#all of which are unheard and unseen

[carrieway]

i wish i could write something compelling about feeling like a ghost and that i'm not real and invisible so that people would read it and see me but i cannot . so the cycle continues .

[spider-stark]

GOLD

Aeron Bracken x Blackwood!Reader

Summary - You go sneaking through Bracken territory for some time alone with Aeron.

Warnings - mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, no real plot, hurt/comfort, subtle rivals-to-lovers, aeron grabbing boobies lmao, maybe some grammar errors idk

Word Count - 1.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As the sun dips below the horizon, the beginnings of dusk paint the land around you in dim, muted hues. The forest buzzes with life—crickets chirp and frogs croak, rodents scurry through the undergrowth as birds-of-prey call out overhead. 

Unlike the nocturnal creatures around you, you take great care to stay quiet, fearing that if you don’t, the very soil beneath your boots might finally recognize you as an intruder. 

So you keep every footfall careful and deliberate; avoiding sticks and leaves in favor of plush, noiseless grass. Even your breaths are calculated, soft as the spring breeze rustling the leaves overhead. 

After all, you’re playing a dangerous game venturing this far from home. To be several miles from the vastness of Blackwood Vale, traipsing on the wrong side of the boundary stones, no less… You were gambling with your life—fair game for any Bracken man wishing to bloody their sword with Blackwood blood. As the daughter of Lord Samwell Blackwood, you would make a fine prize, too. 

But you had grown comfortable in these woods the past several months. Familiar, too—learning which paths were best avoided and which clearings were most often used for hunting or goofing-off. You learned to remain invisible, weaving through the trees like a wraith—invisible, unseen and unheard, as you drift towards your usual meeting spot. 

Well—mostly invisible, you suppose. 

You’re less than a few feet from your spot—a glistening creek branching off from the Red Fork, several miles off any main trail—when a twig snaps! behind you. 

Your spine turns to steel, every muscle locking up as alarm bells roar in your mind. A second too late, you reach for the dagger at your thigh. Trembling fingers hardly graze the hilt before an arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you backwards into a crushing embrace. 

A single finger jabs at your chest, just off-center between your breasts, pressing through the thin fabric of your tunic. 

Just above your heart, you realize as it hammers against your ribs. 

“Got you.” Aeron’s voice quells your nerves, warmth tickling your skin as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. “If I were anyone else,” he murmurs, “you would be dead right now.” 

He taps his finger against your chest—once, then twice—to emphasize his point. As much as it annoys you, you know that he’s right. Anyone else and they wouldn’t have hesitated to send a blade tearing through your chest. 

You won’t admit it, though. 

“You scared me,” you grumble instead, trying to sound annoyed with him. It’s a hopeless objective—it’s too hard to be upset with him when his lips brush over your still-racing pulse, kissing up your neck. 

“Did I?” Aeron asks, playing coy. “Strange. I thought you Blackwoods claimed to be fearless.” 

Teeth graze against your earlobe, nibbling lightly. You bite your lip, twisting around in his hold so that you’re face-to-face. “And I thought Brackens were all insipid creatures,” you tease him. “So I suppose we both deviate from the norm of our Houses, don’t we?” 

Aeron laughs—a sound so sweet it makes your teeth ache. “I suppose so.” 

He pulls you closer, hands falling low on your hips. In all your life, you’ve never met someone so warm before—the sheer closeness of your bodies like standing too close to the edge of a fire. It sets your every nerve ablaze, desire coiling in your belly like a fiery serpent. 

He presses his forehead to yours and, for a moment, you assume he’s going to kiss you. 

Instead, your breaths only mingle in the space between you, his lips barely grazing yours as he whispers, “Still—I need you to be more careful. Especially here.” 

Here. 

That one word is like a bucket of water, dousing the flames lapping at your skin. Desire swiftly turns to nausea at the realization that, even in the arms of your beloved, you were still unwelcome in this part of the Riverlands. Still an intruder. 

You step back, Aeron’s hands falling from your hips. “As if you’re one to lecture me about being careful.” 

Neatly-groomed brows knit together as he watches you turn your back, abandoning him in favor of the gurgling creek. Confusion laces his words as he hurries after you. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That Benji has a big mouth.” You sit in your usual spot by the creek's edge, your legs stretched out in front of you. You look up at Aeron with a raised brow. “Did you truly think he wouldn’t tell me about you insulting him this morning?” 

“He was trespassing on Bracken land,” Aeron argues. 

You give him a flat look that screams: As if you’re one to talk. 

Aeron had snuck onto Blackwood land more times than you could count—with far more nefarious intentions than Benji. If your brother ever found out about all the times Aeron had snuck into your bedchambers at Raventree… 

“Well he also called me a spineless dolt,” Aeron grumbles. His lips, naturally flushed and oh-so-kissable, turn to a sullen pout. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it?” 

You fight the urge to scream Yes! at the top of your lungs. 

Instead, you draw in a breath. “You know better than to get into it with him, Aeron. You said it yourself: Blackwoods are fearless—especially Benji.” 

He shakes his head, strands of sandy-colored hair brushing his shoulders. “Feckless is more like it.” 

“Tread lightly, Bracken.” You bristle, shooting him a look of warning. “He’s still my brother.” 

He doesn’t apologize—and you don’t expect him to. After all, both of you know that there’s some truth to his words. 

Benji has always been… difficult. 

Quick to anger and slow to forgive, he was one of many reasons why you kept your feelings for Aeron hidden. 

Your father could be persuaded to accept such a betrothal, you think. After all, it was common—if a bit futile—for Blackwoods and Brackens to wed in the name of peace. At the very least, for the sake of your happiness, he would consider it. 

But Benji… 

“I know I cannot expect you to just let him walk all over you,” you tell Aeron, a bit softer now. “But you know how Benji is.” You turn to the water by your feet. It ebbs and churns, bubbling as it laps at the stones lining the edge. “How detached he gets.” 

It petrifies you, sometimes. How, in a fight, Benji becomes someone else entirely. Should he ever decide to do more than simply taunt Aeron, you know without doubt which of them would survive such a fight. 

“If the two of you ever… If Benji hurts you–” 

Tears sting the back of your throat, the heavy words clinging to your tongue like molasses. You don’t want to think about that—but you can’t stop, either. Silver lines your eyes, tears threatening to spill over as Aeron drops to the ground beside you. 

Without hesitation, he tells you, “You’re right.” Soft, uncalloused hands gently cup your face, urging you to look at him. He brushes a thumb along the apple of your cheek. “I was careless—to think only of my pride instead of what it might do to you if your brother…” Aeron pauses, thinking. “If he went too far. For you, I’ll take better care to hold my tongue around him.” 

Your voice is quiet, hardly perceptible over the gurgling water, when you say, “Do you promise?” 

A childish thing to ask, perhaps. 

Yet Aeron obliges without question. 

“I swear it on the Gods.” 

Slowly, relief begins to untangle the knot in your stomach. 

“But,” Aeron’s lips quirk into a small, teasing smile, “only if you swear to be more cautious when coming here. It seems you’ve gotten far too comfortable wandering through Bracken territory.” A bit more solemn, he adds, “You should walk with your dagger out, at the ready, just in case—at least while you’re still a Blackwood.” 

A wrinkle forms between your brow. “While I’m still a Blackwood?” You ask, amusement dancing in your tone as you echo his earlier words, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“That you won’t be a Blackwood forever—eventually, your father will have to marry you off,” Aeron drones, his hands falling from your face to your waist. “Such is the natural order of things.” 

You try not to giggle as he starts pawing at you, pulling you onto his lap, your thighs caging his hips. “True—but I had no idea you spent so much time thinking of my future.” 

Aeron’s hands dip lower, moving from your waist to slip beneath the hem of your tunic. “I’m always thinking of you.” 

“Have you any particular House in mind, then?” Brushing a lock of sandy hair from his face, you jest, “I can pass your suggestions along to my father.” 

Fingertips trace along your ribcage, inching higher and higher. His palms graze your breasts and suddenly breathing becomes a difficult task—the warmth of his touch reigniting the familiar spark in your belly. 

“Well—” he leans in close, smooth lips hovering over yours—“I’m quite partial to how you might look in gold.” 

“Careful,” you warn—though it's interrupted by a hiss as he toys with your nipples, rolling and pinching, grinning at your reaction. “That almost sounds like a proposal, Bracken.” 

Aeron nearly moans into your mouth as your thighs tense, rolling your hips against his, his voice gruff as he asks, “And would that be such a horrible thing?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Doesn’t want it, maybe. 

Instead, he catches your lips with his. You melt into it—his touch, his taste. His tongue glides against yours, your fingers tangling in his hair and—for a moment—you let everything else fall away, your fears and worries fading into insignificance.  

No, you think. That wouldn’t be horrible at all.

a/n - so I actually ended up not liking this at all once I got about halfway through editing---honestly, something about the ending just is not vibing for me and there really just isn't any true plot here lol. but, with that being said, I had already written it so I decided to go ahead and post it because there needs to be more aeron/amos bracken content in the world. and yes, I did totally just use the name aeron because I like it more than the name amos lmao.

anyways, hope you got some sort of enjoyment out of this! time for me to go write more benji fics🫡

[ragvas]

Your Power Hungry Girlfriend

Petra had always been captivated by the allure of power. From the early days of your relationship, she delighted in playfully taking control, whispering commands in your ear and adopting the roles of both your mistress and goddess. It was all in good fun, especially considering Petra's petite stature at 5' 6" (167 cm), barely reaching your shoulder. Her breasts though, a generous C-cup, complemented her curvy figure, which featured a thick, alluring butt and large, soft, juicy thighs. The way she would puff herself up, trying to assert her dominance and act as if she was the stronger one, always sparked laughter and warmth in your relationship, turning every playful moment into a cherished memory.

But there was something deeper there, too. Petra wasn’t just playing a part; there was a spark in her eyes whenever she bossed you around, a thrill in her voice as she pretended to be this towering, powerful force. She confessed to you once that she fantasized about actually towering over you, about being able to pick you up with ease or looking down at you with that powerful smirk of hers. Her dream was to be everything she pretended—a goddess who could make you feel small and weak with just a glance.

When she discovered MILF MAX, Petra knew it was her chance. The idea was thrilling beyond measure, and she didn’t hesitate. She ordered the pills almost immediately, barely able to contain her excitement. The very next day, the package arrived. You were sitting on your bed and Petra's eyes sparkled with delight as she opened it. “Just think, babe,” she purred, running a finger down your chest. “I could finally be the goddess I was meant to be. Imagine looking up at me, unable to resist. Don’t you want to feel completely owned by me?”

 “Petra, are you sure about this? It seems like a pretty intense change.”

 “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she giggled, her eyes glinting with excitement. “It’s just a little pill. Besides, think of the possibilities! I could finally give you what you’ve always secretly wanted—a real goddess to worship. And let’s be honest, who wouldn’t want to see their girlfriend grow into a stunning giantess?”

You couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and concern as you studied the pill bottle in her hand. The label boasted of 'MILF MAX' in bold letters, promising growth and power beyond imagination. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to see her so powerful. You swallowed hard, trying to imagine her towering over you, her C-cup breasts swelling to unheard of sizes, her thighs thick and mighty. You took her hand, feeling her excitement pulsing through her fingertips. “Okay, but let’s take this slow. We don’t know what side effects might come with this... transformation.”

Petra's eyes gleamed with determination as she nodded. "Don't worry, my love," she said, her voice a blend of playfulness and reassurance. "I've read all about it. We'll take it one step at a time." With a flourish, she popped open the bottle and removed a single blue pill. She placed it on the tip of her tongue and took a sip of water, watching your reaction with a hint of a challenge in her gaze. As she swallowed, she grew visibly excited, her pulse quickening.

You watched as the pill slipped down her throat, the muscles in her neck working as she swallowed it whole. The room grew quiet, filled with anticipation. You felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension, wondering what this would mean for both of you. "What happens now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Petra's cheeks flushed with excitement as she placed the pill bottle on the nightstand. She took your hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. "Now," she said with a wink, "we wait." The seconds ticked by, feeling like hours as you both sat there, her heart beating faster with each passing moment. The room seemed to vibrate with an unseen energy, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to her. She leaned in closer, her C-cup breasts pressing against your arm, and whispered, "Just imagine the things I could do to you when I'm... bigger." Her voice was filled with a seductive promise that sent a shiver down your spine. The air grew thick with anticipation as you felt the first faint tremors of change.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt something stirring within her, a warm, tingling sensation that began in her chest and spread throughout her body. It grew stronger, more insistent, and her heart raced with excitement. She could feel her breasts swelling, filling her bra to the brim, the fabric straining against her newfound curves. Her thighs grew denser, heavier, and she could feel the power coiling within them. "Oh, my," she murmured, her voice thick with wonder. "It's... it's happening!" She looked down to see her thighs spreading, the flesh stretching and expanding. Her jeans grew taut, the seams groaning in protest. You watched in amazement as she grew before your very eyes, her height shooting up to 5' 8" (172 cm) and her breasts now a generous D-cup.

The transformation was unlike anything either of you had ever experienced. Her body was alive with power, growing bigger and more voluptuous by the second. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes had a wild, hungry glint in them. The room itself seemed to shrink around her as her presence grew larger and larger. Her breasts, now a formidable D-cup, strained against her shirt, which grew tighter and tighter until the buttons popped off, revealing her bra, struggling to contain her newfound bounty. Her thighs grew to the point where they could easily crush your head between them. Yet, amidst the overwhelming sensations of growth, she remained acutely aware of your gaze upon her, basking in the awe and admiration she saw reflected in your eyes. She knew this was just the beginning.

You watched, utterly speechless, as Petra grew to 5' 10" (177 cm) with a chest that was now a tantalizing DD-cup. Her moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure and power, as she revelled in her transformation. Her legs stretched and thickened, and her jeans split at the seams, giving way to her mighty thighs. She was becoming a force of nature before you, and every cell in your body responded to her dominance. The sound of her moan filled the room, a crescendo that seemed to fuel her growth even further.

"Oh, it feels... so incredible!" she gasped, her breathy voice echoing with the intensity of her growth. Her eyes, once filled with excitement, were now dark with passion and desire. Her DD-cup breasts heaved with every breath she took, her newfound power apparent in every inch of her expanding frame. "Look at me," she ordered, her hand gesturing to her chest. "Worship me."

You couldn't help but stare, your eyes transfixed on the goddess unfolding before you. The fabric of her bra was stretched to the limit, the underwire digging into her flesh as it tried in vain to contain her swelling breasts. You could see the imprint of her lacy bra on her shirt, the outline of her nipples poking through. The sight was intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning in closer, your hands trembling slightly. "Petra, you're... you're so beautiful," you murmured, your voice thick with awe.

She beamed at your words, her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Her growth had slowed to a crawl, but she was far from finished. At 5' 10" (177 cm) tall with DD-cup breasts, she was a vision of power and beauty. The room felt smaller, the air charged with an electric tension that was both thrilling and terrifying. Her eyes locked onto yours, a fierce hunger burning within them. "Kneel," she whispered, her voice now commanding and seductive. "Worship your goddess."

Your legs quivered slightly as you lowered yourself to the floor, the reality of her transformation making your heart race. The fabric of your jeans strained against your growing arousal as you gazed up at her, feeling smaller and more insignificant than ever before. You reached out, your trembling hand touching the warm, soft skin of her thigh, which was now thick as a tree trunk. "Petra, I... I can't believe this," you murmured.

