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heizlut · 9 months ago

Note

Hallo! I am very new to tumblr, so please excuse any mistakes i may make qwq

I really enjoyed your Venti and Kaeya story(ies)! Could you do something similar for Lyney with the addition of a breeking kink? He doesnt have cat ears or a tail like his sister- instead, the feline side of him shows through his obsessive need to breed :x

jshdhdhd i’ve been thinking about this like crazy and i’m so glad we got to clarify a few details over messages before i wrote this! again, welcome to tumblr! i’m so glad you stumbled across my page🫶🏼 (was also totally inspired by the yaoi when writing this lmfao)

Jinx

cw: breeding kink, textured feline tongue, hypnosis, rope-play, mentions of pregnancy

tags: sub fem!reader, dom!lyney with recessive feline traits, mostly proofread

a/n: here's a lil translation for the pet names- "mon chaton"= my kitten; "mon cherie"= my beloved; "bonne fille"= good girl; “ma bonne fille”= my good girl

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

Ever since becoming his girlfriend, Lyney found he had a particular jinx; all because one evening he fucked you so hard backstage before his performance, filling you so full of his sticky cum, and his show ended up being the greatest one yet. The next performance, he wanted to test out his little theory; fucking his cock into your tight cunt til his cum was leaking out and dripping down your thighs. Lyney had yet another show stopping performance.

When he told you his theory, you had simply laughed, “Seems like you just want to relieve some pre-show nerves. I doubt it’s some type of jinx, my love.” The cute little pout on Lyney’s face made it hard to take him seriously. You give him a kiss on the cheek, “I don’t mind this little routine though. If it means getting fucked so full of you before a show, I’ll do it.”

Tonight was a performance that Lyney knew he couldn’t fuck up. It was meant to be another show stopper with prominent Fontaine guests in the audience. You made your way to his dressing room as you usually did. Lyney was seated at his vanity touching up his hair when he saw your reflection behind him in the mirror. The corners of his lips curl upwards, “There she is~”

You smirk in response, “I have something special for you tonight…Master Lyney~” Lyney turned his body in his chair to face you as you begin to undo the buttons of your dress. The soft material slips off your body, revealing a red lacy lingerie set with a black garter belt that matched his. Lyney’s lips part, taking in every inch of you with his violet eyes. Lyney almost wanted to curse his innate feline genes for almost pouncing on you right then and there. The way you looked right now and using that title he'd teased you with before was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to be able to take his time with you, or at least as much time as he could before he had to make his way to the stage.

Lyney gets up from his seat, sauntering over to you with a sultry look in his eyes. His fingers reach out, tracing the lacy edges of your lingerie, "Look at my sweet girl dressed so provocatively... Wearing my extra garter belt no less." He runs his finger under one of the straps and pulls it back and releases, letting it lightly slap back against your skin. Your breath catches in your throat as he does so. Arousal pooling against the thin fabric of your panties when he leans in, his lips grazing yours as he speaks in a low tone, "I have something special for you too, mon chaton~" Lyney backs away from you, the lingering touch from his lips sets you ablaze with desire.

Lyney digs through his pocket and pulls out a carnelian pendulum with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Be a sweetheart for me and keep your eyes on crystal, yes?" You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, fixing your gaze on the pendulum. Your eyes follow the swinging pendulum as Lyney begins to speak, "Relax your mind and your body... Focus on the sound of my voice..." He continues on as you feel your mind go blank. He smirks at your dazed expression, now having you fully under.

He softly caressed your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your soft lips, "Be a good girl and get the purple rope, yes?" All you can do is nod and follow his instructions. Lyney's cock twitches as he watches you bring back the rope he requested. He takes it from you hands and moves behind you, his lips against your ear, "Arms behind your back, mon cherie~" Of course, you comply. His voice filling your mind like a sweet melody that was only meant for you alone. A tingling sensation pricks at your skin as the ropes loop through your arms just tight enough for you to be forced to stay in that position, unable to touch him.

Lyney's fingers trace your skin as he moves to the front of you, admiring how gorgeous you looked. He takes hold of the straps of your pretty bra between his digits, using his pyro vision to carefully singe them just enough to let a piece of them burn away. The straps fall loose to your back and he singes the front connecting the cups. Your perky breasts are left exposed to his lustful gaze as the bra makes a soft noise when it lands on the dressing room floor. You squirm a little in your spot as the need between your legs begins to consume you. Your eyes stuck on his violet ones that burn with deep desire, "Be still, mon chaton."

Your lips part as you let a soft moan slip when Lyney cups your breasts in his nimble hands. He squeezes and massages them, mesmerized by the way the plushness squishes between his fingers. He lowers himself and leans forward taking one pebbled nipple into his mouth; his rough feline tongue flicking and swirling around it. Your body tries to fight against the hypnosis, desperate to tangle your fingers in his hair as his rough tongue does its work on your body.

Leaving your breasts sore and swollen, Lyney kisses down your body softly til he's eye level with your clothed cunt. His eyes flit up to your face, pleased to see you looking so needy. He taps your thigh twice, "Spread out so I can enjoy my pre-performance meal." You comply, taking a small step to the side to give him more room. Lyney smirks, "Bonne fille..." He places his hands on your thighs and licks a stripe through your thin panties. He lets out a broken groan at the scent and taste of you as your arousal soaked the material. Lyney tugs at the panties until they rip and glide down, now hanging loosely around one ankle.

Your moans fill the small dressing room as he dives in between your folds, lapping up your juices with his rough tongue. His grip tightens on your thighs as you shake with pleasure; his tongue relentless against your sensitive clit. White hot pleasure courses through you as you cum on his tongue, making him snarl as he overstimulates you, unable to get enough of your taste. "Please, Master Lyney~!" you cry out, feeling as though your legs are about to give out from underneath you. The title you give him and the way you taste and smell kicks his feline instincts into full gear. Lyney needed to breed you.

Lyney straightens up and tugs you by your garter belt to his vanity. He bends you slightly and tangles his fingers in your hair, pulling your head up to look at the reflection of you both in his mirror. "Oh, mon chaton... See the way you look right now? I simply can't resist~", he chuckles as you whimper when you're forced to look at how dazed and desperate you are for him. He undoes his pants, tugging them down just enough for his twitching cock to bob free against your ass.

Lyney's hands travel down your curves and to your round ass, giving your cheeks a light squeeze. He spreads them apart, giving himself a better view of your leaky pussy. He moves his hips, letting his fat pink tip rub against your cunt and gather your arousal. Lyney stills himself, his tip pushed against your wet entrance as he leans over, locking eyes with you in the reflection, "Keep your eyes on us." Unable to do anything other than what he says, your eyes widen as a pretty cry leaves your lips as he pushes himself inside of you.

His fingers dig into the fat of your hips as he fucks into you deep and hard. Lyney completely loses it when he sees your eyes flutter and drool slips from the corner of your mouth as you keep your eyes on the lewd display. His pace becomes harsh as the tip of his thick cock bullies your insides over and over, "Need to breed you nice and full... Need to see your cute stomach swell with my children- Fuck, mon amour...-" His hips stutter when he sees the white ring of cum that had formed at the base of his cock. Lyney lets out a breathy chuckle, running his fingers though his hair, “Creaming around my cock? You must really want me to breed you, huh”

You’re so fucked out the only way you can respond is by moaning over and over. You looked angelic and so fucking slutty that when your eyes crossed in pleasure and your tits bounced in time with his thrusts, Lyney releases a whiny moan. With a final thrust, his hot cum floods your fluttering pussy. His cock throbs as he regains his senses, groaning as he pulls out and his cum begins to leak from your cunt.

As much as the sight of his cum leaking from you filled his ego, Lyney needed it to take. Quickly grabbing a silicone prop, he pushes it inside your pussy with a curved smile, "You shouldn't let my seed go to waste. We need to keep you stuffed full 'til my cum takes..." Your eyes meet his devious ones in the vanity mirror, still looking for more. A sudden knock on the door causes Lyney to snap from his thoughts as Lynette's voice sounds from the other side, "Lyney, it's time."

"I'll be there in a moment!", he calls back and then lets out a sigh. His gaze returning to your dazed one. Your were still under his hypnosis... Lyney's voice is saccharine when he speaks his next words, "Sit still at my vanity and don't even think about covering up or fucking yourself on the prop that's keeping my cum in you." A sly smile forms on his lips when you let out a small whimper when you sit, making the silicone prop push deeper inside of you. Lyney presses a slow kiss to your lips and smiles, "Ma bonne fille..." He readjusts his clothes and fixes his hair one last time before heading out for his grand performance,

And what a performance it was. A standing ovation, thrown flowers covering the stage, and raving reviews from the prominent figures of Fontaine; all thanks to you. Lyney walks back to his dressing room and his lips curl up when his gaze lands on your shaking, restrained body still sat as his vanity as your own arousal had pooled in the chair. You were his lucky charm, his special jinx; and oh how he would reward you for being so perfect.... Breeding you time and time again.

જ⁀➴✧:･.˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.・જ⁀➴✧:

a/n: i turned myself on just writing this lol also plz if you’ve read the yaoi i referenced, let’s be friends lmao

#lyney smut #lyney x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney

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emilykaldwen · 4 months ago

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You're The Lighting of the Blaze | One Shot | Jacaerys x Helaena

(moodboard by @vampire-exgirlfriend)

Title: You're the Lighting of the Blaze Ship: Jacaerys x Helaena WC: 6,484 Rating: Explicit Summary: On the eve of war, all that Jacaerys holds dear is poised to be stolen from him. But the fire flows through him just as the rest of his family, and a dragon does not surrender his treasure so easily.

(Jace x Helaena Betrothal AU)

Notes: This was my entry for last year's big bang, and in honor of tonight's finale, I'm finally posting it to tumblr. I've been seeing my Jacelaena stuff get some traction, and I'll definitely be writing more of them (and I'm totally open to suggestions to percolate). They are a featured side pairing in my main fic as well.

Tumblr Masterpost | AO3 Link

When I first saw you / The end was soon To Bethlehem, it slouched / And then, must've caught a good look at you Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you / The best of you Honey, belongs to me

Helaena’s hips rolled up against Jacaerys’ mouth and the sigh that escaped her was soft, a murmur crossing her lips like a prayer in the sept. He couldn’t quite understand her words, but looking up from his comfortable spot between her thighs, he could see the furrow of her brow. Whatever caused her eyes to dance beneath her lids was distressing, at odds with the way her body bowed against his touch.

“Hush,” he consoled against the soft skin of her pale thigh thrown over his shoulder. Helaena moaned and he swiped his thumb lazily over the slick gathering against her. A gentle swipe over that bundle of nerves that made her tremble even in the sleepy dream that held her. “You’re safe now.”

Helaena’s head tossed against the pillow and she wriggled her ass into the bed. A smile caught along Jace’s mouth, the proud smirk that spoke to his pride and satisfaction. He nuzzled his nose into her, bumping up against her clit, and pressed his mouth to her skin. “Lykiri,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her as Helaena’s hips jerked at the attention.

She fell apart soon after that, with his fingers pressed inside of her against that spot he found that made her keen and cry in her wakefulness. In sleep it shudders her out of the dream, finally, and her mouth parted in a wordless cry that dares to have them found out. He crawled up her body and pressed his face between her breasts and the thin fabric of her nightgown kept his mouth from tasting the salt of her skin.

