#dot plays ANOTHER war | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avatarkv · 1 year

Text

EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (1)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. (wc; 3104)

Jake knew a saying; held onto it ever since he had resided amongst Na’vi– every person is born twice. While he believed that it meant that the second time is when you earn your place here in Pandora, Eywa had a clever way of broadening the idea. His very children were proof of it.

He thinks it’s the great mother’s way of compensation, perhaps a second chance for him to do better– to do his very best to keep them alive on behalf of those he lost.

While Kiri was a special case enough, you too were an odd one.

You are Tsu’tey's daughter. Turns out, he had someone in secret while he trained to become olo’eyktan– when he was supposed to take Neytiri for himself. It was taboo– absolutely wrong to become unfaithful to one’s mate. But following the carnage of the great war, when Tsu’tey had so selflessly sacrificed his life, only then did Tsi’ewa came forward; told everyone of their love and what could have been. She was a simple songstress along Ninat, but it was her round and bulging belly that caught everyone’s attention.

It caused an uproar and understandably so. After all, Neytiri had only announced her rebellion with Jake not long before, but when the people connected the dots themselves and both stories had become one, they understood that their hearts merely yearned for another and no one should have ever dictated otherwise. Arrangements had been made and condolences were exchanged— everyone can only look back and wish that things could have been different.

Jake was supposed to take you under his wing as a way of honoring him– he owed Tsu’tey his life and perhaps an apology as big as so. But after your mother had unfortunately died during your birth, he knew to himself that he had to take you in; not as a responsibility, but as his own blood and flesh. His first daughter.

You were the loudest baby, he recalled. That day, Jake had rocked your body back and forth in his arms frantically, while Mo’at and Neytiri did everything within their power to help Tsì'ewa. Your cries were ear-splitting, enough to wake the whole clan up.

“Just what do I do with you,” He muttered under his breath, eyebrows knitted in frustration– just where do he hold you? Is he doing it right? Are you hurt? Why are you crying so loud?

“Jake, the baby!” Neytiri’s shout from inside had cut his train of loud thoughts, snapping back to your bawling. He wasn’t doing such a good job.

“I’m trying, Neytiri– this thing won’t budge.”

Neytiri had emerged from the hut, stomping her way to Jake with a scowl. "That is not a thing, you skxawng!" she exclaimed before gently scooping you up from his arms, cooing softly to you– though it was more like mocking him instead. “Does Jake here make you cry?” She said, patting your thigh soothingly. “He’s not at all pleasant to look at, but you have to get used to it.”

Almost in an instant, your cries had died down. You babbled along with her, like you were agreeing with her every word. He slowly pulled himself closer to Neytiri, eyes wide with curiosity as he watched your small hands playing with her long braids. “Heh, she has Tsu’tey’s eyes,” He whispers, unable to look away.

The flap of the hut swinging open was the only thing that got their attention, momentarily away from yours as they looked at Mo’at with anticipation. With a single shake of her head, sorrow surged their hearts, eyes traveling back to your innocent ones. They mourned for you; an unknowing child should never have to carry such grief. They had to make a choice– A responsibility they weren’t expecting to have so early.

Jake mindlessly trails his finger down your stomach, gently, like you were the most fragile thing. Your little hand wraps around it and it was like you had binded his scattered thoughts into one big understanding.

Sully. You’re one of them now.

Jake releases a breathless chuckle as he gazes upon his lover and you with a newfound clarity, a perspective so bright it illuminated in his very eyes. Then came an idea– the desire of having children of their own. Perhaps that’s why Neteyam came after only two years. You were quite the ploy; the push they needed to start a family.

You were truly blessed– the genius of your age was undeniable, your remarkable talent soon earning you the admiration of all who had seen it. By the time you turned six, you had already mastered many of the abilities that a hunter would need– your skills with a bow were unrivaled by most of the children your age, let alone those who were much older than you. They'd marvel at your accuracy each time you took aim with an arrow. You could never miss. You had to make sure you didn’t.

By the age of 12, you had already accompanied Jake in hunts. You had developed a knack for planning, coming up with routes and back-up plans that were often surprisingly effective. You have proved to be helpful plenty of times. You were quick, silent– full of poise. They often wondered if you were an old, seasoned soul trapped inside a little girl’s body.

But as quickly as the spotlight had shone down on you, it left almost as soon as it had come.

(“What you did today was reckless, y/n.” Jake settles his bow on the table aggressively, emitting a sharp thud. You were just as frustrated, throwing your satchel down the floor of the hut.

The mission had gone rather wildly, with things not going along the plan. There was another airship– one that no one was aware of. Your instincts jolted your body, immediately throwing an explosive towards it which had it blowing all over the place– its pieces crashing and causing a wildfire.

Jake argued that there could’ve been a more safer way. One that didn’t have to risk more of our resources and supplies; one that didn’t have to injure the other warriors. Of course you knew to yourself that you did the right thing. You did what you had to do.

‘You could’ve been hurt and got others killed! Just what were you thinking?” He continued to berate you. You jest that if this went on, there’d be steam visible above his already heated head.

“I had to take a risk– not everything goes to plan and this is proof of it.” You answered back with a scowl, “If I hadn't, there would’ve been more casualties.”

“That’s not a call for you to answer to! Jesus Christ,” Jake runs his palms down his face, grunting, before looking back at you– expression suddenly tired and soft. “Come on kid, where’s that sweetheart who always listened to what I said?”

You had scoffed, a hurt forming on the pits of your stomach. “That sweetheart once had a place in plans before.” You said, eyes unwilling to look at him. It weighed in your heart heavily– why did people assume that you were the only one who changed? You didn’t understand. “Pretty sure the Jake before was a good listener too.”

The wrinkle in between his eyebrows deepened in confusion, but he never was one for confrontation. With a single dismissive grunt, he turns his back against you. “I’m way past your attitude. You’re grounded. Go.”)

As you grew, the resemblance to your father became ever more apparent. Jake started noticing the many similarities between the two of you; the way you walked– how you sauntered confidently through a crowd. Your braids would move along your heavy steps (and perhaps, that’s where Neteyam got his mannerism of swaying his too.), shoulders wide and proud. You even had his signature snarl, something Tsu’tey was known for that unfortunately seemed to have been passed down to you too.

However, it was more than how you brought yourself. You were strong-willed– stubborn.

There was another thing about you too. You didn’t call Jake dad anymore. It hurt him– left a heavy feeling on his chest every time you regarded him so distant. It was unfair that you still called Neytiri mom, why did it have to change with him? He didn’t have the heart to address it. Couldn’t ask you what went wrong.

Because he knows damn well why.

Lo’ak was enough of a headache, but you were a different kind of royal pain in the ass, more like a personal problem. It was tiresome. Petty. There was not a day that you and Jake wouldn’t argue and bite each other’s ass off– and yet, there was never a day where you two would talk it out. The fights would blur itselves out and before they knew it, things would be back to normal, only for it to fall out again over something small. It was routine. The only thing normal for you both.

He missed you– missed his baby. Just when did you grow to become so distant? When did he start to overlook you?

You’ll admit, you might have indulged in the folk’s gossip. They always had a story for everything and they have plenty about your father. Tsu’tey was a fit olo’eyktan. He had proved so in his training and determination. Of course it was a low punch in the gut when the throne had been passed to an outsider– a demon, most of all. It was unfair, he knew it wasn’t right. A washed up marine had taken something he had worked for like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

You pitied your father and you feared you’d be like him– like nothing.

And history might just repeat itself. You weren’t clueless– wasn’t blind to the fact that Jake had trained your brother more. He adored him so much that the very moment he was in the right age to train, you were off to fend for yourself; trained all alone while Jake went over the routine with Neteyam like he did with you. You remembered waiting for him every afternoon because he promised that he’d make time– that time was yours and yours only. But as the light bled and neared eclipse and you were too cold to wait outside, you learned never to wait again.

