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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 2 months ago

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unclean // long distance scout!Levi x Reader

[cw: hurt/comfort, canon-typical gore, mental health, angst]

Levi narrows his eyes as he scrubs the rough bar of soap between his palms. The scummy bubbles at the bottom of the bucket are tinged a pale, visceral pink in the fading twilight.

He swallows down bile at the sight of it, disgusted by the way the gore clings to him, burrowed into the lines on his hands and the beds of his nails.

It’s filthy. There’s no running water in a camp this far outside the walls, so he fills and refills the bucket whenever it gets too murky for him to stand. He feels briefly guilty for the waste of so much clean water before disgust blots it out.

Finally, the droplets from his scoured hands run clear. The tightness in his chest loosens, just barely. Enough to take a full breath. His hands burn from the shitty ration soap, but it’s better than leaving them unclean.

Levi staggers into his tent and pulls the cloth flap tightly shut. There, in the privacy of darkness, he permits himself to collapse. He digs his nails into his forearm to keep from crying.

He still feels tainted. He smells a phantom stench of the battlefield rising from his hair, his clothes, even though he’s cleaned them. He can still feel the stomach-churning steam of fallen Titans against his face.

He wants to soak himself in scalding water, wants to slough off layers of himself until he reaches something that has never been stained with blood. But Levi is no longer sure that there is anything left within him that isn’t contaminated, if there ever even was.

After all, he’s seen enough of his comrades ripped apart, enough of his friends turned into unrecognizable meat. There’s nothing sacred hiding underneath their skin. Why would he be any different?

Levi spreads out his bedroll carefully, making sure that the interior doesn’t touch the ground. He always packs and unpacks it the same way, so one half remains pristine. It gives him a little comfort.

He mechanically lights a lantern, running on routine. He rifles through his pack and comes up with your picture. You had asked Jean to make a sketch of you, and Levi begrudgingly admitted that it was a very good likeness. He’s taken it with him on every mission since you gave it to him.

With your picture beside his pillow, Levi relaxes another fraction. He’s survived today, and more importantly, so did his squad. He tries to focus on that and not the sting of his hands, scrubbed raw.

As he moves to dim the lantern, his eyes catch on a flash of metal in his pack. Metal that shouldn’t be there. Levi swears under his breath as he lifts out the unfamiliar object, preparing for anything.

Almost anything, that is. He doesn’t expect a tiny metal tin, certainly doesn’t expect the paper covered in your handwriting folded around it. He unwraps it carefully and holds it up to the light.

My love,

I wish I could be there with you. Know that you never leave my thoughts. And because I have the privilege of knowing you well, I fear that you are suffering more than you admit.

There is nothing that could ever taint you in my eyes. No amount of filth that I would not gladly wash clean, knowing you were beneath it.

Please don’t be annoyed that I spent money on this- I’d been saving and thought there could be no better purpose. I hope it brings you the comfort that I cannot while you’re beyond the walls.

Come home to me soon, my Levi.

The words blur with tears before he reaches the end, but Levi doesn’t let them fall. At least, not until he opens the tin and sees that it is full of lotion, not the tallow you rub into his skin when it cracks and bleeds on bad days, but real lotion from the pompous merchants in the inner walls.

It’s a ridiculous luxury, made more ridiculous by its place here in the wilderness, in a soldier’s tent. But it smells like you, and though he can hardly bear to disturb the pristine surface, it feels like heaven as he hesitantly smears it across his hand.

It soothes the pain instantly. You must have known it would. That’s what makes him cry at last- the burden and the blessing of being known, being loved all the more for the knowing.

He uses an entire precious layer of the lotion on his hands then extinguishes the lantern and curls onto his blanket. He holds his hands over his face and breathes you in, allowing peace to settle warily on his aching chest.

#levi x reader #levi angst #hurt/comfort #levi ackerman #levi x gn!reader #levi x you #aot levi #snk levi #aot x reader #aot x you #aot oneshots

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oatlystrawberryicecream · 5 months ago

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the way that some people talk about jason and batman and the joker is so jarring to me because it relies on some unspoken assumptions that i will never buy into

1. the assumption that taking a life inevitably always makes the person who did it worse. killing someone isn’t always this earth shattering thing that harms the person who does it and fundamentally changes their outlook on things. i guess if you have never met a veteran or someone who survived an armed robbery or any number of other things you might make that mistake, but like some of the people who fought in wwii came home and were normal members of the community and the times that their bullets hit the mark were not necessarily the parts of the war that kept them up at night. these assumptions that once you kill you are wicked and have to feel bad and do this whole show of repentance are insidious. if you are gonna look at all this through the lens of christian morality you should at least be aware that that is what you are doing but you cant have just one character be wicked and unclean because of his actions when the bible says that everyone is wicked and unclean by our nature and all sins are equal. a lot of people object to that view but if thats how you see it batman and jason and the joker are all sinners and are all as bad as each other so at least be consistant about how you apply that moral framework.

2. the assumption that being robin or being taken in and trained by bruce means full agreement with and acceptance of every part of bruce’s personal philosophy on justice and morality. jason was a homeless child and even if all this was explicitly laid out for him he could not have agreed since he needed bruce as a matter of survival. bruce’s ideology is extremely important to him and he can teach it to his children all he wants but they are not beholden to it above all else the way he thinks they should be. jason has to live according to his own beliefs regardless of how unacceptable bruce finds it and it is unfair and hypocritical of bruce to get bent out of shape about it.

3. the assumption that killing is always bad. maybe i have listened to too many episodes of behind the bastards but some people will do significant and appalling damage to others no matter what unless they are dead. those people can’t be allowed to keep causing harm. it isn’t glorious and there is no honor about it but it is right and just that they be stopped. there is no reason to strive for purity or ideological high ground when you can provide a measure of safety and justice to victims and prevent future harm instead.

