be killed but y/n is like “I CAN FIX HIM” and marries him instead.

chanting Torta, Torta, Torta hi!! i am hugging you for this. <3 i have heard of it! but never did i think to apply it to König and now here we are… ^^

content/warnings: forced marriage?, vague religious imagery, injury, threat of public execution, vague smut.

When you sell your soul, really sell it, you’re cutting away from the umbilical cord that tethers you to whatever waits in the darkness of the afterlife. You kneel, you pray, you bathe yourself in sacred water and parrot divine words, but you don’t realize you’ve become obscured in invisibility, a shadow, a husk.

He’s clipped her wings and the only thing left to do is end her flight, let her go tumbling down into a pit of sulfur from the rope lead tied to her neck: to die before a sea of jeering faces, horse shit and fine wine, gilded paintings and the darkened splatter of blood, dried and crisp against a wooden stage.

König knows something about that, because there’s a dense, thorny guilt curling in his chest as he looks up at the little sparrow led up to the rope with her face pushed down by a hand that doesn’t belong there.

She’s done no wrong; smiling sweetly at a man like him shouldn’t have resulted in this. His heart shatters when he hears her begin to cry, her battered face wrenched up to face the crowd by the hangman’s cruel hands.

A little, flightless bird like this could never have done what he did to get her here. Gentle, sweet things knew so little of the very blood that pulses in veins, of what a man’s innards look like spilt out on a thick blade.

But of course they will believe anything— she’s a commoner, no special asset to the village. They needed their farmers, their tailors, and men like him— the blacksmith they all shunned as though he had risen from the fiery pit he worked away at himself. They didn’t need her.

Only he did.

So when he steps through the crowd of vultures to watch as the rope is tightened around her delicate neck, his voice comes in a roar. He propositions the hangman that he will take her as his wife, haul this devil back to his shack at the village’s edge and ensure that she— he will spill no more blood.

She weakly raises her head to eye him, recognizing him immediately as the man who had accused her of murdering that stable boy only two nights prior. Her stare is not judgmental or accusatory: she doesn’t have a clue of the lengths he has went to- would go to- to tether her to him.

A fortnight later, the woman becomes his bride.

She doesn’t know what brought her such a malison, how she came to be the wife of a man who once cast his accusations toward her, but she’s grateful to the man who’s cursed her to suffer him.

There’s no celebration, no flowers or dancing. There’s a kiss she nervously leans into at the chapel, shy, while his heart bursts into flames.

She isn’t blessed with meaningful vows, only a pleading profession whispered into her ear when his kisses reach from her neck to the curve of her jaw.

It’s consummated in that darkened shack, not a candle lit where smoke has painted the walls black with ash and dust; a place where she curls her arms over him sweetly and breathes her thanks against his shoulder, where his fingers commit every curve, dip, and ridge of her to memory. His words are lost in her hair, her shoulder, her chest as he devotes every remnant of himself to her entirely. He isn’t gentle, but he tries when her tight whines and whimpers fill his ears, drowning out even his lamentations.

She tolerates him four times over before he can will himself to pull away from her warmth. The guilt is replaced by a sense of purpose, a certainty that all he’s done has been entirely for her. She tells him that she would never hurt another thing, and he whispers against her skin, “I know.”

His flightless engel does not remain downtrodden.

Each morning she wakes him with giggles, face warmed in memory of the night’s prior rapture. She bakes for him, sweet things that he’s never thought himself worthy of prior while he buries himself against her, yearns to pry apart her ribs and bury himself in her softness for all time.

He kisses at what remains of the scars along her neck when she finds him melding down steel for a new weapon, takes her into his lap just to watch the flames dance in her eyes.

[suetravelblog]

Tbilisi Georgia

[leathfaic]

Ghost is a man who never needed to do much to draw attention when he goes clubbing. His impressive frame ensures he gets plenty of attention. That natural air of authority honed over years as a commanding officer ensuring he has his space if he wants it, unwanted approaches stopped before they even begin.

Still lots of eyes stick to him casually leaning against the bar. Always had an easy pick of those brave enough to approach him. Even before the scars in his face he attracted a certain type, the twinks that wanted to be thrown around, bears wanting to play with someone in their own weight class they weren't sure they could out-wrestle and everyone in between who just likes tall, strong blondes. Ever since the scars that has only intensified, might be that he loses out on some vain types, but the daredevils flock to him even more now.

So really he can't complain. He's not the biggest fan of the places, avoids scrungy punky ones altogether for very personal reasons, but they serve their purpose. Finding a quick lay mostly. Sometimes just enjoying a space where he's not the only gay man for miles and miles.

When he starts to go clubs with Soap though, it becomes a very different experience.

First of all he's not looking to take anyone home or to a convenient dark corner.

No, he's here because Johnny likes dancing and what Johnny wants he usually gets. Simon could never deny him anything.

So there is no one Ghost is looking at but Soap. And bloody fucking hell it is worth looking.