She chuckled, the sound low and thrilling. "You're just now realizing it, love?" she asked, a playful edge to her voice. "I've always been a goddess, but now I finally have the body to match." Her thighs shifted, and you felt the power beneath your fingertips as she grew another 2 inches, now standing at 6 feet (183 cm). Her breasts swelled further, reaching the colossal size of E-cups, the weight of them causing her to lean back slightly to maintain balance.

With a sudden, satisfying rip, her bra and shirt could no longer contain her expanding form. Her huge breasts jiggled free from their confinement, spilling out with a freedom that made her grin. With a fluid motion, she shrugged off the torn remnants of her upper clothing, tossing them aside without a second thought, leaving her almost naked. Only her panties remained, stretched tight over her curvier hips and fuller thighs, clinging desperately to her growing body as if on the verge of surrender themselves.

"Keep worshiping me little man," she urged, her voice huskier, breaths growing deeper and more ragged. Her eyes held a dangerous gleam as she looked down at you. "I can feel it... I'm getting bigger."

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the mesmerizing sight of her growth. Each new inch, each new curve, brought her closer to the divine being she aspired to be. You leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on the soft flesh of her massive thigh, feeling the heat of her power.

The kiss sent a jolt through her body, and she gasped as she felt herself growing again. Her thighs swelled further, she surged to 6' 3" (191 cm), and her breasts grew to a F-cup. "More," she whispered, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. "Keep worshipping me, and maybe I'll grow even bigger."

You nodded, unable to resist the command in her voice. You kissed her thigh again, feeling it thicken and warm beneath your lips. Her skin was like velvet, and you could feel her power pulsating through it. As you worshiped her, you felt the bed shift under her weight, the frame groaning in protest.

The sensation was overwhelming. "Oh, yes," she breathed, her eyes snapping open. "Keep going. Make your goddess grow." Her thighs grew even larger, now capable of crushing you without effort. Her breasts swelled to a G-cup. Her breaths grew deeper, more ragged, as she revelled in the power you were unleashing within her.

Your hands roamed over her thick, powerful legs, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath her soft juicy skin. You kissed higher, feeling the tremors of growth shudder through her body with each press of your lips. The room was filled with the scent of her arousal, the heady aroma of power and desire.

"Mmm, yes," she purred, her voice deepening with every inch she grew. "Your devotion is... exquisite." Her hand reached down, caressing your hair. "Look at me, love," she whispered, her eyes boring into yours. Her height had reached 6' 6" (198 cm) and her breasts were now a monstrous H-cup. "Look at the goddess you've created."

You gazed up at her, the awe in your eyes unmistakable. Her power washed over you, making your knees wobble as you took in her new grandeur. "Petra, you're... you're breathtaking," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

She took a deep, satisfying breath, her H-cup breasts rising and falling dramatically. "I know," she said with a smug smile, her confidence soaring with each new inch of height and volume of flesh. "But don't stop. I'm not done yet."

You nodded, feeling the tremble in your voice as you watched her grow. You kissed her thigh again, feeling it thicken and warm under your touch. Her legs were like marble pillars, and you found yourself lost in the grandeur of her transformation.

"Oh, yes," she moaned, her hand tangling in your hair, gently guiding you higher. Her H-cup breasts bobbed with every breath, and she could feel the weight of them pulling at her chest. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, begging for attention. "Keep going," she urged, her voice thick with desire.

You obeyed, your heart racing as you kissed her thigh, feeling it swell and tighten beneath you. Her skin was warm and inviting, and you could feel the power in every inch of her expanding body. You reached her hip, the curve of her waist now so much higher than before, and you felt a thrill at her dominance.

She gasped as your kisses grew bolder, feeling a surge of growth rush through her. Her body grew to 6' 9" (206 cm), her hips widening dramatically to support her newfound height and weight. Her breasts had ballooned to I-cups. She looked down at you with a mix of lust and triumph, her hand tightening in your hair. "Yes," she murmured, her voice low and commanding. "Make your goddess grow."

Your eyes widened as her thigh grew to a diameter that could easily encompass your entire torso. You felt so tiny in comparison, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and arousal. You kissed higher getting closer to her tits. Her breathing grew heavier, and she shifted slightly, her I-cup breasts jiggling with the movement.

"Oh, I can feel it," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as she grew to 6' 11" (210 cm). Her breasts had reached an unprecedented J-cup size, the weight of them making her lean back against the headboard for support. The bed creaked and groaned with the pressure of her massive body. "Keep going, keep making me grow."

Her voice was intoxicating, a melody of power and seduction that seemed to reverberate through your entire body. As you looked up at her, now towering above you at nearly 7 feet tall, every part of her exuded dominance and raw, overwhelming beauty. Her thighs, thick and commanding, framed her curvaceous hips, and her breasts, now J-cups, spilled forward in glorious abundance, swaying with even the slightest motion she made. Her panties, stretched to their limits, were hanging on by a thread, barely containing her newfound curves.

Petra's smirk deepened as she caught your awestruck gaze. "Do you see now?" she purred, reaching down to stroke your cheek with a hand that felt impossibly large, yet still soft and gentle. "This is what I've always dreamed of. To be a goddess... your goddess."

Her hand shifted, gripping your chin and tilting your face upward so your eyes locked with hers. Her deep brown gaze radiated a mixture of affection and command, daring you to look away but knowing you couldn't. "I can feel the power coursing through me," she whispered, her voice laced with both wonder and lust. "Every inch I grow, every curve that swells, it’s like the world is bending to me. And you, my little man, are here to worship my growing body."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded, your lips trembling with words you couldn't quite form. You placed both hands on her hips, feeling their exaggerated width and the strength beneath the softness. Her skin was warm, almost hot to the touch, as if her body radiated energy.

Petra giggled, a rich, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Good boy," she said, ruffling your hair as if you were her pet. "But I’m not done yet. I will grow bigger. I want to be so massive that you can't even wrap your arms around me, so tall that you'll have to crane your neck just to meet my gaze."

You swallowed hard, torn between a primal awe of her transformation and a heady anticipation for what was still to come. She leaned forward slightly, her enormous breasts brushing against your chest as she brought her face closer to yours. "Don't stop now," she murmured, her lips so close to yours that her breath tickled your skin. "Every kiss, every touch, makes me stronger. Makes me more divine."

Unable to resist, you kissed her again, this time on her soft, plush stomach, marvelling at how her body had expanded so dramatically. The moment your lips touched her skin, a surge of energy seemed to ripple through her. She gasped, arching her back as her body began to grow once more.

Her height surged past 7 feet to 7' 1" (217 cm), her curves expanded even further. Her hips widened to impossible proportions, and her breasts swelled to K-cups, their weight and size making them almost too large for her massive hands to hold. Her panties finally surrendered, the fabric tearing apart and leaving her fully exposed, her body now a testament to power and femininity combined.

Petra laughed, a sound of pure, unrestrained joy as she gazed down at you. "Look at me!" she exclaimed, holding her giant boobs and stretching her legs, testing her newfound size. "I'm unstoppable! I'm... perfect."

You knelt before her, utterly captivated by the goddess she had become. Her body filled the room, her presence overwhelming and inescapable. She reached down, her massive hands cupping your face and pulling you close. "Now," she said, her voice dripping with authority, "show me just how much you adore your goddess. Worship every inch of me, little one. And maybe... just maybe... I'll let you fuck me later."

Your heart raced as you took in her beauty and power. You felt so tiny, so insignificant. Yet, as you looked into her eyes, you knew she cherished you. You leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips. The taste of her was intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and dominance. You could feel the warmth of her body, the pulse of her power, and you knew you had no choice but to obey. You began to kiss her neck, feeling her veins pulsing with the life force that was reshaping her body. Each kiss brought her closer to her ultimate divine form.

With a mischievous spark in her eyes, she reached for the nightstand, her massive K-cup breasts bouncing slightly with the movement. Her fingers danced over the bottle of MILF MAX, and you watched as she plucked out another pill, holding it up to the light. "Ready for round two?" she asked, a playful grin playing on her lips. The room seemed to hold its breath as she placed the pill on her tongue, her eyes never leaving yours.

You nodded, your voice thick with anticipation. "Yes, goddess," you murmured, watching as she took a sip of water and swallowed the pill. You felt the energy in the room spike again as she grew visibly more excited, her skin flushing a deep shade of pink. Her hands rested on her impossibly wide hips…

Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she felt the pill slip down her throat, the warmth spreading through her like wildfire. Her heart pounded as the anticipation grew, the room seeming to close in around her as she grew. Her breasts swelled to L-cups. "Oh, the power," she groaned, her hand sliding down to cup one of her new, heavy mounds. She grew to 7' 3" (221 cm) tall, and the bedframe creaked under her immense weight. Her thighs thickened and grew, the power in them palpable. "Keep worshipping," she demanded, her voice a mix of hunger and authority. "I want more."

You nodded, feeling the heat of her body, the tremble of power beneath your fingertips as you kissed and touched her, eager to fuel her growth. You traced the outline of her L-cup breasts, feeling the weight of them in your hands, the warmth of her skin against your lips as you kissed along her collarbone, feeling the pulse of her growth as it grew stronger with every touch. "Yes, goddess," you whispered, lost in the grandeur of her transformation.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt your tiny hands on her ever-expanding breasts, her nipples stiffening under your gentle touch. Her body grew taller, reaching 7' 6" (228 cm), her breasts now a staggering M-cup. "Ahh," she gasped, her voice a symphony of pleasure. "You make me feel so... alive." Her eyes rolled back in her head as she grew, her breathing deep and laboured with excitement. She reached down, her hand now so large it could easily enclose your head, and gently guided you to kiss her breasts. "Worship me," she murmured, her voice now a powerful purr.

Your hands trembled as you kissed her soft, warm skin, feeling the unmistakable thrill of her power surging through her body. As you kissed her massive M-cup breasts, you could feel them growing, filling your palms more and more. The weight of them was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the act of worship. Each kiss seemed to fuel her growth, and she grew to 7' 8" (233 cm), her chest now a mesmerizing N-cup.

With a deep, satisfied sigh, Petra felt the warmth of your worship spread through her as your lips met her ever-expanding breasts. The sensation was heavenly, making her skin tingle and her core pulse with energy. "Yes," she moaned, her voice dropping to a seductive rumble. "Keep going." Her eyes fluttered closed as she grew to 7' 10" (238 cm) with N-cup breasts that could crush you in a gentle embrace. Her nipples had grown darker and more sensitive, standing out like erotic beacons. She could feel the pill's power coursing through her veins, enhancing every sensation. Her skin grew more sensitive, making even the softest of touches feel like a caress from the gods themselves. "Worship me," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you couldn't resist. Her hand stroked your head, guiding you to her now-heaving bosom. "Make me even more of a goddess."

You kissed her swollen breasts reverently, feeling the warmth and weight of them in your hands. Her skin was softer than ever. You felt the power of her growth surge through her body, and her breasts swelled to O-cups, each one now larger than your entire torso. You looked up at her, feeling so tiny, so insignificant, but she was your everything. "Yes, goddess," you murmured, your voice filled with reverence. "I'll worship every inch of you."

You leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of her O-cup breasts against your face. Your mouth found her massive, sensitive nipple, and you began to suck it gently. The sound of her breath hitching in pleasure filled the room. You felt her body shiver in response, her power swelling even further. Her hand tightened in your hair, guiding you closer as she grew to 8' 1" (246 cm) tall, the mattress sinking beneath her. Her breasts felt like pillows, so soft yet so powerful. As you continued to worship her, her nipple grew even larger, a hardened peak in the vastness of her expanding bosom. It was as if you were being consumed by the very essence of feminine power, and you loved every moment of it.

Petra's breath grew ragged as you sucked her giant swollen nipple, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her body. She felt a deep, primal urge to claim you, to show you the full extent of her power. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down at you with a fierce expression that sent a thrill of fear and desire through your core. "Oh, yes," she growled, her voice deeper and more powerful than ever before. Her breasts grew even larger, now a staggering P-cup, the weight of them making her lean back further. Her hand moved from your head to her own chest, her fingers tracing the edge of her areola. "I can feel it," she murmured, her eyes glazed with passion. "I'm becoming more than you could ever imagine." Her body grew to 8' 4" (254 cm). Her thighs, now like boulders of soft flesh, flexed as she adjusted her position, the bed groaning in protest. "Keep going," she urged, her voice a command that you couldn't resist. "Make me the goddess you've always dreamed of."

You obeyed without hesitation, your mouth moving from one massive nipple to the other, feeling them harden and grow under your touch. Her power was intoxicating, and you felt yourself getting lost in the worship of her giant body. Her breasts swelled to Q-cups, the weight of them unbelievable as you tried to take as much of her in your mouth as possible. Her skin was so soft and warm, and you felt the bed shift and tremble as she grew even larger. You were nothing more than a tiny worshipper before her now. You felt her hand grabbing your hair again, guiding you, urging you to take more of her in. You reached up with trembling hands, feeling the warmth of her skin, the power of her growth, and you marvelled at the sheer size of her. Her breath grew heavier, her body tensing as she grew to 8' 7" (261 cm), and her breasts grew to R-cups, threatening to swallow you whole in their godly softness.

The sensation was overwhelming, every touch, every kiss from her adoring servant sending ripples of power through her. Her hunger for power grew stronger, and she knew she needed more.

"Your worship is exquisite," she murmured, her breath hot against your ear as she grew to 8' 10" (269 cm). Her R-cup breasts swayed heavily, the weight of them a delicious burden. "But I am not yet satisfied." Her hand slid down to your neck, gripping it lightly.

You looked up at her and released her giant nipple from your tiny mouth, eyes wide with desire. "Anything, goddess," you managed to murmur, the awe and reverence clear in your voice. You felt her strong hand guiding you between her thighs, the warmth of her touch a brand on your skin. Her legs spread wider, giving you access to her sex.

"Make me feel it," she ordered, her voice now a low, seductive rumble. "Worship me, and I'll let you be the first to experience this body."

You nodded, your eyes glazed with a mix of fear and lust as you positioned yourself between her thick, powerful thighs. Her pussy was a warm, inviting sanctuary.

She watched you with a predatory gaze, her body growing taller and more powerful with every second. Her R-cup breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing as she grew to 8' 11" (272 cm), her legs now so thick you could barely get your arms around them. "Kiss me here," she purred, her voice dropping to a low, commanding whisper as she guided you to her inner thigh, so close to her core.

You obeyed, pressing your lips to the soft, warm flesh of her inner thigh, feeling the tremble of her body as she grew even more. The scent of her power and arousal was intoxicating. As you kissed her, you felt her legs thicken and grow even more powerful, her thighs now like the trunks of ancient trees. Her breasts grew to S-cups, so large they probably weighted more than you by now.

"Mmm," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she grew to 9' 3" (282 cm). Her S-cup breasts filled your vision, and you felt the mattress groan beneath her. "More," she demanded, her voice thick with lust. "I need more of you."

You leaned in, placing feather-light kisses along the sensitive skin of her thighs, moving closer to her pussy. Her scent was intoxicating, making your mouth water with desire.

Her hand tangled in your hair again, pulling you closer as she grew to 9' 5" (289 cm). Her S-cup breasts were now so massive that they hung low on her chest, almost brushing the bed. She gasped as you were slowly reaching her center, her breath hitching with anticipation. "Yes," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr. "Just like that."

You kissed and licked her inner thighs, feeling her power pulsating with each movement. As your mouth approached her sex, she grew to 9' 7" (292 cm), her breasts now a staggering T-cup. You felt the warmth of her desire as you licked her swollen folds, her moan echoing through the room.

"Yesss," she hissed, her voice a mix of pleasure and command. "Worship me completely." Her body grew another inch to 9' 8" (295 cm), her breasts reaching U-cup proportions. Her grip on your head tightened, guiding your every move as she grew, her dominance absolute.