4. the assumption that bruce didn’t have to answer to jason. parents have a duty to their children and it is my opinion that that duty does not end when the child dies. bruce adopted jason and made himself responsible and accountable for everything that happened to jason under his care. that responsibility was ignored over many instances. i am not going to detail the things that led to jason’s death here but it was not good or effective parenting. after jason’s death the disrespect starts pretty immediately with bruce compromising evidence of his murder in order to preserve his ability to continue as batman and continues with bruce getting rid of pretty much all traces of jason’s presence in his life. he is only spoken of as a mistake, a lost cause, or a cautionary tale and is assigned blame for his own death, a death that batman never bothered to fully investigate since he was buried next to the woman who led him into the trap. a new kid is endangered and the joker and batman both continue doing whatever they want as if jason’s life only matters for the way it affects them. bruce needs to answer for all of this, as his son jason has a right to expect more from his father. now the extent to which that extends can be debated but it is clear to me that jason deserved better from bruce.

conclusion: killing is accepted in society in certain circumstances, you may or may not agree with this but self defense laws and even things like jury nullification exist because people knew there should be some wiggle room since no one could have the full context of every situation that would ever arise. ending a life is not normal or ideal but it is not an unfathomably rare experience and it does not always weigh on the person who does it. bruce has never to my knowledge killed someone so he has no idea how he would actually respond but that still isn’t even what jason was asking him to do. all he had to do was be present and not move and he would have been the only parental figure who didn’t let jason down.

#i wish christianity didn’t teach people that sin ruins you forever #for many reasons #but right now im frustrated that it keeps coming up in supposedly secular places #hopefully someone gets what im trying to say #jason todd #anti bruce wayne #under the red hood

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serpentface · 1 month ago

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I’ve been on a gemology kick lately; so-if you feel up to it-I’d love to learn which precious and semiprecious stones occur in Imperial Wardin, and which species are considered the most valuable. Are any stones associated with specific faces of God, or otherwise carry spiritual or superstitious connotations?

Just in general, the traditional medicine practice here ascribes a spiritual Essence to each type of matter (minerals, metals, plants, different types of water, different body parts from different animals, etc) which plays into how it can or cannot be used for healing. So most commonly occurring stones are going to have Some associations Somewhere, but for a lot of them it's just going to be like 'worn around the hips in a sachet it will reduce stomach aches' or etc.

Here's a few of the big ones I've had at least partly established though (some of these are metals but bear with me)

Meteroric iron can be found in fairly large quantities here (due to the ancient impact that left the Sons Of Creation crater lake) and is considered to be the physical remnants of God's blood shed in the act of creation. This is THE holiest naturally occurring material, as it is the only substance that is regarded as being a discrete part of God's original, LIVING body (the whole World is Its dead body) and the blood is the carrier of living spirit, one of two types of soul in each body. Meteor iron is essentially God's soul in physical form.

This substance has the most severe doctrinal restrictions surrounding its use. Actual modification of meteoric iron and use of objects made from it (knives scepters etc) is considered reserved to priests and royalty, and violations can be punished very severely (though in practice this is very, very difficult to enforce outside of thefts of known meteoric iron objects, as they aren't visually distinct from other iron objects). Touching this iron is strictly forbidden for any person considered to be ritually unclean (whether as a temporary or permanent state).

Its most ubiquitous use is in the form of sacrificial blades, which are only considered legitimate when made of this substance. It's also used to make cult icons. The temple at the Sons of Creation (which is a general pilgrimage destination and the site of the annual dry season human sacrifice) holds a fairly large meteoric iron sculpture of God in Its primordial form. This cult object is venerated year round, and carried out of the temple during the offering to 'receive' the sacrifice (which signifies the completion of the annual cyclings of God's living spirit). This icon is wholly forbidden to touch for everyone but the human sacrifice themself, who lays their hands on its forehead while their throat is cut.

As a physical relic of God's original body, it's not considered uniquely related to any of the Faces but in practice is associated with Mitlamache (itself partly associated with blood and sacrifice). Galenii have their ears pierced and stretched and wear bands of meteor iron as a marker of service, and the great temple to Mitlamache in Ephennos has a large, unmodified chunk of meteor iron as a cult object that is permitted to be touched by worshippers.

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Lapis lazuli is one of the other discrete remnants of God's physical body (in this case one of three horns) though it lacks the nigh-untouchable Holy status due to being a post-death relic.

It's called 'blue moonstone' and believed to be pieces of the 'blue moon' (which isn't like, really blue, but has a slight bluish tinge). There is no Bad Place afterlife in this religion (the bad afterlife is being stuck as an earthbound ghost), but the proper afterlife is divided into three lunar lands, with the most honored dead going to those of this blue moon. This stone has particular associations with concepts of honor, piety, and physical/spiritual purity.

Deep blue colors tend to be associated with wealth and royalty, and lapis has taken on this association as well. The double-viper scepter carried by the Usoma has lapis lazuli insets for eyes and scales, and the post-cremation skulls of royalty are given a lapis crown before interment. In conjunction, lapis has gained more recent associations with the face Kusomache as the protector of royalty, and it's utilized as offerings in rites intended to bless them.

It's also among the most valued stones in general for its beauty, used in jewelry, pigments, sculpture, and very expensive blue eyeliner.

Moonstone and selenite are associated with the other two moons (the largest in the sky and the smallest respectively) and are the other two stones considered to be discrete bodily relics of God (from its other two sets of horns).

All three of these 'moonstones' are involved in funerary rites. The dead may have one of these stones placed in their hands before cremation. Dogs killed at funerals to serve as guides are encouraged to sniff these stones before their death, in order to have the scent of the lunar lands and better lead the deceased. Neither aspect is considered a hard Requirement to get the dead safely onwards, but its an additional level of failsafe.

All three are considered sacred to the Face Kusomache (rather than the more obvious lunar Mitlamache) due to their heavy association with death and the afterlife. Moonstone and selenite in particular are likened to the light from the moons and stars, and transparent selenite is used by astrologers as a lens, under the belief that it exposes subtle nuances in the light and movement of heavenly bodies. Folk belief holds that you can see ghosts by looking through selenite.