Johnny's easy confidence bleeds off of him and mixed with his natural charm he commands the entire rooms attention. His body helps, sure, sculpted muscles barely hidden by a mesh shirt and jeans so tight there's nothing left to the imagination, but there's plenty of good looking men around.

None of them carry themselves like Soap does though.

He watches as Soap enters the dance floor, seeming to melt into the beat. Dancing as effortlessly as he cleans an entire building of hostiles. A fucking vision in strobing lights as he let's the rhythm dictate his movements. Wide fucking smile painted on his face.

People flock to him, wind themselves around him in more or less proficient dance moves, probably hoping to leave an impression over the gaggle of obvious suitors.

Soap toys with them, dancing with those he finds entertaining, neatly sidestepping those he doesn't. Bathing in the attention of wandering hands and lips.

Ghost wonders if they can feel how dangerous of a man he really is. If they can smell the slight hint of sulfur from the demolitions workshop he's been crammed in all day. If they can see the edge in his eyes, that predatory glint of a man trained to kill walking through a crowd of unaware civilians.

Most probably can't.

Some who can probably find it exciting.

In the end none of it matters anyways.

Because it is Ghost's gaze that Johnny seeks when another man winds around him, littering his neck with kisses. And it's on Ghost's wordless command that he abandons the crowd of hopefuls. Meandering over to him, well aware of all the looks following him as he sprawls himself in Simon's lap unabashedly.

It's a unique rush of power having the man they all want at his beck and call. To take a sip of whisky and shamelessly kiss it into his mouth. Making sure just a little spills over painting a golden line for him to lick up.

Keeping his eyes on the crowd and bathing in their envy, their hunger and their shock.

He indulges for a few minutes, let's Soap shower him in affection while keeping him and the room in check with his dominance over the situation.

It's a game they both know Ghost will lose down the line, will drag Soap out of the club like his life depends on it. Maybe throw him over his shoulder just to make a point.

But not yet. Now he makes sure Soap drinks some water and sends him off again with a well aimed slap to his arse.

And Johnny smiles bright and wide. Drifting into the crowd, the crowd that is apprehensive at first but before long they can't help themselves. There's some wary glances shot at Simon, but his ongoing indifference seems to embolden them. Crowding Soap like moths would a light.

And Ghost finds himself suddenly enjoying clubs a whole lot more. Revelling in Soap's obvious bliss and the knowledge that the man who drives the whole dance floor senseless will follow him in the blink of an eye.

Let them get their hopes up, he's got nothing to fear, to be jealous over because he knows the only thing that matters:

Soap commands the whole room without even trying, but Ghost is the only one who commands his attention.

[time-woods]

Do you have any hc for good omens? 🙀

Crowley constantly looks like he’s been sunburnt- n also has redish orange swirly markings all over him (my reasoning is something to do with the boiling sulfur bath ya knows)

Crowley purposefully makes his heels click on the ground whenever he walks just to either annoy people or cause he just likes the sound his shoes make,

Aziraphale/ all angels have blue mouths just cause I wanted angels to be a little more inhuman plus it just adds a pop of color/ visual interest

I fee like Aziraphale sets aside books that he thinks Crowley would like but knows he’d never read them but hes got hope, same for Crowley but he sets aside music cds that he plans to get Aziraphale to listen to one day,

Some random headcanons for the 2 of thems

[sheriffaxolotl]

Fallen: A Path to Redemption (Chapter 1) Alastor x Reader

"Solace, you say? Well, my dear fallen friend, in Hell, solace comes with a price."

“What kind?”

“How about... your soul, my dear.” Word count: 4,521 ✿ Friends to Lovers ✿ Slow Burn ✿ Eventual Romance ✿ Drabble | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡

As you walked through the dimly lit streets of Hell, a sense of foreboding washed over you, the very essence of the city casting a sinister spell upon your senses. It sprawled out before you like a twisted labyrinth, each turn leading deeper into the heart of sin and suffering. Pentagram City, as it was known among its residents, sprawled out in all directions, a sprawling city of sin and suffering that seemed to stretch on for eternity, or at least that is how it felt to you have come to view it now after all this time.

The buildings that lined the streets were a haphazard mix of architectural styles, their crumbling facades adorned with a color scheme that was only ever in a variety of red. Neon signs buzzed and flickered overhead, casting ominous shadows that danced along the cracked pavement below. The sickly glow they emitted bathed the streets in an otherworldly light, a haunting reminder of the darkness that permeated every corner of this forsaken city. You found yourself needing to look away from the neon lights at times – their intensity causing your eyes to strain. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay, a putrid Odor that seemed to cling to everything it touched here. Demonic creatures and sinners slunk through the shadows of the city, their glowing eyes watching from the darkness with a predatory hunger and desperation. Tormented souls wandered the streets in a daze, their anguished cries blending with the distant wail of sirens and the rumble of infernal machinery.

"Ah, another lovely day in Hell," you muttered to yourself, your nose wrinkling in distaste as you navigate through the crowded streets. Despite your years in this infernal city, the sights and smells never failed to unsettle you, a constant reminder of the sin that surrounded you.