They would come home soon after– smiles on their faces and a handful of apologies for you.

Soon enough, your suspicions proved you right as the people started to talk again; Neteyam– the golden child. He would make a good olo’eyktan.

Perhaps that would explain the drift between you and Neteyam too. Could they blame you for it? You had lost their attention so early– while you still needed them. You weren’t their kid and you were reminded of it everyday. In times when you didn’t know if you had space in the family hammock while they sat together, telling stories under the starry sky. You pretended to have fallen asleep everytime; back against them as you listened. In times where the family was growing and growing, until the small table wasn’t big enough for everyone anymore– or in this case, for you.

(“Come on, ma’ite, what are you doing so far from here?” Neytiri had called for you when she noticed how distant you were from everyone. You silently scooted beside her, wooden bowl in your lap. “Look, I prepared your favorite.”

It wasn’t. You hated it. You hated the tangy taste of it so badly. But you had decided to eat what was left on the table after everyone had gotten their meals and there wasn’t usually enough for you. Neytiri thought nothing of that– didn’t think that you eating only scraps and dried fruit was because there wasn’t anything else for you to have. She simply thought that it was your favorite and had been making it for you ever since.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not when she thought she had been doing well with preparing it. You kissed your teeth, smiling tightly as you lifted the food to your lips, eating silently. “Thank you, it’s good.” You muttered under your breath after.)

But you were family; they said so themselves. When they tucked you in to sleep, when they patted your head. They were still present now, just not in the way you wanted– not in the way you longed for. It seemed like making them angry was the only way you could have their attention– particularly, your dad. You could never make Neytiri mad. She tries to understand you, she does. Explaining now just seems so.. Petty. So childish, you decided to push her away instead.

What do you tell her? That you only let dad blow a fuse or two was because you missed him? Because you didn’t know what went wrong?

So there goes your routine.

“I just don’t understand why I can’t be olo’eykte.” You had brought up again, lips in a familiar snarl. “You tire me and for what? Kiri is already training to be Tsahik– just what would my place in this clan be?”

“We are not having this conversation again, y/n. Not tonight.”

Jake had just returned from a particularly bad hunt; went home empty-handed and with a patience as thin as a strand of hair. He continued to sharpen his dagger, movements almost aggressive. Everyone immediately went out of his way, not wanting to be on the end of his temper– not you though. You could never get a hint, it seems.

“Yes, tonight! My ceremony is almost near, sir. I have been waiting.”

It wasn’t like he had a reason anyway. Jake couldn’t tell you because he had no reason as to why. Why couldn’t you be olo’eykte? You had all the skills to be one, even more so. But in the back of his mind, a thought so deep and petty that he couldn’t bear to say, tells him that the name he carried was something to gift his eldest son. Olo’eyktan was a privilege reserved for Neteyam. He never thought to have you so early– he always dreamed of having a son first.

“Wait more.”

“This is insane– sa’nok!” You had turned to Neytiri, eyes pleading. She quickly grasps your arm and tries to tug you back towards the exit, speaking in a soft but firm voice as she tries to soothe the tension.

“Ma’ite, why don’t we go out for a walk?” She whispers. To be frank, she was tired of this– never of you, no. But at the way things had been. Parents aren’t parents automatically just because they have had children of their own. It’s a skill they have yet to muster– to truly understand. She didn’t know where the line between you and her had blurry along the years. Didn’t know where this constant need of yours to be seen came from.

You jerked your arm away from her, almost too harshly. It tugged on her heartstrings, not knowing what was going on with you. “I cannot wait anymore.” You said, taking two steps towards Jake with an unreadable anger– an anger he didn’t know when had stemmed from.

“Is it because I’m not your daughter?”

His eyes widened. A flash of vulnerability visible in his gaze, momentarily softening his glare. “You stop this right now, y/n.” He had stood up, tucking the dagger back to his loincloth. Jake’s larger frame towered over you, telling you to drop it– to leave the conversation. But you weren’t backing down.

“I am your eldest–! You trained me earlier than Neteyam, I have been here long enough–”

“You aren’t ready!” He had shouted with the same fierceness, earning a dirty look from Neytiri.

“Why won’t you see me?” Your voice had softened, borderline begging– just a bit, but enough for his ears to flatten in response. He knew that beneath those few simple words lay many layers of underlying meaning; emotions that have yet to be spoken.

But he turns his back against you dismissively anyway. “Neytiri, get her out of here.”

Neytiri grabs you by the arms again, although a bit forceful now, but just enough for her to touch you– to have you in between her arms. She embraced you, like she was trying to keep the words from escalating. She feared one of you would say something out of line; something you both would regret.

But on the brink of the tension– the severity of the situation, you had muttered. Your voice was muffled, but it was clear. The message was oh so crystal. “You took everything from my father.”

Jake grunts, “Yeah? Well maybe your father wasn’t enough either.”

“Jake!” Neytiri hisses and although Jake couldn’t see her, he knew very well he was getting quite the conversation with his mate too.

It was a low blow. Unnecessary. A straight strike to the gut. It was a pain so bitter, you didn’t want it to linger any longer– you were nauseous. You wanted no more than to vomit everything that spiraled out of your stomach.

“You want to lead so badly and you can’t even control your temper. No clan wants a hot-head for a leader.” But he kept going– relentless and cruel. “You ought to be someone else’s shadow.”

“But I’m your daughter,” Your tone had softened, almost cracking as the lump in your throat grew. Tears blurred your vision, threatening to escape as Neytiri held you close.

“And yet you never listen to me— because I’m not exactly your father, yeah?” With one last glance, he stepped out, passing his children who stayed just outside the door, listening. Jake opens his mouth, desperate to ease the tension– the discomfort written in their faces, but he quickly shuts it and continues to walks out. He had said enough for tonight. There was nothing saving his face from this. It was best if he left instead.

“Oh, ma’ite.” Neytiri rocks her body along yours, drawing soothing circles on your back but the embarrassment settles in your chest– gnawing at your body. You catch a glance of the pitiful looks from your siblings as they try to enter the hut silently.

How could you make a mess out of yourself in front of them? Why had you let this blown over?

You retracted slowly from your mother’s hold, wiping your tears before running the opposite way from where Jake had gone to. It was better if you left instead.

mauve here! finally done writing this after racking my head for weeks. wanted it to be relatable (??) as much as possible, idk why. there is just something therapeutic w writing about your past issues <3 but i hope this one's alright!!! really excited to finally post this heheh

lots of kisses!

4K notes · View notes

targaryenrealnessdarling · 8 months

Text

The Blood is Rare

Summary: Aemond has always loathed his niece, and the feeling is very much mutual | Words: 3.3k | Warnings below the cut!

Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, choking, slight knife play, biting, bitta blood, incest (character is described with strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping?

There was no plate at his spot at the table. No knife to tempt him. He would not break bread with those he could not trust.

Like an animal atop high ground, he sits rigid at the head of the table, on the outside unnervingly calm. But he watches with a keen eye the prey that sits at the other end.

She shares many features with her mother. His whore-sister. Her stubbornness, her determined gaze and the nervous twisting of the rings on each of her fingers into the bargain.

Had she not the dark brown, near-black shade of waved hair atop her head and bright, clear blue eyes of the former Commander of the City Watch, his niece and his sister would look nearly identical.

Unfortunately, they both shared his hatred for them as well.

He loathed the idea of them all. The birth of one mere brown-haired bastard was enough, and yet there were three of them, sat together in unification, as if to put up defences against the opposite side of the table, dotted with the moonlight-silver of Alicent Hightower’s children.

He smirked at the thought that she came mere hours after Jace. That she was unplanned. Unwanted. And yet here she existed, sitting with her eyes fixed on a flickering candle, trying to drown out the laughs, smiles and the oddity that was all of them all gathered together, enjoying one another’s company.