All three have some restrictions surrounding their use, but not nearly as severe as those of meteor iron. Anyone can use, wear, and modify these stones, but touching them in a ritually impure state is taboo. Some folk beliefs hold that a woman who touches any moonstone while menstruating will be cursed with barrenness, miscarriages, or death.

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Opal is heavily associated with rainbows (and rain by extension), and is considered sacred to the Face Anaemache. It is appreciated for its beauty and ascribed as having positive medicinal qualities for female fertility when worn. Broad folk belief holds that opal forms where a rainbow touches the ground, or that its a solidified drop of rain that has fallen through a rainbow.

Some South Wardi folk practices retain older Wardinae beliefs in the sky-serpent deity that physically brings the rains (often conceptualizing it as a lesser spirit that serves the Face Anaemache) and consider opals to be pieces of its shed scales. These sects share a nearly identical practice with the Cholemdinae people in using opals to both summon and repel the sky serpent as needed. A serpent effigy stitched from cloth with an opal sewn into the head can be used as the focal point for these rites. The serpent can be summoned by singing a coullagri (summoning prayer) to the effigy as it's carried into the village or crops, and providing the effigy offerings of food and drink to welcome it. In years of damaging and excessive rain, the sky-serpent is driven off with a decisively more high-energy rite where the effigy bearer runs around with the cloth serpent while others chase it, chide it for its laziness (just sitting in one place instead of bringing the rains everywhere like God intended), yell at it, whack it with flyswatters, etc, until it is carried out of the village.

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Rubies have are considered sacred stones to the face Inyamache and have strong associations with the sun, male vitality, and bravery.

They're ascribed positive medicinal qualities for male fertility and health when worn. Folk belief holds that a man clasping a ruby in one hand during sex will guarantee any resulting offspring to be male, though sources disagree on Which hand this is exactly.

Rubies have some involvement in warrior culture. Ruby-adorned khattanocuy (the khaitsmane tassels ornaments you see on the front of some characters' belts) are awarded for displays of valor, and most ceremonial weapons are decorated with ruby insets.

The (wholly mythological) spear of the culture-hero Erub is said to have had a head made entirely of ruby. It's described in texts as being given to him by (the old solar deity reinterpreted as) Inyamache, so sharp and strong that it could fly clean through a khait's body, and to 'drink the blood of its victims' (which may have been meant literally). It's widely believed that this was a real artifact, was stolen by Burri soldiers during the first period of occupation, and is now hidden somewhere in the flooded ruins of Old Bur.

Rubies aren't very well distinguished from the similar looking spinel and garnet, and the three together are usually referred to under the same name.

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Silver is regarded for its beauty and thought to have purifying/protective medicinal and apotropaic qualities. It is thought to assist in expelling disease-causing dagi spirits from the body, and is both worn and ingested as a medical treatment. High quality protective phallus/skimmer woman amulets tend to be made from silver to add Extra Protection, and drinking/eating from silver dishware is thought to help eliminate poisons.

Some folk traditions consider touching silver to be a replacement for water ablutions, though this is doctrinally condemned.

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Pearl is very similar to silver, highly regarded for its beauty, believed to have purifying and protective qualities, and sometimes being ingested medicinally. Most non-blue pelatoche eye amulets are made of pearl (or mother of pearl in some cases). It is considered sacred to the face Pelennaumache and is a key offering to this deity-aspect.

A very widespread folk belief holds that drinking while holding a pearl under the tongue prevents intoxication. This is hard to confirm or deny, as people drinking heavily with a pearl under the tongue have a tendency of accidentally swallowing said pearl in the process

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#I think there would be more but this is all I had at least partly established #I've drawn characters wearing turquoise too but haven't been set on its meaning.#I've also drawn alabaster statues but those are pretty squarely valued for beauty and workability. I think its spiritual essence is just #gonna be one of those 'it might help with a headache' types

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towriteloveontheirarms · 10 months ago

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Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin.

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain.

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

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rottenpumpkin13 · 5 months ago

Note

What would happen if Zack filled in for Lazard?

Zack gives everyone gold stars to boost morale. Sephiroth gets a gold star on his chest (which he does not object to), Genesis gets one on his coat and is very smug about it, Angeal gets one on the Buster Sword when his back is turned, Kunsel gets one on his helmet, even Cloud gets 2 gold stars because even though he's not SOLDIER, he's twice as special in Zack's eyes.

Hopefully this will distract everyone from how Zack is secretly micromanaging their lives.

*In Lazard's office, the phone rings*

Sephiroth: Aren't you going to answer it?

Zack: Right, one second!

*Zack answers it*

Zack: STAY AWAY FROM HIM. GO AWAY. BE GONE, UNCLEAN ENTITY.

*Zack hangs up*

Genesis: What was that??

Zack: Oh, that was professor Hojo. He wanted Sephiroth to go see him.

Sephiroth: <3

Zack: By the way, can you guys call Cloud up here? He needs to know that I'm giving him a raise.

Genesis: He doesn't work here.

Zack: Ah, you're right. Then I'm giving him your job.

Genesis:

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #zack fair #angeal hewley #cloud strife #crisis core

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mostly-mundane-atla · 2 years ago

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Things Inupiaq culture doesn't traditionally have:

Kings/royalty (requiring tribute from the people you lead is seen as tyranical and tyrants are killed when possible)

A cash economy (dentallium shells were valued by many other cultures and sometimes were used as money in international trade, but not among fellow Inupiat)

Agriculture (we are traditionally a hunter-gatherer people seasonally following the herds, fish, and ripening greens and berries)

Corporal punishment (you aren't even supposed to yell at people or even scold children)

Slavery (you could argue this one since women were sometimes captured and taken as wives; but this is typically regarded as an ancient and morally questionable practice. The Inupiat didn't believe in owning people or their labor, only at best associating through marriage, blood relation, or wife-exchange)

Primogeniture as a hard-fast rule (Inupiat culture was traditionally patriarchal so a son may inherit his father's status as a family patriarch if he is already a father at this time, but material inheritence was not guaranteed to work that way)