Helaena’s fingers rose to dive into his tangled curls and held him close. “The crow flies,” she murmured. “The crow dies.” A yawn, the haze of sleep clouding her lavender eyes. Jace turned to rest his chin on her sternum and watched her for a moment.

“Worried?” he whispered, and Helaena squirmed beneath him, tugging on his dark brown curls until he crawled up the rest of the way. His princess tasted herself off his mouth, the kiss otherwise chaste and full of sleepy softness.

“We’ll be caught one day,” she replied in the same hushed tone, and his mouth swallowed her words, pressing his hips against the apex of her thighs and encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Jace relaxed at the feel of her against the front of his breeks, where he was half hard.

“Nothing will happen.” The promise in his voice was true. So what if they were caught. They were betrothed and would be married soon. No matter how much Queen Alicent dragged her feet, he knew Helaena had her gown fitting the moon before. His mother had even casually mentioned the idea of him and Helaena moving to Dragonstone after the wedding.

“You should be able to enjoy the flush of new marriage with privacy and not under the scrutiny of the entire court,” she’d teased. It had been a cool day, the sun warm and the sky endless. She’d pulled the pair of them into her office, a cloistered room overlooking the main courtyard outside of the Holdfast and the main gate of the keep - the Dragon Pit a great focal point in the distance. Helaena had been curled up in the window seat with a stack of letters his mother had given the pair of them to work through. The workings of the realm were all in little baskets between this office and Lord Tyland in the Hand’s Tower.

The thunderous look on his mother’s face at the mere suggestion of Otto Hightower entering the Red Keep once more had kept that nomination from going through.

Dragonstone was his mother’s seat, but she stayed within the capital, refusing to give an inch, sitting on the council where she belonged. It would be his seat one day, and he found that he thought constantly about the great stone table carved with all the land of Westeros. He thought of running his fingers through the rivers and over the mountains, thought of how his grandsire took him before the Iron Throne and told him “This will be yours one day, lad.”

He thought of the hollow eyes of his uncles and his bride, of the wan, feral look on Queen Alicent’s face.

The words “such Strong boys” lingered in his mind, and Jace thought of scarred Ser Harwin, Lord of Harrenhal. The fire had stolen the life of his father, the Lord Lyonel, but Harwin had endured. No longer the champion of the Realm’s Delight, Lord Strong lived a quiet life in a crumbling castle on the edge of the great God’s Eye with his younger sister, whose favor Aegon wore tied around his wrist. He wrote Jace ravens from time to time asking how his training was going, and telling him how proud he is. He cannot come back to King’s Landing, not when Jace has grown tall and broad, with dark curls and a way with a sword.

That is saying nothing for the way that Luke and Joffrey’s hair had grown in dark as mahogany, righteous curls on Jace and Luke’s head, and Joffrey’s pin straight with their mother’s features staring out from his mischievous, sprite-like features.

Jace startled at the sensation of Helaena’s warm fingers ghosting across his eyes. It drew a smile just as it drew him from his thoughts and she hummed.

“Would you give it to me if you could?” she asked with a soft moan, and he could feel her soaking into the front of his breeks. He pressed further into her as if there was no barrier between them. “Turn the line to that of women as you have no sisters?” Jace thinks of his cousins and thinks of the almost future where they had wondered about betrothing him to Baela instead to keep Corlys Velaryon appeased, and he wonders had Baela and Rhaena had been his sisters, if he would be wed to one of them without hesitation. If he had sisters instead of the brothers he loved, would he have lost Helaena, like the fragments of a dream upon waking.

He thinks about the gentleness of Daemon with his daughters, thinks of how warmly he smiles at his mother when no one is looking, and knows that they are waiting for the crown to perch upon her head. They’ll be his sisters one day, but too late to change destiny.

“I would,” he murmured, and sucked a mark against her jaw where she cannot hide it, where it will be there like a beacon for all to see; that Helaena Targaryen is his, and he will be king and none would take it away. “I will.”

An uncertain edge permeated the Landing when Queen Alicent left by wheelhouse toward Oldtown, Vhagar in the sky above her as Aemond provided the first escort. Aegon disappeared for two weeks after that to Harrenhal before returning, lighter than his usual melancholy allowed, and he rolled his eyes at them as he headed to the dragonpit.

Helaena was to go with him.

“It is a celebration for the Hightowers and it’s been so long since we’ve seen Daeron,” Helaena said. Tension curled in Jace’s gut at the idea of being parted from her, and he remembered her words about the death of crows before she wrapped her arms around him and he sank into the taste of her and the candied lemon she’d eaten that morning.

“I didn’t get to taste you this morning.” She grinned, all bright teeth and a sharp, feral edge in her lavender eyes. Jace snorted and knocked his cheek against her. He would take her in the alcove beneath the stairs if there was enough time. His mother had forbidden him from providing escort, anxiety over the King’s declining health drawing those worried furrows to her brow.

“It’s not safe for you in Oldtown, Jace. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

Yet he must let her go. But she is a Hightower just as she is a Targaryen, and there she should be safe.

“What is it? Two days on Dreamfyre? When you feel reckless, just come back. Or better, Vermax and I shall meet you in the mountains and we’ll just stay there.” He nipped at her mouth, cupped her soft cheeks in his rough hands and tilted her head back for another kiss. “Dreamfyre would love to roost in the mountains, wouldn’t she?”

Helaena’s laughter echoed off the red stone of the courtyard before he swallowed the sound down to keep in his chest where his heart beats in time with hers.

The King died a fortnight later.

Jace watched as his mother sat upon the Iron Throne. It was an ugly chair, a twisted metal monstrosity forged from his ancestor’s conquest. His mother wore her hair as Visenya was said to have worn hers: an intricately woven braid along the top of her head woven with black and crimson ribbon and silver Valyrian runic charms. Her gown was red silk, long draped sleeves that fell about her like water and cut to reveal the black underdress, the tight sleeves a shock of obsidian against the blood red. The tail of her braid hung over her shoulder and down to her waist and Jace remembered sitting in her lap as a boy to play with her hair, her own fingers tender in his curls. He could not imagine doing such a thing if his mother had portrayed the vision that she did now. There was a hardened look in her violet eyes, and outside of the tender rim of red that showed her grief, she was, in every sense of the word, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name.

The crown looked heavy, Jace thought. His mother deserved a sunburst, she deserved to drip in jewels. She did not need such a clumsy, heavy thing to weigh her down when she flew through the sky with such joy.

Joy that was absent from her face as news of Oldtown closing their gates and sending ravens was relayed. Lord Beesbury’s voice echoed in the cold quiet of the chamber, cold fear and heated anger curling along Jace’s spine. This was to be expected - that Aegon would be pitted against his mother no matter how much he did not want this.

“We’ll need to draw them out,” Daemon’s voice echoed, Dark Sister held naked in front of him, the wedding ring that matched his mother’s glinting in the light streaking through the window. “Treason cannot be tolerated.”

“I would welcome my dear brothers and sweet sister back into my arms,” his mother said, so beautiful and queenly. “We must not frighten them, nor give them any further reason to listen to the poison that’s being fed them.” Her gaze, like Valyrian steel, cut to Jace. “You are to stay here.”

All eyes swiveled to Jace. Daemon smirked at him. Luke raised his eyebrows.

“Of course, your Grace,” Jace replied, and his mother held his gaze before Daemon spoke again.

He mounted Vermax in the dark of the moonless night.

Oldtown had closed their gates, but no matter how they forgot, a dragon does not tolerate that which is theirs being taken.

The Grande Festival in Oldtown was an ancient affair, dating back to before the conquest, when the Hightowers ruled as kings in their own right. It was the sort of event Jace had heard about in passing. The grand carnival in Oldtown had been a tradition even before the landing of the conquerors. The city was decked out in banners, not just the flapping viridescent banners of House Hightower, of which there were plenty. There were colorful streamers and fabrics twisting across every lane and thoroughfare, the sky littered with falling colored papers and flowers from people standing with great baskets out their windows above. Music and the scents of foods filled the air; the crisp sweet tartness of apples and cinnamon pies, the currants and spice of mincemeat tarts mingled with roasting boars and stag carved there on the streetside. Beef sloughing off the spit with spices from Dorne were just as mouth watering as the array of pastries beside them, and if Jace had been there for any other purpose, he would’ve gladly indulged.

Tonight, his indulgence was in quarries that were far more dangerous, and far more rewarding.

Jace adjusted his mask, ensuring that it was secure around his head. The other masks he saw ranged from the simple fabric domino cuts that simply covered the eyes to full face paper with hanging beads. As he approached the heart of the festivities they became more elaborate: headdresses of iridescent feathers around ornate full faces with silver inlays and gold leaves.

The raven mask he wore was one that should pass notice. His curls were braided back with a gold ribbon, and the material was smooth on his face, made with fine, soft feathers and an abbreviated beak that did not get in the way like the plague masks and other bird beaked visages did. It covered his full face with only his bright lavender eyes circled with grease paint looking out. Jace had his own ruff of raven feathers surrounding him, but was far less ostentatious than many of the masks around him. The great fan of feathers that others sported wouldn’t serve him when he was trying to get close to his princess.

His dragon mate.

Helaena stood in the great square in front of the High Tower, beneath the fluttering banners of her mother’s house and the flapping Targaryen banners. Lanterns were strung across the place like great fireflies and colored light streamed out from the wrought iron and glass window of the tower behind her.

Like a dream, she was cloaked in silks of lapis and gold, her silver hair turned molten in the light. Her mask was more paint than physical creation; blue and silver and gold paints decorated her smooth skin in the visage of butterfly wings and delicately spun fabric to emulate more wings were affixed to a tiara. She sparkled as a star would, leading him as if he were a traveler lost in the wilderness.

While he knew where he was going, Helaena was the one who looked lost. Her beautiful costume could not hide the frozen, remote look on her face, nor the way her large, lavender eyes danced around the crowds, flinching as her mother touched her shoulder. Jace’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, seeing Alicent as Helaena’s jailor rather than someone tender.

For so long, Jace had thought of Alicent Hightower as simply The Queen. Remote and icy, her beautiful face with perpetually narrowed eyes watching him, taking in his dark curls, the set of his jaw, the very non-Targaryen features he displayed that he knew could not be explained away by his grandmother Rhaenys’ Baratheon heritage, that everyone else seemed to ignore. She stood on the dias beside her daughter, swathed in mourning black of a widow, her gown lined in gold and green trim, her black lace veil worn over her features in lieu of a celebration mask.

He wondered if she were truly mournful and Jace knew in his chest he would not begrudge her joy at being freed from his grandfather. The man had doted on him, doted on his siblings, but the years gave weight to age and opened his eyes, and he could see the wrongness of it all. He saw the cruel negligence to his wife, he saw the way he dangled carrots of affection to his own mother, his chosen heir, and then turned around and denounced the discord that his actions sowed. Jace had vowed to never treat Helaena the way Viserys treated his wife. He would never treat his children the way that he saw how his mother was treated.