Despite the horrors that surrounded you, you continued to press on, driven by a sense of purpose that burned within your soul. For within the depths of Pentagram City, amidst the shadows and the suffering, lay the key to your salvation – or perhaps your damnation.

In your eyes, amidst the chaos and despair of Pentagram City's twisted landscape, there lay a strange beauty waiting to be discovered. Along the endless alleyways, vibrant murals adorned the walls of abandoned buildings, their colors a stark contrast against the gloomy surroundings. As you navigated the cracked pavements, the haunting melody of street performers filled the air, their voices intertwining to create a mesmerizing symphony that reverberated through the twisted alleyways. It would have been a captivating spectacle, if not for the crude and lewd nature of the performances that seemed to saturate the city's public spaces.

"Yep... just another day," you muttered under your breath, steeling yourself against the onslaught of sights and sounds that assaulted your senses.

Amidst the chaos, you remained a beacon of determination, your steps echoing softly against the cracked pavement. Despite the darkness that surrounded you, you pressed forward with unwavering purpose. As you approached cannibal town, you couldn't help but shudder, your eyes instinctively averting away from the sights and horrors that littered the streets. Yet, you continued on, fueled by a resolve that refused to be swayed by the gruesome reality of your surroundings. After all, you had a radio station to keep running, and nothing was going to stand in your way today.

"Keep moving forward," you reminded yourself, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that washed over you as you accidentally made eye contact with one of the sinners indulging in their gruesome feast by the side of the road. Hastening your pace, you focused your gaze ahead, determined to put distance between yourself and horrors of cannibal town as possible.

You were in a hurry today. Accidentally sleeping in had made you late to open the studio, and you knew you couldn't rely on looping music for too long before the sinners started to catch on. Despite the weight of your past bearing down upon your shoulders, you moved with a sense of purpose and determination, each step a testament to your unwavering resolve. Heavy bags sagged beneath your weary eyes, a silent testament to the sleepless nights and endless anxiety that had plagued your every waking moment recently. But today was not a day to dwell on fatigue or worry. Today, the radio station needed to be opened, and you were determined to make it happen.

"Just one foot in front of the other," you whispered, pushing onward through the chaotic streets.

But still, despite the ever-looming darkness that threatened to engulf you at every turn, you pressed forward, your eyes locked on the distant horizon. Ahead lay the radio station, a symbol of purpose and duty for you in a city consumed by chaos.

You had been blaming your recent unease and restless nights on the intensified thoughts of redemption that had been plaguing you recently. Yet, even amidst the uncertainty and fear, you clung to the belief that redemption was not merely a distant dream, but a tangible possibility waiting to be seized. In this labyrinth of sin and suffering, where despair lurked around every corner, you remained determined to confront whatever trials lay ahead. For you, the path to redemption was not just a journey—it was a destination worth fighting for.

With each step you took along the twisted streets, you felt the weight of centuries bearing down upon your shoulders, a burden that had grown heavier with each passing day. Despite the ever-present darkness that loomed over you like a suffocating blanket, you refused to be consumed by despair again. Each twist and turn of the twisted streets only fueled your determination, propelling you forward towards the elusive promise of redemption. It was a journey fraught with uncertainty, but you were prepared to face whatever trials lay ahead, for the chance to forge a new path and reclaim what had been lost.

Redemption.

The word echoed in the depths of your mind, tinged with bitterness and longing. It had been centuries since you had been cast into Hell, stripped of the ability to use your wings and left to wander the streets of this city alone. The memory of your fall from grace still lingered like a ghostly specter, a constant reminder of the choices that had led you to this place.

But it had led you to him.

As you traversed the dimly lit streets, memories of your fateful encounter with Alastor flooded your mind like an unstoppable tide. The recollection of that momentous day, spanning centuries past, consumed your thoughts with relentless intensity.

The memory of your first encounter with the enigmatic radio demon, when he had emerged as one of Hell's most dreaded overlords, lingered vividly in your mind. It was a day that left an indelible mark on your soul, altering the very course of your life.

The echoes of that momentous meeting resounded within you, every detail etched into your memory with unwavering clarity. It was a day of immense significance, shaping the intricate interplay between you and Alastor within the chaotic landscape of the underworld.

You could still see it all so clearly—the moment before you thought you stumbled into him, lost in the unfamiliar streets of the city, your heart heavy with despair and longing for solace in a new world that offered none. Your wings, once radiant and majestic, now hung limp and broken at your sides, a painful reminder of the fall from grace that had brought you to this wretched place. But even as you struggled to conceal your angelic identity beneath a makeshift cloak of filth and debris, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of being hunted by unseen eyes that lurked in the shadows.

And then he appeared, like a specter emerging from the darkness, his presence as palpable as the weight of the world upon your shoulders. Alastor, with his piercing red eyes and the unsettling grin seemed to slice through the darkness like a blade. He sized you up with a predatory gaze, his gaze cutting through your facade with unnerving precision. You knew that he saw right through you, saw you for what you are under the filth and despair.