A written language (historians were assigned to memorize records, family trees, and the like)

Human or animal sacrifices (would be considered cruel and wasteful)

Formal vs informal language (socio-economic class is mutable and does not affect language)

Gendered pronouns (our language uses pronouns to indicate tone of a sentence the way many languages use pronunciation, as well as relationship between subject and object in complex sentences and in all cases whether the subject is singular, dual, or plural and if the sentence is in first, second, or third person. An absolute fuckton of pronouns and none of them are gendered)

Raw meat taboo (except in the case of pregnancy; the arctic climate means the weather was not too far off from refrigerator or freezer temperatures, if not colder, and underground storage was often placed around frozen methane deposits known as permafrost)

Dog meat taboo (dogs were helpful as beasts of burden or sometimes hunting companions but when there's a famine you gotta eat what you can)

Many ceremonies taken for granted (for example, if a man and woman mutually agreed they were married, that was the only wedding required. We had big celebrations for survival, and women got incredible face tattoos for coming of age, but many lifestages were celebrated more low-key with little pomp and circumstance)

Shirts (you didn't wear anything underneath your atigi, and if it was too warm for it, you took it off. Yes, even women. Presbyterian missionaries thought we were godless sluts for our tits out ways)

Virginity marriage requirement (it was best if a woman hadn't had sex before but only because we lived in small communities and you have to keep track of bloodlines. Having sex didn't make girls unclean or impure and unwed mothers were taken care of by their families and weren't stigmatized)

Required monogomy (men could have multiple wives and women could have multiple husbands, wife exchange was a means of fostering allegiance, and the main problem with cheating is that it involved lying and prioritizing pleasure over duties like making sure your husband doesn't fall to his death while hunting. In stories about cheating and revenge, the cheater and retaliating jealous partner are both depicted as in the wrong)

There are more, but these i feel provide a pretty good basic idea of the culture. You can use these bits of info as Water Tribe worldbuilding inspo if you want, but i won't pester you into it. I just think my culture is neat and wanted to share ^-^

#eskimo on main #might talk about captured wives one of these days because that concept always facinated me

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mightyflamethrower · 1 year ago

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“Name me a single objective we’ve ever set out to accomplish that we’ve failed on. Name me one, in all of our history. Not one!”

-President Joe Biden, August 16, 2023

Joe Biden in one of his now accustomed angry “get off my grass” moods dared the press to find just one of his policies/objectives that has not worked. Silence followed.

Perhaps it was polite to say nothing, given even the media knows almost every enacted Biden policy has failed.

Here is a summation of what he should instead apologize for.

Biden in late summer 2021 sought a 20th anniversary celebration of 9/11 and the 2001 subsequent invasion of Afghanistan. He wished to be the landmark president that yanked everyone out of Afghanistan after 20 years in country. But the result was the greatest military humiliation of the United States since the flight from Vietnam in 1975.

Consider the ripples of Biden’s disaster. U.S. deterrence was crippled worldwide. China, Russia, Iran, and North Korea almost immediately began to bluster or return to their chronic harassment of U.S. and allied ships and planes. We left thousands of allied Afghans to face Taliban retribution, along with some Western contractors.

Biden abandoned a $1 billion embassy, and a $300 million remodeled Bagram airbase strategically located not far from China and Russia, and easily defensible. Perhaps $50 billion in U.S. weaponry and supplies were abandoned and now find their way into the international terrorist mart.

All our pride flags, our multimillion gender studies programs at Kabul University, and our George Floyd murals did not just come to naught, but were replaced by the Taliban’s anti-homosexual campaigns, burkas, and detestation of any trace of American popular culture.

Vladimir Putin sized up the skedaddle. He collated it with Biden’s unhinged quip that he would not get too excited if Putin just staged a “minor” invasion of Ukraine. He remembered Biden’s earlier request to Putin to modulate Russian hacking to exempt a few humanitarian American institutions. Then Russia concluded of our shaky Commander-in-Chief that he either did not care or could do nothing about another Russian invasion.

The result so far is more than 500,000 dead and wounded in the war, a Verdun-stand-off along with fortified lines, the steady depletion of our munitions and weapon stocks, and a new China/Russia/Iran/North Korean axis, with wink and nod assistance from NATO Turkey.

Biden blew up the Abraham accords, nudged Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States over to the dark side of Iran, China, and Russia. He humiliated the U.S. on the eve of the midterms by callously begging the likes of Iran, Venezuela, Russia, and Saudi Arabia to pump more oil that he had damned as unclean at home and cut back its production. In Bidenomics, instead of producing oil, the president begs autocracies to export it to us at high prices while he drains the nation’s strategic petroleum reserve for short-term political advantage.

Biden deliberately alienated Israel by openly interfering in its domestic politics. He pursued the crackpot Iran Deal while his special Iranian envoy was removed for disclosing classified information.

No one can explain why Biden ignored the Chinese balloon espionage caper, kept mum about the engineered Covid virus that escaped the Wuhan lab, said not a word about a Chinese biolab discovered in rural California, and had his envoys either bow before Chinese leaders or take their insults in silence—other than he is either cognitively challenged or leveraged by his decade-long grifting partnership with his son Hunter.

Yet another Biden’s legacy will be erasing the southern border and with it, U.S. immigration law. Over seven million aliens simply crossed into the U.S. illegally with Biden’s tacit sanction—without audits, background checks, vaccinations, and COVID testing, much less English fluency, skills, or high-school diplomas.

Biden’s only immigration accomplishment was to render the entire illegal sanctuary city movement a cruel joke. Given the flood, mostly rich urban and vacation home dwellers made it very clear that while they fully support millions swarming into poor Latino communities of southern Texas and Arizona, they do not want any illegal aliens fouling their carefully cultivated nests.

Biden is mum about the 100,000 fentanyl deaths from cartel-imported and Chinese-supplied drugs across his open border. He seems to like the idea that Mexican President Obrador periodically mouths off, ordering his vast expatriate community to vote Democratic and against Trump.