He knew as well as she did. It was the only thing they had in common. That they could see through this charade.

Aemond wondered if she had always seen it. Understood it. The strife that would happen between them. Perhaps she was a dreamer and could envisage the future before it had even happened.

She was a melancholic, hateful little thing. Born with fire and fury.

He supposed if anything, she was still the daughter of a Targaryen.

Aemond swore she was a witch of sorts. For she must have felt his gaze on her, and her clear eyes were illuminated by the dancing flame as they met him. Her expression unchanged.

His smirk grew that they felt the same about each other.

He was the cunt son of Alicent Hightower.

And she was the Strong bastard of his whore-sister.

Not breaking eye contact, she raised her chin, looking down at him over her nose, huffing as she turned away to sip from the cup on her small, delicate fingers.

Stuck up cunt.

The atmosphere shifted considerably as Viserys groaned, a frail hand raised to the injured portion of his face, to which Aemond felt a sick sense of delight. The guards swiftly carried him away by each corner of his chair.

And the gap between Rhaenyra and Alicent seemed to push each side away further. Irreparably so.

His niece did not appreciate his tribute to her and her brothers.

Throughout the evening, she had said few words apart from mumbled whispers to Daemon on her right and Luke on her left. But when Aemond stood to speak, he revelled in her undivided attention. In those angry eyes, he saw not only a loathing for him, but a loathing at the truth of what she was.

A loathing that he was right, and she knew it.

She seemed almost as disappointed as her mother when Jace struck him weakly.

And before Daemon could place himself between the warring factions of their family, he watched the Strong Princess march angrily away, her skirts in her hands, flashing a stern glare before she left.

Her eyes were all he could think about, with her face anchored in the firm grip of his fingers.

He thought she was so small and fragile, that he could just squeeze and break her little jaw, her bones clattering between his fingers like pebbles. And yet she still looked at him with such fire, that only one of Targaryen blood would be able to throw.

She looked at him like he was the most loathsome creature she had ever seen.

The passageway Aemond had her cornered into was stifling and suffocating, forcing them to breathe the same humid air in anger. He saw her face redden where he had her in his grasp, her glossy lips slightly parted to breathe.

“I will extend you the courtesy of assuming there is a very good reason why you have your hands on me like this, Uncle.”

He almost wants to laugh right in her face, despite what she said not meaning to be funny. She is so frail, and yet roars so loudly.

“There is.”

Her jaw muscles tighten in frustration, shuffling backwards though there is nowhere to go.

“Then, I dare say your reason will not be good enough.”

Aemond allows his gaze to roam over her face. Up close, she really and truly is the picture of her mother, with her father's unfortunate features to her disadvantage in her colouring.

“I merely wished to see the colour of your eyes, mandianna.”

“To make some cruel jape no less, I am sure.”

He grins at the way she takes a sharp breath when he tugs her face towards him slightly. And he swears he sees the pupils within the clear blue of her eyes widen as he does, and wonders if he is having the same effect swelling at the forbidden place between her thighs.

“You wound me, sweet niece. A man cannot simply appreciate the beauty of a woman? Does there always have to be some cruel intent?”

“With you, there must be.”

He somewhat loosens his grip on her face, fingers trailing down her neck, the glint of her earrings catching his eye. She visibly shivers at his touch there.

The most venomous expression sits on her face, and she does not miss a beat. Too clever and witty for her own good.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Uncle. I know what depraved thoughts bat around inside your head, and they are not original. A family trait perhaps.”

He hums, more amused than curious, but perhaps with a smattering of both, “And what of you?”

Her perfect little lips part to speak before his thumb trails down the column of her throat, long fingers wrapped around her neck to her nape. The threat of what he could do making her go quiet.

“What depraved thoughts bat around in your head, sweet niece?”

Silence wraps around them like a rope, tightening with the fibres cracking against their skin. Hot and suffocating all at once. And all Aemond can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing, his eye wandering down to the necklace perched on her chest as her lungs erratically suck in air.

“It is treason to question my virtue.”

She swallows as his thumb presses on the centre of her throat, as if testing if she is indeed real.

“It may be treason to question your virtue, but it is not treason to question your honesty,” he replies coolly. Aemond can feel her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, the barely-contained rage on her face hidden only by a blanket of courtesy, “a maiden does not allow herself to be alone like this with another man.”

Aemond found himself, a man who had sparred with Ser Criston Cole for a large portion of his life, a man who as a child had claimed the largest dragon in the world and a man who had dealt with the burning pain of losing his eye, and the shame that he carried alongside it, was shocked into brief silence when his niece’s small, delicate palm echoed off his cheek.

It was not the force of it that stunned him so, but rather the shock that she had chosen to do it, with his hand around her neck and his frame blocking her escape.

The little dragon had felt threatened and given him a warning clip.

Aemond felt the warmth bloom on his cheek and smirked. She had slapped him on his bad side, where she knew it would sting the most. For a split second, white, hot pain nipped at the temples of his head as he turned back to face her, and saw that look on her face.

That she knew she’d made a mistake, but was too angry or proud to admit it.

Or perhaps she was both.

Excitement wriggled and rolled in his stomach at the whimper that escaped her lips, using the force of his grip around her tiny throat to force her back, muscles and bones rolling against the stone walls where she was trapped, and those clear, curious eyes darting back at him with distaste. And he was pleased to see, a sprinkling of horror and panic.

“That was a mistake,” he mused, pressing himself closer to her, his hand firm around her throat despite her own attempting to pry them off him. His other hand reached down, shifting her up the cold wall, and gathered her heavy skirts in his palm, and rucked them frustratingly up towards her hip.

He revelled in the terror that crossed her face, a smirk winding its way to his sharp features.

“How exhilarating,” he pondered, “to take something that you are not willing to give.”

“I will scream”.

“Then scream. I will say it was you who seduced me,” he bit back, watching her face and expressions that crossed them, “And who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter of a whore?”

He could feel her breath against his face, soothing the spot where she had struck him not a moment before. Aemond blinked slowly at the woman in his grip, apparently attempting to decide for herself whether it was worth the fight.

Or perhaps something else.

Aemond grinned, “like mother like daughter.”

And he enjoyed the fire it stoked in her eyes.

“You will let me go-”

He shook her neck in his grip, as if to make her be quiet. And it seemed to shock and scare her, for she closed her eyes to steel herself, “And then what will you do? Run? Scream? Or will you do something stupid enough to give me an excuse to make everything you’ve ever said about me, truth?”

Her jaw tightened looking at him, feeling cornered, but a strange ache between her thighs.

“You threaten me, Uncle?”

His dagger sliced the very air between them, pressing the tip to the column of her throat where his thumb had branded her not moments before, tracing the shape of her skin. His niece froze, her breath trembling and her head pressed to the wall, as if to try and pull herself feebly away from threat.

This very dagger was an extension of Aemond himself. As if his hand were still touching her but with a pointed edge. And he wondered if he sliced her skin, even just a little, would she bleed like him?

There was something there in her eyes as he looked between them. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And Aemond was willing to bet that deep down, beneath the demure veil she hides herself behind, peeking through, that she is wet and ready for him between her silky thighs.

“You are clever, dear niece,” he all but whispers, trailing the blade down to the neckline of her dress, the rich fabric yielding to it, “but not as clever as you think you are.”

She swallowed thickly as his blade teased the tied bindings to her dress, playing with the double-tied knots as if they were strings of a lute, and he was playing her easily. He plucked one, and then two, watching her face the entire time.

“You believe yourself a proper little Princess, do you not?” he asks, his voice low, almost feline in nature, his face so close to hers she can make out the stitchings of his eyepatch, “hair decorated with gold. Fingers adorned with rubies. Wrapped in lavish dresses.”

She flinched as he flicked his wrist, severing the second to last tie holding two sides of her gown together.