You felt her power as you tasted her sweetness, her legs trembling with the intensity of her growth. You kissed and licked her swollen labia, feeling her wetness on your lips, her scent filling the room like the most potent incense.

"Oh, you're so good," she murmured, her voice a hypnotic purr. She grew another inch to 9' 9" (297 cm), her U-cup breasts threatening to spill over her giant thighs and engulf you. "Keep going," she ordered, her body growing taut with need.

Lost in the divine taste of her, you didn't hold back. Your tongue delved deeper, exploring the soft, wet warmth of her folds. Her moan was like a siren's song, guiding you as you worshiped her growing body. Her power grew, filling the room like an intoxicating perfume, as she reached 10 feet (304 cm) tall.

With a sudden, overwhelming need to feel you fully submit to her power, Petra grabbed your head with both her massive hands, pressing your face firmly against her giant pussy. Her giant thighs clamped around your head, trapping you in her divine embrace as she grew to 10' 7" (323 cm). Her scream of pleasure was a sonic boom, vibrating the walls as she came.

Overwhelmed by her dominance and the sheer force of her climax, you could only whimper against her thighs, feeling the warmth of her love juices cover your face as she grew to a staggering 10' 10" (330 cm), her breasts now a mind-boggling V-cup.

Her grip tightened, her legs like steel bands around your head as she bucked her hips, her V-cup breasts swaying heavily with each powerful thrust. "Again," she gasped, her voice a command that resonated through you. "Make me cum again."

Her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath, she reached over to the nightstand, her giant hand closing around the bottle of MILF MAX. With a glint in her eye, she plucked out not one, but three pills. "It's time to grow."

She placed the pills in her mouth, savoring the moment before she swallowed them with a dramatic flair, her throat bobbing with the effort. The room seemed to pulse with the power of her transformation, the walls closing in slightly as she grew to 11' 2" (340 cm) almost instantly. Her V-cup breasts swelled to W-cups, the weight of them unbearable to any but her. "Keep worshipping me," she rumbled, her voice a powerful force that made your soul tremble.

You nodded, your eyes wide with wonder and a hint of fear. You kissed her swollen folds again, feeling her grow even larger as your mouth remained on her sensitive skin. The pills had barely had time to dissolve, and yet she was already growing, her breasts reaching a colossal X-cup.

"I can feel it," she murmured, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I'm getting closer... keep worshipping me." She grew to 11' 9" (359 cm), and the bedframe groaned in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall. Her breasts now rested heavily on her legs, the weight of them a testament to her unbridled power.

You nodded fervently, your mouth still on her swollen folds, feeling the warmth of her power wash over you. Her skin was like silk, her taste divine. You felt the bed shift again as she grew to 12' 1" (368 cm), her breasts reaching a monstrous Y-cup size, the mattress all but disappearing under her.

With a fierce growl of pleasure, Petra grabbed your head with both her powerful hands, holding it in place as she began to grind her giant pussy against your face. Each movement sent waves of ecstasy through her, her body growing at a terrifying pace. The bed was now a mere plaything beneath her, the headboard cracking as she slammed it into the wall with the force of her pleasure. She grew to a towering 12' 8" (386 cm), her Y-cup breasts swaying like pendulous masses of flesh.

You could barely breathe as she used your face, the pressure from her thighs and breasts increasing with every moment. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of power and desire that made your head spin. You felt the mattress tearing beneath her weight, the bedframe splintering as she grew to 13' 1" (399 cm). Her breasts swelled to Z-cups, the fabric of the bed groaning and giving way.

"Ahh," she moaned, her voice a symphony of power and need. "I feel like a true goddess now." She grew to 13' 7" (415 cm), her Z-cup breasts jiggling slightly with her every move. "Your worship is everything to me." She leaned back, her breasts spilling over her giant thighs.

Your mouth found her giant clit, and you pressed your lips around it, sucking it with all the reverence and fervor of a devotee at the altar of a divine being. Her legs quivered, and you felt her power pulse through your body as she grew to 14' 2" (432 cm), her breasts reaching a mind-boggling A2-cup size.

Her moan was a low, guttural growl that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. "More," she demanded, her body growing to 14' 10" (452 cm). Her A2-cup breasts grew to gigantic B2-cups, and the bed frame finally gave out with a deafening crack.

Lost in your worship, you felt her power surge through you as you obeyed. Your teeth gently grazed her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from her, and you sucked even more fiercely. Her thighs tightened around you as she grew to 15' 4" (468 cm), her breasts ballooning to C2-cups. The bed was now a ruin beneath her, a testament to the power of her transformation.

Her eyes snapped open, and she screamed out your name as she felt the orgasm tear through her. Her body convulsed, and in that moment of ecstasy, she grew explosively. The room trembled with the force of her climax, her body swelling to a towering 16' 1" (491 cm), her breasts now a massive D2-cup. The bed was utterly destroyed, and you felt her power wash over you like a tidal wave.

"Look at me," she panted, her voice thick with satisfaction. "I am a goddess now." Her eyes gleamed with triumph, and she knew there was no going back. Her breasts had grown so large that they now lay on the floor, the tips brushing against it as she moved.

"But I'm not done growing," she purred, a hint of mischief in her tone.

Her gaze was fierce with desire, her eyes gleaming with ambition. She picked up the bottle of MILF MAX, now seemingly small in her giant hand. "I will grow so big," she whispered, her voice echoing with power, "that I'll rule the world, and you, my love, will be my tiny king." With a dramatic flourish, she upended the bottle, allowing all the remaining pills to cascade into her eager mouth. She swallowed them with a grin, watching as your eyes widened in a mix of shock and awe.

Petra moaned deeply, her body surging upward as her curves expanded impossibly, filling the room with her overwhelming presence. "Bigger," she purred, her voice trembling with power, as her growth showed no sign of stopping.

-----

You can find more like this at my deviantart. 😊

Link: https://www.deviantart.com/ragvas

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Pt. 2 ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Niece! Targ! ( Strong ) Reader suggest song to listen to whilst reading: Like Real People Do by Hozier or Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives prompt : would you make a part 2 for "like real people do" where after the fight reader gets really depressed and gives up trying to talk to him so he finally realizes his mistakes and tries to be a better person for her. she's still weary of him so doesn't really speak to him outside of formalities which frustrates him. but during that period aemond tries to make a move on her but he's a really good friend and makes her feel wanted and loved so when aegon watches them dance during a feast he kinda snaps and they finally argue talk their feelings out with them making up by the end and maybe if smut if you want to write it??? thank you! word count: 1, 000+ words

You listened to him a little too well, like a loyal pup listening to its Master. You avoided him like he was the Stranger himself. Your once soft glances. The subtle smiles whenever you looked at him. The way your fingers would brush against his. The way you would tend to him. The way you would set out his clothes after a night out in Flea Bottom. 

Everything that you had done for him. It was all over and done. He had ruined it all with his pathetic temper tantrum. He regretted it. He fucking regretted it all as days turned into a fortnight. A fortnight was dragging into a full moon. And he was starting to crave having you around once again. He craved you more than he craved wine. You were now a ghost in his life. Passing by, unseen and unheard. 

He was sure that soon enough you would come back to him. You'd snap out of this little daze. You'd come back to him. You'd coddle him, just like you used to. Everything, everything, everything would be alright. You'd be back and this would be nothing more than a small fight in the past.

Watching you and Aemond dance together, Aemond was so gentle with you, his hands and gaze never strayed into another inappropriate. Aemond was a true gentleman, he would never dare to dishonor you. He always treated you with such respect and kindness. Brushing it off as nothing more than a cordial dance between a brother and sister-in-law, Aegon takes a sip of his wine, turning his back to the two of you. 

Hearing soft laughter come from behind him, he snaps his head back towards you too in an instant, eyes sharp. He did not care. In the weeks of your avoidance, he was fine! He was fucking fine! But, why the fuck did you look so happy with him? You looked happy with Aemond, of all people. You looked really happy with Aemond. Happier than he had ever made you in the years of your marriage together. 

“They look happy together.” Helaena smiles, “Do they not, Aegon?”

“They do.” He grumbles, scowling deeply. 

“I am happy to see her so happy once again.” Helaena nods mindlessly, “She was so upset before.”

“She was?” He raises a brow. 

“Yes, she was. Aemond though, he was very kind to her. They spoke a lot. She has been smiling since she had spoken to him. Tis’ good.” Helaena smiles, unaware of her words.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of you and Aemond dancing, he shifts in his seat, tightening his grip on his chalice. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t fuckign upset in the slightest. Why the fuck would anyone get upset at such news like this? He wasn’t. He wasn’t. 

“What of?” He asks, masking his displeasure. 

“Dragon’s.” Helaena smiles, “Other things. But, most of dragon’s.”

“Dragon’s?” 

“Mm-hmm, she has always had an interest in dragon’s. Specifically Vhagar.” Helaena shakes her head, “She thinks that Dragons and their riders can share memories of Old should their bond be so tightly intertwined.” 

“Well that’s stupid.”

“I do not think so. If dragon dreams are true, tis’ no surprise if such a thought could be true.” Helaena argues, “If you spoke to her, you would know of this.”

Clenching his jaw tightly at Helaena’s subtle jab, he trails his eyes back onto you, seeing just how happy you looked with Aemond. His heart clenched tightly. It should be him in Aemond’s place. He should be the one getting you so happy and comfortable. He should be the one listening to the stupid thoughts. Not Aemond. Chugging all of the wine in his chalice, he slams the chalice down hard on the table, standing up from his seat. 

No. Nope. Not a chance. Not a fucking chance. Aemond would not take his place. He could not, no he would not be replaced by his younger brother. You were his wife. You were supposed to be his little pest. You were supposed to be his. Running a hand through his hair, he stalks towards the two of you, keeping a calm facade for your sake. He would win you back. If he could seduce whores in Flea Bottom, he could seduce you back. 

“If you do not mind, I would like to have my wife back, dear brother.” He cuts in, his voice smooth with a hint of iciness.

“Oh..” You murmur, the smile on your face dying in an instant. 

“If the Lady wishes, then I shall end our dance.” Aemond glares at him, “After all, she may be tired of dancing.”

“She is my wife.”

“Yes, she is. But, we’ve been dancing for so long.” Aemond argues, “Mayhaps, you should ask her if she wishes to keep dancing or if she would like some wine.”

Seeing the subtle glare his brother gave him, he puffs his chest up in defense, attempting to intimidate him. He was the King and your husband. He had every right to be around you and ask you for a dance. Narrowing his eyes hard at him, Aemond motions to you with his eye, trying to make him understand. What the fuck was he trying to say? Clenching his jaw in confusion, it suddenly clicks in his head what Aemond was suggesting. A way for him to speak to you. Aemond was not attempting to steal you

“Um, Y/n, would you like to dance with me?” 

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You softly shake your head, “I have had my fill of dancing.”

“Then, may I suggest you join me at our table for some wine and fresh air?” He offers again, attempting to find some middle ground with you. 

As tempted as he was to sling you over his shoulder, he knew that it would only worsen the distance between the two of you, and maybe earn him a hard punch to the nose from Aemond. He had to be smart. He had to be the complete and utter opposite of himself. Looking at you a little hopeful, he holds his hand out for you to take, praying that you would at least grant him that. 

“I thought you wished for me to leave you be?” You murmur, “Twas’ hard to not understand that when you were shouting at me.”

“Mayhaps, I was wrong.” He gulps, suddenly feeling nervous. 

“But, you said to me⎯” 

“I want to be alone, but alone with you.” He stutters, “Um, that is if you will allow it to me.”

Cowering slightly as you stare him down, he retracts his hand, now aware of Aemond’s lack of presence. It was just you and him. Though, it was not a comforting thought. Clasping his hands behind his back, he slowly looks you over, eyes trailing down your gown.

It was purple with pearls sewing into the skirt. You always wore green to match with him. His gut churns painful, now aware of just how much distance had brewed in the weeks apart. You used to be so intertwined with him. 

“I do not wish to be around you any longer. Tis’ clear my presence is a bother.” You argue, staring him down like he was your prey. 

“No, I do not wish for that any longer.” He mumbles, like a petulant child.

“You do not?” 

“I do not. I wish for us to act like real people do. To not be like how we once were.” He explains, “I wish to change. For there to be no distance.”

“Bold words do not move me, Aegon. Tis’ actions that do.”

Nodding his head in agreement at your words, he knew that he had royal fucked up. Hell, even his own dragon refused to look at him for what he had done, siding with your dragon. He had to earn your respect. But, he was willing to do it. Swallowing his pride, he looks at you shamefully, seeing the hate within your eyes.

You now looked at him with the same hate that everyone else in the Realm did. It was not as pleasing or comforting as he had wanted or though it would be. It felt shameful. It felt heartbreaking. You were supposed to look at him with love, not hatred.

“I..”

“You what, Aegon?” You snap back, annoyed.

“I…Tell me what you wish for me to say and do. Tell me what man you wish for me to be, and I shall be him for you.” He pleads, using the same words you had said to him weeks ago.

----

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gīsītsos (little ghost)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, dubcon, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: As part of the Red Keep's serving staff, she knows it is better to remain unseen by the family she tends to. Unfortunately for her, an incident involving the second of the Targaryen sons means his gaze is now firmly fixed upon her.

Author's note: No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on notifications. Community labels are for cops.

There is an unspoken rule among the serving staff of the Red Keep; remain unseen and unheard whenever possible. Move as a spectre through the castle, do not draw attention to the mess you are employed to clean up. Those they serve do not wish to be reminded of their imperfections. Blissful ignorance is placed upon the pristine condition of the chambers they return to at the end of each day. They have always been that way, how could they not be? But beneath it lies an undercurrent of I do not wish to see it, do not make me look.

She is content to remain out of sight and mind of the Targaryen family, though her work is thankless, there is serenity to be found in the duties of a maidservant. As long as she completes the tasks assigned to her, then she is otherwise unbothered, and she considers herself fortunate to have a comparatively easy workload to some of the others.

The maidservants that attend to Prince Aegon’s bedchamber are ordered to work in pairs, partly because the mess he so often leaves behind is work enough for two, but also because he is known to sleep late, and there is safety in numbers. A chill runs down her spine at the memory of the whisperings that had passed between the staff about Dyana, brought before the Queen and forced to drink moon tea, before being relieved of her employment from the Keep. From that point on, the maidservants were forbidden from entering his rooms alone, lest they find themselves victim of the Prince’s wandering hands and lustful appetite.

There is no such danger to be found within the sleeping quarters of Prince Aemond, which she is in charge of tending to each day. He makes her job almost too easy, but she does not allow her guilt to weigh heavily enough upon her that she would ask for additional duties, instead she gives thanks to the Seven for this small mercy and ensures she finishes each day having completed her tasks to an impeccable standard. 

As she tugs the crisp white sheets of the bed firmly back into place each morning, there is no lingering body heat or scent to be found, indicating he has been awake for hours. She wonders if he sleeps at all, considering the unrumpled state of his bedding. When she strips the sheets off to change them once a week, there are no personal effects that fall loose, no trace that the Prince she serves exists at all. He is as much an apparition as she is.

When she is finished making up the bed or delivering the old sheets to the laundress, she sweeps the ashes from the hearth and readies the fireplace for Aemond’s return. Aside from that, there is little else to do besides lightly dust the shelves and reorganise the books placed upon his table. She never once sees the Prince, nor does he see her.