It was insidious, and something that took Jace far too long to realize and understand - that his grandfather did not see his mother, not unlike the way he passed over his other children; an old man falling deeper into his dreams, of his longing for a woman who died brutally in the birthing bed. It was the ghost of his long passed grandmother that kept Rhaenyra Targaryen at the edges of her father’s graces. To witness his mother claw as fiercely as Alicent Hightower clawed for just a scrap of attention from the dying king was enough to make Jace consider regicide, not to mention kinslaying. The senselessness of it all made his stomach curl and when he thought of putting Helaena through the same, his vision would go red and his stomach would heave.

He would do better, as he always did, as he always had to do. Even as he felt compassion for the woman, there would be no forgiveness for her hand in the strife.

Nor would there be forgiveness for how she hoarded his bride away from him, as if the death of one king meant she could do what she pleased.

Helaena was his bride, and he was her groom. They would be together, they would fly their dragons together, and share their bed every night. Helaena would be his queen one day, ruling by his side in all the ways that she deserved, and they would heal what had been broken and fractured, torn apart by his grandfather’s negligence, picked over by his mother and the former queen in their long simmering resentments

He would never forgive Alicent Hightower for trying to take Helaena away, to marry her to Aegon and attempt to put the crown on his head.

Oh, this wasn’t a coronation, not yet. First, there needed to be ravens sent and alliances made and barely a week had passed since the king’s death. It wasn’t even enough time to get a raven north to Winterfell, let alone alliances. Not with the suddenness of the King's demise. But everyone knew what was coming.

While Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat the iron throne, swathed in her grief, she had not yet been publicly crowned. Not with the mourning of the old king and the rituals being followed. Even as the small council addressed her as their liege lord, the position was tenuous and some kind of truce needed to be made.

A heavy hand clapping his shoulder made him start and Jace turned to look into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

His uncle looked utterly miserable. Aegon’s eyes were bloodshot, his round face flushed beneath the golden mask of dragon scales. Of course, there was no doubt that he would wear the golden visage of his beloved dragon.

“Found you,” he murmured, the lightest slur to his wine soaked breath. “Truly fascinating, nephew, that you escaped your mother’s skirts and came here of all places.” Lilac eyes flicked towards the dias. “Definitely not to rescue me.” Wine sloshed over the edge of the goblet he held as he took a heavy swallow of it. His thick fingers tightened on Jace’s shoulder.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about, my lord,” he said, pitching his voice to try and disguise it, and a peel of laughter, edged with mania, fell from Aegon’s mouth, sputtering wine as if Jace had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“You are pathetic,” he said. Which was utterly rich coming from his uncle, though he was barely any older. Aegon was a feral thing, a tom cat who prowled and refused to be kept down, yet a wet thing, desperate for affection. “The way you look at my dear sister can’t be hidden by that.” Aegon lifted his goblet to tap the mask’s raven beak. “Not to mention your terrible posture.” A clap on the back this time. Jace gritted his teeth.

“I am the prince of the realm now, uncle,” Jace hissed in reply. He refused to extract himself from Aegon’s hold as if he were retreating. “The future king of Westeros. I’m sure you’re most relieved about that.”

Aegon’s grin was sharp; manic and gleeful and sad all at once. “Aye,” he murmured, leaning in. “That you are. I should challenge you to a duel-” he paused, burping in his face, and Jace suppressed a sigh. “Make my mother happy.”

He’d never admit it to Aegon, but he understood the sentiment, even when their own mothers were as different as green and black.

“Tell me, is that what you desire? Or will beating me in a duel - if you even could - hold favor for long enough?” It was a low blow, and Aegon’s eyes narrowed even as the smirk turned cruel and sad across his face. “Or would you simply call your second? I’m sure Aemond would take more joy in it.”

Jace suppressed his shudder even as he said it. Aemond would find more joy in it, and Jace knew he likely wouldn’t get out of that with just an eye lost. His gaze instinctively roamed their surroundings as Aegon drank, looking out for the sight of Aemond Targaryen. There was no flash of his long, silver hair, or the familiar straight line of his shoulders. He wondered if the festivities might be too much for him. Helaena struggled with crowds herself, and Aemond struggled with them for his own reasons after losing his eye.

The event of it all still curdled in his belly, but there was nothing to be helped now.

“Vicious little brat, aren’t you?” Aegon snorted, mouth a bitter twist.

Jace breathed in through his nose, feeling the tingling in his hands, just aching to wrap them around his uncle’s throat to shut up his stupid mouth. His lavender eyes found the vision of Helaena once more and he exhaled slowly.

“You don’t want this,” he told Aegon with conviction, teeth gritted and turning to get him to face him head on. “You don’t, and she doesn’t. Don’t do this for me. Do it for you, or her, since I know you care for her too.” Fuck, it would be so easy to push him into the alley and end him. But while Aegon was an even match, it would simply make things worse.

Besides, Jace had no desire to be a kinslayer, cursed and haunted.

Aegon’s head cocked, mouth pursed in a mimic of his mother, and he looked towards the dais, eyes tracking up to the fluttering banners. “What brother steals his sister’s birthright?” Aegon muttered, eyes tracking back to Jace’s. Red rimmed and lined with tension, Jace knew Aegon didn’t desire this; he desired other things, like forbidden nymphs frolicking in rivers.

“What brother indeed.” His mother knew this was not Aegon’s doing, but it didn’t mean that boys didn’t present a problem - alternatives to her rule.

But that was an issue for another day. Right now, he needed to get to that which he was being denied. He’d take it with fire and blood, if he had to. Jace would just prefer not to.

Aegon shook his head and shoved him back slightly. “You fucking owe me, you little prick.” Something eased in Jace’s chest, the knot that had been building as he waited. Whatever Aegon was meant to do, Jace would have his opportunity.

He watched, wide eyed, as Aegon sloshed into the fountain with a whoop, drawing the attention of the party goers, and began precariously climbing the statue in the middle - an elaborate mime of the Seven, and Aegon was… gripping the breasts of The Mother as he hauled himself up towards the seven pointed star above them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jace muttered, caught between horror and amusement and let the crowd surge around him as Aegon called for attention. Which meant no one was looking at the dais.

“Friends and countrymen!” Aegon hollered out, his voice echoing off the sunbaked brick and stone of the courtyard. People cheered in response. “As the wine flows and tits come out-” Ribald laughter rippled through the crowd and Jace tuned out the flaxen haired buffoon and started making his way towards the edge of the festivities, searching for a way to get sight unseen towards the back of the platform where Helaena still stood, also focused on the spectacle her brother was making.

Alicent Hightower had turned to hiss at Ser Criston and a few of the Hightower guards that gathered around her. What danger could there be in this stronghold, for Jace noticed a distinct lack of protection now along the back edge; the back edge where Helaena lingered, melting further into the banners and curtains lining the platform. He recognized that look and it made his heart ache. His belly roiled with anger. She looked trapped, she looked like she wanted to run, but in an unfamiliar place, was unsure where to go. Jace knew she could handle herself, but when it came to crowds, and lights, when it came to all of this? Every instinct in him screamed to go up there, to hold her slim, warm hand in his and twine their fingers; a firm hold, and one that couldn’t be torn away.

Raucous laughter and applause echoed from where Aegon was on the fountain and Jace watched Ser Criston and the other guards make their way into the crowd. Queen Alicent stood at the front of the dais, hands clasped against her waist.

When he turned to look for Helaena again, she was gone.

He blinked.

“Helaena?” he whispered harshly, reaching up to remove his mask but pausing before he could. “Fucking thing,” he muttered, trying to look around and see if he could spot the glimmering blue and gold and silver of his betrothed. “Ābrazyyrys, skoriot ilā?” The Valyrian flowed more easily from his mouth than it had before. Helaena made studying… fun.

He wished they were back in bed, her mouth on him while she made him practice reciting the prophecies of Daenys the Dreamer.

“Vasīr ābrazyyrys ikson daor,” came a smooth voice, the words like a song, a dream. The scent of lemon wafted around him and he felt a warm hand stroking up his spine. “Don’t turn around.” Her voice was soft and commanding all the same and it made a shiver roll through his body, heat and arousal, excitement and nerves. “Did you come all this way just to find me, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Her mouth brushed against his shoulder. Her fingers curled nervously - he knew it was nervously by how tightly she clung - into his tunic. “I dreamed you.”

“I don’t know the word for bride,” he apologized, voice in a rush, breathless. His heart was thudding in his ears. “I’ve dreamed of you too. But we have to go.” A yearning edge to his voice and he tilted his head back to the sky as if praying for the opportunity to do it. Helaena’s arms moved to wind around his waist from behind, and she pressed her face between his shoulder blades. His hands came to rest over hers in a soothing motion, but as much as he wanted to wind in her embrace - “We have to get out of here.”

“I know, I dreamed this, I just told you.” He felt her rubbing her face against his back and Jace wondered if the paint on her face would streak across his shirt.

“Come on, this way. If they find me here, I don’t think Aegon will be able to make another distraction to keep your mother from demanding my head on sight.” Jace reluctantly loosened her arms and finally turned in her embrace. Helaena tilted her head back and her lavender eyes were luminous in the night, the lantern light reflecting like fireflies in her gaze. She reached up to run her fingers along his mask, smiling softly at the touch of feathers, the curve of the beak and he wished he could rest his head against hers, to kiss her as he longed to.

“Do you have wings that sprout from your back?” she asked. He snorted and shook his head at her, letting the feathers tickle her face and they needed to go but she giggled at the way they tickled her and it was worth it. “How could anyone think you are a raven when you are so clearly a dragon?” She wondered softly, her eyes, just as light and lavender as his.

“They whisper about it and I hate it. How easily they dismiss me and force me to declare who I am,” he’d railed to her, tears at the corners of his eyes, pain in his chest. By sight, who would see him and think him a Targaryen? How easily he was looked over, how easily ignored– unlike his uncles, unlike Helaena, unlike his own mother.

Helaena’s hands had been warm on his face and she gazed at him, unblinking. Her eyes were the same shade as his own, and far more beautiful, he thought, with her hair like moonlight.

“How could anyone look at you and think you are anything but?” she asked. “When I see myself in you? Dragons both.”

“No, Vermax is off waiting.” Her fingers were tugging at the tie that held the mask to his head and he reached up to grab her fingers. “Once we leave,” he said but he couldn’t hide the longing in his voice.

She sighed and kissed his beak. “This way. I scouted it out a fortnight ago.”

“Of course you did,” he laughed, and with another glance at the commotion, he let his bride pull him through the crowd, none paying all that much attention to them. He supposed that if her mother turned and found her gone, she would think Helaena had fled into the High Tower. There was no reason to think that she was running away, cutting down a narrow alley and over the canal bridge.

“Dreamfyre is waiting,” she told him as they ducked into a little space between buildings, barely big enough for the both of them. It hid them with a perfect view of the little gate, a lone guard looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. Jace didn’t see any sign of the Hightower emblem upon his armor. No, he wore the emblem of the city watch, and he was young, which meant he’d picked the short straw on the evening’s rotation.

“What do you mean, Dreamfyre is waiting? Ah, right, you dreamed this,” he chuckled softly, and preened when she reached up to stroke his beak again. She tutted at him and looked about, pressing her hand against his chest.

“Umbagon, Jacaerys,” she ordered in that voice she used to command Dreamfyre. It made him shudder and his toes curl in his boots, his cock twitching in anticipation from what that voice usually meant. ��How well she had him trained,’ he thought.