In that moment, you realized that Alastor knew exactly what you were – a fallen angel, stranded far from the heaven you once called home. And as he stood before you, his knowing smirk spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over you in this infernal domain. Even as he offered that mock bow and spoke in that gentlemanly tone of his.

It was a meeting that would change everything, setting into motion a chain of events that would shape the course of your destiny in ways you could never have foreseen. For in Alastor, you saw not just a powerful demon, but a potential ally—a way to navigate the treacherous depths of Hell.

He extended his hand, a sinister grin stretching across his lips as he proposed the deal – a pact sealed in the very fires of Hell itself. In exchange for your soul, he offered you protection and guidance, a glimmer of hope in a world that had turned its back on you. It was a tempting offer, one born of desperation and fuelled by the promise of salvation in the face of unrelenting darkness.

In your moment of weakness, you had accepted, unaware of the true cost of your decision. He had seen your vulnerability, your need for solace, and he had preyed upon it with cunning precision. But deep down, you knew the truth – it was a transactional exchange, a bargain struck between two souls bound by desperation and necessity. And so, the deal was forged, the terms set in stone, and you found yourself inexorably bound to him by the chains of your own making. Little did you realize then the true nature of the bargain you had struck or the toll it would exact upon your soul in the days and years to come.

You can recall as the years passed you had found yourself becoming more entwined in Alastor's world. You began to see the true extent of his power and influence. He was not just a mere overlord, but a force to be reckoned with, a master manipulator who pulled the strings of Hell's darkest secrets. You struggled to keep up with him at first, for his idea of "guidance" meant putting you in the position of his assistant.

Despite the suffocating darkness that cloaked him like a shroud, there was something undeniably captivating about Alastor, something that drew you in despite your better judgment. It was a strange concoction of fear and fascination, a whirlwind of emotions that left you feeling both exhilarated and unsettled in his presence. Which was probably why you found yourself not completely out of sorts over the deal you had made. Hell, at times you found yourself becoming comfortable by his side.

He was unlike anyone you had ever encountered before, a force of nature unto himself, with a charm that was as beguiling as it was dangerous. His very essence seemed to exude chaos and unpredictability, and yet, there was a magnetic quality to him that you couldn't quite resist. It has been the reason you hadn’t resisted when you found yourself forming an acquaintanceship with the demon. You never forgot the fact that you formed a deal with him, but you also know you would have perished in hell without it. As the years passed, you found yourself increasingly entangled in his web, your role shifting from mere acquaintance to something deeper. Despite the shadow of your initial deal looming over your interactions, there were moments of genuine connection, where laughter and shared interests bridged the gap between the two of you.

But for all his allure, there was a darkness that lurked beneath the surface, a sinister quality that sent shivers down your spine. Beneath the charm and charisma, there lay a cruelty and arrogance that left a bitter taste in your mouth. You couldn't ignore the way he toyed with people's lives, finding amusement in their suffering as if it were mere entertainment for his twisted amusement.

It was a trait that you found repulsive, a stark reminder of the true nature of the demon before you. Despite any moments of camaraderie or shared interests, you kept him at arm's length, wary of the darkness that lurked within him. You refused to be drawn into his games, determined to maintain your sense of morality amidst the chaos of Hell.

"It was a good thing that you did as well," you remind yourself. The longer you remained within his grasp, it became painfully evident that he saw you as nothing but a pawn in his elaborate scheme. To him, you were merely another soul to be manipulated and discarded at his whim. The realization was like a cold slap to the face when you stop trying to see your deal through rose-colored glasses, pushing you to stay focused on your own motives and to keep in mind the true nature of the bond that bound you to him.

As the years unfurled like dark tendrils, you found yourself inexorably drawn into the intricate web of Hell's inner workings, your place at Alastor's side shaping your very being in ways you never thought possible. Together, you traversed the twisted pathways of infernal politics and power dynamics, your partnership born out of the necessity and survival in the unforgiving depths of the underworld.

With each passing day, you witnessed firsthand the extent of Alastor's influence, his mastery over the sinners of Hell a testament to his cunning and resourcefulness. You watched as he wielded his power with ruthless efficiency, his charismatic charm masking the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. It made scene why he was able to make so many deals.

And as you stood at his side, you found yourself undergoing a metamorphosis of your own. No longer did the trappings of your celestial heritage define you; instead, you embraced the sleek, mobster-inspired garb favored by Alastor. The celestial radiance that once emanated from you had dimmed, replaced by a darker allure that mirrored the sinister depths of your new reality. However, you clung to remnants of your celestial heritage, evident in the half-up crown braid adorning your head. In your eyes, it was a subtle attempt to retain a semblance of your former self, a last remnant of your symbol of a halo.

It wasn't just your outward appearance that changed as the years passed. With each passing day, you felt yourself growing more adept at navigating the streets of Hell, your mind sharpened by the constant challenges and intrigues that came with your role as Alastor's assistant. You don’t know when it happens. Perhaps it was after the passage of the first century since your fateful deal over your soul, but you couldn’t avoid being emerged as Alastor's trusted confidante in other eyes, your allegiance to him unwavering as you navigated the perilous currents of the underworld by his side.