The most strenuous of jobs is the one she currently finds herself doing; the once weekly wash of the bedchamber floor, which requires her to get down upon her hands and knees with a brush and scrub the flagstones with a mixture of hot water and lye. The floor is hard upon her knees, her back aching, and knuckles sore from the combination of the soap and how tightly she grips the brush.

Satisfied that there is not an inch left unclean, she drops the scrubbing brush into the bucket, groaning softly as her knees twinge in protest as she stands. She swipes at the perspiration upon her forehead with the back of her hand, before reaching behind her to soothe ache in her lower back.

She freezes as her elbow collides with something on the desk, her heart feeling as though it stops beating within her chest as she hears the heavy splash of it fall into the bucket behind her, splattering dirty water against her skirt.

Snapping herself out of her shock, she quickly turns, seeing she has knocked a book from the table into the water she had been using to wash the floor. Dread swirls in her belly as she stoops to lift it out, her mind running rampant with thoughts of how much trouble she’ll be in if she has ruined one of Prince Aemond’s belongings. At best, she would lose her job. At worst, she is unsure, but she does not wish to fall foul of the man that rides the world’s largest dragon.

Drying off the leatherbound cover with her apron, she is relieved to see her swift action has prevented any serious damage, though the pages within are sodden. She cannot return it to the desk in this condition, so she tucks the book under her arm and picks up the bucket, walking quickly out of the Prince’s chambers, and back towards the servants’ quarters. If she can get it dried and return it in time, then hopefully he will be none the wiser to her mishap.

The scullion keeps the fire in the shared space ablaze all day, and she settles in front of it, opening the dampened book, careful not to place it so close that the parchment might singe. Happy to see the water has not soaked through far enough to smudge the ink, she turns the pages carefully while they dry, her eyes scanning the words. It is a tome of philosophy, far beyond the realm of her comprehension. It serves as a reminder of the divide between her and the Prince, she is beneath such intellectual pursuits. She imagines he would be infuriated that a lowly maidservant would ever dare to read it, and finds herself hunching over the book as it dries, subconsciously concealing it from view, as though she is engaging in something forbidden and shameful.

After an hour, the heat of the fire has returned the book to its original state, or at least as close as it’s going to get. She makes haste to return it to where it belongs, hoping that Prince Aemond will not yet have returned to his chambers. Her skin is heated, a combination of having been so close to the open fireplace for an hour and nervousness at the idea of being caught.

She enters the bedchamber without knocking, expecting it to still be empty, and moves swiftly on light feet, returning the book back to the desk it had laid upon previously.

“An enjoyable read, was it?”

The voice is soft, yet its sinister edge sends a shiver up her spine, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turns slowly, keeping her head bowed, not daring to meet the unblinking stare of the One Eyed Prince.

“Your Grace,” she utters meekly, “please accept my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

“And you did not answer my question either.”

She dares to look up then, watching in wide eyed horror as he walks slowly towards her, dressed in his sparring attire, his expression impassive.

Swallowing thickly, ignoring everything within her that desperately wants to lower her gaze, she forces herself to hold it. “I did not read it, I swear, I would never be so discourteous.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, standing tall in front of her, “a pity. ‘Tis an interesting text. So, tell me, what were you doing with it?”

He is standing so close to her, she can feel the tickle of his breath upon her flesh, see the angry, red indentation of the scar that runs the length of the left hand side of his face, disappearing beneath the leather patch that covers his eye. There is something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to shrink into herself, but she fears she has forever shrugged off the shroud of invisibility that has until now protected her. His eye is piercing, a silent threat. I see you.

She considers lying, but decides it will be worse for her than simply telling the truth, if he catches her out. “I…I accidentally got the book wet while I was cleaning. I took it away to the servants’ quarters to dry it.”

Aemond leans his body into hers, and she can feel the warmth that radiates from his chest, smell the sweat that lingers on his skin from his exertion in the training yard. She screws her eyes shut, icy fingers of fear gripping her insides as she awaits her punishment, but then the heat of him is gone.

Slowly opening her eyes, she sees that he is still standing in front of her, but his attention is now focused upon his book as he flips through the pages, studying it for signs of damage. He had simply reached behind her to retrieve it. The relief that floods her is enough to make her want to laugh, but she knows better, biting it back as she exhales heavily through her nose.

Satisfied that his book is unruined, he snaps it shut, holding it with both hands as he looks at her once more. “Are you always this clumsy?”

She gapes at this, white hot embarrassment radiating from head to toe. “N-no, never. It was an accident, Your Grace, I swear it.”

He smirks, cocking his head. “Perhaps I ought to keep a closer eye on you?”

Please, no.

She wants to leave, to be away from the intensity of how he looks upon her, to have him forget her face and allow her to go back to being invisible.

“I promise I will take greater care in future, Your Grace. I apologise. Can I go?”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “I do not know. Can you?”

This is humiliating. Is he getting some sort of satisfaction from this?

“If that will be all, Your Grace.”

She bows her head to him and hurries from the room, feeling her heartbeat in her throat with every step that she takes. She can sense his eye upon her, boring a hole into the back of her, long after she has left his chambers, and it fills her with a sense of unease for the rest of the day. Her only solace is that she can return to her duties upon the morrow without having to see him.

However, as she enters the bedchamber the following morning she is horrified to find the Seven have decided her spell of good fortune has come to its end. Prince Aemond still occupies the space, standing at the foot of the bed as he fastens his tunic. Halting her steps, she lingers uncertainly, not knowing what she ought to do.

He stares at her as he continues to dress, not making any moves to alleviate her discomfort, and she takes a tentative step back.

“Should I come back?” She asks warily, glancing over her shoulder towards the door - it has never appeared so inviting.

“No need,” he assures her, “do what you need to.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but realising she is in no position to protest, she begins the task of turning down the bed. She can feel him looking at her the entire time, making her feel self conscious. There has never been an audience to spectate over her daily tasks before, and she moves as though she is suspended in honey, afraid to make a mistake while he is watching, despite the fact that these are duties she has performed hundreds of times before.

To her frustration, he moves as slowly as she does, unhurriedly clasping on his sword belt and pulling on his boots, watching her all the while, but never speaking a word. It is not until she begins sweeping away the ashes from the fireplace that he finally takes his leave, silently striding from the room without addressing her further.

For the first time since she entered Aemond’s chambers that morning she feels as though she can breathe, although a voice in the back of her mind tells her she has not seen the last of Aemond, and he certainly has no desire to see less of her.

Over the next few days, he is there every time she arrives, either in the process of dressing, or still laying in bed, causing her to turn away, ashamed at the way excitement flutters in her lower belly at the sight of his well defined bare chest.

He is doing this on purpose, she knows he is, abusing the imbalance of power between them, because she cannot ask him to stop. He is not really even doing anything wrong; it is not uncommon for maidservants to be in the presence of those they serve as they perform their duties, yet there is something about this that feels completely improper. The way his stare lingers upon her, stalking her as though she is prey, it both frightens her and fills her with a sense of mortification, because she knows that, deep down, there is a part of her that likes the fact that his attention is on her. The veil between them has been lifted, and now that she has gotten to know what resides on the other side, at least a little, she thinks of nothing else. It is both exciting and terrifying to have someone in such a position of authority so interested in her and what she does.

It is the day she strips the bed in order to place fresh sheets upon it, and she enters the bedchamber prepared to have to wait for the Prince to vacate it first. However, she finds that he is already gone for the day. Unsure if it is relief or disappointment that she feels, she immediately begins to pull back the bedding, deciding she would prefer not to dwell on the hollow feeling that has settled within her chest.

As she tugs the bedsheet loose from beneath the corner of the mattress, a small piece of parchment flutters from it, landing softly on the flagstones beside the wooden bedframe. Nothing has ever fallen from Aemond’s bed before, he is much too tidy, and so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

Plucking it from the floor, her mouth runs dry at the words she finds penned delicately in black ink.

Though I am absent, I think of you.

Was this meant for her to find? She feels foolish for considering such a notion, and yet she cannot shift the idea that it might be. Her hands shake as she holds the note, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she ought to do with it: keep it, cast it into the fireplace, put it back and pretend she has not seen it?

The latter is impossible, he would notice the fresh sheets upon the bed and know that she has found it. Perhaps she is being presumptuous, and this has been left for him by a bedmate? She decides to simply place it upon the desk, and leave it up to the Prince to decide its fate.

Though she attempts to continue her day as normal, thoughts of Aemond and the contents of his note will not allow her any peace. She wonders if it is indeed her that he is thinking of, and if it would satisfy him to know that he haunts her mind in equal measure. If only she had never knocked that wretched book into the bucket, then she would be free of this torment.

Aemond is fully clothed as she walks into his rooms the following day, standing beside his desk. There is absolutely no reason for him to linger, but she knows precisely why he does, her suspicions confirmed when she spies the note clasped between his fingers.

“You read it?” He asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers as she enters.

“Was I not supposed to?” She asks quietly, setting down the basket which contains the brushes and rags she uses for sweeping and dusting.

“I left it where only you would find it,” he retorts, allowing the parchment to flutter back down upon the desk. “What do you think?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” she responds simply, attempting to keep her focus on meticulously unloading her supplies.

“Leave that,” he orders coolly. “Come here.”

She trembles as she steps slowly towards him, and he rounds on her, caging her between himself and the desk, its wooden edge biting into her lower back.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

The trace of his fingertip leaves a trail of heat in its wake. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed, the urge to run and her body’s insistence at remaining rooted to the spot at direct odds with one another.

“Please,” she whispers, “do not. It is improper.”

His hand drops to his side and he regards her with a look of amusement. “I am not my brother. I will not take anything that is not given freely. But I suspect you want this as much as I do. Tell me I am wrong.”

“Your Grace, I–I…”

The words die in her throat, what can she say? A maidservant cannot speak of her desire for the Prince she serves. How can she give voice to the fact that since he first acknowledged her, he has plagued her every waking thought?

“Say the word, and things shall go back to as they were before, we shall be strangers once more.”

That is certainly the easier of the two options, and yet the idea of having to live without his attention now she knows the sweet torment of what it is to have it seems unfathomable to her. She is playing a dangerous game, treading a knife’s edge, placing herself directly in harm’s way, and the words she speaks next will forever change her life’s trajectory, but as she stares up into his piercing blue eye her judgement is too clouded for her to mind.

“I do not want that,” she says earnestly.

“I want you to beg for it,” he tells her, the slightest hint of malice in his tone.

She feels a stickiness between her thighs, a dull throbbing ache in her core that makes her nerves sing for release. Her voice is foreign to her, pathetic sounding as the single utterance of “please” tumbles from her lips.

“Please what?” Aemond asks, tilting his head, mocking her as he looms over her, keeping her pinned against the desk behind her.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would feel ashamed by such lewd behaviour, but these are no ordinary circumstances, and her actions are driven solely by desire, so she feels no chagrin as she allows herself to murmur “please touch me”.

The Prince’s deft fingers make quick work of moving up her skirt, ghosting along the inside of her thigh as he goes, causing her to suck in a shaky breath as she grips his shoulders for support.

She mewls helplessly as his middle and index fingers work their way beneath her smallclothes, dragging through her silken folds, wet with arousal.

Aemond hums in appreciation as his digits explore her, his entire hand moving beneath the thin cotton of her undergarments, cupping her mound. She exhales a shocked gasp as he pushes two fingers forcefully inside of her.

His free hand clasps over her mouth, muffling her sounds, as he works his fingertips inside of her at a lazy pace. “We have to be quiet,” he tells her, “or we will get caught, and we cannot have that.”

She nods in understanding, whimpering against his palm as his thumb begins to circle her pearl, the pumping of his fingers increasing in pace, the sticky sounds of her arousal accompanying her stifled whines of pleasure.

They have not even shared a kiss, there is no romance to be found here, but she does not mind. If anything, the depravity of the act serves to heighten the sensations and renders her more responsive to his touch.

His eye bores into hers, the pupil so large it almost eclipses the blue of it, his lips parted slightly as his nostrils flare. He crooks his fingers, brushing against a spot inside of her that causes her to buck against his hand. He grins wickedly, speeding up his movements both inside of her and against her bud.

The pleasurable ache she feels building winds tightly within her gut, and her thighs tremble with the effort of keeping her upright. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, as she feels her body tense in preparation for what’s to come.

With a final press of his fingers, she falls apart, her cry almost silenced by his hand over her mouth as she breathes erratically through her nose. She tightens around him in quick pulses as waves of warm relief pass through her body, making her pliant against him. 

She maintains her grasp on his shoulders, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright as he releases her mouth and withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, his fingers glistening with her release.

He tuts, examining them carefully as he holds them up between them both. “What a mess you’ve made”, he says condescendingly, pressing them against her lips and forcing them into her mouth. The taste of herself upon her tongue is tart, the very idea of what she is doing lewd to her. “Something else for you to clean up,” he coos, watching as she sucks her essence from his fingers.

With these words she is brought crashing back down to earth as she is reminded of the power imbalance between them. She will always be the woman who tends to his messes, who serves him, except now she is also a vessel for his pleasure and, whatever the outcome of that may be, it is too late now to take it back. He has seen her, fully, and she will only ever see of him what he allows her to.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[veloursdor]

the thing about larys strong is that i think he's been lonely his entire life, lonelier than even he realised/admitted to himself. he craves connection, someone to see him for who he is. and that's what's been guiding most of his actions throught the entire time we've known him.

when he saw alicent being unheard and unseen, he tried to form a connection with her as he saw himself in her (through manipulations of course, but his intention there when saying "i could be your ally" were sincere). but she rejected him (by refusing to see him as a man, by being horrified at his true self (the harrenhal fire), etc) and thus he grew to resent her and want to control her/humiliate her like she "humiliated him", probably thinking it was enough because of the power she gave him.

but then viserys died and alicent's power died with him.

spoilers for season 2 of house of the dragon below the cut

i think his "love" for her... changed or was put on the back of his mind after 2x04, especially after he sees the moon tea and she's in pain. when he asks her about criston, his reaction to her words is as if he is confused, as if he's recalculating what he thought of her because he's seeing her in a whole new light.

and maybe he is seeing her truly for the first time ever.

he said "you and i are the same", was always listening in on her conversations to gather information, maybe even convincing himself by doing so that she truly was like him. but, i think that, when larys says "you have not been yourself" is his way of saying "who are you? are you who i've always thought you were or someone i do not know?" and has to change his view of her, of what he convienced himself he saw in her.

maybe he sees that he's been living in a lie made of his own words.

so, when the council scene happens, he pities her and rejects her idea, because it has no ground and she's grasping at straws. (i do think he does feel sorry for rejecting her but he also doesn't have enough solid ground with aemond as regent (his position in the small council is fairly new) and slighting aemond would cost him the power he has, so he stays quiet and looks away).

however, he also manages to drive a nail to alicole's coffin but he walks away without looking back at the mess it left.

they then don't share a scene at all for the rest of the season.

from then on all his scenes are with aegon, and we see a side of larys we haven't seen before.

ageon gave him power (of course larys manipulated aegon with the Hand comment) because of his "loyalty" following blood and cheese (i still believe larys "let it happen") and made him his master of whispers. he placed larys in the small council (when alicent never did in the 6 years she acted as regent) and gave him status outside of the dungeons. he "brought him [larys] out of the shadows" in a way.

the show has made a point to tell us, since episode one of season two, that larys has been looking at aegon the same way he used to look at alicent in season one, staring him down as if he could see what he's made of, constantly analysing and calculating how to best approach him.

he made small attempts at conversations and funny lines ("that castle is more crippled than me") as the whole alicent thing is going on.

and then the battle of rook's rest happened.

with aegon barely holding on, we have a scene where larys is honest, vulnerable, sincere maybe for the first time ever (yes there's manipulation, but also genuine compassion). he sees the struggles aegon will have to face because he lived them himself.