His violet eyes tracked her as she strode across the alley, the silver curls flowing down her back catching the light like starshine. Jace’s eyes narrowed when the guard perked up, the smile on his face meaning one thing, but then it faltered, his eyes widening at whatever she was saying to him. Jace had been prepared for this to be so much harder. Seven Hells, he’d been prepared to fight, prepared to draw blade and blood to get her out, to get them away.

Here he was, watching her back while Helaena had sent the guard scurrying away, holding onto his helmet as he was sent rushing further away from the party. She turned, a glowing thing in the torchlight, and beckoned him over. Laughter escaped him as he pulled the mask off, his curls catching a bit along the edges. He was finally able to see her with clear vision and he couldn’t help but indulge, grasping her by the back of the neck to pull her in for a proper kiss. Helaena laughed into his mouth, fingers cupping his cheeks as he tasted her, crowding her against the wall. They had to leave, he couldn’t get caught. It would be death if they were caught, but in the few moments they had, he would take them.

“Ao rystas,” he murmured, grinning.

Helaena beamed. “Ao rystas,” she returned the greeting and the sound of Dreamfyre’s call echoed across the hills outside the city, drawing both their gazes. “Hope Vermax can keep up,” she chuckled and together, they ran into the night.

His princess had surprised him by pulling a rucksack from beneath some bushes when they had hit the field, reminding him that she had dreamt of fleeing, and had prepared to. “I thought it would just be me,” she had explained as they flew over the sleeping, dark expanse of the Reach. “I dreamt that a raven came with news that would let me fly away.” She had kept a feather that had fallen from his mask in her hands, running her fingers over the inky blue-back edges of it. “I like it when those dreams come true.”

Vermax could keep up without a rider, although Jace couldn’t tell if it was because Dreamfyre was slowing down enough so they wouldn’t lose him, or if his weight really slowed his sweet boy down that much. It was one of her eggs that Vermax had come from, their bond strong as his and Helaena’s had grown.

In the beginning, Jace kept looking over his shoulder for the great bulk of Vhagar on their tails - for if anyone would be sent after them, it would be Aemond. Aemond who loathed the attention that Helaena bestowed on Jace. Aemond who loathed their betrothal. Aemond who did his mother’s bidding without question.

Jace wondered at that, for he knew it well. He wished nothing more than to make his mother proud. He wished for nothing more than to be a worthy successor to the throne, to be the King that the realm deserved. He had seen it in Aemond’s eyes when it came to Aegon, and he’d seen it when Aemond pinned him with a glare, swinging his sword against Ser Criston in the training yard.

Sometimes he wished he could tell Aemond that he could have it. He could have the lessons and the pressure, he could have the burden of legacy, the burden of his tarnished and whispered parentage on his own shoulders. Jace would give it up… he would give it up if it meant, in the end, he could still have Helaena, the two of them and their dragons living on the wind.

Aemond hungered in the way a dragon hungered for meat, for flesh, for everything. He couldn’t blame him. Jace thought he might feel that way as well, if he were in Aemond’s position. He wondered if Luke would feel that way some day. If his own brother would grow more angry and serious, chafing at the bonds of being the second son.

They needed only to rest once, ducking beneath the cloud cover to nestle in the forests that lined the borders of the Reach and the Crownlands. Vermax kept close, tired from flying so far back and forth. They watched him prowl through the forest, coming back with the corpse of a doe and licking his jaws over the bulk of it.

“I think he brought it to feed us,” Helaena murmured, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. Dreamfyre had already found her meal, several cows in the field nearby. Jace turned his head to nose against the crown of her silver head. She smelled like the sky. She smelled like the promise of rain and the musky scent of dragon, and still beneath, the bright scent of lemons clung to her hair.

“He’s been a good boy, flying as swiftly as he did.” His fingers plucked at the lacing of her gown and Helaena shifted, turning so he could get his other hand there to work at her gown. “He knew how hungry I was for you.”

Her pale skin glowed, barely illuminated by the tiny fire they dared to foster before them. The silk fluttered around her waist and he drew her into his lap. “Now you let me have you?” She grinned at him, impish and serene all at once. Helaena drew a moan from him as her fingers dove into his hair, tugging enough for him to feel it shoot straight to his cock as she tilted her head back. “For I am hungry too.”

They woke hours later, half dressed and tangled into one another. The fire died down but Vermax had come over in the passing of the night to curl his warm bulk against Jace’s back and keep the chill at bay. Helaena was already awake, staring up at the blanket of stars in the sky, her fingers stroking absently over his brow.

“We need to beat the dawn, for it shall burn away the shadows.”

With aching bones, Jace climbed up Dreamfyre, who let out a low grumble, and Helaena spoke to her in soothing, musical Valyrian, as if coaxing the dragon from her own dreams. Vermax was complaining like a child, but promptly quieted in response to Dreamfyre’s warning huff.

“We’re almost home, Dreamfyre,” Helaena reassured, and they took off into the sea of stars, racing to beat the dawn.

Hours passed, and Dreamfyre ducked beneath the clouds. The first thing that Jace registered is Vermax’s eager cry of joy and the responding sounds of dragon calls.

Dreamfyre let out her own call, and in the distance Jace could see two small dragons shoot up from seemingly nowhere.

It was Dragonstone, the black rock shooting up from the ocean and cutting through the early morning fog, the sun a blazing eye at the horizon. It was their ancestral seat, his ancestral seat, and they approached the shores, a dreamer and a someday king. Dragonstone, where he would take Helaena to the rocks and make her his wife, his future queen. Surrounded by the expanse of the Blackwater and the Narrow Sea, by dragons and by himself alone, Dragonstone was where he would keep her safe.

He would be a good prince, a good king, a good husband, and a better father. Jace pressed his mouth to the pulse in her throat and his arms tightened around her waist, fingers splayed possessively against her belly and he pulled her closer to him to keep her warm.

Her head turned, the wind pulling at her braids. Her smile was brighter than he’d ever seen and her eyes, his eyes, their eyes, met his. She was his hope, she was his future, she was his star chart coursing the way home across the seas.

“Welcome home, my dragon princess,” he murmured and she brushed her mouth against his, breathed in his exhale.

“Welcome home, my dragon prince.”

Vermax and Dreamfyre roared to greet the dawn.

I still am totally in love with this story and I hope you enjoyed it! I would absolutely love to hear what you think! If you want more Jacelaena, you can catch them in my Aegon x OC series The Maiden and the Drowning Boy, as well as some drabbles under my Jacelaena tag!

If you enjoyed this story, please reblog and spread the love!

#hotd fic #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #helaena targaryen #hotd helaena #jacelaena #jacaerys x helaena #jace x helaena #jacaerys fanfiction #helaena fanfic #my fics #hotd tag

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starsha-k-luna · 10 months ago

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I bet it was King Peppy who was up that tree & threw those undies down😁😂🤣

More from my AU where grandma didn’t get eaten. Yes, he works in a nursing home. And yes, he slays. ✨

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metalheads-trash-bin · 11 months ago

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Hello everyone! My name is Toby, I’m a beginner writer and love to make shit uber realistic for readers. Here’s all the info about my stuff!

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Key:

Ships

Notices

Warnings

Fandoms

Baseline importance

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So far I have three fanfics, a fourth is on the way.

All of my fics will be linked down below! They are wips, so please be patient. Each has their own schedule so make sure to read!

All fanfics will have nsfw, and I don’t mean the basic “stick penis in hole” shit. I mean detailed, loving, and non vanilla nsfw.

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TROLLS:

The first one is my all time fav: Fliff! It goes into Floyd’s trauma, his healing, and realistic dynamics between the characters. This fanfic will be updated twice a week, it used to be updated every day but that’s not survivable long term for me ^^

The second one is Breek! Creek is in no way infantilized in this fanfic. I look at things in a psychological aspect and make damn well sure he’s not babygirlified. This fic goes into Creek’s trauma, Branch’s trauma, allll the trauma, a bunch of healing, and a little bit of angst. It’s updated whenever I feel, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The third one is John Dory x Reader! In this it talks about JD’s trauma, some headcanons of his diagnostics, and a bunch of intimate stuff and heart to heart stuff. He is not glamorized in this fic, instead he’s recovering and in therapy. He also has a smallll teeny weeny alcohol issue, but he’s in therapy for that as well! The reader is a trans male, fat L if you can’t handle that. <3 It’s updated whenever I feel just like the Breek fic, but it won’t be abandoned or rarely touched!

The fics are interconnected, so if you see a ship or lore that’s in one of them, assume it’ll be mentioned or involved in the other!

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CREEPYPASTA:

I am currently working on ideas for a rework of a Jeff x reader fic I read. It had a really nice plot but the execution was absolutely horrendous + it was abandoned. I’ll type more info as I update!

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Where else you can contact me or see my content:

Insta: _.metalheads.trash.bin._

Twitter: _mhs_trash_bin_

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And with that…

!!Release the hounds!!

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TROLLS:

Summary:

Floyd is forced into therapy after Branch takes him to his annual checkup since he's staying with him.

Branch's reason for sending him being that he notices Floyd's facade of "being fine" and totally not traumatized even toward a doctor. This leads to him sitting in therapy, which in turn gives him homework. Whats the first assignment you ask?

Making friends besides your brothers and Poppy.

Who better than Barb, the queen of rock, as a starting point??

Summary:

It was the last few weeks of fall, Branch heading to the forest to get the final harvest for the season. There were rumors of an animal lurking around the farm, he didn't realize that that animal was a familiar face.

Summary:

You're a metal/rock troll starting a new life in Pop Village. During one of your bonding activities with Branch, you notice a large creature in the meadow.

Why not pay the owner a visit??

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CREEPYPASTA:

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PS. I have a shit ton of playlists on Spotify of ships, characters, and more! Check em out down below~

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Enjoy! <3

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scotianostra · 3 months ago

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On September 7th 1736, Captain Porteous was dragged from prison and lynched by an angry mob in Edinburgh.

I love when I can connect posts from previous days, if you remember this Thursdays post on Robert Fergusson birth date, in his poem The Daft Days, he mentions the ‘Black Banditti’ oh and the Aqua Vitae, is of course whisky!

And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae!

Wha sways the empire of this city,

When fou we’re sometimes capernoity,

Be thou prepar’d

To hedge us frae that black banditti,

The City Guard.

Captain John Porteous, was a Scottish soldier and Captain of the Edinburgh City or Town Guard, the old “police” force of auld reekie. The story of the unfortunate Porteous starts in January 1736 when three men, Andrew Wilson, William Hall and George Robertson, were charged with smuggling and attempting to rob Collector of Excise, James Stark at the Pittenween Inn, Fife.

All three men were initially faced with the Grassmarket gallows, though William Hall had his sentence revoked for returning King’s Evidence against his fellow conspirators. Judgment day for Andrew Wilson and George Robertson was set for 14 April. A few days before the execution date Robertson managed to escape his fate, leaving Wilson alone to face the hangman’s noose.

The following is from Edinburgh Poet, Allan Ramsay, (who I also mention on Thursday as Fergussons “muse”) for a first hand account of the events……..“

A true and faithfull account of the Hobleshaw [riot] that happened in Edinburgh, Wednesday, the 14th of Aprile 1736 at the hanging of Wilson, housebreaker.