Despite all the pseudo-blue collar dissimulation about Old Joe Biden from Scranton, he has little empathy for the working classes. Indeed, he derides them as chumps and dregs, urges miners to learn coding as the world covets their coal, and studiously avoids getting anywhere near the toxic mess in East Palestine, Ohio, or so far the moonscape on Maui.

Bidenomics is a synonym for printing up to $6 billion dollars at precisely the time post-Covid consumer demand was soaring, while previously dormant supply chains were months behind rebooting production and transportation. Biden is on track to increase the national debt more than any one-term president.

In Biden’s weird logic, if he raised the price of energy, gasoline, and key food staples 20-30 percent since his inauguration without a commensurate rise in wages, and then saw the worst inflation in 40 years occasionally decline from record highs one month to the next, then he “beat inflation.”

But the reason why more than 60 percent of the nation has no confidence in Bidenomics is because it destroyed their household budgets. Gas is nearly twice what it was in January 2021. Interest rates have about tripled. Key staple foods are often twice as costly—meat, vegetables, and fruits especially.

Biden has ended through his weaponized Attorney General Merrick Garland the age-old American commitment to equal justice under the law. The FBI, DOJ, CIA, and IRS are hopelessly politically compromised. Many of their bureaucrats serve as retrieval agents for lost Biden family incriminating laptops, diaries, and guns. In sum, Biden criminalized opposing political views.

Biden has unleashed the administrative state for the first time in history to destroy the Republican primary front runner and his likely opponent. His legacy will be the corruption of U.S. jurisprudence and the obliteration of the American reputation for transparent permanent government that should be always above politics, bribery, and corruption.

If in the future, an on-the-make conservative prosecutor in West Virginia, Utah, or Mississippi wishes to make a national name, then he has ample precedent to indict a Democrat President for receiving bad legal advice, questioning the integrity of an election, or using social media to express doubt that the new non-Election-Day balloting was on the up-and-up, or supposedly overvaluing his real estate.

The Biden family’s decade-long family grifting will likely expose Joe Biden as the first president in U.S. history who fitted precisely the Constitution’s definition of impeachment and removal—given his “high crimes and misdemeanors” appear “bribery”-related. If further evidence shows he altered U.S. foreign policy in accordance with the wishes from his benefactors in Ukraine, China, or Romania, then he committed constitutionally-defined “treason” as well.

Defunding the police, and pandemics of exempted looting, shoplifting, smashing, and grabbing, and carjacking merit no administrative attention. Nor does the ongoing systematic destruction of our blue bicoastal cities, Los Angeles, New York, Portland, San Francisco, Seattle, and Washington, D.C. All that, along with the disasters in East Palestine or Maui are out of sight, out of mind from a day at the beach at Biden’s mysteriously purchased nearly 6,000 square-foot beachfront mansion.

Biden ran on Barack Obama-like 2004 rhetoric (“Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America).”

And like Obama, he used that ecumenical sophistry to gain office only to divide further the U.S. No sooner than he was elected, we began hearing from the great unifier eerie screaming harangues about “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” dangerous zealots, replete with red-and black Phantom of the Opera backdrops.

What followed the unifying rhetoric was often amnesties and exemptions for violent offenders during the 120 days of rioting, looting, killing, and attacks on police officers in summer 2020. In contrast, his administration lied when it alleged that numerous officers had died at the hands of the January 6 rioters. In addition, the Biden administration mandated long-term incarceration of many who committed no illegal act other than acting like buffoons and “illegally parading.”

The message was exemptions for torching a federal courthouse, a police precinct, or historic church or attempting to break into the White House grounds to get a president and his family—but long prison terms for wearing cow horns, a fur vest, and trespassing peacefully like a lost fool in the Capitol.

Finally, Biden’s most glaring failure was simply being unpresidential. He snaps at reporters, and shouts at importune times. He can no longer read off a big-print teleprompter. Even before a global audience, he cannot kick his lifelong creepy habit of turkey-gobbling on children necks, blowing into their ears and hair of young girls, and squeezing women far too long and far too hard.

His frailty redefined American presidential campaigning as basement seclusion and outsourcing propaganda to the media. And his disabilities only intensified during his presidency. Biden begins his day late and quits early. He has recalibrated the presidency as a 5-hour, 3-day a week job.

If Trump was the great exaggerator, Biden is our foremost liar. Little in his biography can be fully believed. He lies about everything from his train rides to the death of his son to his relationship with Biden-family foreign collaborators, to vaccinations to the economy. Anytime Biden mentions places visited, miles flown, or rails ridden, he is likely lying.

Biden continues with impunity because the media feels that a mentally challenged fabulist is preferable to Donald Trump and so contextualizes or ignores his falsehoods. Never has a U.S. president fallen and stumbled or gotten lost on stage so frequently—or been a single small trip away from incapacity.

So, yes, Biden’s initiatives have succeeded only in the sense of becoming successfully enacted—and therefore nearly destroying the country.

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ulysseswilhelmnumber1fansblog · 2 months ago

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P: EG MASTERMIND AND TRAITOR THEORY

Well, this is my theory of who I think could be the mastermind taking into account the prologue and chapter 1.

In my personal opinion I think Ulysses Wilhelm the ultimate historian and Toshiko Kayura the ultimate matchmaker could be the mastermind and traitor respectively I have several reasons to distrust these two.

My first argument to distrust these two is their animal motif, let's start with Ulysses

In the Bible, owls are classified as unclean animals (Leviticus 11:16-17; Deuteronomy 14:16). They represent impurity, as well as grief of loss(Job 30:28-29; Micah 1:8) and loneliness (Psalm 102:6). For the Israelites, owls remind them of desolate and ruined cities (Isaiah 34:11-15; Jeremiah 50:39).

As we see, owls in the Bible are seen as those who bring misfortune and what animal motif does Ulysses have? The owl

Now let's with Toshiko

In Christianity, the flamingo represents truth. This is because flamingos' tongues can filter dirty water to feed themselves, so they are thought to represent the ability to filter out lies and seek out the truth.