“But pull one little thread, and you unravel -” his tone deepens, forcing her to listen to every little syllable, his gaze boring into hers, “-and all you are…is a wanton, bastard, whore.”

She attempted to push his body away, but his dagger clattered to the floor, holding her easily by her wrists, near-painfully pressing them to the stone wall behind her. It happened so quickly. Lips, teeth and tongue fought as if in battle, and Aemond held her there for him, pressing his rapidly hardening length against her clothed womanhood, rolling his hips against hers to search for that delicious, forbidden friction.

It did not seem to him that she was fighting him, but rather fighting how he made her feel.

Her lips were velvety, moist and soft as his anchored hers apart to taste her, once having a split second’s worth it was never enough. Every little breath and whimper and he wanted to make them louder, make her submit, a part of him intoxicated by her when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, and bit on him, only for her tongue to soothe the area afterwards.

Aemond thought of what would happen, if he devoured her wholly, pressed so hard against her that it was difficult to fathom where either of them began and ended.

His lips moved along her jaw. She smelled of whatever oils were combed through her hair. Camomile and something sweet perhaps. Quickly his hand left her wrist to ruck her heavy skirts up to her waist, feeling her shiver at the touch he left behind with the brief touch of his fingertips where no man had touched before.

“Fight back,” Aemond dared, a mere whisper against her neck where he left his bruise-like mark.

He met her gaze, looking into her bright eyes and allowed his grip on her to slowly relax, waiting to see if she would push away. Scream and run, as she had previously promised. And while her jaw was still tense and eyes aflame with hostility, he swore he saw her pupils dilate.

“Just get on with it.”

The surging heat in his stomach distracted him briefly from acting cocky, his fingers fumbling to untie his breeches while keeping her elevated. And it felt as if his body was thinking before his mind when he looked between them to see her hefty skirts bunched at her hip, and one smooth leg on display, pulling his achingly hard cock free and tucking himself between the soft haven between her thighs.

She could pretend she desired him not all she liked, but when their gazes met in fire and fury, finding that in all of their fighting and struggling she was soaking wet, Aemond pushed against her entrance until she welcomed him, sliding within her tight, choking walls with a low groan batted against her neck.

She whined at both the intrusion and his tight grip on her thigh, one hand elevating it so that he could begin pushing up brutally into her. Shame rose to her cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly, finding the wet smack of their skin rousing that tightness in her belly.

It was both embarrassing and hateful that she found herself enjoying this, and that she let him first of all.

And all she could see above her when she opened her eyes was him, his lips parted to breath as if he was holding some beastly form of himself back, his hair spilling like rays of moonlight over his shoulders with every thrust into her weeping cunt and the way his lone eye never strayed from her expression, not for a second.

That is until Aemond felt as if not only he wanted to own her shame and her body, but wanted to show it too, and leaned forward to graze his teeth on the skin that was now exposed by the ever loosening shoulders of her dress, and sink his teeth in to mark her.

The sound that came from her was between a grunt and a moan, as his position changed the angle of his hips and the blunt head of his cock sparking pleasure deep inside her.

“Fucking…hate you…” is all she managed, feeling the top of his canine break the skin just slightly. Her voice clung to that flat, stoic hatred, and she hated that it sounded as if she were about to fall apart.

If it were possible, he increased the intensity of his movements, pushing up into her mercilessly and drawing feminine, soft whines from her mouth. Sounds he wasn't even sure before his niece was capable of making.

“I adore your fire, sweet niece,” he muses lowly, tracing her jaw with his lips, “I adore how much you think you hate me.”

She does hate him, she tries to think. But every thought that appears is swiftly batted away by the incessant rhythm of his cock pistoning in and out of her, the depraved sounds betraying how she truly feels. An internal war Aemond can clearly see.

“Do you like this? Do you like how much I hate you? How much I want to hurt you?”

Yes.

A thought rung in her mind that she wanted him to hurt her more, so that she could just feel something from him aside from the way he stretched her walls around him so deliciously.

The soreness of his girth is something she had not expected to be a problem, a lapse of thought that she will no doubt be paying for the next morning.

But this, this was a core lapse of morals, surely. Allowing him to do this to her.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, as if pulling her to meet his cock halfway, feeling the way his body shuddered at the closeness of completion evident on his face.

Aemond grinned wolfishly, “You like this. We both know it.”

He thrusted into her so forcefully that she had no choice but to hold onto him, clinging to his leather-clad shoulder tightly when he met her fleshy end, her insides involuntarily squeezing around him in both pain and pleasure.

His hand came to her neck, clamping down experimentally on her windpipe, and groaning deeply at the way her cunt sucked him in as he did. Forcing her chin up so those traitorous blue eyes met his, he grinned.

Hateful little cunt.

Her peak crept up her spine first, feeling as if the sensation was melting her muscles where they sat inside her body. And then her lips parted in a soundless scream, pitifully moving her hips towards his to encourage the feeling to crest until it rushed out of her with a feeble whine, “uncle…”

Not only was the feeling of her quivering, velvety walls enough to convince him, but the way she called him that while he was so deep inside her, threatening for relief, was so erotic it did not feel depraved in the slightest.

But nothing was better than that wide-eyed, colourful expression of panic, distaste, hate and anxiety when he deliberately planted his seed inside of her. Aemond was sure there was no better feeling, bad intentions or no, her blood felt good on him, his teeth and cock alike.

All he could imagine was what dynasty could be created from such a house of revulsion. To watch this hateful little creature swell with his child, a true Targaryen. Only to put on the same stoic, flat expression which he knew was untrue when he'd fuck her again, and again, and again.

What flame flickered under that expression of hers, he wondered. What stone was hidden in the centre of her peachy, soft exterior. A heart, perhaps.

She didn't have to like it, this dance between them. But when he put her down and watched his spend trickle down her thighs, he would have her come to love it.

She existed for this. Whatever it was. He was sure of that.

“Well, little dragon,” he whispered, “the bastard daughter of a whore, with another growing within her?”

She swallowed around his hand as he tugged her face closer to his.

“Or burn with me.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch@castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy

2K notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 9 months

Text

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

2K notes · View notes

lakemojave · 2 months

Text

Friday, July 19th @ 5pm Pacific: FALLOUT 76 FOR THE PCRF!!!

My channel is running another charity stream! Back in January we raised more than $2,000 for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, and we're hoping to do something like that again! Instead of the horror and pain that was Resident Evil 6, we're going into the forsaken spinoff of a different beloved franchise: Fallout 76! @radiofreederry and I are gonna put some rubber boots and gas masks on and wade into live service sandbox hell to support this cause and send some aid to those who need it! See y'all then!

Donate here!!!

OUR GOALS:

Every $50 Dot and I will do character voices of our choice for 5 minutes!

$100: Jordan has promised to recite Fallout Flow. It's like Dracula Flow. But for Fallout

$200: I "personal pan" Dot (I send her a personal pan pizza at a time of my choosing)

$300: Dot and I promise to play the extremely mid and tech intensive Halo 5: Guardians for our playthrough series

$400, $800, and $1200: I take a break to do a tier list of my choosing! (Including the one I promised to do from the last charity stream y'all did!)

$500: Dot "personal pans" me (as explained above)

$600: I will suck it up and do that ABO video essay I promised

$1000: I will commit to running a live tabletop campaign on my channel! If you like our BG3 roleplay series or the Star Wars tabletop series, you're gonna wanna see me attempt to GM a game for real this time!

$1,250: This October I will produce a complete history video about the Amnesia series!

$1,500: I jump into the lake.

twitch_live

#fallout #fallout 76 #charity stream #palestine #pcrf #twitch #stream #shameless plugging

431 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 7 months

Text

Humans are weird: Do not give them Toys

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

When the human government wished to initiate trade with the Filthrax Conglomerate the Filthrax were understandably cautious. They had always been sensitive when it came to sharing technology with other species. To that end they had an extensive amount of restrictions on what could and couldn’t be traded; excluding much of their more advanced technology from ever reaching the market.