On the Sunday preceeding viz the 11th, the two condemn’d criminalls Wilson and Robertson were taken as usual by four sogers [soldiers] out of prison to hear their last sermon and were but a few minutes in their station in the Kirk when Wilson who was a very strong fellow took Robertson by the head band of his breeks and threw him out of the seat, held a soger fast in each hand and one of them with his teeth, while Robertson got over and throw the pews, push’d o'er the elder and plate at the door, made his escape throw the Parliament Close down the back staire, got out of the Poteraw [Potterrow] Port before it was shut, the mob making way and assisting him, got friends, money and a swift horse and fairly got off nae mair to be heard of or seen. This made them take a closer care of Wilson who had the best character of them all (til his foly made him seek reprisals at his own hand), which had gaind him so much pity as to raise a report that a great mob would rise on his execution day to relieve him, which noise put our Magistrates on their guard and maybe made some of them unco flayd [unusually afraid] as was evidenced by their inviting in 150 of the Regement that lys [lies] in Cannongate, who were all drawn up in the Lawn Market, while the criminal was conducted to the tree by Captain Porteous and a strong party of the City Guard. All was hush, Psalms sung, prayers put up for a long hour and upwards and the man hang’d with all decency & quietnes. After he was cut down and the guard drawing up to go off, some unlucky boys threw a stone or two at the hangman, which is very common, on which the brutal Porteous (who it seems had ordered his party to load their guns with ball) let drive first himself amongst the inocent mob and commanded his men to folow his example which quickly cleansed the street but left three men, a boy and a woman dead upon the spot, besides several others wounded, some of whom are dead since. After this first fire he took it in his head when half up the Bow to order annother voly & kill’d a taylor in a window three storys high, a young gentleman & a son of Mr Matheson the minister’s and several more were dangerously wounded and all this from no more provocation than what I told you before, the throwing of a stone or two that hurt no body. Believe this to be true, for I was ane eye witness and within a yard or two of being shot as I sat with some gentlemen in a stabler’s window oposite to the Galows. After this the crazy brute march’d with his ragamuffins to the Guard, as if he had done nothing worth noticing but was not long there till the hue and cry rose from them that had lost friends & servants, demanding justice. He was taken before the Councill, where there were aboundance of witnesses to fix the guilt upon him. The uproar of a mob encreased with the loudest din that ever was heard and would have torn him, Council and Guard all in pices [pieces], if the Magistrates had not sent him to the Tolbooth by a strong party and told them he should be tried for his life, which gave them some sattisfaction and sent them quietly home. I could have acted more discreetly had I been in Porteous’s place.”

A total of 9 were reported to have been killed and at least 20 wounded by the City Guard. Porteous was arrested the same afternoon and charged with murder. He was tried at the High Court of Justiciary on 5 July 1736. There was no shortage of enthusiastic witnesses to testify against Porteous’ actions. The jury, no doubt spurred on by the mob gathered outside, did not hesitate in finding him guilty, and he was sentenced to hang on September 8th.

When the news reached London, Prime Minister, Sir Robert Walpole managed to secure Porteous a Royal Pardon. Porteous was still being held at the Tolbooth, the history is a bit vague about why, I surmise it may have been for his own safety, as there is mention of the guards being increased at the old gaol leading up to the day in question.

A 4,000 strong mob took to the streets of Edinburgh. A total lockdown was ordered by the City Guard and all gates, including the Netherbow Port were closed – shutting out many troops stationed outside of the town. The enraged mob made their way to the prison and set the doors ablaze, Porteous attempted to flee but was eventually grabbed by force and dragged up the Lawnmarket, then down along the West Bow towards the Grassmarket where Andrew Wilson had met his end. Porteous was strung up on a dyer’s pole and brutally lynched until he ceased to move. The government would later declare a reward of £200 for any information of those responsible for Captain Porteous’ murder, but none of those guilty would ever be found.

Sir Walter Scott’s famous novel The Heart of Midlothian written in 1818 would later recall the events in great detail.

If visiting Edinburgh and you find yourself in Greyfriars Kirkyard you can find Captain Porteous’s grave is towards the west wall, once a year the re-enactors of the Town Guard pay “respects” to the man there.

The pics are "The Porteous Mob" by James Drummond, The Porteous Riots, A Scene from the Heart of the Midlothian by James Skene and The Porteous Mob by Stanley Cursiter.

You can find a contemporary account of the Porteous affair here from the excellent Newgate Calendar https://www.exclassics.com/newgate/ng187.htm

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #Riot #Lynching

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elfdragon12 · 6 months ago

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I've been listening to some of the original Conan the Barbarian stories by Robert E Howard. Besides the fact that I have yet to hear that he's wearing a loincloth like he's commonly depicted wearing (he's often described wearing mail, least I've heard him wearing was a pair of leather breeks), the racism really took me by surprise.

Sure, none of the races are described in a particularly flattering way and Howard often mentioned skin color, I have yet to hear any black characters referred to by anything other than their skin color. He literally used the N word in Hour of the Dragon at least twice (though he apparently saved the hard r for his personal letters), and, in Queen of the Black Coast, he described Conan almost mistaking one of the only (maybe only?) named black crewmen who had gone mad for a gorilla. 95% sure the titular Black Coast was named for the people and not geological features or metaphors. While I don't like to lean too into "guilt by association" as his former girlfriend didn't seem to share his same views, but... He was writing buddies with HP Lovecraft, too.

Besides all that, he also seemed to really like the word "supple". You could possibly make it a drinking game. Take every female character and drink each time he called them supple.

Probably better to explore Conan via the comics or the stories not written by Howard. He's been dead since 1936 and had no children, so it's not like he's receiving any royalties. The only people profiting off of Conan is a corporation barely clinging onto the copyright through loopholes with manuscripts Howard hadn't published in his lifetime.

#Personal #tw racism

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kkpaaw · 7 months ago

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In addition to this. It travels all through the movies so Branch during each movies is just carrying around an egg from that one night stand. I'm not sure if Branch and Poppy would get together in this au due to Breek but she would still be a form of support once he eventually tells her. Will Creek still be a traitor in this au? I dunno I haven't thought about that

Imagine how shocked his bros would be to know their youngest brother (who they kept treating like a baby) IS having a baby

Fuckin, Pre Trolls 1 au where Branch and Creek have a one night stand, don't know HOW it happens, but it does and It ends with Branch being with egg and the au is just him struggling with the realization that he's going to have Creeks kid, struggle to care for the egg and tryna figure out how to handle his and Creeks still sour, but now kinda awkward relationship whiel also battling his own issues in the process. angst with some heartwarming moments and BREEK (my beloved)

#kkpaaw #kkpaaw talks #kkpaaw speaks #dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls dreamworks #trolls 1 #breek #trolls breek #breek trolls #branch trolls #trolls branch #trolls creek #creek trolls #trolls branch angst #trolls au #trolls world tour #trolls band together #since i did mention them in this

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trollsautisms · 11 months ago

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breek! breeekkk… aughh… quite possibly the worst ship to like ever. Not to mention allthe fan content is from 7 years ago COME BACK TO ME BREEK ARTISTS

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seblaine-rph · 2 years ago

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what happened at bear breek?

Buckle up, tiger, you're in for a long and bumpy ride. I assume you mean Bear Creek, but typos are welcome here. I got a few DMs from people asking me to help them sort out what had happened, one person with autism who just had no idea what was going on and a few others that thought they knew 100% what had happened and it was not a good thing.

We'll begin by mentioning another group entirely, because it's relevant. You may or may not have noticed another D/s rp in the Glee tags. I was shown a post that popped up in the Glee rp tag right after that rp opened that was basically saying that they don't like D/s rps so nobody should have a D/s rp. This was probably because this individual has no idea what D/s really is. On that post was a like from one of the admins of Bear Creek. There are also comments of people saying that they feel ostracized and bullied, because really there's no reason to make a post that's being rude to a whole group of people and then tag it for them to find. Post what you want on your own blog, you're free to do that, but you're also free to suffer the consequences, and that includes making people feel bullied. If you wanted your friends to see how you felt, or you wanted to memorialize how you felt, there was still no reason to tag it other than to make sure that people saw it and got upset by it. The point was to make people feel like they don't belong. Liking that post means you would also like people to feel like they don't belong.

It's as easy as blocking their main and moving on, people. If it's not for you, it's not for you. It's not hurting anyone by existing, but you are hurting people with your actions.

So from there, someone that helps keep the details up to date on the main of that D/s rp applied to Bear Creek and accidentally applied on the main. Before applying, he sent a message stating the cold, hard facts. He wanted to apply but he had come home later than expected and it was only a few minutes after acceptances were over, he didn't want to have to wait to be accepted (because it's the weekend, you only get two weekend days so if you have to waste a whole day waiting to be accepted… you only get one day of rp before you have to go back to work), so his current goal was to find an rp that he could start writing in that night. They said they would try, and that he should hurry up and apply. Mind you, this isn't an appless rp. This app includes a bio section and a large family info section. I looked at it and it's a lot for me, I assume from what I was told that it was an even harder app for him to get through, especially rushing on an original character he just made and has never played. Mind you, I’m not assuming he had a harder time because he’s autistic. I’m assuming he had a harder time because he said as much to me when he asked me for help navigating this situation. Everything I say is based on his experience, and the experiences of other people that were at Bear Creek and left because of this.

After applying, he put together that it was an admin of that rp that had liked the post that made him feel like he was supposed to just stop writing. He already felt like he wouldn't be accepted because he was in a D/s rp and the admin clearly did not want him to exist in the community. He was told that if he wrote up an app quickly, he might be accepted that night. He was not, they told him to wait for tomorrow. They did that super cute thing that admins who don't like people with disabilities do where they didn't even put him on the app count like everyone else. They told him to apply and then didn't even acknowledge his existence. He told them he was eager to get started and would wait, then sent in his account and an update on his app so that he could get in and started asap. Tomorrow came and they didn't add him to the app count. They never sent him any messages. He waited all day until acceptance time at 8pm and no acceptances were posted until 8:55pm, which is five minutes before acceptances end so if he wanted to reapply and try to get accepted that night, he could not. Other posts were made during the acceptance hour, but the acceptances waited until the very last minute, as if to purposefully exclude him again. They gave two existing players two more characters. They said nothing to him.

So he messaged to ask what the problem was, sure that it was because the admin didn't like him just because he also writes D/s rp. Mind you, I already said he is autistic. I already said these people don't understand D/s. Yes, it can be smutty but so can any other rp. Consider the truth of D/s outside of the lines of D/s. You have some people who need control to survive. You have some people who need someone else to be in control. This is how these people function and survive. Some people need both. When their needs are not met, they might feel a little jumbled up inside. A D/s relationship can be as simple as one person makes the rules for the other person and makes sure they're doing everything that they need to do. Many people who do D/s are asexual or completely do not have any sex or sexual contact, ever. Do we see why an autistic person might be attracted to that concept? Especially when there are so few other options in the tags?