like with alicent in the weirdwood, he tried to form a connection with aegon. but where alicent "rejected" his true self, aegon instead listened to what larys was saying, saw the truth in it and raged, which made larys feel seen and heard, beyond manipulation and twisted words, probably for the first time in his life

larys, for all his talk that love is a downfall, craves connection, the desire to not be alone in the world. he does feel love.

and whereas alicent rejected his love and was disgusted by his true self, aegon welcomed his help, invited his advice, and embraced his aid to become stronger

i think larys will be loyal to him as long as aegon allows his love and it does not fester into resentment, like his love for alicent did

[sscarletvenus]

GUN IN LOOKISM 506 ANALYSIS? WELL, SORT OF. mostly me yapping.

starting off with these Charles Choi lines said to Eugene...

during Kenta's backstory montage in the second affiliate, we see Gun as a child has already attained UI stage. physically, he has from the start (an interesting narrative choice i believe) been set apart as someone who has ascended mortal thresholds. no one in the story until now has his degree of UI proficiency, and the stage itself remained unseen or unheard of until Daniel reaches it.

in some ways, there is something eerily non-human about this particular manifestation of his strength. his existence is forever a pariah in the realm of humanity.

aside from the morphological louche qualities, Gun's ideals and thoughts have never aligned with the either the minds of his successor candidates or friends.

everyone in this story follows or strives to achieve certain purpose. revenge, romance, family, friends, self-preservation, money, power... all of which can ultimately be rounded off to humane desires and needs.

not Gun. Never. what he does have is, a morbid obsession with death, a frantic fascination to kill or be killed.

human nature is typically averse to the idea of death, which most perceive as an end. we know little about Gun's actual discernment of death. maybe it is linked to his yakuza upbringing, where death is matter of inches, everyday lived on knife's edge. to be subjected to a lifestyle of abject horror as a child irreversibly changes your psyche, after you have become so familiar with death, you associate some sentimentality with it. death is the only constant. so maybe, just maybe, he seeks it as comfort. as relief.

for him to kill is the greatest sincerity, and he displays this same sincerity to his master, i.e., Kenta's father. it's not cruel for him, battle is simply a means of honoring someone he respects. it's too terrifying to be comprehend by the mortal mind (Kenta cannot), but humans have never known the minds of gods or devils.

enacting violence is the most intimacy he can muster, as has been seen throughout the story. for all the atrocities he has inflicted upon the crewheads, he nurtures them because they show promise. he keeps them alive in hopes that someday they too can pay their respects to their master, kill him and reciprocate his outmost sincerity, show their devotion just like he has.

he is enraged and disappointed because they have another primary purpose that makes killing him secondary, he is infuriated because they fail to be sincere in annihilating him.

maybe this is why he's the way he is about UI Daniel, another inhumane creature of pure instinct who is not bound by man's fickleness towards death. hence the psychosexual infatuation.

"Let's kill each other," is what Gun says, upon meeting someone cursed by the same fate of never being human, such as himself.

Gun is insepreable from the idea of death in comic. perhaps i will make a more coherent and comprehensible post on the same some other day.

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞

Given this is a very dramatic title ~ apologies to all my lovely Libras out there ~ I will be talking about the struggles that people wit libra placements go through.

Let's start off with the perception of libra. These people are often viewed as being more superficial, however this is often due to people taking them at face value. They barely see what is beneath the surface. I put this down to Venus being the ruler of Libra. People often project their own relationship withy vanity onto them.

I will say this goes to all libra placements, but this is especially an issue for Libra rising, as this dictates how they are bering perceived.

Libra's are represented by the scales, this is because they are here to bring balance to the human experience. They are incredible mediators. They Like to consider everything before making decisions, perhaps they don't take on as extreme views as other because they can see both sides of an argument. This often gives them an unfair reputation of being indecisive or 'wishy washy'. In reality these people value being fair.

They can have a very altruistic nature about them, though once again they get a rep for being self absorbed. Not to say some undeveloped Libras aren't however. They want to create harmony around them, you can see how Venus comes into play here, and to have harmony you need balance ~ the scales.

Libras are air signs, however they dot get as much credit as the other sings that share their element, Aquarius and Gemini, for their intellect. I have seen this is because they are sometimes less forthcoming about what they know. Especially until they decide the right way to explain it. They want to present it right and well in a concise order/ with good reasoning.

Often Libras can become a wolf in's sheep's clothing, choosing to allow others to underestimate them.

Going back to the Libra being represented at the scales, I want to write on this is more of an esoteric sense. Libra as a sign is the balance between the material and the spiritual plane.

Stay with me... lets look at the signs each side of Libra...

You have virgo before ~ which is all about analysing the details of information that is in front of them. They look at a situation and break it down into little pieces. Virgo is also an earth sign, meaning they are very connected to they physicality of things, also making them incredibly grounded individuals.

Then you have scorpio afterwards ~ Scorpio is all about digging beneath the surface of things. Going much deeper, looking sag what is behind the things we can see with out eyes. It's all about intuition, noticing the unseen, unheard, unsaid. Remember Scorpio is opposite taurus which rules over the senses - scorpio is the 6th sense.

Going back to Libra - it's the balance between, considering both sides. Finding a balance between the physical and the spiritual. The logical and the intuitive. They are coming from both sides. This is often where their intellect differs from that of Gemini or Aquarius. This also helps us see why they prefer to be in their own heads figuring things out. There is so much going on up there we don't see and they don't share.

Thank you for reading everyone, I would love to hear your experience with these things if you have any libra placements.

Love from,

Pureastrowisdom x

[tragedybunny]

hehehe~ perhaps a cute fic with reader and Astarion and he talks about all the parties he used to go to before he was turned- and he dances with you 😳

Anon - So this took on a life of it's own, it reminded me of some of my Tav's backstory, so I worked in some elements of it. I hope it's still good. 🥺

Rhythm Like a Heartbeat - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion and Reader share a dance that reveals more than they planned.

Wyll was teaching Karlach to dance, of all things you'd seen on this journey, this was somehow amongst the most surprising. The Blade and the "Devil" he should've slayed, moving together along with the melody from an enchanted music box someone had picked up along the way. The two of them seemed to be growing closer, and you couldn't be happier for them. You took a long drink from a pilfered wine bottle while you watched, you were all blowing off a little steam, which was well needed. Digging around for Kethric's weakness was a daunting task and the clock inside of all of you was still ticking. "Not rethinking your choices I hope." 

You'd been so lost in thought you hadn't heard Astarion come up behind you. Or he'd intentionally snuck up on you. When he wanted to go unheard or unseen, you usually didn't have a chance of not getting ambushed. Mostly he seemed to enjoy the little jump you made when surprised. Tonight you didn't disappoint, exuding a high-pitched noise along with jumping. "Astarion," you scold, "honestly! And no, of course not, just impressed by Wyll's form." 

"Really," he scoffed, not hiding his jealous streak very well at all, "he looks like a gangly teenage boy at his first gala. Clearly, you haven't had much experience in the ballroom." Part of you wanted to laugh a little, the insult was obviously ridiculous, but you knew his jealousy came from fear that he barely held on to you and could still lose you. Maybe sometime you should use the tadpole to show him just how impossible that would be. If only the thought of it didn’t fill you with revulsion. 

“I didn’t know you were such an expert, love,” you know he feels comfortable with the playful banter, and you hope it pulls him away from that place of insecurity. 

A sharp laugh answers you, “I’ll have you know I had plenty of experience, both in life and unlife.” You shoot him a look, he rarely speaks of life before Cazador, you’re not even sure how much he remembers of it. “What? I had an important job, I knew important people. Or are you just trying to get me to teach you?” An outstretched arm beckons you to join him. For a second you freeze, knowing you’re risking exposing everything you’ve held back. But hells, if you say no, he’ll take it the wrong way entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.” 

Taking his arm, you let him lead you a distance from the tent, glad Wyll and Karlach are still the center of attention, and gracefully dip your knee as he bows. Gently, one hand takes yours, the other held properly tucked behind his back. The rhythm is an easy one, but you let him take the lead. Soft steps, elaborate turns around one another, your eyes locked with his. Gods, his eyes are breathtaking when he’s looking at you, when his guard is down, soft and shining with light. Tonight, they seem full of mirth, but you’ve seen them overflowing with his sorrow and tears as well. They’ve distracted you and you forget, he’s supposed to be teaching you, your form is too good. 

Step away, one spin, back to back, face each other, palms touching. Skin like ice presses against yours, heating up with the exertion and the emotions humming through your every nerve. One night he asked if it bothered you, lying next to the chill of the grave. You only hugged him tighter and told him not to be ridiculous because you couldn’t find the right words at the time to explain that it was part of who he was and you loved all of him, even the pieces that might not seem loveable. Thinking of it that way now though, you should tell him. 

Another turn, facing away from one another again, a chance to catch your breath. It’s madness how he still affects you, even after you’d confessed to one another, you’re still swooning nervously. He’s right when he calls you “silly girl” teasingly. The finale, one more elaborate twirl, you’re no longer even thinking of the dance, muscle memory taking over. His hand catches yours and you step close to him, closer than the propriety of a noble’s dance floor would’ve ever allowed. Cheekily, he leans forward, stealing a quick kiss. “It would seem you have more talents than you’ve let on.” 

“I…”, you really don’t want to lie to him. The silence stretches far too long. “It would seem so.” 

“Hmm,” you feel him studying you, and you realize his eyes are guarded again, his posture rigid. “So tell me one thing,” you nod, terrified you’re about to shatter that fragile bond you’ve built. Lies by omission are still lies. “Which noble house are you a runaway from?” His voice is cold and hard, the Astarion you met on the beach that fateful day. How fast he can change wounds you, just like that, he’s ready to be done with you. But it’s your fault, you know how years of horror have left him with walls he’s too quick to bring up. “Or do you want to keep lying to me?” 

You shake your head. “I wish I could say.” 

“And here I thought we really had something, but clearly,” he gestures wildly, unable to contain his rising temper. 

Stinging tears begin to prick your eyes. “No, no, I wish I could say,” you emphasize, praying he’ll understand. 

Suddenly, he stills, hand coming to your cheek, eyes wide. “Is this a warlock thing?” A thumb brushes away the tear that escaped and you hear agonized regret in his voice. “Oh darling, I’m sorry, don’t cry.” Arms pull you into his chest. “Please, I didn’t realize, it’s fine.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” you sniffle into his shirt.

“Hush love, you can tell me what you’re able to, when you’re ready. Although I must insist you consider us even for any prior deception of mine. Even ones you haven’t realized yet.” He laughs that awkward, nervous laugh that happens when he’s upset, but he’s trying so you let yourself giggle a bit. “There’s my girl. Now how about we dance again and no holding back? I need to know if I can actually keep up with you.” 

The music box is still playing but you’re no longer aware of anyone else in the camp. There’s only the two of you, softly and slowly moving together. Gone are the thoughts of the elaborate courtly show, you move by instinct, bodies responding to one another as you press close together. Then you still, let yourself be wrapped in his arms, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat. “I can at least tell you that you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had.” 

“Never doubted it my sweet,” you feel him kiss the crown of your head before resting his cheek against it.

[fancygremlin]

I absolutely adore how the themes in Malevolent are introduced so subtly at the very start of each season. I feel that each season has distinct ones that could foreshadow how Arthur and John's relationship progresses throughout the show.

I will be rambling about it below (sorry if it's a but messy, I wrote it all in one sitting and didn't proof read it very thoroughly).

The first season is introductory, so we are shown right away how the characters struggle to come to terms with their condition and how to make the best of it to actually accomplish their goals.

This theme is introduced when we learn right at the start of episode one that Arthur is a pianist, as well as a private investigator. The piano requires two hands to play a song. The right hand plays the main melody, the one everyone recognises by ear and is more likely to hum when recalling the song. The left hand plays the accompaniment, the melody that is perhaps not as nice to hear on its own, but makes the song being played that much more complete.

It's not a coincidence that Arthur keep the control of his right hand, while John gains control of the left hand. Arthur is the one that has to interact with the world around him, he is the one that people see and hear and talk to, he is the one that ultimately controls where to go and how to move about a space. He is the main melody, the one people recognise and hear and remember. John is instead stuck in the background, unseen and unheard... limited to just relaying visual information to Arthur. However, without John's aid, Arthur would be incapable to do anything at all. John is the accompaniment: the trained ear can't hear it well, but without it, the main melody would not be as complete, or as rich, or pleasant to hear.

In season two we have them transported in the Dreamlands and this is an environment that John is more familiar with. This is not a safe place to stay, anything or anyone could bring harm. We see the characters pushing their boundaries, learning how to survive... but is it fair to respond to a harsh environment with more harshness? In about episode two (I think, I am writing this all from memory, so sorry if I am misremembering), Arthur mentions Aesop's fable of "The Woodcutter and the Trees". The quote that is being repeated multiple times over the course of the season is "at least the handle is one of us".

If we want to apply the fable to Arthur and John, it could be possible to infer that Arthur might be the axe, while John is the handle. Arthur is the one that is foreign to the place, that does not understand it and is more often than not ready to resort to more violent or extreme methods to escape or resolve issues. On the other hand, John mentions that he has faint memories of the Dreamlands, he is part of them and he remembers he had some sort of control/dominance over them when he was part of the King in Yellow. It's because of John that Arthur is even able to access the Dreamlands in the first place, so maybe John did betray in some way his nature and bringing harm to the place that he once called home.

In season three, the main theme was the (1) loss of humanity and (2) identity. In this case, this was communicated, respectively, (1) by removing a thing that was at the core of the characters' personality, and (2) by offering a narrative foil to the characters.

Loss of humanity for Arthur was symbolised by the destruction of Faroe's music box, which sent him down a very dangerous and dark path of self-vendetta fuelled by murderous rage. On the other hand, Arthur's narrative foil was Larson. Both characters experienced a great loss, but the motivations and (in particular) emotional response to the event was what made them become very different people. Arthur's loss of his daughter haunts him constantly, drags him down with the gravitational pull of a black hole. He cannot forgive himself, to the point of considering himself a monster that does not deserve redemption or forgiveness. On the other hand, Larson willingly sacrificed his daughter for power and money and never experiences any remorse or guilt for his deplorable actions.

Loss of humanity for John was shown by having Arthur strike a deal with Kayne: John is back, but with none of the memories or experiences he lived with Arthur. He is back as a manipulative fragment of the King in Yellow. It's interesting how he regains all his memories when Arthur plays Faroe's music box. Of course, John's narrative foil is... another version of himself... Yellow. I could write an entire essay comparing the two and their respective journeys on how they wanted to try so hard to form their own identities... but I'd go off on a very long tangent. This is already long enough and I am blabbering too much.

I've JUST started season four today and I am two episodes in and I am suspecting that this season's theme is fractures... Just in episode one I heard Arthur choosing a story about a broken relationship between two friends, then the multiple mentions between Arthur and his father in law, and then in episode two there was also the broken window in the room they are renting in Mary's apartment... I am honestly so scared that by the end of this season something very big will happen that will push Arthur and John apart and fracture their relationship almost irremediably.

I know John is hiding something very big from Arthur and it's very possibly something regarding Kayne. I also have a sneaky suspicion that Arthur had a real chance to get some answers about Kayne from Yellow, but of course he just decided to NOT DO THAT!

Can't wait to have this show mess me up once more.