The humans in comparison were technologically inferior to the Filthrax in nearly every aspect so they pictured the humans to heavily lobby for advanced technology to be made available. So it was with some surprise that when negotiations began the humans did not lobby for advanced technology, they instead seemed deeply invested in obtaining the Filthrax toys.

This was not something the negotiators had expected. Research into human culture had showed a deep rooted sense of aggression, towards outsiders and themselves when promoted, which made them believe that the first opening bid would be towards military grade technology.

Sensing the discord, the human diplomats explained that while they would like more advanced technology to be an option, they understood the hesitance and reluctance to trade such dangerous items. They said they would be fine earning the Filthrax’s trust over an extended period of time through trade. It seemed that several human enterprises had their eyes on Filthrax toys and they seemed like a safe enough items to begin trade. The Filthrax agreed and so trade lines were opened between the great powers.

What the aliens saw as a harmless deal was in fact the first foot in the door that could never be closed.

Several million orders for toys were placed almost overnight and the economic boon was felt overnight throughout the Filthrax Conglomerate. None of them understood the fascination humans had with their trinkets but if they were willing to pay then they would be more than happy to sell. It wasn’t until the Nexus Wars began that the Filthrax would come to understand their folly.

The “Nexus” was a series of star systems that held the majority of trade lanes between the core worlds and the far flung resource rich outer zones. Trade through these lanes was deemed to be the most stable for long distance transportation so whoever controlled these regions would make considerable wealth from their stewardship.

Current stewardship fell to the Omicron Empire who had held the systems for the last several hundred years and as such used the profits it generated to fund their empires expansion. The humans wished to control these routes to fund their own imperial ambitions but had never leveled the playing field with the Omicron military to make such a transgression possible.

Then, without warning, the human military launched a series of strikes against Omicron bases and fleets in the Nexus systems triggering the “Nexus War”. The Omicrons raised their fleets and armies and dispatched them to the systems with the full intention of repelling the humans and then carrying on their counter offensive into human space. What they met however was a suddenly technologically advanced human military spouting drastic advances in military equipment not seen.

Human soldiers now carried portable shielding units that blocked everything less than a direct hit from a hover tank, while their ships launched fusion bombs carrying a heavy enough payload to shatter Timbar class battleships in half.

With this new technology, the human military had taken control of half of the Nexus systems within five months of the wars start. Other powers dotting the stars took notice of the sudden prowess of the human military, as well as the calculations predicting that within another five months the Omicron Empire would be driven from the Nexus systems. Some cheered at seeing their old rivals in the Omicron’s brought low, others sent delegations to the human government pledging alliances and treaties, many more came to join the war effort now sensing blood amongst the stars; but to the Filthrax, they quickly came to realize the part they had played in this war.

While Filthrax toys were rather unremarkable, they were unique in the way that their power sources could last an entire lifetime. Through controlled energy distribution, the Filthrax had created a rudimentary power source that, while considered basic in their society, was light years ahead of any neighboring species.

The humans were well aware of this feature.

They knew before negotiations even began that the Filthrax would never part with their advanced weaponry or technology, but they would be willing to part with something they considered nothing more than a toy. Toys that were then torn apart to get to the power source, reverse engineered, and then used to power weapons and machines of human design.

Filthrax toys were now forming the basis for a new galactic power, and they had been fooled into giving them away for nothing more than currency.

The sudden realization sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of the Filthrax. If they admitted this they would be not only be publically humiliated on a galactic scale; but also be portrayed as cobelligerents in the war. Not only that, it would invalidate their own standing treaties with other species which specifically stated they would not trade anything that could be repurposed for war. They could see trade agreements torn asunder for a dozen species with even embargos placed upon their territories. Worse yet was if they did cease trading with the humans the human government could release the information and still black list them to the wider galaxy.

So they sat and watched the war from the sidelines, contemplating that their bobbles may have very well just doomed the universe.

#humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

900 notes · View notes

lxvvie · 10 months

Note

*AHEMMM*

how would 141 and other react to you saying down bad stuff like

"Can I stack donuts on it?" "Can I hold it when you pee?" "What that x do"

Just reader traumatizing these poor men with her internet slang and trends 😭😭

On today's episode of Simps 'R' Us: Down Bad, A Call of Duty Story. You ask and/or text them, "What dat x do?" and they reply:

Capt. John Price - "I can show you more than I can tell you, honey. ❤️ " 👀

Gaz - "A lot. I think. 😜"

Alex Keller - Leaves you on Read. Turns up out of nowhere to show you what it does.

Soap - Grins and lights up as only Soap can. Promises to make you scream loud enough so that everyone can hear you, ESPECIALLY Ghost.

Ghost - "Makes you do a day's worth of PT, kid." What the fuck? To hell you go, smart ass.

Alejandro - Doesn't need to answer. The look he gives you says it all.

Rudy - May or may not have let out a giggle (DON'T YOU DARE TELL ALEJANDRO BECAUSE HE WON'T LET HIM LIVE IT DOWN) because he's flustered and in his defense, you've been laying it on Rudy thick since you've laid eyes on him.

Roach - Sends you this: 🍆. That's it. That's the reply.

Keegan - Doesn't leave you on Read. In fact, you've been seeing the three dots indicator for the better part of twenty or so minutes because Keegan doesn't know what to say. He's down bad behind the screen, though.

König - Thought you were playing with him yet again because y'all are recovering from your latest meme war so he hits you with "Deez nuts". Again. König, please—

Horangi - "Don't know. What do you think?" His text is accompanied with yet another dick pic.

Graves - "Things that I don't think you can handle, darlin'. 😏" Is that a challenge, Graves?

873 notes · View notes

evilminji · 2 months

Text

Huh >.> you know how Crechelings are basicly, like... possessed?

Like? They are cute af. But they VERY MUCH are constantly reaching out too and listening too the Force cause they are Baby and know jack shit? They are in that "why? Why? Why?" ×1000 stage of life. But instead of asking ADULTS, who might not always be on hand?

Well... the FORCE is on hand.

24/7!

Why NOT ask a cosmic driving force of all creation is you should have juice or water? This fruit or that vegetable? What are we gonna play today Effectively God? I'm a toddler! I don't know what boundaries are! Nor do I realize I probably shouldn't be bothering you with every single thought that passes through my head!

Yeeeeeah....

Tiny force sensitives? HELLA possessed.

They'll pull shit like "speak in prophecy" and "I stole a ship a can't even reach the controls off, to thwart an assassination attempt, because The Force Told Me Too, and that's why I'm on another planet and missed nap time." Plus the fun ol *hands a jedi master a rock* "the force says you'll need this! :D " *walks away, oblivious to the confusion they have wrought*

There is a REASON Creche master have to be SUPER patient types. And that parents are so often like "yeah, yeah we can't handle our kid. We love them. But this is beyond what we can parent."

Cause when your kid? Looks up from their mashpotatos? To casually drop "X is going to die soon." Or "he's going to betray you, you know" like??? Sweetie. Honey, youngling, you're THREE. Wtf. It's a BIT MUCH.

But? What I'm getting at?

I wanna see Creepy!ForceAvatar!Crechelings? Like it's... it's just a STAGE kids grow out off?

And I want it to save their fuckin LIVES.

Like? During the later stages of the Clone Wars. The Force is getting agitated. Knows what's coming. Does NOT like such imbalance and death. So? Even if the OLDER ones either can't hear it clearly or won't listen? The BABIES sure can.

And it's like a FUCKING HIVEMIND.

Absolutely HORRIFYING to behold.

All these lil babies. These wee lil toddlers n smol kiddos. Just... Stopping. Misstep. Balls bouncing past hands frozen, toys mid "woosh" motion, spoons half way to faces. All of it. Just... stopped.