With each challenge met and each intrigue unraveled, your wit grew, your mind sharpening like a finely crafted blade. You became adept at deciphering the subtle machinations of Hell's sinners, your insights becoming invaluable to Alastor as you worked in tandem to uphold his dominion over the ever-shifting landscape of the city. As his right-hand woman, you stood steadfast by his side, a formidable duo poised to conquer whatever obstacles lay in your path.

You could feel yourself falling into old habits by his side.

Until he disappeared.

In the wake of Alastor's sudden disappearance, you found yourself adrift in a sea of uncertainty, your current world thrown into disarray by the absence of the radio demon. For the first few weeks, you struggled to make sense of his sudden departure, your mind consumed by questions and doubts. You had gotten into a routine with the radio demon – weaving a new web of purpose that you had found to be rather manageable. You didn��t see this as an opportunity for freedom. Without Alastor, anything could happen to you in Hell without his protection. It had thrown you into a hole of despair – much like the stage you had entered Hell in.

But even in the midst of your confusion, you remained steadfast in your loyalty to Alastor. You refused to believe that he was gone for good – You had to, clinging to the hope that he would return to reclaim his rightful place at the helm of Hell's airwaves. Or you pray he did. You didn’t know how long you could get away without him being there before one of the overlords figured out what you were. If they did, you were sure it would result in a swift death or an eternity of torture. In hell, funnily enough, considering your situation. Maybe you just hoped he was okay because he had your soul in his possession. But you know the real reason. You were genuinely concerned for him. Even if you tried to keep him at arm’s length – you know you considered him a friend.

In those first few weeks of his absence, you had felt adrift, your once unwavering sense of purpose shaken to its core. You had spent countless hours wandering the dimly lit streets of Pentagram City, searching for any sign of Alastor's whereabouts, but to no avail. You decided to think that he would be relying on you to keep his radio studio alive, and you took on the task with fierce determination. Day and night, you tended to his affairs with meticulous care, ensuring that his presence remained felt even in his absence. You know at the end of the day it was a desperate attempt to find a purpose.

It was no small feat, keeping the radio scene alive and thriving in Alastor's absence, but you refused to let his legacy fade into obscurity. Mostly in the fear that you did, you might be done for. You poured your heart and soul into the task, channeling your energy into maintaining the electrifying atmosphere that had become synonymous with Alastor's name. It had been nerve-racking at first. You had never spoken over a radio before – let alone knowing that others would be listening.

And as the weeks turned into months, and the months turned into years, you found yourself growing stronger and more resilient in the face of adversity. You had become a pillar of strength in Alastor's absence, a testament to your unwavering dedication to keeping a hold of this for your sanity or the hope that this would keep the other overlords away. And though you longed for the day when Alastor would return, you knew that you would continue to hold down the fort until that time came.

During this time, you did feel a sense of emptiness that seemed to gnaw at your own soul. You missed him. Maybe it was his way of speaking or how together you were able to enjoy moments listening to music – not feeling the need to make commentary or talk for hours. Him drinking his black coffee while you enjoyed the tea he despised so much.

Yet, during this time, you were able to find solace in the returning thoughts of a path of redemption that you had strayed from so long ago. You hadn’t thought about it for a while. Hell, you had been too busy while working aside from Alastor. But the more time you were by yourself, the more you thought about it. It started with small, hesitant steps – a whispered prayer offered up to the heavens in the dead of night, a longing to reconnect with the divine forces that had once guided you.

With each passing day, you felt the pull of your celestial origins growing stronger, a yearning deep within your heart to find your way back to the light. You sought solace in the rituals and practices that had once defined your existence, craving the sense of purpose and fulfillment that came with walking the path of righteousness.

Without Alastor there… maybe you would have a chance at it again. And though you knew that your journey would be long and arduous, you refused to give up hope. You clung to the belief that redemption was possible, even in the darkest corners of Hell, and you vowed to yourself to do whatever it took to find your way back to the light.

As you traversed the shadowy streets of Hell, a palpable sense of unease settled over you like a suffocating fog. The air was thick with tension, and an ominous foreboding lingered in the murky depths of the underworld. With each step, you felt the weight of your surroundings pressing down upon you, a relentless reminder of the darkness that pervaded every corner of your existence in Hell.

You are brought back to the present from your racing thoughts as the sound of demonic whispering and shouting can be heard as a group of sinners crowds TVs outside a store. You move closer as you stand on your tiptoes to look over the top of heads and horns. A bit of a bump here and there as more sinners crowded around. That’s when you saw it – a flickering projection of someone on the News. You soon recognized who the face and voice belonged to. Lucifer’s Daughter. Charlie Morningstar. And you were now huddled into a group of sinners as you watched Charlie’s latest blunder, cast upon a weathered screen for all of Pentagram City to witness. The sight of it sent a shiver down your spine, a sickening knot forming in the pit of your stomach. Charlie was singing about something about a Hotel for sinners, the words blaring out from the television like a grotesque mockery of redemption.