Glee rp is very unique. Why would someone want to write Glee characters in a D/s setting? Why do you write Glee characters still? Is this not where you feel comfortable? Don't you have a truck load of headcanons for even the smallest characters on the show? Have you been writing in this specific community for years and come to feel comfortable with the formatting and community? So why don't these people get to do the same? Sometimes, adults want to write adult content. It happens in almost every rp. Even regular Glee rps. If it's not causing you or anyone else any harm, you don't get to dictate what other people do.

What he was told was that they didn't like "the tone" of his anon, which they of course assumed was him and punished him for it even though they got two other apps in so it could have been someone else but you know, semantics. What these people (I won't say admins, because this is not how admins behave) do not understand is that symptoms of autism include a different tone than other people. Bluntness. Stating the facts, cold and hard. You didn't even ask him if he meant to be rude. You didn't even tell him he wasn't accepted and why. You just excluded him completely in multiple ways, "because of his tone." Which is only there because he has autism. Do you have any idea how bad you've made someone feel?

For what? I don't even think it was about the tone, if we're honest. I think it was because they didn't want to accept someone that was also in a group they didn't like the plot of. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He's not writing slave rp or whitewashing. He even found out his fc was nonbinary after he applied and made sure to fix that with you guys. He did everything right and in my option, Bear Creek excluded him because of the D/s rp and then accidentally said they kicked him out because he's autistic without knowing that they were saying that. They were trying to do damage control before something like this happened, but they chose an even worse option. But that's only because they really had nothing to exclude him for. He wrote a good app, I read it. He asked before he applied so he could get the answers he wanted, instead of throwing a fit when he applied and had to wait, which he could have done instead. Instead of clarifying if they might still do acceptances tonight because he wanted to rp tonight, he could have just applied and then harassed them all night long when they didn't accept him.

And I'm onto you, I see you. If you didn't like the tone of the anon, you would have said so when you answered that anon instead of telling him to apply. You would have said something when you DMed with him after he applied. You would have put him on the app count. You did none of those things, even though he did all of the right things and kept in contact with you to make sure things were good. So it's not the anon, let's make that clear. It's that you don't want to allow someone that writes something different than you write into your rp. To play devil's advocate, if it was the anon, you still didn't put him on the app count and that kind of exclusion is obvious. It's exactly what people did to Amanda all of the time, right up until she quit writing Glee because of it. Because of this kind of treatment, she left the community as far as I'm aware. When you have an app count and everyone goes on it, it's obvious that you're being petty and weird when you don't put someone on it. Especially someone with autism.

This really rubbed me wrong. It's the only drama in my inbox at least, but it still astounds me that even with only 3-4 groups in the tags… we still have bullies here that want to create a tier system of who is allowed to be a Gleek and who is not allowed to be a Gleek. For a show that's all about "losers" being bullied and how bad it feels to be left out, we sure do like to treat people like they're losers for the stupidest things. If I open up a supernatural town rp, am I going to be next? Will people who don't rp supernatural stuff start excluding me too? What if I told you that I'm dyslexic? Are you going to not accept me into your rp because I accidentally write pr instead of rp sometimes? Whether the real reason to not accept him was his autism or the fact that he rps D/s, it's still wrong to me. It's silly.

And they know it's wrong, they know they were wrong, because they didn't even post the unfollows for the people who left because they heard about this. They're pretending that this never even happened. And they set themselves up to be able to do just that, when they didn't put him on the app count.

#glee rp #glee rph #sebastian answers

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gigglealongshiney-shadow-watcher · 6 months ago

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Meanwhile, at the beginning of the grounding.

Marceggle pulled themself out from under the bed and hopped onto the computer.

-what did 13 year olds like-

The answers didn't sound like anything Opal had mentioned, or anything interesting. They tried something else.

-what did 13 year olds like in 2010-

Still barely anything useful.

-what did kids like in 2010-

+Musical.ly +One Direction +Nintendo Wii +Scooby do fruit snacks +Super Mario Odyssey +Minecraft +Undertale +Barbies +Disney Channel

Well, that's a start. But when they looked into some of it, it wouldn't be anything they could show to Opal.

-how to make a kid happy-

-cheer up children and get them to listen to you-

-Violent games that are not always violent-

-Games with blood that are not ass-

Hmm... They had to think about this like a child would. Marceggle channeled their best impression of a small child looking for something cool. They started writing things down.

-adult games without sex-

-games for people who like singing-

-dancing games-

-what makes me happy-

-cool games with a mature storyline-

-funny vindeo games for adults-

-cute animal games-

Now things were moving! Marceggle kept a list going and tried to come up with other things to entertain themself. They'd never really used something like this before. They were an expert with Tnoy's tech, not human tech. They got...a bit sucked into it all.

-what to do when borred-

-how to use internet correctly when you've only watched humans use it before they die-

-people dying on camera-

-murdering people-

-why are all these pages wrong about how to properly kill a man-

-what is liveleak-

-liveleak people dying-

-what is reddit-

-reddit liveleak people dying-

-what is a watchlist-

-how to delete searches so friend doesnt see them-

-what are fun things to do when trapped-

-how to find machine parts-

-best machinery shops-

-can you order parts to a pocket dimension-

-how do I leave a room without doors or windows-

-how do I leave a room without doors to the outside or windows-

-do god holes have human shipping addresses-

-god hole-

-god's hole-

-how to delete searches-

-clockmakers in my area-

-clock makkrs not in area-

-Bathroom supplies with alcohol-

-how to build a portal-

-easy rituals for having fun-

-rituals for kids-

-rituals for adults-

-Wikka practices-

-how to summon a party demon-

-how to send back parrr denon brfere kid waes up-

-which religions are true and how do they work with the Lords in Black-

-what are different religions called in sniggle talk-

-witchcraft for Satyrs-

-am I a witch if I am not a human or a woman-

-am I warlock if i am nota human or a man-

-hot sniggles in my area-

-why are there so many hot women in what is i think the void-

-are hot women viruses-

-is it a pocket house room or a void house room the differences-

-The Goat man of Hatchetfield island where to find-

-I cant summon my god help-

-how to summon god when in other gods territory-

-how to rip out walls to destroy ribbon magic-

-how do I breek god curse-

-summoning Tinky juice/alcohol/booze/wine/drink/taster-

-Tinky Winky-

-how to unsee horrors-

-things 8 year olds like-

-why are 8 years olds stupid-

-things 8 year olds 5 years ago liked-

-how to make kid stop screaming-

-kid in pain what do-

-how to soothe kid in mental pain-

-what do you do to make a kid eat-

-how long does it take for kids to sleep-

-formerly possessed children interests-

-is my kid still possessed by a god if they hate that god-

-how to build a nintendo-

-why are humans stupid-

-how do I make candy without ingredients-

-am i stupid-

-Why do i only need answers to things when i am looking up other things and i remember answers after i search-

-internet rabbit hole-

-how to convince someone of violence-

-what is a rizz-

-teenager slang-

-how to delete webcites-

-rabbit hole starters-

-what is anime-

-how to watch anime with big guns and swords-

-free anime-

-free anime without porn-

-is satyr porn a thing-

-how to keep kid from seeing porn i want to watch-

-what is a private window-

-how to hide private windows-

-youtube video how to cheer up kid in a windowless room-

-how to make youtube account-

-email-

-easy ways to encourage violence-

-music playlists-

-how to download music to phone-

-how to open friends phone without password-

-how to delete searches-

-steam sales are not changing properly because we are not in a specific timeline-

-how to set computer date and time-

-best steam deals-

-what is a visual novel-

-best visual novels-

-how do I make friend happy without alcohol-

-how to be a good friend to child-

-how to be a not lame friend to child-

-what do bugs like-

-bug activities-

#hatchetblr #opal singer #marceggle #grounded event #did i look a bunch of these up yes i did #but many I obviously did not

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jiubilant · 2 years ago

Text

cw: brief blood mention

The city Bromjunaar, bright crown of old Keizaal, has sat abandoned for a thousand years. The wind scratches like a rat through its maze of crumbling walls, skittering through rubble, gnawing the nose of the mage struggling up its frozen steps. He scrunches it.

Then he leans heavily on his staff, breathing hard, and stares. The ruin is dotted with tents. Unless he is seeing double—and he won’t, he thinks wearily, rule it out—he counts several figures, cloaked and cowled, poring over a fallen bas-relief.

They must not, the mage thinks, know the meaning of the word abandoned. Or dangerous. He cups a hand around his mouth. “Hello?”

The figures jump. A young man with the patchy beginnings of a beard spots him, starts, then scrambles down to him over the scree—looking for all the world, the mage thinks, like a disgruntled goat. The fuzz on his chin has frozen into a point.

“Who goes there?” the boy demands, scowling. His voice cracks, bless him. “Stop where you are. You’re—you’re intruding on College business.”

Baa-siness, thinks the mage, then chides himself. They had warned him in the village that the mountain air would make him thick. He’d only half-believed them; now he can’t get his breath, and his vision is starting to swim, and he’s making goat puns. “College business?”

The young man folds his arms. “College business.”

Surely not, thinks the mage. Bright spots dance like witchfires across his eyes. He squeezes them shut, then opens them again, half-worried that the boy might vanish with the lights; surely Mirabelle had not sent a pack of prentices to undergo the most perilous trial known to wizardry, no matter how dire the circumstances—

“My friends—my colleagues and I,” the boy continues, blushing at the slip, “are conducting field research. The Archmage knows all about it. Um.” The points of his ears flush red. “This site is full of ancient tr—uh, artifacts of, of historical interest, and we—are you all right?”

The mage, with scholarly eloquence, says, “Nuh.”

He sways like a metronome. Then there is a steadying hand at his elbow, and another at his back, and a startled little laugh—strangely familiar, the mage thinks, and less like a bleat than he had expected—easing him down, all together, on a jut of stone.

“Altitude,” the boy says sagely. “Or you’re timesick. Here, sera, sip this.”

He thrusts a flask at the mage, who takes it in numb hands. Mirabelle, he thinks, did not send these students. They must have set out on their expedition—unsanctioned, the mage does not doubt—long before things on campus went bad. Savos Aren’s amulet, cold as the man who once wore it, hangs heavy as a millstone from his neck.

He clutches the flask. He stares at this boy too young to grow his beard, who doesn’t know about the Archmage, or Ancano, or the Eye.

“—can’t hurt to tell you what we’re up to, I suppose,” the boy is saying, oblivious. “In a few weeks, we’ll all be famous. Well, go on.” He straightens, dusting the snow from his breeks, and crunches backwards through the rising drifts. “Ask me why we’re here.”

The mage stares at him. The boy, or perhaps the mountain, rocks gently to one side.

“Why,” he rasps, the words thick and slow, “are you—”

The boy, with a grin and a grand flourish, throws out his arms as if to embrace the rubble. “This is the site”—he raises his voice over the frigid howl of wind and snow—“of a temporal singularity!”

The mage’s ears are ringing. He tries to look interested. “A temp—ah, temporal—”

“Years ago,” says the boy, bright-eyed, “a dragon-priest of Bromjunaar meddled with chronology, hoping to create a space outside of time in which to stash his treasures. There’s no record of whether he succeeded. Maybe he did. Maybe his pocket-realm can still be unlocked, if you have the key—not that anyone, to my knowledge, does.” He crunches back and forth like a scholar pacing behind a lectern. “Though we were supposed to meet a Breton fellow here, a scholar, who was excited about a sonaak mask he bought from some antiquary. But he’s a week late. We won’t wait much longer for him before going in.”