They all cock their heads.

Like animals trying to hear a sound better.

Put down what they were doing. Calm as you please, ignoring everything around them, everyONE. Gathering their things from their rooms. Gathering the babies. Who are... oddly well behaved. It's the most calm and orderly anyone's ever see them. None of the creche masters can get their attention. Every attempt to physically get in the way is dodged before it's even attempted.

The children... calmly. Pleasantly. Like taking a stroll.

Steal a series of ships.

Broad daylight.

In... in front of everyone. No one can even STOP them. The Force is helping. All anyone can do is just? Follow.

They settle basicly a few weeks into the uncharted zone, in an old temple no one knew was there. All they will fuckin say is variations of "the Force says we live here now!" Like? Subtle this was NOT. I guess... we live here now?

.....huh.

It IS weirdly easier to think way out here.

As though we were no longer standing in the middle of some terrible smoke cloud. Nice and calm. Lots of Light. Unlike back o-.....waaaaait a fucking second. *sound of various Master's and council members connecting dots in their head*

>:O

@legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @spidori @lolottes @nerdpoe

#star wars #minji's writing #star wars prompt

209 notes · View notes

ohmerricat · 3 months

Text

an essay about Rogue, The Chimes of Midnight, and how i believe all this ties in to the overarching themes of the series EVEN IF the inside-a-tv-show theory proves untrue

“Rogue” named himself after a stock character. he is the archetypal Handsome Rogue because there has to be a Handsome Rogue role in a period drama story set in Austenesque Regency England.

it’s all theatre — smoke and mirrors. just like the war waged against imaginary foes in boom (because there needs to be an Enemy in a wartime story) was theatre; the creation of the Bogeyman in space babies (because there needs to be a Scary Monster in a children’s bedtime story) was theatre; The Woman following Ruby in 73 yards (because there needs to be a Ghost in a folk horror story) was theatre. dot and bubble less so, but it’s wise to note — the dots created the slugs after all. they invented the slugs so that there would be a tangible Creature for the finetimers (and the Doctor) to fear, rather than simply being betrayed by their own technology. because that’s exactly what the false, harmful narratives colonialists tell themselves — stories of taming and conquering a wild Mother Nature and her ferocious beasts — have trained them to expect from the world. the dots were telling a story too, or rather putting on a play.

the penultimate episode of any doctor who series, if not always leading directly into the two-parter finale, will typically begin to tie up loose narrative strands that have stretched across the entire season. at a first impression rogue doesn’t seem to be doing that. but then you take a closer look at the antagonists: creatures that play a role for fun without the slightest regard for those around them. lethal LARPers. cosplayers out to kill. to put it pretentiously, a hyper-realistic theatre of cruelty.

to nobody’s surprise, i’m bringing up my favourite eighth doctor audio drama — the chimes of midnight. edward grove gives every person trapped in the time loop a designated role: the chauffeur, the doctor-detective, the plucky young lady of the house, the lady’s maid, the scullery girl, the housekeeper. they keep playing these roles, over and over, until they begin to forget their original identity, until the part they’re playing takes over their entire sense of self. the servants keep dying over and over because they cannot transcend their roles, because they believe themselves to be “nothing but a scullery maid”. they are reduced to the parts they play in the narrative until they become nothing outside of it, until they become confined to a single location.

the chimes of midnight is set in Edwardian-era England, a time of restrictive, prescriptive class, status and social roles which defined a person’s life and career trajectory — this strict delineation is driven to its logical conclusion and deconstructed under the unnatural conditions of Edward Grove. similarly, rogue is set in a Regency-era mansion — another historical period defined in the popular imagination by its complicated social rules, elegant courtship dynamics, strict class barriers, gossip and elitism. these two doctor who stories don’t have any intentional watsonian connection, but they are deeply linked on a thematic level.

high society is forced theatre. a 24/7 LARP. play your part, put on your costume, don’t interrupt the performance. the audience is waiting. they’re oh so hungry for tragedy.

the biggest part of them all, the most sought-after role, of course, is The Doctor. a standard to live up to. a name to wear like a banner, a pledge, a promise. he has to be like this because this is what he’s like.

the Scullery Maid scrubs the kitchen floor. The Detective searches for clues. the Chauffeur starts up his car. the Duchess hosts a glittering soirée. the Rake hides a secret fling with the Wallflower. the Rogue breaks hearts and broods on the balcony.

and the Doctor? the Doctor dances. “onwards and upwards”. forever in perpetual motion, spinning and spinning and spinning across the stars. never pausing to breathe. never stopping.

p.s.: so, pray tell, what is Ruby Sunday in all this? “The Companion”, of course. smart, funny, sassy, quick-witted, brave, cheeky, curious, self-sacrificial. she almost feels generic because she’s meant to be. she wasn’t born. she was written. an essential part of the story too. circling the Doctor like a satellite forever.

148 notes · View notes

kingorqueenofnarnia · 5 months

Text

Narnia Headcanons

King Edmund the Just

Had several casual relationships and hook-ups with people of all genders, but he neither fell in love with someone nor did he think that someone was politically beneficial enough to marry. He prefers not to label his sexuality.

Narnians gave him many titles. The Fair Judge, the Swordmaster of Narnia, King Edmund the Benevolent, Representative of the People and so on. He was greatly admired in the supreme court of Narnia for his kindness and unbiased treatment of everyone. Beyond Narnian borders he was called the Cunning Fox of Narnia, King Edmund Swordstorm, Edmund the Serpent-Tongued King, the Hurricane of Narnia, etc.

He was the chief diplomat of Narnia, and frequently journeyed to foreign nations to deal with international matters. He was renowned for his art of conversation and would weave such elaborate traps with his words that his prey did not realise they were in danger until they had no way of getting out.

He was a deadly swordfighter— he carried two swords, and despite the lack of a shield, preferred to wear leather armour instead of chainmail. The unconventional armour sent the message that he was lethal enough to not need any real protection.

In one-on-one duels, Peter was better, but Edmund was known as Swordstorm and the Hurricane of Narnia for a reason. His dual swords carved through dozens of enemy soldiers within moments, cutting swathes through the battlefield like a storm. He was brutal, swift and never left a foe alive, and was probably more feared that Peter.

His hair went down to the middle of his back, and was always in braids just like Peter's. He would let Lucy braid flowers into his hair whenever both of them needed to relax or had time. It wasn't uncommon to see the Just King walking around Paravel with roses or violets or jasmines in his hair. When they fell out of Narnia, he had thirty-two braids.

His war paint was deceptively mild looking— two dark green lines running over his left eye down to his chin, and three large dots on the underside of his right eye. It did not look very terrifying, but anybody who ever made the mistake of taking him to be harmless met their death at his sword a second later.

Enjoyed both studying and sports— he often took part in wrestling competitions and mock skirmishes, and just as often could be found debating with Susan, or metaphorically destroying some poor soul that had fallen for his charm and agreed to play chess with him, or in the library with his head buried in a book.

He and Peter refused to duel each other after a certain point in time. They knew each other's fighting styles too well— the duel would always end in a draw, no matter how brutal and deadly Edmund was or how fast and strong Peter was.

Just as good a war strategist as the other Pevensies. He usually left the strategising to Peter and Lucy, but when he did put in his two words, his plans were always crucial in winning wars.

His favourite subjects were Politics, History and funnily enough, cooking. He would often sneak into the kitchens during his free time and ask the chefs to teach him how to cook. Within a year of sitting in on meal prep, he was excellent at cooking, and at least every two months the Pevensies gathered for a family dinner prepared by Edmund.

Piercings. His right ear had four piercings and left had two. He had one in his belly-button and another on his tongue, and then a vertical piercing at his right eyebrow that exacerbated the action of him raising an eyebrow.