[Season 5 theme analysis]

[ivesambrose]

⚜️ 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ⚜️

December 31st,2023 - May 1st, 2024

These are based on Sidereal transits 💛

If you'd like an even more personalized reading in regards to this or anything else from my list of services DM or email me with your query at Ivesambrose@gmail.com

Services offered

Client Testimonials & Feedback

Thank you for the tip 🌹

Picture 1

You'll feel more decisive about your goals and your life and actively move forward in regards to it whether you have a plan or not you are aware that even if you take one step in regards to your desires every single day, even if it's a change of lifestyle, habit or mindset, they will all up.

You may have felt rejected or feared rejection in the past that has made you question your self worth immensely, it has made you shut down that tender part of you, it only comes out when you're by yourself or the few people you know and trust. You'll be slowly letting go of that wound of feeling rejected, unseen and unheard. You may be drawn more towards your faith at this time but it won't be a surface level thing, you might want to learn more, pray more or do more devotional acts as you'll realize that a lot of your prayers are being answered.

You're no longer the damsel in distress or someone who can be easily taken advantage of either. You'll likely attract a few people who are a bit obsessively drawn to you, some may have good intentions but others would want to control you or have ulterior motives, so please use your best judgement and listen to your gut.

You'll likely become more social, recognised for your words or the way you express yourself or teach things which make others feel comforted and heard. You might also begin expressing yourself in the form of writing, singing, photography, vlogging etc

You'll want to indulge in the luxuries life has to offer even more. There is also possibility of travel within the country for starters and a lot of back and forth.

Be more protective of your energy as well otherwise you'll feel moody and depleted.

Picture 2

You might feel like you're in the spotlight or you'll be fixating on the bigger picture of something and nothing else. A path you had chosen months back has led you to where you are right now, good or bad, you'll make peace with it once you realize that it's on you to change your direction or do what's need to be done to steer your life in the right direction. There's a sense of enlightenment that will feel very personal and spiritual to you, it will lead you to drop the act you had been partaking in for long.

You may have rejected help and guidance in the past that may have come to bite you and kept you in the same cycle, you'll feel inclined to revisit the guidance and break free from this chain.

Some of you might find a home, change homes, start working from home or finally feel at home where you can drop your mask and finally be yourself.

You'll stop being double minded and finally see yourself blooming in different areas of your life be it studies or career or both. Like minded people will come to you. You might find love but some of you might let go of it as it could feel suffocating or restricting, you will feel sorrow but I also see you being held by someone either a friend or a new lover when this happens. Your needs will be mer regardless.

You'll be aggresive in your pursuits and some of you might finally step into the shoes of being a leader instead of following orders. You'll find your people and may also go to different festivals, fairs, exhibitions etc

Avoid overly physically exherting yourself and spicy food, Avoid lashing out at people. Stay hydrated aswell.

Picture 3

Too many choices in love, studies, career direction, hobbies etc you might feel a bit overwhelmed at first since the energy might feel scattered, so you'll proceed to expressing yourself more creatively and openly because of your new found confidence in your body and enthusiasm towards life. A lot of your creativity will come via your dreams, or engaging in fantasy literature and media or meditating or simply day dreaming.

Your creativity as well as beauty will draw in more career opportunities as well networking with people. You will also be actively addressing the ways you engage in self sabotage and it will be your responsibility to work through the same.

You'll be blessed with a wish or a couple of them being granted, you'll be in your receptive state. You might just accept the "delulu is the solulu" (I can't believe I typed that) saying or to put in better words, you'll simply allow your desires and dreams to manifest without you attaching conditions to it or thinking of the what ifs and how's etc

There will be deep transformation for you, big ones. Be it the way you look, dress, are living your life, your existing relationships, your job etc

You'll find unlikely resources or finances from unknown/hidden means or in form of inheritances.

You can look forward to a sense of peace you've been lacking. You might be prone to astral travel, intense dreams etc avoid or at least be mindful of recreational drug use or drinking, as well as water bodies.

Some of you might be traveling abroad for cultural exchange or studies or even for love. Do embrace the love that comes your way.

Picture 4

The courage and resources to get up and leave. Simply rising above something successfully no matter how weighed down you feel or have felt till now. You might also be juggling multiple things at this time (jobs, work and studies, hobbies, ideas, investments, applications etc) you'll find more balance somehow you'll also find clarity in your next steps.

You'll also be more assertive and stand up for yourself against someone who has held some form of power over you. You'll also realize that projecting omeone else's anger, mindset or bullying, towards yourself or others is not going to break the cycle. There is a theme of walking out, away and relocating heavily for you. But there is inevitable triumph in the path you're taking. Maybe in the past you've been procrastinating on it but that phase has come to an end.

A select few of you might also be going through your saturn return at this time so you might feel tested but you're simply having a period of shedding old skin and rising from the ashes of what was barren all along. You'll bring in more structure and discipline into your life in the process which in turn will reward you with joy and being content with your achievements instead of looking at your to do list for the next big thing.

Try engaging or creating things that make you feel light-hearted or entertained or it was something that was taught to you as a child, I feel you'll find the 'lost art' to something and recreate it.

Let yourself have fun and feel joy for what seems like the first time in your life. You'll realize life wasn't just unrewarded labour, that was an old way of being and you're stepping into a reality that feels a lot more comforting and compassionate than the one you're leaving behind.

[jasmineandcedar]

Thy lips, a bloom in rosy, soft delight | Azriel the Bard, part 1

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV)

So… this might be a slightly strange piece of writing that I have been working on nearly every day for the past two months. In line with my wish to provide some joy and laughter in these troubled times, here's the first instalment of my new series – Azriel the Bard – in which I attempt to combine Elriel, poetry, romance and comedy and, to the best of my ability, only use words that have been used in Shakespeare’s work (because why not?). In the first instalment, I reimagine how Azriel and Elain stayed up together until dawn that one fateful Solstice night. With both a slightly naughty and a slightly (perchance exaggeratedly) Shakespearean twist.

Summary: A Shakespeare coded Azriel has developed a nervous habit of composing sonnets in his mind whenever Elain is around. But fair Elain Archeron keeps making dirty jokes, which has the shadowsinger very flustered and confused, urging himself to contain thyself, thou fool!—for most unruly is the part of his wayward body that hath, eager and unbidden, risen to the occasion beneath his breeches!

Warning: Ealin's subtle dirty jokes, but nothing explicit.

------

Azriel, dreaded Spymaster and shadowsinger of the Court of Night, could scarce believe his fortune—to find himself alone with fair Elain Archeron upon the longest night of the year. Yet fortune, the shadowsinger knew, had little to do with this blessed circumstance, for he had by underhand means laboured to align the stars to his wishes. Excuse upon excuse he had devised, each more feeble than the last, just to linger but a moment longer near Elain throughout the Solstice night. In sooth, he had been but a hair’s breadth from thrusting the High Lady Feyre Archeron headlong into the very abysm with scarce regard, so fierce was his yearning to be the first to bid Elain a merry Solstice.

Yet who could fault the shadowsinger, when fair Elain Archeron summoned him with an unseen force—one he had not the strength of will resist?

The sitting room lay steeped in the amber glow of the hearth's gentle flame, the fire casting shadows that danced and leapt upon the walls. Cassian had but just staggered off to his bedchamber, quaffing the last dregs of his liquor as he went, resembling a surly knight bereft of his lady's favour. And perchance, it was so, for Nesta had cast a parting glare of fury upon him ere she took her leave. Mor, too, had departed soon after Cassian, raising a weary sigh, as though the night itself were but a burden upon her frame.

‘Twas well past three in the morn when Azriel caught the gaze of High Lady Feyre. Her eyes sparkled with delight and a coy smile graced her lips, as though she were some scheming matchmaker, meddling with the threads of fate itself. In silence, she slipped into the night, hand in hand with the High Lord Rhysand. Their steps faded into the shadows, leaving naught but silence and the dancing flames in their wake.

And so it was that the shadowsinger found himself alone with fair Elain Archeron. He could scarce contain the grin that tugged at his lips, for he felt in that moment like the most fortunate knave in all of Prythian.

The room had settled at last into a restful stillness—the kind that, in Azriel's experience, only graced the Inner Circle's residence when all save himself had drifted off into the honey-heavy dew of slumber. ‘Twas a welcome retirement, a sequestration that gentled the very night, weaving a quiet tenderness into it.

Elain sat beside him upon the sofa, her notebook spread across her lap. She spoke most sweetly of her designs for the gardens, of new blossoms yet to unfold, eyes sparkling with visions she sketched with delicate strokes of her pencil.

Of a sudden, she halted, the pencil lingering upon her nether lip.

Azriel's head tilted, as though fair Elain had bewitched him with some silent and unheard spell. His gaze lingered, enthralled, upon the pencil that rested betwixt Elain’s rosy lips, held there in idle thought. The very vision stole his breath away, like a thief in the night. His lips parted of their own accord as a wicked smile curved his lips.

O, to be but a humble pencil graced by the kiss of fair Elain Archeron’s lips. The thoughts danced through his mind like the shadows twirling upon his shoulders.

The shadowsinger need not resort to poetry—yet what else could capture the beauty of fair Elain Archeron? Alas, he could pen a hundred sonnets to the perfection of fair Elain. He had not the strength to withstand the pull of those beauteous lips.

A glimpse of thee, as riseth fairest dawn, Thy lips, a bloom in rosy, soft delight. Thou whisper’st secrets dear, my lovely fawn, Each gentle word doth set my soul alight.

Azriel sealed his lips shut with a snap, as though he feared the sonnet might otherwise escape them. He blinked swiftly, to shake the unbidden verse loose from his straying thoughts and muster his wits anew. Contain thyself, thou fool! he scolded himself inwardly, pressing his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to gather his wits together.

But nay, it seemed his unyielding will faltered in the radiant presence of fair Elain Archeron. For no sooner had he opened his eyes than his head tilted anew of its own accord, like some puppet tugged by unseen strings. His gaze was ensnared once more by the pencil that slid with ease betwixt Elain's tender lips.

What else, Azriel mused with a wicked curve of his lips, might slip so pleasantly betwixt those sweet lips?

But then, on the sudden, the pencil slipped from her lips, rousing Azriel startingly from his wanton fantasies. He sat up straight, as though caught in some guilty act. Elain lowered the pencil to her notebook, pointing to one of her sketches.

"I do seek to erect a paling fence betwixt the flower beds and the—"

Azriel near choked upon his own breath, falling into a cough as he struggled to mask his reaction. Erect? By all that is holy, why must she say it like that? So blithely? So… eagerly? Of all the words she could have bid her lips to speak, fair Elain chose this one, uttering it with the innocence of a maiden, yet the sly wit of a jester.

Azriel shifted upon his seat, astonished that such saucy words should spring—so unbidden, so unbridled—from fair Elain’s sweet lips.

Heat flushed his cheeks, rising swiftly, and hastily did he seize a pillow to set it square upon his lap, like a shield of modesty. Silently, he sent a prayer to any deity who might deign to have mercy on his poor soul this most perilous of nights.

He closed his eyes but for a fleeting moment, summoning his strength. Contain thyself, thou fool! he chided anew within the unruly chambers of his mind. Each breath he drew was slow and measured, as though he might quell the stirrings of his wayward body through sheer strength of will. But alas, what hope had his wretched soul against the unrelenting fancies of his sinful desire?

It appeared his fancies led him astray in fair Elain’s presence.

For a most unruly part of him had, eager and unbidden, risen to the occasion beneath his breeches. It seemed the shadowsinger could not withstand the siege of his own desires.

“—Yet the one that hath caught mine eye doth appear of such large proportion, methinks it may be too large to fit,” quoth Elain.

Azriel nearly gasped aloud, as though betrayed by the very air. He fought to keep his countenance as unmoved as a marble bust, but—Mother above!—was fair Elain Archeron jesting with him so merrily on this fine night? Could she mean to do this with purpose? Azriel knit his brow in suspicion, and perused her visage as a wary courtier might study the face of a cunning deceiver.

But nay—fair Elain Archeron’s face was as calm as moonlight upon still waters, the very portrait of innocence. ‘Twas as though she had been taking secret lessons in the art of aloof restraint and stony countenance—nay, marble bust visage—from none but the Spymaster himself.

If only, he ruminated dryly, and the sinful stirrings of his unruly flesh rose once more beneath his breeches.

It seemed, indeed, the shadowsinger, had not the strength to withstand the siege of his own desires.

“What think'st thou?” Elain asked, gazing upon him with those wide chestnut eyes—so large, so innocent—they might well have belonged to a doe in a sunlit glade.

“Methinks...” Azriel's began, his voice emerging hoarse. He loosed a discreet cough, and tried anew, “Methinks thou shalt thrive—with proper preparation.”

“Dost thou think so?" quoth Elain, her eyes alight with keen curiosity, leaning ever so nigh.

Azriel swallowed hard, a crimson blush creeping up his neck. “Ay,” he whispered, the word forced forth with valiant strain, his voice trembling as though on the brink of faltering entirely. He clutched the pillow still poised upon his lap and, as befit a true warrior, fought a gallant battle against the untoward urge to adjust himself upon his perch.  

For the mischief brewing beneath his breeches left him most sweetly vexed, caught betwixt desire and the chains of his restraint.

“Perchance thou mightst grant me thy help?” Elain entreated, her alluring brown eyes—so wide, so earnest—they seemed as though they might well charm the very stars from their nightly vigil.

Azriel's gaze strayed downward to her lips, then swiftly back to her eyes. Nay, gaze not upon her lips! he silently chided himself inwardly.

“I—I am certain I could…” he muttered at length, breathless and faint, his voice scarcely louder than the fire’s soft crackle, “… lend thee my hand?”

The words stumbled forth in the manner of a question, for it seemed courteous to phrase them so when she had so utterly bereft him of his wits. Was she still speaking of her garden, or did fair Elain’s jest conceal a coy courtship? Gone was the shadowsinger’s stony countenance—nay, his marble bust visage—shattered beneath her gaze as easily as glass beneath the strike of an axe.

“Hast thou any... skill in such matters?” quoth Elain, her tone sweetly innocent.

For mercy's sake, fair lady, bite not thy lip! Azriel pleaded inwardly.

Yet, as though she were a witch privy to his very thoughts, Elain's teeth caught her nether lip.

Azriel swallowed hard at the sight. For but a fleeting moment, he raised a piteous sigh, his brow knitting together as, unwittingly and in like manner, he bit his own lip—until he caught himself, and swiftly forced his disposition back into the unmoving mask of a marble bust.

“Thou couldst say so, ay,” he uttered at long last, though the quiver in his voice betrayed the tempest of his growing confusion. He knew not what they spoke of any longer; all he knew was that his gaze did cling, shameless and unbidden, to the beauteous lips of fair Elain Archeron.

And that his wayward body did make but feeble attempts to remain still beneath his breeches, granting him little reprieve. His grip tightened upon the pillow, as though it were the sole shield betwixt him and the reach of the abysm.

“Marry...” Elain ruminated, her voice soft and innocent as a dove's coo. Yet anon, the pencil slipped with alluring charm betwixt her lips, and a twinkle kindled in her eye—a glimmer of something Azriel could not name. “Just as I had thought,” she mused.

What intent does she harbour, with such coy words and sly smiles? The shadowsinger marvelled. Azriel's train of thought had, most assuredly, lost its course, like a ship adrift at sea. He could scarce discern whether they still spoke of gardening, or if they had drifted into far more wanton waters. Had they wandered into realms of mischief? Had they veered beyond the paths of innocence?

To compound his woe, his mind settled back upon its new, most untimely folly: the endless writing of sonnets to fair Elain Archeron, whenever she drew near.

Thy laughter danceth, drawing me so nigh; With daring twinkles in thy chestnut eyes. Thy lips of crimson do grace smiles so shy, In every glance, a charge of pure surprise.