With this it seems to me that Toshiko as a traitor could regret continuing with the game of death and try to reveal the truth but is killed by Ulysses and he blames someone else, and as part of this murder he can cut out Toshiko's tongue for she trying to talk too much, Ulysses cutting out her tongue would be ironic, since we have never seen Toshiko's full face and in theory this fits

My second argument for why these two are mastermind and traitor is because of the pairings in the prologue.

We know that in the prologue Damon woke up with Eva right? And Wolfgang woke up with Grace, Isn't curious that both pairs are couple material? And what is Toshiko's talent? Matchmaker, it is also curious that Ulysses and Toshiko will wake up together, since Ulysses has more chemistry with Wenona, at least they were together because that's what he wanted, We don't know exactly what the rest of the couples were during the prologue but we do know that Toshiko also works under the conditions of the same gender, so if for example Jett and I were to wake up together, Toshiko could have perfectly matched them

My third argument is linked to the first trailer

At the beginning we see the phrase "History repeats itself" or something similar I don't remember, Ulysses says in his introduction "those who don't know their history are destined to sound like idiots on the internet", At first it sounds like a joke but it makes sense in theory, if we go back to Ulysses' free time he says he had a mentor, what if she participated in a killing game And Ulysses is destined to do the same? Or well it's something absurd

And my last argument is the objects of both, the notebook and the fan respectively.

We know that personal items in Danganronpa always play an important role in trials, such as Peko's sword, Kirumi's gloves, or for example in fanmades like Rocky restarts that is planty or in despair time like Min's vest/pen or Ace's exercise band, personal objects always take a major role, especially when it is something that characterizes the character, and what characterizes both? A fan and a notebook, I know it's a bit far-fetched, but I feel like there's more information in Ulysses' notebook than meets the eye, and the fact that Toshiko always covers her face is more suspicious than it is because of mysticism.

Anyway, this is my theory and I hope you like it.

#ulysses wilhelm #toshiko kayura #grace madison #wolfgang akire #damon maitsu #eva tsunaka #project eden's garden #fan theory

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my-autism-adhd-blog · 2 years ago

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Autistic Sensory Differences

What are they?

Autistic people experience the sensory world very differently from non-Autistic people. One Autistic person might be hyper-sensitive to certain sensory experiences, and do whatever to avoid them, whereas another might be hypo-sensitive and crave heavy sensory input (or both/a mix). Sensory differences include the main 5 senses:

Sight

Sound

Touch

Smell

Taste

addition to 3 lesser-known senses:

Interception

Movement

Balance

SIGHT: A person might struggle with intense eye contact, bright lights, a chaotic mix of colours or a lack of visuals for support. Another might seek out loud colours, lots of lighting or certain visuals (e.g. shiny things).

What might help:

Sunglasses to block out light

Reducing eye contact

Using visual prompts such as labels/lists

Using calm/dim/ mood lighting

SOUND: A person might struggle with loud/sudden noises, overlapping voices, certain pitches or a lack of noise. Another might seek out loud music, repetitive sounds/words/songs or white noise.

What might help:

Using subtitles for videos when the audio is too overwhelming

Wearing headphones to reduce noise/utilise music for comfort

Using ear plugs to lower background volume

TOUCH: A person might struggle with rough surfaces and textures, the feeling of dirt or unclean skin, clothes labels or human contact (e.g. hugs, handshakes etc.).

Another might seek out objects to squeeze, fabrics to feel or people to embrace.

What might help:

Setting a boundary to not be touched without consent

Removing fabrics and materials from your environment that you dislike

Find clothes with stamped labels rather than ones with external tags

SMELL: A person might struggle with strong or pungent smells, odours that are too overwhelming for them, or just too many different smells at once. Another might seek out powerful smells or like to overload themselves on favourite scents.

What might help:

Keep to hand something that smells nice to you to counter any bad smells

Use unscented products

Use candles, diffusers or air fresheners to surround yourself with comforting smells

TASTE: A person might struggle with different textures in food (e.g. soft with crunchy), certain flavours or unfamiliar foods. Another might seek out hot/spicy/sour foods or chewy/stimmy foods.

What might help:

Providing familiar/safe foods at meals

Don't force trying new foods if not interested

Be aware of clashing textures

INTERCEPTION (processing info about physical needs on and inside the body):

A person might struggle with recognising physical needs (e.g. going to the toilet, feeling unwell, needing to eat/drink) whilst another might feel them intensely.

What might help:

Creating routines/alarms/reminders for fulfilling bodily needs

Be well prepared/equipped to fulfil needs e.g. taking water with you to places

Fulfilling bodily needs earlier to avoid pains of thirst, hunger, full bladder etc.

MOUEMENT (Proprioception): A person might struggle with an overly aware sense of body positioning, becoming tired easily from movement or disliking tight clothes. Another might seek out physical activity (running, climbing etc.), have less awareness of personal space and have a need to fidget/cannot remain still.

What might help:

Use of deep-pressure products like weighted blankets

Keeping active through slower movements, e.g. walking instead of running

BALANCE (Vestibular): A person might struggle with sensitivities to balance and spatial orientation if moving too fast or have difficulties with motion sickness.

Another might struggle with not moving at all or seek out movements such as dancing and swinging around.

What might help:

Using trampolines, rollercoasters, rocking chairs to meet vestibular needs

Physical support such as with stairs to help control balance with steps

Autisticality

Autism

Sensory Processing

#autism #actually autistic #sensory processing sensitivity #sensory differences #autism and sensory issues #remember to take care of yourself #feel free to reblog/share if you’d like #Autisticality (Facebook)#tw bright colors #tw eye strain

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heleninhha · 4 days ago

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TRAPPED IN SHADOWS | I/EN

Feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now. The Exit, by Conan Gray

Romantic partner: Azriel (ACOTAR) Summary: After Feyre's first two tasks, she finds herself broken and depressed; Greer feels her pain constantly, but something about that night bothered her more than usual. Approximate reading time: 13min Words: 2,5k Warnings: Angst at the beginning, but with a bit of cuteness (like, I just want to hug Lucien forever), and at the end. Mentions of possible triggers. NOTE: I really believe in second chances, but I don't know if it's Sarah's writing or something else, I can't feel that with Tamlin. I'm sorry, it's just a bad feeling.