Refusing to subject yourself to the spectacle of Charlie's folly, you averted your gaze and shuffled out of the crowd of sinners as you got back to the footpath. You quickened your pace, heart heavy with the weight of your responsibilities. The burden of your duties hung heavily upon your shoulders, a constant reminder of the role you played in the ever-unfolding drama of Hell. You might be able to get a few words in over what you just saw. Pull in a few extra listeners.

With determination etched into every line of your face, you focused on the familiar path leading back to the sanctuary of the studio, the comforting hum of routine beckoning you like a beacon in the darkness. Amidst the chaos and turmoil that engulfed you, you sought solace in the familiarity of your work, eager to find refuge amidst the swirling maelstrom of uncertainty that surrounded you.

As your hand reached out to grasp the familiar door handle of the studio, a sudden surge of energy crackled in the air, causing you to recoil in shock. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and a sense of foreboding washed over you like an icy wave crashing against the shore. Before you could even begin to process what was happening, you felt an invisible force wrap around you, pulling you into its grasp with irresistible strength.

With a startled cry, you stumbled backward, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat of dread. Darkness enveloped you like a suffocating cloak, swallowing you whole and leaving you disoriented and breathless. The sensation of being transported through space and time assaulted your senses, disorienting you in a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty.

For a fleeting moment, you felt as though you were being torn apart at the seams, your very essence stretched thin and fragmented across the fabric of reality. Colors blurred and merged in a dizzying kaleidoscope of chaos, and the world around you seemed to warp and twist with each passing moment.

‘I guess it was nice while it lasted… Good lord, please make my death swift.’

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the tumultuous journey came to an abrupt halt, leaving you standing in the eerie silence of an unfamiliar place. Your heart raced in your chest, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to regain your bearings. You glanced around frantically, your eyes wide with alarm as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Wherever you were, one thing was certain – you were far from the safety of the studio, and the unknown loomed ominously before you like a specter in the night.

As the suffocating darkness finally lifted, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of the Hazbin Hotel, your senses still reeling from the sudden transition. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy, and an eerie glow bathed your surroundings in a spectral light that sent shivers down your spine. Confusion and apprehension gripped you like icy tendrils as you struggled to make sense of your abrupt arrival.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in the silence of the cavernous space around you. The realization dawned like a bolt of lightning – You had been blindsided by Alastor's powers, whisked away to the hotel without so much as a warning. Panic clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to consume you in its relentless grasp.

Before you could gather your wits, Alastor's voice sliced through the silence like a knife, his words dripping with sinister amusement as he greeted you with a twisted melody. Your breath caught in your throat; you felt your pulse quickening at the sound of his voice. You turned slowly, your gaze meeting his crimson eyes glittering with mischief.

"And here is my dear assistant!" He exclaimed; his tone laced with a cruel kind of charm. "Truly a lovely beauty that fell from grace!"

A mixture of emotions swirled within you at his words. While there was a sense of joy at his return, there was also a wariness that lingered in the back of your mind. Despite the warmth of his presence, there was a chill that ran down your spine as you stood face-to-face with the Radio Demon. You were all too aware of the darkness that dwelled within him, the cruelty hidden behind his charismatic smile.

And yet, despite the shadows that surrounded him, there was a sense of comfort in his familiarity—a reminder of the bond you once shared - For better or for worse. As you bask in the glow of his presence, a sense of caution mingled with gratitude. You were grateful to have Alastor back by your side once more, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of his unpredictable nature.

With each passing moment, the realization settled in like a weight upon your shoulders – you were reunited with an old friend. And though you knew the challenges that lay ahead, you faced them with a renewed sense of awareness, knowing that Alastor's presence was both a blessing and a curse. ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿

My AO3 account!

Just a reminder that this is my first ever Fanfiction - Besides the Dabble I posted I've never really done anything like this before. As I mentioned in the announcement chapter of Fallen, I was into creative writing in high school. I never took it further than that because I'm super into art. Recently I've started to get pains in my drawing hand however so I thought I would pick up another hobby to be able to have a break but still allow me to have fun being creative.

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I appreciate feedback and if you like this please check it out on AO3 to leave a kudo or comment °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

I'm already planning to make some drawings for this as well - if you are interested in that my Instagram is @Ivory_Sketching

[melanirana]

My bearded dragon is so unbelievably pissed at me right now.

Gave him a nice warm bath to help his digestion and arthritis, also to get a poop sample because worms, and now he is sulfur yellow with a black beard and staring daggers at me.

You can see my other beardy in comparison here, note how one of em is significantly more yellow. (The picture doesn't even do it justice, my man is cheese yellow)

That's the old man, he mad

[domainedewinter]

The Price of Fire 1/4

The fire that shines under the moon

Summary: Aemond meets a mysterious silver-haired girl on the beach while facing Vhagar. Solving mysteries is an intellectual game he loves to play and what a magnificent mystery he now has in his hands.. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken, hm?