The words assailed his tortured mind unbidden, a skittish habit he seemed unable to abandon. Worse still, the heat did begin to rise, creeping up his neck as were he naught but a fever-weakened youth caught in the grip of his first love, bereft of all reason.

Azriel tugged at the collar of his tunic, as though the very fabric had betrayed him this fatal night. Mother above, he thought, overcome by alarm, shall I become naught but a puddle at fair Elain Archeron’s feet before Solstice night is through?

Contain thyself, thou fool!

“Art thou well?” asked Elain, her voice laced with gentle concern. “Thou dost appear flushed and warm, art thou taken with fever?”

Azriel made a strangled sound—a disordered stream of words that spilled forth with no coherence of any sort.‘Twas naught but prattle, but he could summon no finer reply in his present state.

Before he could recover his wits, Elain's fair hand reached forth. She drew ever nearer and put her hand flat over his brow.

The moment her sweet, flowery scent embraced him, Azriel fought fiercely against the desire to allow his eyes to close. ‘Twas as though the heavens themselves had opened and the gods, in their mercy, had graced his wretched soul—blessed by the mere presence of fair Elain Archeron. A tremble shot through his fever-weakened limbs, fraught with a burning ache of boundless longing, and much to his dismay, his traitorous mouth did near groan aloud with both relief and need.

He gazed into Elain’s eyes, his resolve undone, as though her charm had bewitched him wholly.

“Thou art hot beyond measure,” Elain breathed, gazing upon the shadowsinger with her wide, innocent eyes, her fair hand still cool against his burning brow.

“I thank thee,” the shadowsinger croaked, before his enthralled wits could resume control of his unruly tongue.

“How now?” said Elain, her brows lifting in gentle confusion.

Scarce in breath, Azriel loosed that strangled sound anew—half a cough, half a plea for the ground to gape and swallow him alive, or perchance for the heavens to bear him hence before they shut their gates once more. Nothing seemed able to quench the burning of his cheeks. “Forgive my folly,” he managed, voice ragged and hoarse.

Confusion, fleeting and faint, swept across Elain’s beauteous visage, yet yielded to a coy smile. With graceful repose, she sat back upon her seat, a twinkle of sweet mischief dancing in her eye.

Might it be that gardening hath ever held such… allure? The shadowsinger mused. Have mine eyes been shrouded, bereft of so vital a truth? Perchance I have chosen the wrong path in life. Pray, is five hundred years of age too late a time to forsake my trade and seek a new profession?

Or could it be, perchance, that fair Elain Archeron, sought to woo the shadowsinger?

Azriel sharpened his gaze, tilting his head as though he were observing some rare and curious creature. To his quiet delight, Elain mirrored him sweetly, though her lip curled in charming jest—a honey-sweetened challenge.

Ah, reckoned the shadowsinger, a twinkle kindling his gaze like a spark of knowing. I dare presume the fair lady doth seek to woo me.

Charming little darling.

In spite of himself, Azriel’s mouth, too, did curl with a subtle mischief, unfolding as slowly as the first light of dawn, to spread at last into a full, unbridled grin. And Elain’s visage—so coy, so sweet— radiant and inviting as a blossoming flower in spring, broke forth into boundless mirth and delight. She was as gentle as the petal of a rose, yet within her dwelled a secret boldness, humble but unyielding, that stirred his yearning heart to listen.

Fair Elain, thou art exquisite beyond earthly bounds, whispered the silent voice of the shadowsinger’s aching heart.

“Must I make my intentions plainer still?” Elain whispered through delicate laughter, as melodious as bird’s song at dawn. Her words danced with coy mischief, yet Azriel’s enthralled eyes took silent heed of the blush that rose in her fair cheeks. “I have sought to woo thee all Solstice long, shadowsinger,” she whispered on a soft breath.

Her eyes lowered, drawn downward as though by the weight of her own confession. With a demure smile lingering upon her lips, here gaze fell to her notebook. Only then did Azriel notice it was filled with naught but scattered scribbles.

A fresh flush of heat rose upon Azriel’s cheeks, and his heart burned with a desperate desire. The enticing paradox of Elain’s sweet, innocent countenance, mingled with that wicked tongue, ignited him hotter than a blacksmith's forge. For the first time in centuries, the shadowsinger found himself utterly undone—felled by a single, beguiling smile from fair Elain Archeron. How fiercely he yearned to claim her hand, cradle her in his arms, and whisper in her ear the secrets of his heart—the truths he could no longer endure to keep hidden.

“Thy smiles become thee well,” Elain whispered, her voice soft as a summer's breeze. That demure smile still played upon her lips, and her fingers twirled the pencil as were it a wand holding the shadowsinger spellbound.

And the sonnet to Elain Archeron’s lips kept weaving itself into verse within Azriel’s mind—a poet's curse he could not flee:

Thy blooming lips, in every smile and part, Through Solstice night, the longest of the year. Perchance will heed my fervent, yearning heart, And weave sweet words that only I shall hear.

“I could say the same of thee, Elain, but it would not suffice,” quoth the shadowsinger at long last, voice raw with emotion. “No words could ever do thee justice.”

Her steadfast gaze ensnared his, as though daring him to turn away. Azriel, for all his strength, could no more turn away than pluck the moon from its perch upon the night sky for his heart were held captive by her gaze. Softly did Elain’s gentle fingers trace the back of his hand, which lay still unmoving upon the pillow in his lap. From her touch flowed a warmth, sweet yet consuming, as though it had awakened a slumbering need in the shadowsinger.

“Good night, Azriel,” quoth Elain at length.

His name upon her tongue struck him into trembling silence, bereft of words to speak. With celestial grace, Elain rose from her perch, drifting past him as silently as the shadow of a shadow. Wordless, but for the echo of his name carried on her lips, she made her way towards the stairs.

Azriel turned in his seat. “Elain?”

She halted at the threshold, though she turned not to face him.

“I did speak in earnest,” quoth the shadowsinger, his voice low and tremulous, “as to the offer of mine hand…”

He swallowed hard, and a blush rose anew to his cheeks. “Shoudst thou desire it, my hand is thine to claim.”

Slowly, Elain turned, her eyes finding his with a gentleness that stilled his troubled mind. A rosy blush bepainted her cheeks, and upon her lips there bloomed a smile—so tender, so true—it was as though sunlight had pierced Azriel’s despair with its golden light, warming the depths of his wretched soul. Wordlessly, and with that smile still blooming upon her beauteous visage, Elain clasped her notebook closer to her bosom, and hurried away.

Azriel loosed a long, measured breath, turning once more to the quiet of the room. His gaze settled upon the little jar of headache powder Elain had given him, which sat upon the table like a silent token of her care. A smile did play upon his lips, followed soon by a soft chuckle. Slowly, he melted into the sofa’s embrace, his head resting upon its back, as a sense of peace washed over his weary soul—so rare, so unknown—it was as though he had stumbled upon some sacred treasure, precious and pure, found after centuries lost.

O, to be but a humble pencil graced by the kiss of fair Elain Archeron’s lips.

And with that, the sonnet composing itself within his mind came to a gentle close:

O, how thy perfect lips inspire verse, A story penned in every whispered word.

----

Click here to read Azriel’s Solstice sonnet in full (I have hidden quite a few canon moments in it!).

This is the first instalment of Azriel the Bard. In this instalment, I focused on comedy and wit, but future instalments might lean more into the romance.

My ACOTAR canon inspiration was Elain in ACOFAS laughing at Rhys suggesting he should model lingerie for them and Elain telling dirty jokes to Azriel in his BC (showing she has a bit of a naughty side to her…), and Azriel’s claim to not needing to resort to poetry, despite repeatedly doing so for Elain.

I don’t claim of this to be of any literary quality and my goal has simply been to create something that might bring some joy and laughter (I hope it did!). Because I am a big fan of Shakespeare and his unmatched wit, my idea was to create something a little unusual by (nearly) only using words and expressions that have been used in Shakespeare’s work. I stuck to that plan as much as possible and have been living inside the pages of Shakespeare’s work for the past two months. If you’re a fan of Shakespeare, you might recognize some expressions of his I’ve adapted and incorporated in this story.

If anyone is interested, Folger Shakespeare Library has an excellent feature where you can search through all Shakespeare’s works. I used it relentlessly to study how Shakespeare use certain words and expressions.

Thank you for reading!

[babyseraphim]

*drops this and runs away* (a snippet from ch. 6 of my healing needed more than time, which is still in progress)

Edwin could see his friend in the poor boy. He could see it in his crestfallen posture, echoing the same stance that Charles often displayed when cases went sideways. He could see it in the way his breaths quickened when asked to make a decision that had no clear, correct answer. In the wide, glassy picture of his eyes, when presented with a sudden mention of his father.

Edwin could see that this boy lived on within his friend, unseen, unheard—unloved. He was lonely, and afraid. More likely than not, that meant Charles was, too—whether he realized or not. 

Edwin had never seen it. He had never even considered it.

“Um,” Charles said, interrupting Edwin’s thoughts. “Sorry, but are you okay?”

Edwin wiped a sudden film of tears from his cheeks, the untamable cauldron of burbling sorrow finally beginning to spill over.

“Yes, my apologies,” he said, doing his best to rebuild the burst dam of emotions flowing through him. “You simply—well, you remind me very much of a dear friend.”

“Oh,” said Charles. “D’you make friends with a lot of seven year olds, then?”

Edwin chuckled wetly. “I do not. He is not a child like you, but you remind me of him all the same.” He looked at the floor, suddenly unable to face the familiar brown eyes staring up at him. “I must admit, I miss him dearly. He always knows exactly what to say in these moments.”

Charles sat silent for a moment, contemplating. Then, he took hold of Edwin’s hand and patted it clumsily—a clear imitation of the comfort that Edwin had offered him earlier.

“Wherever he is, I bet he misses you too, yeah?” Charles said, with a certainty that warmed Edwin’s soul. “If he doesn’t, then he’s a right tosser.” He paused. “And stupid, also.”

[eternal-honeyy]

Clawing Ever Upward A Luminary Oneshot

Astarion Ancunin x fReader!

Synopsis: In Smallest Star; Unknown we learned that Tav and Astarion have spent a few accidental nights together after he's finished feeding, but what exactly does a sleepover between them entail? Well, for Astarion, much more than he initially anticipated.

Or, alternatively: How to give comfort to one who seeks it simply by being, in 700 words or less.

Note: This fic takes place within the Luminary storyline, an Astarion x f!Reader oneshot-based series that you can read here if you'd like some additional context, though this can also be read as a oneshot :)

Luminary Masterlist

Two hands reach outward into the darkness, seeking, scrambling, and grasping for purchase upon something sturdy, something to anchor on to, almost as if they belong to some drowning, floundering body being pulled beneath a heavy current.

The night is quiet, the gentle breeze and the buzzing of bugs the only sounds to be heard, and yet, Astarion's eyes flutter open, his pale eyelashes briefly brushing over his cheeks as he takes in his surroundings, seeking that which may have removed him from his trance even on a peaceful evening such as this one.

The answer to his curiosities comes in the form of a warm hand pressing against his cool chest, and of dull fingernails scraping at his skin weakly before the appendage falls away once more. At this, he sits up on his forearms, upper body rising slightly and pale skin meeting cool air as his gaze darts about his tent.

He looks down to the left of him and finds you lying there, exactly where he had last seen you before he'd slipped into his trance for the evening, that favorite spot of his upon your neck still slightly red from his most recent feeding.

Though, as much as he adores admiring the not so subtle marks made upon your flesh by his fangs, he finds his attention slipping instead to your expression, noting with no small sense of alarm the discomfort that can be found there, your nose scrunched up and your eyes squeezed shut so tightly that there's wrinkles forming around them from your efforts.

He looks around, searching for the cause of your obvious unease, eyes roving endlessly for some unseen light and ears perked for some unheard sound, when suddenly he hears you let out a whimper so pitiful that it has his undead heart lurching within his chest.

His eyes flit back toward you again, and he finds that your expression has only grown all the more tense since he had last seen it, and your hands have started to reach out into the darkness, the tips of your fingers so close to his side that he can feel the disturbed air left in their wake.

Your fearful whines have turned into choked gasps now, and as Astarion watches on, uncertainty coloring his thoughts, he realizes with a start that you must be dreaming, your "waking" hands emulating those found within your slumber as you almost certainly scrambled to find something, anything to hold onto.

He knows this feeling well, or at least thinks so, the desperation of trying to claw ones way forward, upward, against all odds, against all hope, and he feels his chest tighten at the realization that whatever frightens you so might not be so different from what horrifying fates he's suffered.

And Gods, your face is just so twisted up in fear, and the sounds you're making are so very desperate in the absolute worst way, in a way he had never hoped to hear, and before he can think he's reaching out to you, allowing your grasping hands to find purchase upon the cold and solid flesh of his forearm even as your nails dig in and your grip grows impossibly tight.

He allows you to ground yourself beside him over the next few minutes, his eyes never fully leaving your face as he waits for all of the fear that was once so present there to fade, some softened part of him needing to see your ease before he can lay down once more.

And he would never admit it, not to himself and certainly not aloud, but there is a level of comfort he had never anticipated in the feeling of your warm hands resting upon his skin, especially as your grip loosens and your wave of fear passes, leaving him with only the weight of two soft hands to serve as a reminder of what had just occurred.

And oh, what a mighty weight they bear,

What a permanent mark they leave in their wake.

[ladyelissarose]

‘We Go Down Together’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female ‘hostage’ reader

Nickname per say: Wolf

Summary; When Ghost is caught and held hostage, he meets a new friend, who’s been held hostage there too for much longer. But Simon who has the hopes of getting out, runs into her who has lost it all. 

Warnings; might make you cry, angst, then some fluff, mentions of torture and a few dark things.. but yup, be prepared ;) enjoy.

“Well... sense you don’t seem to give up.. maybe we can make you comfortable here... along with Wolf... take turns playing with you two and see who breaks first...”

Those were the last words Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley heard from his captors before he was thrown into the darkest place he had ever encountered. If he thought the casket he was buried in was dark and lonely... this felt much worse, for it was knowingly much larger... meaning more demons could fit inside. The demons were what scared Simon the most, their haunting voices, promising torture and pain till no end, their lingering around him, which was so unseen yet profoundly felt. When thrown in, instinctively he stretched his hands out to feel for walls, and when he found one he followed it until he found a corner, and there he settled himself. Hoping the darkness of that particular corner consumed him or kept him well hidden for now, until they pulled him out again to do what they could to get him to talk. The room was so dark he couldn’t even see his hands in front of him, so instead he kept his eyes shut, so he wouldn’t try to look for something that wasn’t really there. Simon tried to get his mind off of it, but ever sense the first day he arrived, the presence of another in that room made chills go up his spine, and his mind wonder,

 ‘Is there really someone in here? Or am I hallucinating again?’

There would be times he’d hear the door slam open and the sound of someone else being dragged out, theirs cries were the sound of a wailing woman, but he could never see them. And once they were out, he’d feel extremely lonely, he had even cried for them, wishing for their presence to be there again, for it never felt scary or uncomfortable, it felt peaceful and comforting. Once they’d return he’d feel rough hands grab him and drag him out next, he’d try to fight them off, but never succeeded. The cycle repeated when it came to them trying to get words out of the both of them, which they never received. Simon would grow furious when he’d hear them hurting you, feel your pain in the sound of your desperate pleas and screams, and he’d tear up when he could make out what were your silent cries or whimpers once you were back inside. Soon he would hear your soft breaths when you had fallen asleep, and that’s what he used as leverage to calmly fall asleep too. When Simon would be thrown back into the dark room, he had already memorized the steps towards his corner, but they usually didn’t feel so heavy or sad, when he could feel the presence of his unseen and unheard friend. All he knew, was that they called them, ‘Wolf’. Today though, Wolf’s cries sounded much louder and deep, and ever sense you came back, your soft breaths hadn’t been heard yet, you were oddly enough still up. And Simon refused to sleep until he heard you pass out first.