The King of Pranks™. Permanent and semi-permanent residents of the castle were frequent targets for his pranks, and the stories of his mischief-making were so outrageous and unbelievable that if anyone who had never been on the wrong end of his metaphorical sword would never even entertain the idea of them being true.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia headcanons #chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie headcanons #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #the pevensie siblings #the pevensies #pevensies #pevensie siblings #amrut writes about narnia

161 notes · View notes

tiredassmage · 2 years

Photo

The Boys (TM) on Yavin IV & Ziost today. Bringing in ‘23 right with some of my favorite things: dress up blorbos (bonus for color coordination dream team), Theron Shan my beloved, and at least one of my ocs definitely not (>:3) having flashbacks to Some Shit They Went Through. (RIP Rhyst’s emotions, never gonna forget Uphrades)

Savosta and Rhyst shaking hands, having bad premonitions over this Emperor’s Return bullshit.

All of this also known as I meant to run them back to back through Yavin and Ziost today and then I got semi-distracted achievement hunting on Yavin with Savosta because I made the mistake of opening the achievements menu to check something.

#dot plays the star war #swtor #swtor screenshots #shadow of revan #ch: rhyst #ch: savosta #theron shan #dot will always be delighted that her hc is that malavai is taller than savosta and i love making them go places together #savosta getting dwarfed at 5'6 by his tall ass 6ft jedi bestie #this is it tho this is where the true magic of friendship happens and i am so excited even if i can't get them beside one another in game #everyone else is like gotta stop revan!!!#and these two are in the corner trading notes on vitiate like 'this is bad this is so bad right we're stopping this right ride or die'#memo to dot to make a fic masterpost now that i'll be running 2 series bc i care them #the delavast legacy

3 notes · View notes

city-of-ladies · 28 days

Text

"Mycenaean women put their own spindles to splendid use, producing luscious cloaks and long, richly patterned or striped skirts. Far from resigning themselves to the weaving rooms, they travelled in chariots, performed songs or poetry to the accompaniment of lyres, and carried wheatsheaves for public ceremonies and rituals, as vibrantly coloured frescoes from the palace at Mycenae reveal. In one of the most enigmatic paintings, one woman holds a sword, another a spear, while two tiny men, one painted red and the other black, float mysteriously between them, like toy models or thought bubbles. Through their contact with the divine, perhaps, the women pictured gain agency over the men’s fate. Hera, Zeus, Poseidon and a female birth and death goddess known as Potnia were among the deities the Mycenaeans are known to have worshipped. While Mycenaean women clearly played an important role in religion, their political position within the palaces was weaker than that of their Minoan counterparts, and secondary to the men’s. Each Mycenaean palace complex was presided over by a male ‘wa-na-ka’ or wanax.

Surviving clay writing tablets provide just as fascinating an insight into the lives of women in the real palaces of the Mycenaean era. The fullest collection of tablets comes from a pair of rooms in the palace complex of Pylos, but Knossos, the former Minoan capital, was also a key repository. A total of 4,476 tablets have been preserved across the two sites. Among these there are references to more than 2,000 different women. Unlike Linear A, the Minoans’ writing system, the Mycenaeans’ similarly syllabic Linear B has been successfully deciphered. Working (as opposed to non-working elite) women were denoted by signs resembling an abstract impression of the female form. ‘Woman’ was conveyed by two dots for breasts, legs joined to suggest a long skirt of the kind Mycenaean women wore, and a curved line where her head would be, suggestive of long or dressed hair (in the sign for a man, by contrast, there is a straight line for the head).

The women referred to in the tablets were employed in a wide range of jobs, many of them familiar from the Homeric epics. In the Odyssey, women grind wheat and barley, ‘the marrow of men’, at mills. There were ‘flour-grinders’ at the palace in Pylos. In both epics, women weave, whether royal or servile. Andromache works in the Trojan palace with a loom and distaff while ordering her servant women about their work. Helen embroiders a purple cloth with scenes from the Trojan War as if she were telling the story of the poem herself. And as we have seen, Penelope weaves and unweaves a funeral shroud for her father-in-law, Laertes. The women who wove at Pylos and Knossos were no less versatile in their handiwork. They managed something like a textile industry, producing goods for export as well as the palace community, and worked in groups according to specialism. There were wool-spinners and carders, linen- and leather-workers, finishers and headband-makers for horses. These women usually worked separately from men, but at Pylos there is evidence that at least two women, Wordieia and Amphehia, formed part of a mixed leather-making group.

Working groups were the modus operandi at the Mycenaean palaces. Women were usually accompanied by boys and girls, presumably their own children, as they went about their tasks. Many were divided also according to their geographical region. Pylos was split into sixteen districts over two provinces, Nearer and Further, separated by Mount Aigaleo. The palace-workers came from more than 200 named places, some of which may have been local streets, while others, including Lemnos, Miletus and Knidos, lay further afield. It is possible that, like the Sidonian (Phoenician) women carried to Troy by Paris in the Iliad to weave fine robes for the court, some of the women working in the Mycenaean palaces had been enslaved.

Although the women were engaged in hard, practical labour, their work was recognised as highly skilled, and the Mycenaeans took some pride in it. Men were sometimes described on tablets as being the offspring of women of particular crafts, for example, ‘sons of flax-workers’. Female workers were allocated the same amount of food in the regular distributions as their male counterparts, and twice as much as their children, whereas in Babylonia, men typically received three times the female ration.

A mysterious senior class of priestess at Pylos known as ‘keybearers’ (did they open and close shrines within the palace complex?) even owned land. A landowning keybearer named ka-pa-ti-ja (‘Karpathia’) was wealthy enough to donate almost 200 litres of grain to the palace, probably for a religious festival. Given the historical prominence of women at the court of Pylos, it is fitting that a mythical Pylian king should intervene in the dispute over Briseis in the Iliad. Old Nestor urges Agamemnon to return the woman to Achilles and to end their feud."

The Missing Thread: A Women's History of the Ancient World, Daisy Dunn

#history #women in history #women's history #historyedit #mycenaean greece #ancient greece #bronze age #ancient world #working women #women's work #greece #greek history

129 notes · View notes

gatitties · 11 months

Note

Hi can you do yandere bonten (separately where their s/o (who knows they’re a yandere and gose a long with.) is being targeted by another gang. ( Trying to kill them and shit) and on day they see a red dot on their s/o forehead. (Coming from a laser on a gun) and then there’s gunshots everywhere. Do they manage to tackle their s/o on those and save them? ( you can pick) and what do they do to rival gang when they find them?

─Yandere!Bonten x reader (separately)

─Summary: a moment in which your life is threatened, a moment of despair for these boys

─Warnings: death, blood, mention of drugs, toxic behaivors, yandere stuff

─ It was very strange to go from not being noticed socially to having a psychopath holding your waist every second of your existence.

─ You knew that his behaviors went beyond a toxic and controlling partner, perhaps because you were aware that you knew how to cope with it in a certain way, in any case accepting his madness made many things easier, it was better to be on Mikey's good side.

─ That you were docile could only improve Mikey's condition, although sometimes it was like dealing with a capricious child, you had to at least pretend not to be uncomfortable twenty-four hours a day stuck to him in any way.

─ Although there are situations in which due to certain circumstances he needs to move away from you, it will bother him even if it is a few seconds in which he has to greet someone important, but he will always have a part of his body attached to you, whether it's his hand on your shoulder or his knee touching yours, he needs to make sure that you won't vanish out of nowhere even though it's physically impossible.

─ In the event that your life was threatened for just a measly second, it was like starting a war.

─ You didn't even know what happened before his body locked you against the floor and dragged you under one of the tables.

─ You were at a dinner with some executives and out of nowhere you found yourself being suffocated by Mikey on the floor listening to a lot of guns and screams.

─ He knew that he had enemies around every corner, but he didn't know that they were stupid enough to point a gun directly at you, at his most precious being.