Warnings: DUBCON, TYPICAL TARGARYEN INCEST, profanity, innuendo, he/him pronouns, you pronoun, fingering, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, misogyny, toxic behaviour, Dom!Aemond, begging, underage HOTD style, nsfw.. (coming soon, I will indicate the chapters containing smut with a 🔥) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

English is not my first language

If your life has always been beautiful, bathed in opulence and pleasure, your birth remains a mystery nonetheless. As you look at yourself this evening in the tall mirror of the room where you are staying during this journey, this thought crosses your mind once again.

You were still just a baby, a newborn, the day a man you know nothing about except that he was unpleasant to look at and had difficulty walking, offered you to your father with a lot of gold to leave the continent in the greatest secrecy. A wealthy and respected Dornishman, a Martell, who raised you as his own daughter, integrating you into his powerful family upon his return to Dorne and taking care to protect you as if the sky might one day open to take you back. When he couldn't sleep, he would look up at that same sky, scanning the horizon for a threat of which you knew nothing. Yet, with every dream of dragons, clouds, and storms that you shared with your father, he became increasingly vigilant.

It took a lot of persuasion to convince him to let you accompany him to the royal city, the same one he had always warned you about. But he had no choice, always preferring to know you were with him or with trusted people, like the family you had arrived at a few days earlier. And it was not without regret that your father had to leave for a week-long trip, leaving you alone here with your uncle and aunt who treated you like a diamond to be hidden from others' eyes. You never went out, and if you had to meet other people, it was always with a scarf to hide your hair, eyes downcast, so as not to reveal the lovely color of your eyes.

But tonight, awakened by yet another dream of growling, fire and the noise of wings flapping, you look at yourself, still sweaty, in the mirror. Your hair is long, slightly wavy, and moon-colored, as much as your eyes are a pale indigo, asking for answer you're craving to discover. You need to get some air, to be alone, far from this golden prison your father left you in. Gathering your courage, you climb out the bedroom window with grace and agility before slipping into the streets, guided only by your instinct and the sound of the waves calling you.

The sun has set for a while, but the night is surprisingly clear, the moon almost illuminating as if it were dawn. The crowded streets turn into alleys, then paths before your bare feet in Dornish-style sandals - like the rest of your outfit; mustard-colored pants slit at the thigh and a burgundy drape revealing your shoulders - touch the sand still warm from the day. You smile, sighing softly with pleasure and relief to be away from everything and everyone, until a strange noise, a purr or rather, a growl, draws you down to the sea. 

It is not a rock, as you first thought, that stands there, but something alive. And enormous. As you approach, hand outstretched, curiosity getting the better of you, a huge eye opens not far from you, making you gasp in surprise. And it is not the only thing that opens; an huge maw with the smell of sulfur parts, an unknown but dangerous light emerging from its depths.

“Vhagar! No!” 

The voice of a man makes you look up, waking you from the stupor that had paralyzed you upon seeing the creature open its maw before you, and not just any creature: a dragon.

“Who are you and why were you trying to attack my dragon? Do you seek death, little girl? Because Vhagar was about to grant your prayers!” says the voice again, a silhouette stepping between the monster and you, drawing your attention. This silhouette is none other than the prince to whom this dragon belongs, and you know this because your father has taught you. You know the princes and princesses of the great houses, the useful names, literature, philosophy, and religion too.

Tilting his head slightly to the side at your silence, the prince before you seems to be losing patience as you search for his name in your memory. You can see it in his one-eyed gaze, fixed on you. Not knowing what to do, and still somewhat shaken, you turn on your heels and start running, but the flight is short-lived for, after hearing footsteps behind you, you feel a grip on your arm, forcing you to stop your run and turn so quickly that you lose balance and fall backward. The sand cushions your fall, a gasp of surprise and pain escaping your lips as you find yourself pinned to the beach by him. You're not afraid and respond with courage, your thin eyebrows furrow and your gaze attempting to be threatening, even though the man questioning you doesn’t seem frightened at all. 

“That is very rude, turning your back on a prince and refusing to obey, hm? Perhaps you are truly suicidal...”

He almost seems angry that you are so reckless, but you only struggle more, apparently unimpress by him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your dragon, I just raised my hand to touch it, so let me go!" you reply with rage, kicking and wiggling your hips to free yourself, but Aemond holds on and has a clear physical superiority over you; the rigorous training he engaged in daily since the accident had sculpted his body fiercely and effectively. 

However, despite all his hours of training with Cole and all the fighters he now beat, nothing had prepared him for such audacity from a woman, let alone one so young and in a definitely delicate position.

"Prince Aemond..." you murmur, your voice suddenly losing its courage as you recognize the man who has literally fallen on you. 

It is his single eye that helped you regain your senses and memory. Under other circumstances, you would have been quicker to remember, but the sight of a dragon and the confrontation with a man, alone in the middle of nowhere, had made you lose your composure more than you would like to admit.