‘Why aren’t you sleeping yet? Did they really tear into you this time?-‘

“Sometimes we fly, sometimes we fall

Sometimes I feel like we're nothing at all..”

‘Oh?... was that- real?’

“Dream in the light, dance in the dark

You fill the spaces inside of my heart, mm mm..”

Simon’s ears perked at the sound of the most beautiful and angelical voice he had ever heard. It sang into the darkness, the echo of the empty metal room allowed it to flow like a peaceful river. Sitting up and cowering less, Simon awaited for it to continue, now hungry for more as it seemed to have calmed his hurting heart and desperate soul. He was too worried to call out or ask for it, not wanting it to stop or scare it away at the sound of his broken, torn voice. 

“Mm, woo ooh, ooh ooh

Hm hm...”

‘Is that why they called you Wolf? They hear your voice and say you’re howling in the dark... please go on..’

Wolf, that was your new given name.. as each night before your new friend arrived, you sang your fears away, hoping your voice sounded angelic enough to keep the demons away. You had been captured months ago, after a mission went wrong with your team and instead of being able to get away, your team used you as bait so they could run first. So you knew sense the start that they’d probably never come to get you back, and it was proven right when you found out that it had been 6 months sense your capture. They did everything in their power to get information out of you... but you never gave in... so they tortured you with darkness, hiding you from the sun and it’s gift of light. When you were once a Sunshine to many, brightening up the world with a smile or cheering it up with a simple word, you were now a Wolf.. crying in the night.. hoping to call out the moonlight, maybe the light of the sun could spare you that. But no.. you hadn’t seen it yet. Tonight for some reason your friends cries had been much louder, it tore you piece into piece at the sound of it, anger boiling as you wished that they’d hurt you instead. Soon it stopped, and a loud crash came through the door. In the distance you could hear heavy breathing, a few sniffles here and there, even a choked sob. You thought that maybe singing, would calm his heart... and silence his cries that made you ache with sorrow. Lately he had been your reason to go on, feeling his presence there or hearing his soft snores when he’d knock out due to the pain, was enough to stay strong. You had never spoken or seen this man, but he was hurting as much as you, and you’d do anything to help or take it away.

But after today’s unfortunate session you felt more tired and in excruciating pain, exhaustion taking over a lot of you, scaring you. You felt like shutting down completely, but decided to keep strong. So you eased your mind, cleared your throat, and you sang one of your saddest melodies, summing up your life... not knowing what else you could do. Not realizing that your words were hitting straight to their core as you continued,

“Am I really mine? are you really yours

If all your emotions cut straight to my core..”

Simon clutched himself together as he wiped a stray tear away, feeling the depth of their voice, the emotion hidden deep in the words spoke louder than anything. He held in a sob as he listened on,

“Times when you cry, I feel it all

Whenever you leave me, I wait for your call

You are everything I'm living for.”

You felt the stone in your throat beginning to grow, at the thought of never being able leave, or seeing the sun again.

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold on, I might just stay forever If you get hurt, I'll try to make it better

If you go down, then we go down together...”

‘Do we really? Would you?’

Simon thought this as he began to feel inclined to guide himself through the darkness, towards your voice. To see- well.. more likely to feel if you were indeed there, or just another voice in his head. His hand trembled in fear and anticipation, of what awaited for him in the shadows. But he stopped when you went on, with a slight tremble to your voice,

‘she’s crying..’

“S-Sometimes we're right, sometimes we're wrong

Sometimes the l-line has just never been drawn..

Nights when we fi-fight, we strike the chord..

And t-then we for-forget what we've... what we’ve been fighting for-r...”

Soft sobs then filled the room, when you finally broke, unable to go on with the song. The pain was getting too much worse for you and you could feel little bits of yourself let go, like a loss feeling. Simon felt his whole chest shake with agony when he heard for the first time, your cries. It definitely sounded like a Wolf.. a mother Wolf crying for her loss, or her pups.. feeling absolutely lonely and torn. He could hear how hopeless you were, it was cry when you knew it was over, or never going to start again. 

 ‘It can’t be over... my team is definitely coming for me soon.. they have too... I hope they do.’

“Lay on the floor.. sleep in your arms

Pausing the world to stay right where we are

Close all the bliiiinds... lock all the doors

Things fall apart and I'm wanting you more

You are everything I'm living for...”

There you went at it again, refusing to lean towards what felt like defeat and an ending.. though you mostly believe you were headed that way. 

‘You are everything I'm living for..’

 Simon trusted his gut and knew he lived for you too, especially now that he heard your voice, which became like an instant drug to him, he now needed you, to feel you- hopefully see you one day. Simon got on his knees and began to crawl, towards your voice again, willing to get as close as possible, and be at grace’s mercy in order to get a simple touch of you. You let your legs extended out, so they wouldn’t cramp as you took a deep breath, and were able to go on, until you felt the softest brush if fingers touch your bare leg. You gasped in fear and jumped back, not recognizing the soft touch, after suffering through so many other ways of touch. You found your hand resting over the part that was barely grazed by love, burning like a severe after affect. But it soon turned warm... then cold again.

 ‘Touch me again... please..’

Simon felt a spark when he felt soft skin against his fingers, but as quick as he touched it, it left. His heart sank, but now wouldn’t live without another second without it, so he called out shyly, and in a whisper,

“where’d you go?”

A few beats of silence passed.. Simon grew worried it was fake.. until he heard a soft reply back,

“i’m right here- *cough*... sorry I backed off..”

‘Oh God.. fuck- this is real!’

“it’s ok.. sorry if I scared you-“

You didn’t want to hear him say ‘sorry’ for anything, especially after everything he has been through, so you right away countered with,

“oh no! it’s fine.... really.”

“oh.. ok.”

You could hear his cute little British accent, and wondered how it sounded in its louder and clearer version, but thought that probably he wasn’t ready to go that high or far yet.. so you stuck with whispering,

“how long have- *cough cough* you b-been here?”

Simon winced at your thick coughing, it sounded awful and letting him know you were very hurt and most likely sick too,

“about a couple of months... I’m hoping me team finds us soon.”

“team? you’re team is coming for you-“

“us now.. I’m not leaving you behind-“

“but you *cough cough* ugh... you don’t know me-“

“doesn’t matter.. I’d want you free anyways.”

“really?”

“yeah..”

‘of course I’d want you free... if I get out.. we get out together.’

Simon could hear you grunt a bit like if you were in pain, which perhaps you were, he was about to ask you if you’d be alright but you spoke up first,

“can.. can you find me again.. I can’t mo-move.”

“of course.. just stay still and trust me.. I won’t hurt you.”

“ok.”

Simon felt for the cold cemented floor and began to slide his hands up, away from him, trying to feel for you. But it didn’t matter how far he went, it was like if you were never there.

‘No.. no no where did you go!?-‘

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold o-on, I might just st-stay forever

If you get hurt... I’ll... I'll try to make it better 

If you go down, th-then we go down together, ah! ughh...”

‘Oh.. ok ok.. follow her voice.. I’m getting close-‘

“Oh! Ha! Is that you?”

“ye-yeah! it’s me..”

Simon trailed his hand on a cool, soft surface, and before he knew it, an inviting hand intertwined their fingers with his, bringing him close. He then heard a sniffle and weak words come out,

“I wish I could see you..”

“oh darling I don’t think you’d want too... but I wish I could see you.”

You grazed your hands over what you could feel were his arms, they felt bulky and very warm, compared to yours. You clung onto them and whimpered,

“can you hold me? I know it’s a lot but I’m cold-“

“shh shh.. I got you, you feel my arms-“

“yeah yeah.. wrap them around me- like that!”

“I know.. I got you sweet girl.. I got you.”

‘Damnit she’s freezing! Oh please stay strong little one.. I got you.. helps coming soon!’

Simon laid your head on his chest and had you sitting in his lap, off the cold floor so you wouldn’t freeze more. He could feel your body trembling and hear the tiny whimpers let out when the pain got too much for you. He even started to notice your change in breathing, it grew slower and slower. His heart panicked for you as he called out while shaking you a bit,

“hey hey! Stay up.. please.”

“but.. but I can’t-“

“Yes you can.. yes you can- come on. Sing for me..”

You barely shook your head and hid it deeper into his chest while you clutched his arms,

“It’ll sound terri-terrible-“

“It doesn’t matter... I’ll help you. Hm?”

‘What’s the point.. we’ll both die anyways... just let me go first.. then you can follow me-‘

“Come on.. I want to hear you.. I need to hear you-“

“I’m never getting out-“

“Yes you are.. yes we are-“

“I’ve been here to long- no one will remember me-“

“I now know you. I know you and won’t ever forget you... now let me hear your voice. Please, trust me.”

You let out a choked sob when you realized that you had lost all hope, and how he still had some. You didn’t want to suck up all his hope and turn it into faithlessness, so you gave in, and sucked it up. Closing your eyes you leaned into him and began once again,

“If you go down, then we go down together

If you hold on, I might just stay forever

If you get hurt, I'll try to make it better

If you go down, then we go down together...”

BAM BAM BAM!! 

Simon felt your body jolt in fear when all the shots were heard from afar off, but he clearly heard Soap’s and Price’s voices shouting out too, and his weary heart just about leaped with joy and relief.

‘It’s them!! They’re here!!’

“Love! Help has arrived! Love? Oh shit!”

In shock Simon realized you had passed out and grew unconscious, which urged him to cry out in desperation,

 “AY!! I’M IN HERE!!-“

“SIMON!! STAY BACK!!”

BOOM!!!

The door went flying off but Simon kept you safe and secure in his arms, afraid that more damage may dare come and touch you again. Bright lights burned his eyes as it was shining everywhere, he squinted and was able to catch a familiar figure coming towards him, making him smile beneath his mask,

“Johnny?”

“Simon, Hold- oh.. who’s this?”

Like a guardian over you, Simon instantly pulled his arms tighter around you, and with Soap’s help he stood up to his intimidating height and put forth while carrying you bridal style,

“She’s mine.. I’ll take care of her. Let’s get out of here.”

Soap looked curious and doubtful as he had never seen Simon this way- with people.. strangers. But with the way Simon looked down at your face that he could now see, he was definitely never going to let you go, you were far too precious and golden to just you let slip away. You mere presence kept him alive, imagine now that he could have all of you? Feel and really see all of you?

Few days later..

Tears of happiness and relief fell from his eyes and soaked his balaclava as he witnessed you wake up to full consciousness at the hospital at base. He don’t want to scare you as you began to flutter your eyes open, so he quickly pulled off his mask, ready for you to see who he really was. (Mind you it had taken him days to go over how this was going to happen, as he waited patiently and presently for you to wake up.) 

 You felt like garbage or like a truck had hit you, but it was quickly forgotten when you heard a familiar voice call out to you sweetly,

“Love?”

‘I remember that voice- oh.. oh wow.’

The most beautiful face sat in front of you, with watery eyes and the poutiest lips, holding his hand out to you for you to receive, which you did. Like the first time you intertwined your fingers with his, it all felt so surreal once again, and like home. You couldn’t help but admire his beauty as you praised,

“You’re beautiful.”

“not more than you... you’re a beauty.”

“ohh sweetheart... says the sculpted God himself.. I’m honored to be called a beauty by a masterpiece..”

Simon blushed so hard he felt his cheeks burn, but he nonetheless was honest with you as he replied,

“You’ll be the only one to see me besides my boss... I always where this... for protection.”

He then regretfully lifted up his balaclava to show you, you eyes gleamed at the interesting product he used as cover-up. But he didn’t need further explaining as you were understanding enough to know why he did it. His scars told enough for you, but you loved them already. You then remembered his words... as his eyes bore into your lovingly, it only made you tear up as you realized,

“You got me out.. you got us out.”

He nodded and came closer to plant a sweet, soft kiss on your cheek then head, he locked his eyes on yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“We got out.. together.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

“... together... what’s your name?”

He sent you the softest smile before replying,

“Simon.. it’s Simon Riley, love... you?”

You bit your lip nervously, as you didn’t recall your name, after all the brainwashing they did. 

“They only called me Wolf... that’s it.”

 Simon caught your frown and thought,

‘She doesn’t remember... I got her.’

“It’s alright.. I underhand.. hmm-“

“I like it when you call me ‘love’... has a nice ring to it.. everyone else can call me Wolf. It’ll remind me of where I came from, and what I can overcome... and who I came out with.”

Simon’s heart almost pitter-pattered into an explosion, hearing your sweet and honest words.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then, love. It’s settled then... you’re never leaving my side.”

“We’ll stick together?”

A soft kiss met the corner of your lips as he promised,

“Yes love.. Together.”

[aghostiewitdahoodie]

A painstaking read I have committed and exhaustive assumptions I will make. The comics laid bare his disquieting past, and oh, how he had suffered…

Simon is the first to agape his slits; slumber is torment itself, ridiculing the disturbed state of his, manifesting the terrors he bore. Hesitance and refusal, he despises the dusk; a forewarning of what is to come. The hours of darkness bring him an unsettling sensation he cannot seem to elude. A man of a few words he is, yet he cannot withstand the silence of the night. To cease remembering the anguish his past self had gone through, the glass of Bourbon in his hand unburdens the hollowness he cannot fill. Quite a companion he has; a vessel created out of pain is all he is and all he will ever be.

Venom seeps out of his organ of speaking when he is in control, a sensation he wallows in and takes pride in. A nuisance to his fellow men the words he speak, an unsought advice he provides- perhaps it is a reminder for himself. “Be careful who you trust, sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.” Wise to heed until it makes your ears bleed.

Formidable is how he is avowed- a ghost that ambles among us- unseen, unspoken, and unheard. A myth bickered amidst warfare, a shiver on your spine, the very last thing you will descry, then you are to be buried six feet deep. Simon fulfils the name and persona he brought to life; Ghost is what he is called. Ghost is what he is affiliated with. Yet when the doors are shut and the walls are erecting still, he does not recognise himself. The stain he bestrewn on his image is to be laved with a cloth, and the reflection of his is to be shunned.

If the distraction he creates is to fail, hysteria consumes him. Bottle after bottle, and pummel after pummel. Orbs to fret his state, yet none could approach and offer a hand, sensing no words could comfort or relieve him of his ache. Shrink after shrink, Simon prefers to assuage everything with an intoxicant he heavily depends on.

Reluctant of the coquettes that attempt to court him in pubs, spurning them without a word. His dusky irises focused on the distance, impatiently waiting to be left alone. Simon has no interest in a swift shag or a relationship. Sensible of what he cannot give, frantic of what it may bring. He is hesitant to pleasure himself, not wanting the sight of him bare, remembering the incident he desperately yearns to forget. Simon loathes being touched without his permission, catching the heedless arm with ease and an unforgiving grip. “Watch it, luv.” The consent of his is important; do not tempt him.

Despises having his picture taken; he would avoid gatherings and remain in the comfort of his quarters. Simon may not admit the truth he intensely veils, which is that he found contentment in the presence of the Task Force. Daunted by what may repeat, he determines to linger among the shadows.

Finding serenity in Johnny’s companionship, it is a salvage he ought to correct after the passing of his brother. Simon cannot lose another person dear to him, and God forbid what happiness he had. A ghost they call, the Ghost they will meet.