I: Hiccups at dawn Masterlist | Serieslist | Last chapter | Next chapter

Currently…

She heard the muffled cries through the walls, unshed tears and an anguished heart. As she combed her hair, she could feel the tension in the human shoulders, the sense of desperation seeping through her veins, chasing an almost imperceptible thread of hope.

Greer had hated himself for many years, so many she didn't know where to begin to explain why she was angry, but there was one being who stole all that anger for herself. The center of his disgust, the reason she couldn't just fly as far away as possible.

Amarantha. The name had a metallic taste in her mouth, like boiling blood; the plague that Tamlin had so eagerly led Feyre to believe was only a sickness in once fertile meadows. But like an eagerly orchestrated game, it wasn't just the red-haired fairy who had made her see the world as a battlefield. Yes, she had longed to strangle the blonde since her mother's death, but an idiotic agreement made her run after him like an obedient dog.

Even though the tattoo on the back of her neck burned every time she felt the need for vengeance, she couldn't ignore the empathic agony in her chest.

More screams and Greer wondered if they were just thoughts. Feyre's mind had always been delicate and innocent to her powers, but ever since she'd had the bright idea to seek her love — something the older woman would never understand — her thoughts had been screaming.

She wished she could help her, but she knew that as soon as she dared to look away from the throne, her brother would suffer the consequences.

"If you even think about lying in bed with that filthy smell of booze, I'll slit your throat."

Lucien muttered in disbelief and stepped around the object with some difficulty. He fell to the floor beside the dressing table and hit his head against the dark wall.

"I'll never drink again."

"Liar," the woman whispered, tucking the comb behind the silver jewelry box. "You're just a poor wine addict."

A hum of derision, as if to say the unclean speaking of the unclean, and a metal eye stared at her.

"You look beautiful."

"And you're drunk."

"Yeah, well…" he sobbed, putting his hand over his mouth. "Don't judge me."

Greer smiled weakly and returned the attention. As much as she wanted to yell at her friend for his lack of responsibility in getting his ass into enemy territory, Feyre's screams and the sense of desperation she radiated were exhausting her. Besides, the male didn't need another jerk trying to control his life, especially when he had come so close to losing it a few days before.

"Go take a quick shower and then we'll go to bed."

Lucien didn't answer at first, just stared at her.

"I would have missed you."

The female snorted and shifted her gaze to the rest of the room. Dark silk curtains and an old wooden headboard, a strangely comfortable bed and a small, worn wardrobe, paintings of obscure landscapes and a spacious attached bathroom; everything was contrasting and frightening, but it didn't make her want to vomit as much as the scene she had been forced to watch less than 60 hours ago.

She still remembered the sick feeling in her stomach, the headache and the racing heart; Lucien's desperate screams and an illiterate human reeking of fear and rage. If it hadn't been for Rhysand…

"I mean it."

"Don't talk nonsense." She watched him again as she got up to crouch down towards his friend. "You attract bad things."

"You and this crazy theory about attracting things… There is no such thing."

"Let's not argue, I'm exhausted."

Before the older man could open his mouth, she pulled him up, wrapped her right arm around his back and supported him. He rested his head on her shoulder, accepting the help only as the wine made him dizzy, and tried to keep up with his friend.

"If you'd just listen to me for five minutes," Greer grumbled, kicking open the bathroom door.

"Let's not argue."

"You bastard!"

Lucien had only had five seconds to laugh before he was thrown into the tub of cold water. She had swallowed him alive, and if it hadn't been for the fire in her veins, she would have died for sure. Those pesky shadows…

Was it sunset or dawn? She didn't know, she just watched as the sun filled the clouds with magenta and purple, the orange and gold rays blending together like a happy dance. An infectious rhythm, full of unmistakable passion and…

Greer fell out of bed, her eyes wide and her hands shaking. She scanned the room for any sign of that cruel trick, but all she found were the curtains swaying in the wind and Lucien's soft snoring on the other side of the mattress.

Her hands were still shaking as she stood up, the music of her childhood filling her senses and driving her through painful memories. No one knew that song, no one present on that mountain knew the origin of one of the most beautiful compositions ever created in the world, so how could they torment her?

Amarantha didn't know that Velaris existed, let alone that Rhysand was capable of such generosity to anyone but himself, and so she followed the line of reasoning; no one had the faintest idea of the true nature of the Night Court — at least the part of it that her father had chosen to benefit.

So... what did that mean?

Greer shook her head, ignoring the latent pain in her chest with a sticky feeling called longing, and sat up in bed. She was about to lie down when the music rose in pitch, as if preparing for a triumphant fall, and she snorted. After a shitty day of being forced to be some kind of sick bodyguard for the queen and her Grand Lord, she just wanted to wallow in the strangely soft sheets.

Cauldron had a dark sense of humor, and maybe the fae hated him for it, but she couldn't deny that part of her enjoying reminiscing about old times.

A memory of a field of flowers, an allergic friend, and a contemptuous, animated laugh. Shadows that looked like yours, a plate of hot food and books on the table. Cozy hugs from an older brother, with a kiss on the forehead and a warm good night.

She felt her stomach turn sour, bile rushing up her throat, but she ignored the bad feeling. Instead of running to the bathroom, she pushed back the covers at the foot of the bed, vaguely hearing Lucien's murmur as he turned the mattress over and hugged the pillow in front of her. Then Greer found herself standing at the door, her hand on the doorknob, the shaking stopped, but her heart still racing.

Anyone in their right mind would be in their tenth dream at that time of night, the dark sky dimly lit by the moon, but it seemed everyone had decided to run up and down.