The mage’s face sharpens. He sits up straighter, ignoring the nausea that rolls in his stomach like a stone. “Going—”

“In any case,” the young man continues, unheeding, “time was broken here, once, and the cracks remain. Things slip through. It’s not unprecedented. You’ve surely heard of the Second Numidian Effect—”

He stops. An odd look crosses his face.

He’s staring, the mage realizes with strange unease, at Savos’s amulet.

“Things slip through,” the boy murmurs again, half to himself. “Um.”

And he draws, from the folds of his scarf, the same amulet.

The mage stares at it. He fumbles a hand to his own talisman, cold and heavy and there—around his neck, yes, but around the boy’s neck, too—

“Are you from the future?” The boy’s voice is soft. His eyes, red and watery with the cold, are wide as coals. “Are you—are you me?”

Not real, thinks the mage. Not real. But the boy, he remembers, had touched him.

He swallows a hysterical laugh. “I’m not you.”

“Oh.” The boy’s face falls. Then it fills again with wonder, hesitant and trembling, like a half-tame animal. “Are we—friends?”

The mage stares at him. He thinks, as the wind cuts their faces, of the man that this boy will become—twisted in the snow, blank-eyed, beard bloody.

“You saved—” His throat closes. He clears it. Smiles, somehow. “Saved my life.”

The boy’s eyes gleam. “Really?”

“Savos!” One of the other apprentices, little more than a speck on a high wall, waves down at them. Her dark curls fly in the wind. “Sav! Hurry up!”

Savos Aren jumps. Turns around.

“Atmah,” he calls back, his face wild with delight, “you’re not going to believe—”

He vanishes. The girl vanishes.

The mage stares, unblinking, as the snow whirls through the space where they had stood.

“Not real,” he says to the wind, the ice, the frozen stones.

Then he blinks down at the flask, capped with a cork, still clutched in his cold hand.

#skyrim #college of winterhold #microfic #oc tag #ravi

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its--fandom--darling · 4 years ago

Text

I Touch Myself

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Fem!Reader

Song Prompt: I Touch Myself by Divinyls

Rating: NSFW (p in v sex, mentions of masturbation, both f & m, car sex, breeking kink, captian kink, sex at work, sexting, mentions of IVF treatments creampies)

This is based off a conversation that I had with a friend of mine and I hope you guys like it!

“You're the one who makes me come running, You're the sun who makes me shine, When you're around I'm always laughing, I wanna make you mine”

Today was one of the rare days that Sy had to come to the base, paperwork needed to filed and he was way behind. He hated to leave you, all whacked out on IVF hormones that had you crying one minute and dropping your panties the next. Sy wasn’t complaining, he’d willingly weather all your moods stone faced if it meant that you got to fulfill your dream of being a momma. He filled out a another report as his cellphone buzzed across the desk slightly. He picked it up, seeing a message from you, he unlocked his phone and nearly broke his phone at the sight before him. Front and center on the screen of his Iphone was a close up of picture of you in his favorite panties of yours with a big wet spot.

Come home, Captain.

The message beckoned you home and Sy scrubbed down over his face as his dick twitched in his fatigues.

“Fuck,” he grumbles as the next text came through.

I’m Ovulating, please

Come put a baby in me

This test is accompanied by a screenshot of your ovulation track app, clearly labeling your risk of pregnancy high for the day.

He dropped a hand to palm at his growing bulge through his pants.

The next picture that came through was a shot of your fingers sticky with your slick and he has to bite back the moan that threatens to spill from his lips as his cock quickly stood at full attention. Finally he texts back.

Sorry, Bug, I’m workin

A picture of your lips set in a pout comes through framed with your tits pressed together teasingly and he swears he almost blows his load in his pants. He glances at the clock and figures that it’s close enough to noon that he can take a reasonable lunch break. He grabs the brown paper sack that you packed for him this morning and heads towards the parking lot with the bag held just so to preserve his honor. Climbing into the truck, he thanks God that he’d paid extra for tinted windows before whipping his dick out and giving it a few quick pumps before resting the head of it against his steering wheel. His cheeks burn as he does his best to take a picture one hands, cursing his thick fingers as he fumbles with the phone. Finally, he gets a decent one and sends it back to you.

Ya killin me, Bug

He pumps his fist over the cup and tries not to think about the last time he jacked off at the fertility center. The cold, sterile room and bad porn they supplied made It difficult to concentrate, if only he’d had these pictures then, he’d have been in and out in no time. The sharp ring of his phone tears him from his thoughts, he fumbles around console for a minute trying to find the phone before anything it.

“Hello?”

“Syyyy,” you whine, “Please come home. I need you,” you beg, your voice small and needy.

His dick twitches in his fist. “Bug, I can’t leave! It’s the middle of the day, I had to take an early lunch break just to send you that pic.”

You whine, slightly and then the line goes silent. “How long is your lunch break?”

Sy furrows his brow. “As long as an hour, why d’ya, Bug?”

“Because I can be there in 20 minutes, baby,” you giggle.

“Fuck, that’d only leave us with about 25 minutes,” he murmurs, calculating the math in his head.

“You telling me you can’t put a baby in me in 25 minutes? Jeez, you are getting old.”

Sy grits his teeth, fully aware of what game your playing. “Get that sweet ass of yours down here and I’ll show you what your “old man” can do.”

You smile, “I’m counting on it, see you in 20.”

“See ya in 20, Bug,” he grunts, tightening his fist around his cock.

“Don’t you dare cum, Syverson,” you order, before the line goes dead.

Sy tucks himself back into his pants and tries his mind off his aching cock as he eats the lunch that you packed for him this morning.

Finally, your white SUV pulls into the lot next to his. He groans and snaps his pants up before sliding out his truck and climbing into your car. The door is barely shut before your hands are twisted in his white t-shirt and your lips are on his. He groans against your lips and brings his big hands up to cup your cheeks.

“Bug, take it easy. I’m gonna take good care of ya,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly as you part from him panting. “Get in the backseat, Bug,” he orders, his captain voice coming out slightly. You shiver and crawl of the console to settle yourself across the back end of the SUV. He looks back and groans at you. His wife is a fuckin genius to think about putting all the seats down before coming to fuck him at his place of work, how’d he get so fuckin lucky. He gets out of the car and opens the back door, calmy climbing in and shutting the door behind him. He turns his eyes to you and he rakes his darkened eyes over your phone.

“Fuck, Bug, you look so good when you’re desperate for me.”

You whimper and pull your dress up and spread your legs. “Please, Sy,” you whine, slipping your fingers down to rub at the growing wet spot that is sticky against your panties.

Sy tsks, “Pretty girl, you eager for me?” He unsnaps his pants again and takes his cock out.

You moan and drops your head back against the cushioning of the seat. “Alexander Syverson, if you don’t fuck me. I’m gonna kick you out of this car, dick flapping in the breeze for your coworkers to see,” you growl.

He chuckles and pushes his pants further down his thick thighs, before slipping between your legs. “Now, now, no need for that. I’ve got ya, Bug,” he murmurs, tugging your panties to the side. He rubs the fat head of his cock through your sopping folds once, twice, listening to your mewls as you beg him to push inside you. Finally, he does and you keen loudly, wrapping your legs around him.

You chant his name as he rocks into you, faster and faster as he winds himself closer to climax.

His muffles his grunts against the soft skin of your neck as he presses kisses there. “So fuckin’ wet for me, darlin’, were you thinking about me earlier, hmm? Touching yourself as you pictured me fillin you up with my seed, with my child? Hmm, you’re such a desperate little slut that you couldn’t wait for me to come to fuck a baby into you, so eager to all round with my baby aren’t you.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you chants, clinging to his shoulders for dear life, your eye clenched together as you gasped. You arch into his chest when he reaches down to thumb at your clit.

“I’m gonna cum, Bug, can you cum with me?” he asks, pressing wet kisses under your ear.

You tighten your legs around him as your pussy clenches as your orgasm crests, waves of pleasure washing over you as you feel Sy pump his hot spend deep into your womb. You lift your head and press a kiss to his panting lips. “Thank you,” you giggle, sleepily.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “My pleasure, Bug,” he murmurs, pulling you onto your side but remaining nestled inside you for the moment. “What time is it, Bug?”

You look over his arm, squinting at the clock on the dash. “12:30”

�� Sy smiles, “that leaves us about 10 minutes for whatever you want.”

You smile at him and run hand down the side of his face. “Just hold me,” you whisper, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

“Can do, baby,” he says, rubbing your back.

Your dress sticks to your sweaty back but you can’t be bothered to care as you chew on the inside of your lip. “Do you think this one stuck?”

Sy sighs slightly, “I don’t know, but if it didn’t we’ll keep trying and if that doesn’t work, we’ll figure something out.”

“And if it did?” you ask, hope lacing your voice.

“If it did, we better think of a better conception story because I’m taking this to the grave.

You let out a small laugh and shake your head at him. “I love you, Sy.”

“I love you too, (y/n/n),” he says, kissing your lips softly.

You smile against his lips and then roll your torso away from him. “Alright, get yourself together. I know you’ve gotta get back to work.”

“I’ll be home by no later than six and we’ll go again alright? I’ll do my damnedest to put a baby in ya,” he murmurs, slipping out of you slowly as not to disrupt things and pulls your panties back over your cunt, patting it gently. “You better be careful on the ride home, you’re carrying precious cargo.”

You groan and cover your face as he gets himself sorted. “You’re disgusting!”

He chuckles and leans forward to pry your hands from your face. “Maybe, but you married me.”

You roll your eyes and smile at him. “Yeah, I did. Now go, before you get yourself in trouble. I’ll see you at home. I’m making chicken for dinner, does that sound alright?”

He nods, “Anything you make is good with me. I’m planning on having dessert first anyhow.” He shoots a wink at you as you groan once more and then slips from the backseat. You sit up slowly, whimpering at the feeling of his release start to seep out and settle against your panties. You press a short kiss to his lips and watch him grab his phone from his truck before he heads back towards the building.

You gingerly climb out of the backseat and back into the drivers seat and headed home fully sated for the time being and looking forward to the night ahead of you.

Tagging:

@angryschnauzer @littlefreya @persephone-is-here-omg @salimahbicharara-comun @soldatsaleannan @connieisland @maizyistrash @feralrunaway @foodieforthoughts @henrythickcavill @madbaddic7ed @hell1129-blog @beck07990 @raspberrydreamclouds @cavillryarchive @hoeforhenry @hope-to-hell @inlovewithhisblueeyes @summersong69 @oddsnendsfanfics @asylummara @iloveyouyen @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @viking-raider @dancingwendigo @whyyykitkat @gearhead66 @mary-ann84 @geralt-of-baevia

#captain syverson x fem!reader #day29 #SongsforSy #SMUT

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years ago

Note

Mod Lenny, I keep re-reading part 4 of The High Road and the Low Road hopeful for part 5. Is it coming soon? Thanks for writing!

The High Road and the Low Road - Part Five

After learning the truth from Claire, a furious Brianna runs to Craig na Dun to prove her mother’s crazy only to fall through the stones herself.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

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Young Ian looked smug about something. Jamie knew that was rarely a good sign. Having sufficiently scolded his nephew – who hadn’t even bothered to lie or twist the truth about having absconded from Lallybroch without his parents’ knowledge – Jamit turned his attention to the lass Young Ian had brought with him.