Out of all the people living in this great city, you had to stumble upon a prince, and not just any prince; one of the king's sons, the one whose dark rumors reached Dorne. Being terribly close to him, you cannot ignore his hair of the same color as yours, and his eye, his only eye, which stared at you with the same violet gleam.

Your father would be terribly furious and scared if he learned about this. It shouldn't happen; you need to leave and disappear as quickly as possible, return to your chamber, and not come out until his return.

Just for a moment, you think you might be scared - not only of Aemond Targaryen, but of the consequences of your encounter. But the thought doesn’t have time to take root before the prince lifts you to better pin you against the ground again, wanting to bring you back to reality.

"You seem to know who I am but refuse to tell me who you are." The prince growls, the coldness of his fine features turning darker. He obviously isn’t used to being refused, let alone by a young girl lost on the beach daring to resist him. "Answer me, it's an order!"

You don’t know what you risk by refusing to obey a prince, but the mere idea of your father’s reaction or being recognized fills you with more fear. Trying to sit up, you growl in frustration. "Get off me! I swear I wasn't going to do anything, so let me go!"

Wanting to tip the odds in your favor and taking advantage of the element of surprise, you quickly lift your knee, managing to hit him, probably not hard enough to hurt but enough to surprise him. If he thinks he could intimidate you, he doesn’t know you because when Aemond’s eye widens in surprise, you quickly turn your head and bite his forearm as hard as you can, tasting the warm metallic flavor of his blood against your lips.

Vhagar growls in concert with his rider, who releases you with a hiss of pain, as if he has just put his hand in molten lava. Astonishment paints the prince's features, and it’s the moment you choose to stand up, finally finding yourself on your feet before him. But Aemond Targaryen is quick and just as swiftly on his feet, his dagger in hand. Both of you face each other, in an attack or defense position, no one could really tell.

The only thing you want is to flee. Run as fast as possible, as far as possible. Do not look back. Forget this evening, the dragon. Forget the prince and the fear.

You have not learned to fight, and now that the moon reflects the prince’s deadly blade, you know the fight is lost from the start. Yet, that’s not the only thing the moon and the fight have uncovered; your scarf is negligently stretched out at your feet, in the sand, revealing your entire hair and leaving no doubt about your astonishing resemblance. 

At this sight, the prince lowers his weapon slightly, fascinated by what he sees; not only by your similar traits but by you, just you. He looks at you as he has never looked at anyone, a new gleam born in his eye. “It seems we started off on the wrong foot. Will you stop struggling or trying to flee? On my side, I promise not to use this,” he says, showing you his dagger, “against you.”

The options are unfortunately limited for you, but curiosity wins over your reflections, abandoning all common sense. The worst is already done; Aemond Targaryen has seen how much you resemble him so, why to refuse? You nod gently and stand up completely, letting your hands hang at your sides as he approaches cautiously, scrutinizing every part of you his lilac eye can land on.

“What is your name?”

“Roxaene.”

"Judging by your clothes, your posture and your intact features, you come from a house with, at least a last name I imagine."

“Martell.” You finally add, a sigh of frustration escaping your lungs at having had to reveal so much to him.

His fine eyebrows furrow for just a moment, creating a line between his two eyes. “The Dornish women have quite different physical characteristics in my last memories; they are known to be magnificent and captivating and although I definitely don't question the beauty of your face - and what else I can see...” he says, letting his eye run along your body, your skin offered on your shoulders, seeing the paleness of your thigh and your bare arms. “..it seems obvious to me that if you live in Dorne, you are not originally from there. Isn’t that right?”

Uncomfortable, you swallow, your gaze unable to fix on anything, uncertain. You bite your lip for a moment and look at him again, not wanting to appear frightened or hesitant. “There are some shadows around my early days of life...”

Aemond murmurs in approval, circling you like a bird with prey, like a dragon before attacking, and it’s when he is behind you that you shiver as his blade appears in front of your eyes, just far enough for both your reflections to appear. “Shadows or not, you cannot deny what you see, can you?”

Feeling him so close to you, almost glued to your back, makes you tense, but you remain stoic. Of course, you see how your resemblance is unsettling, of course, you see the similarities that make you who you are. But your father never wanted to tell you more, so even if you wanted to, you couldn’t reveal more to the prince.

“Yes... but I’m afraid I have nothing else to tell you.” In a last moment of courage, you turn your head towards him, your gaze meeting his. “In fact, I was hoping that by coming to this city, I would be the one to get some answers.”

He remains motionless, staring at you while listening to you and yet, even if your words have reached his mind, the prince cannot help but smell the scent of orange blossom from Dorne's gardens filling his nostrils as he inhales you like a succulent meal to taste, pressing his chest closer to your back to feel the warmth. At that moment, the young prince knows that he will never want to let you go again. Aemond Targaryen loves to plan, think, decode, understand. Solving mysteries is an intellectual game he loves to play and what a magnificent mystery he now has in his hands.

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Without a doubt, you respond proudly and courageously to the dogma of your house, but this, instead of curbing the curiosity and desire of Prince Aemond, only increases his desire to unravel your mystery. To make you bow, bend and break for him.