She dodged a grey-haired fae, his steps hurrying as he muttered softly, a book in his arms. Behind him, three others were talking, the middle one staggering from the drink of hours before; they saw her with the door ajar, her hand still on the handle, but outside.

"Good night, Shadow." The man on the left smiled, lips closed, bowing his head in respect, and the others followed.

Greer just blinked, confused and annoyed. She hated that ridiculous nickname, even if it was as sincere as possible.

With a tired sigh, she closed the door and ran her hand over her dark satin nightgown. The soft fabric wrapped around her like a glove, and the unnecessary cleavage at the back made her want to scream. If she could, she would have taken Lucien's robe, but she didn't want another argument with Tamlin.

A painful sob echoed in her mind, a sharp pain tearing at her chest. She hoped it would pass after a few hours, that Feyre would overcome her melancholy and raise her head in the darkness, but apparently she was too broken.

Greer sometimes saw herself in her; she remembered Andras' death, how Tamlin had been possessed, but also hopeful. Days later, the human had arrived at the castle, a clear, seething rage that made the female smile in fascination. But those feelings seemed to fade, giving way to the sick love that Feyre believed to be real.

She tried to warn her several times, tried so hard to tell the girl that she was putting herself in a place where she wouldn't come back alive, but her prohibition to see her without anyone around made it difficult. Lucien helped her most of the time, sneaking through the spell of the agreement between his Grand Sire and his friend, but always ended up listening to the older man's bullshit.

Another sob, deeper this time, almost as if she was too exhausted. The fae quickened her pace, letting the music guide her through the dark corridors of the mountain. More drunken men and women, sneaking through the darkness of the night and rushing to the nearest rooms; she thought it was all just one big brothel, the smell of sex permeating every corner she dared to explore, but she couldn't stop at that moment, not when she was so curious to know who was tormenting her.

A low whisper followed by a tight feeling in her chest. Feyre was sitting on her toes, hunched over, staring at her hands as if they had plunged a knife into her stomach. She took deep breaths, trying to reach all the oxygen in the world because it never seemed to be enough, and Greer noticed that her heartbeat was racing as well.

You could call it empathy or pity, but the female crouched down in the darkness, mimicking the position of another, a few steps away from the human's cell, and hugged herself. Staring at the sickening scene before her, murmurs of Tamlin and what am I going to do? followed each other for a few minutes, loud tears fading to silence.

She dropped her head to the wall, letting the weight of her body collapse against the cold, dark stone, and followed Feyre's lost gaze to the ceiling, searching for whatever had caused her that terrible crisis.

Then the music seemed to double in volume, almost as if to greet the older woman. She smiled, holding back her own tears, finally understanding.

Shadows crept across the floor like fog, and Greer sensed the presence of a third person. He didn't need to look to know who the conspicuous essence belonged to, but he allowed himself to blink as Rhysand hid behind a beam of darkness, almost imperceptibly and in the posture he had always worn.

He didn't see her, though, too focused on the shattered human to worry about anyone else. After all, who would be crazy enough to go down there in the middle of the night?

The cold fog wrapped itself around the ankles of the others, becoming agitated and emotional, just like its owner. She wanted to run and hug him, but she knew the consequences, so she just pushed the darkness away from her brother before it didn't look like night anymore. Tightening her embrace, she sank further into that tiny peak and turned her eyes back to Feyre.

She was calmer, her breathing calmer and the whispering stopped. She seemed more melancholy than desperate, and then came the realization: there were only two days left until the last task.

An avalanche of disapproving yet hopeful thoughts flooded the eldest's mind, and she wished desperately that the human could close her mind.

Listening to the reflections of others had always been something to be proud of, but Greer knew it was complete torture to push the boundaries of someone who hadn't built a good wall. It was almost as if they pushed her into the other person's confusion, and at that moment it was Feyre.

Feyre, who had sometimes found her hiding in the library, her glasses at the end of her nose and the smell of tea filling the room, but who hadn't touched her. Feyre who looked at her strangely during the dinners she was forced to attend, but who smiled kindly at her. Feyre, who met her in the bedroom corridor at dawn, but who never judged her by the smell of Lucien on her skin.

More on impulse than anything else, the fae released the shadows again, allowing them to keep her company, and smiled with her lips closed as the mist danced around the human. She sniffed deeply, straightened up to sit with her legs crossed, and ran her hands through the strange smoke. It was icy, almost like fresh snow, but oddly comforting.

A moderately loud laugh filled the room, filling Greer's heart with an almost masculine pride. The younger woman smiled, her thoughts less desperate and melancholy, and turned her wrist, shadows engulfing her arm and the tattoo that had robbed her of her nights of sleep — and all the shit she was going through.

Rhysand frowned, leaning away from the pillar as if it were all an illusion. Then he stood up and looked around to see who else had this rare gift. Azriel was the only one he knew who had it, but this was different; it was more like the darkness being manipulated, duplicated to do the bidding of the person commanding it.

Greer left her hiding place before her brother could find her. She knew she'd be finished if she was caught, especially if he looked into her eyes, those irises she'd never been very good at hiding.

Before she knew it, she was leaning against her bedroom door, shadows disappearing through the cracks as she got rid of the evidence. She took a deep breath, her right hand over her heart, telling it to calm down.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ignoring Lucien, the fae remained leaning against the wood until everything was back to normal. Then she mentally counted, just as her mother had taught her to do in moments of fear.

One, two, three, four, five…

She took a last breath and locked the door before walking over to his side of the bed. The man comforted her, even though he had no idea what had happened, and ran his hand down her back.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking at Lucien with endless gratitude.

"Always." He smiled and pulled her to lie down.

Greer settled down on the mattress, forced herself to close her eyes, and hugged her friend. Grabbing him, she wrinkled the tattered shirt he wore as pajamas, and he continued the caress, always on that particular spot on his back.

You'll be free, he thought, and she sighed, knowing that the lowered wall wasn't out of laziness.

I think I'm in love with Greer… Taglist: @lenasardn @galaxystern08

#acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagines #acotar smut #acotar x reader #angst #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #fluff #azriel imagine

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