She looked petrified, poor thing. Who was she and what had Young Ian told her as he brought her here? Why had he brought her here? No doubt part of her open-mouthed fear had to do with the yelling Jamie had just done in front of her.

“Apologies, lass,” Jamie said, bowing his head in her direction. “I ought not to have carried on so in front of ye. I’m Alexander malcolm and–”

“I already told her that’s no yer name, Uncle,” Young Ian confessed.

“Iffrin,” Jamie muttered under his breath.

The lass continued to watch him carefully. I unnerved him, her gaze. There was something familiar about her… He must know some of her people – her father or a sibling perhaps.

“Ian says yer name is Brianna?” The name felt awkward in his mouth.

“Brianna,” she confirmed but with a different emphasis, a different accent. Her voice was quiet and unsteady.

“I met her on the road from Lallybroch,” Young Ian explained. “She was lost and I told her I’d help her find her way to Inverness on my way back. I told her ye’d be fine wi’ her stayin’ wi’ us as I couldna leave her to fend for herself.”

Jamie kept his face controlled, motionless as he fought the urge to wring his nephew’s neck. His rented rooms were small and cramped and he felt no guilt making Young Ian sleep on the floor when he ran away like this – just part of his punishment really. But he couldn’t let the lass sleep so rough. What had possessed the lad to make such an offer?

“Ye’re lost then?” Jamie asked, turning to Brianna, hoping her plight would help to calm and refocus him.

But she only nodded, still too nervous or frightened to speak.

“Well, Ian’s right – I’ll no turn ye away do ye need a safe place, but it’s no the lap of luxury.”

All he got was another nod.

Jamie sighed and reached past the shrinking girl to take Young Ian by the shoulder and pull him toward the back of the shop. “A word,” he demanded.

“Where did ys find the lass?” he asked under his breath, his eyes drifting to watch her as she relaxed a little and began to look around the shop.

“It was near the fairy hill,” Young Ian explained quietly. “Craig na Dun.”

A chill went up Jamie’s spine at the mention of that dreaded place. Perhaps the lass – like Claire – had been ripped from all that she knew and was truly lost the way Young Ian said… Had she confided in his nephew? Would she need more help than the lad kent to offer?

“And ye say she’s on her way back to Inverness?” Jamie raised an eyebrow at Young Ian who tried his best to look insulted.

“Tha’s where she asked to be taken,” he explained.

“And so she will be,” Jamie nodded. “Because I’m going to see here there with ye.” (With a stop at the stones if it pleased the lass.) “Then I’m takin’ ye all the way home to Lallybroch.”

Young Ian’s face fell at the prospect.

“But Da’s likely on his way to fetch me as it is and ye cannae afford to take the time away,” the lad objected. “Really, it would help you and them back home more did ye convince Da to let me stay here and work wi’ ye.”

“I’m no interested in an apprentice as doesna do as he’s told,” Jamie countered. “Stop runnin’ away, help yer mam and da for a year wi’out complaint and then we’ll see if ye’re a fair prospect for me to take on. Now, we’ll leave tomorrow if I can manage the arrangements this afternoon. Day after if it takes longer to settle. And whatever this costs me in business, ye’ll be makin’ up to me should I desire to hire ye in future.” Jamie pointed a finger at an increasingly dejected Young Ian before turning to the lass to tell her the plan.

She was standing Looking over the copy of Pamela from the shelf of popular titles he stocked for patrons to examine. And she was. There was an amazement and reverence to how she held the book, a care to how she turned the pages, a curiosity as she ran her finger over the seams and spine.

“Ye can read then, lass,” he said, unintentionally startling her.

The book fell to the counter as she pressed a hand to her chest and muttered, “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.”

Jamie had been reaching for the book as he saw it falling but was lucky to grab the counter and brace himself as he felt the world shift beneath his feet.

“Uncle Jamie?!” Young Ian cried, dashing over to the man’s side. “Are ye alright?” He looked to Brianna, confused.

But her full attention was on Jamie and she looked frozen and maybe a little terrified.

Jamie brushed off Young Ian’s hand as he got his feet back under him, his own gaze fixed on Brianna, looking her over more closely. The familiarity he’d felt before… how had he misplaced it? She looked like the portrait of his mother still gracing the walls of Lallybroch. He’d always found something irresistible about the way Claire carried herself – not the self-assured confidence of a vain and beautiful woman used to being flattered (though Claire had certainly been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen), but the confident bearing of a woman who knew and was sure of herself.

Despite the uncertainty and hesitation in her eyes, Brianna stood taller, rising to meet and hold his confused and hungry attention. It was something he’d seen Claire do a hundred times.

“Ye ken who I am?” Jamie croaked, then swallowed hard against the swelling in his throat. His hands felt clammy and shook as he tried to wipe them surreptitiously on his breeks. “Are… are you who I think you are?” he whispered.

“Are you Jamie Fraser?” Brianna asked, her eyes darting briefly – accusingly – to Young Ian. “Your nephew never did tell me your real name.”

“I am,” Jamie nodded. “And ye’re my… Claire – she… she told ye then? She sent ye?”

“She told me,” Brianna confirmed quietly. “She also told me you were dead.”

“Then she is yer daughter,” Young Ian piped up, victory rising in his voice. “I kent ye must be, soon as ye said yer mam’s name was Claire and that she was English. Ye’re the spit of Uncle Jamie and everyone at Lallybroch kens the stories–”

“Ian,” Jamie interrupted sharply. “Go see to the back.”

“See to what in the back?”

“Just go.”

“Ah… right. I’ll leave ye two to get acquainted,” Young Ian rambled, color rising in his cheeks and a smug expression blooming on his face. He disappeared from the room, though, and Jamie finally looked away from Brianna long enough to move to the front door and lock it against further disruption.

“Is Claire… How is she?” Jamie asked, still too unsure what to make of the grown daughter standing before him.

“Well, she’s probably worried and pissed at me,” Brianna said with a wary sigh. “My trip here wasn’t exactly planned – I mean, not just to Edinburgh but to seventeen-whatever year this is.”

“1766,” Jamie informed her. “It’s been twenty years since I bid yer mother farewell… I’ve thought of her – of both of ye – and prayed for ye every day since then.”

His voice was quiet and sad, broken and earnest. It tugged at Brianna’s chest in an unexpected way. She’d heard that sorrowful longing before.

It had been in her mother’s voice when she’d told Brianna about Jamie – about losing him.

She took a step closer to him and reached out to rest her hand on his arm. He stilled beneath her touch like an animal spooked and debating whether to flee or play dead. The thought helped put her own trepidation into perspective. He was just as intimidated by her as she was by him – perhaps more.

Brianna reached for what they had in common and found further comfort in speaking about her mother.

“I’m pretty sure she thought about you and prayed for you a lot too,” she told him. “I didn’t know about you for a long time growing up, but since she told me… there are a lot of things about her and about her and Daddy that make more sense now.”

“Frank,” Jamie replied with a tamed disgust that gave Brianna pause. “Did he treat ye well? Both of ye?”

“Always,” she said confidently before flashes of doubt flickered in her now-untrusted memory. “At least… I know he loved me and never treated me… I don’t even know. I never doubted him or questioned that he – and I always though he and Mama were happy. Now… now I wish I’d listened to her more when she was telling me the whole story and that I hadn’t – well, let’s just say I could’ve handled the news about you better.” She flushed, remembering her behavior.

For the first time the air of sorrow and longing lifted and she noticed curiosity creep into Jamie’s face.

“Aye, I can imagine it must’ve come as a shock to ye,” he assured her, his tone slightly cautious. “I didna ken what to make of it myself when she first told me the truth of where she was from. Didna matter much to me either – I was already too far gone for her. But she didna seem to care o’er much for my askin’ her was she a witch.”

Brianna stifled a laugh as the mental image of her mother first as the Wicked Witch of the West popped into her head before it transformed into Claire as Glinda floating in her giant bubble. Traveling by bubble was far more appealing than the thought of touching those stones again.

“I may have called her a few colorful things,” Brianna confessed. “I don’t think ‘witch’ was one of them, though. No, I was thinking more about the poker I hurled through the window,” she added in a quieter voice.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and then she laughed. The surprise faded to an amused and prideful smile.

“Well… that might be a bit of the Fraser temper,” Jamie told her with a knowing nod, then leaned conspiratorially forward. “Though yer mam did throw a bit of crockery now and again – usually at my head.”

It was Brianna’s turn to mirror his surprised and impressed expression. This time they both laughed, drawing Young Ian from the back room.

“Ye’re no laughin’ at me, are ye?”

****************************************************

Ian had secured them lodgings for the night. They would reach Edinburgh the next day by his reckoning and he assured Claire that it was highly likely that Brianna and Young Ian had already reached the safety of Jamie and the printshop.

“Ye’ve heard it from at least three folks as have seen them making their way,” he reminded her as they ate from a tray in their meagre room. She would (reluctantly) take the bed while Ian and Roger made do on the floor with the pillows and blankets she insisted they take from the bed.

“Aye, Claire,” Roger chimed in, “she’s no alone and that’s the key thing. She’s safe and we’ll find her.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she asserted, though with less conviction than she hoped to convey. “It’s just… if I’d known he was alive and that they’d be meeting one another… It’s not how I would’ve wanted them to meet is all. For them to be blindsided by it–”

“I doubt Ian managed to keep it secret from her, did he truly ken who she was,” Ian speculated. “He’s the Mackenzie knack for plotting mischief, but no the knack for carrying it out well. More like to muck it up, that one,” he finished with a laugh.

He rose to carry away the empty tray over Claire and Roger’s objections.

Left alone, Roger still kept his voice low as he asked Claire, “Have ye thought what ye mean to say to Jamie when ye see him? What it means now ye ken he’s alive?”

Claire face told him what he already suspected – she’d been thinking of little else.

“Ye said it gets worse each time ye try to pass through the stones, aye? And ye werena sure ye’d even survive a trip back… Maybe… maybe it’s because yer place is here with Jamie,” he suggested.

“And where would that leave Brianna?” Claire challenged. “She’s still not over losing Frank and everything she’s ever known has just been pulled out from under her. What kind of mother would I be if I abandoned her now too?”

“Maybe ye won’t have to choose,” Roger replied, hope and resignation warring within him. “Maybe she’ll want to say.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Roger looked at Claire until he caught her attention completely.

“She didna just pass through the stones and run straight back,” he reminded her. “Brianna chose to come to Edinburgh. And she’ll have met a father she didna ken she had. You didna think to stay until ye met Jamie. She might surprise ye.”

“I’ve lived longer with both Brianna and the pull of life on either side of those stones,” Claire pointed out.

“And? What do ye think will come of it?”

“Heartbreak. Maybe not at first, but eventually. And the bit before the heartbreak has to be enough to help you survive it all.”

“Well,” Roger nodded and smiled. “I’ve heard ye tell plenty of yer time here before ye went back, so I think it’s a safe bet to say it will be.”

#fittergirl #the high road and the low road au #;mod lenny #featuring: brianna #featuring: young ian #featuring: ian #featuring: roger

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