─ You were lucky that he was able to react in time due to his constant fixation on always having you by his side, if it weren't for his mania perhaps your destiny would have been different.

─ Although unfortunately this event reduced your time outdoors, at least until Mikey wiped out each and every one of those involved in your near-death.

─ It wasn't a good start because it started with your kidnapping.

─ But perhaps the effect of narcotics on your body was what made you stop fighting against someone who had more power than you in society, you were condemned and you accepted it.

─ Sanzu doesn't care enough not to traumatize you and you have to get used to the fact that every time he takes you somewhere someone ends up dead because of him.

─ He doesn't require so much continuous physical contact, however whenever he wants it you will have to be on his lap without any complaints, you learned the hard way that it was better to listen the first time he wants something.

─ You're his little toy and everyone knows it, maybe, too many people know who you 'belong' to and that caught the attention of a certain gang that Sanzu had previously had problems with.

─ That's why the moment when you find yourself in a brothel having a drink with Sanzu and the Haitani brothers and a red dot forms on your forehead is not surprising to him.

─ It was the lack of reaction, the mental block and the speed with which the murder happened, it was a clean shot, your blood splashed on his stupefied face and he couldn't even catch your body before you collapsed against the elegant sofa.

─ It broke him, not the fact of your death, but the fact that another person had played with the life of his obsession, his new toy, and maybe he didn't accept so easily that you were dead, maybe he kept your inert body in his bed, your pajamas on as if it were just another ordinary night.

─ To say he was a disaster (even more) was an understatement, he was going to find those bastards and going to torture them while 'you' watched, hoping that it would entertain you, at least this time you would look and not look away like all those other times.

─ He's probably one of the most normal, if it's normal to be harassed for months and have 'unintentional' encounters with Kakucho all the time.

─ Kakucho was more of an observer and stayed in the background, he knew that his obsession was not a good thing, but at least he accepted that he was aware of it and that you would have to accept him.

─ No matter how much you ran away, what you did, you always had his eyes on your figure, you were a kind of divinity for him and he didn't even want to do anything perverse, he wanted to love you. Was he asking for much? Well, he could always resort to other methods anyway, if he wanted something, he had the power to get it.

─ He didn't ask for much, he just wanted you, and he became so sincere as to confess to you everything he had been doing, everything he would do if you agreed to be with him by hook and by crook.

─ He's not very good with romantic relationships if his last option is a threat, but you decided to take the easy way out and accept all his madness towards you.

─ He was too paranoid to let you go out on your own, to do anything without his supervision, he had lost Izana a long time ago and it was too painful and traumatic for him to happen to you.

─ It's quite rare that your life is threatened because you practically don't leave your safe place, but like any good gentleman, he always has some romantic plan for two and that means going out from time to time.

─ Don't worry, the second that red dot is on your forehead you were probably protected by a mass of muscles from several bodyguards and immediately guided out along with Kakucho.

─ He will not personally be in charge of finding and killing the gang that was behind the attempt on your life, but he will know when they are all three meters underground, which will be sooner rather than later.

─ Oh poor thing, did you really think you could escape his clutches once he met you and became infatuated with you? That's sweet of you, but Takeomi already has you under the palm of his hand without you knowing it.

─ You noticed each of his manipulation tricks and his strange fixation on you, he laughed knowing how perceptive you were and admitted to you that he had not been able to get you out of his mind since the first time he saw you and that it would be better if you accompanied him for the good ones.

─ He was good enough that you could face him and move forward despite all his toxic behaviors, and even though you missed your old life and freedom, you bitterly accepted that it wasn't that easy to get rid of a mafia executive.

─ He showered you with luxuries and praise whenever you behaved as he wanted, and he tried to make everything as least uncomfortable as possible since he was hungry for love, but he knew that forcing some things on you would make him feel as if everything was a lie (despite that it was in a certain way, he wouldn't admit it).

─ He thought that no one would be stupid enough to even think about hurting you, you were always well protected and a few threats would be enough to stop anyone from wanting to look at you.

─ Poor little gang that tried to annoy him by threatening you at gunpoint, Takeomi is not stupid and expected your life to be threatened sooner or later, he is not a saint and has enemies left and right, this devil knows more because he is old than by devil

─ The whole band died that night while he was enjoying his dinner with you without any altercation, you didn't even know and you didn't need to know, he wanted to continue in his bubble of happiness and a trauma to you would break that illusion, you were behaving so well, you didn't need to feel fear, at least not fear from other people.

─ You were smart and applied, probably what caught Kokonoi's attention, it started as a small crush that got worse when he saw how your attention was not only for him.

─ You were smart, but not smart enough to notice how he drugged you to kidnap you that night he invited you to dinner. If you didn't notice his obsessive behavior before, now you did.

─ The amount of luxuries and whims increased, you didn't even need to behave well, he would have you with money as he had always done with everything, and you had no choice but to accept that a crazy rich man had kidnapped you and that he wouldn't let you go unless you were his partner or something like that.

─ Sick, yes, but you didn't want to know what would happen if you refused, or maybe it was Stockholm syndrome, at this point you no longer knew how to differentiate it.

─ Kokonoi is not always with you, which gives you a false sense of freedom, false because you always have a bodyguard watching from afar, and although you don't know it, there are more eyes watching you.

─ Kokonoi is not stupid either, he knows that they will use you to get to him, but he anticipated the facts, he managed to bribe the murderer of the gang who had problems with him to make sure that you would be fine, he would break if he lost another important person.

─ Astute enough to foresee a possible murder but not enough to foresee a betrayal, his whole world collapsed when one night he found out that you had been murdered, that was not supposed to happen, he should have been there.

─ He faced your death with vengeance, despite not being the most bloodthirsty in Bonten, the only thing he wanted to do was torture the gang that had dared to take your life, that scum that decided to betray him, he would not be the one to apply violence, but he would enjoy the cries of those bastards.

─ You were a whim of the younger brother of the Haitani, a whim that he couldn't get out of his head.

─ It started out as a normal relationship, but his delusional obsession with you and his changes in behavior made you think that everything was much more complicated than a mere relationship.

─ Rindou watched every step you took, he started getting rid of 'unnecessary' people in your life and you couldn't do anything about that, you accepted it too easily, so much so that you even thought you weren't completely sane.

─ You didn't need anyone else, he is always there, literally always because he loves to be by your side, he loves to squeeze your waist and bring you closer to him while others see him, he loves to kiss you in front of everyone to make it clear that he is the one who has you and no one else.

─ He can be suffocating at times, but it's not like you can do anything, if necessary he will chain you to him to stay together until death.

─ Speaking of death… the threats don't take long to arrive, knowing that they could use you against him, he will not leave you alone even to go to the bathroom, anything can be a threat, even an innocent child could be a spy looking to kill you.

─ Locking you up and depriving you of going outside doesn't make it any less likely that you'll end up dead, even though he didn't leave you for even a second, he wasn't fast enough to throw you to the ground when the red dot on your temple became visible.

─ He saw how your gaze was lost until it was lifeless and he saw red, all the people who were close to the scene died in painful ways in the following week, whether they were innocent or those involved, Rindou needed someone to pay for his loss, maybe he wasn't cautious enough.

─ You fell for his sweet charms, charms that had a lot of corpses, blood and torture behind them, but it was all for you, why would you get angry? He thought he wasn't doing anything wrong and would make you think so too, Ran is very patient.

─ Whatever it was, you accepted all of his macabre behavior, the murders, the jealousy, the obsession, you had to put up with everything.

─ But it's okay, Ran will be generous, he will offer you a lot for little, he just wants you to pay attention to him, he needs to know that you will be there for him no matter what he does.

─ He doesn't always have time for you unfortunately, but he will always have an eye on you, he needs to make sure that no one, not even you, does anything stupid when he's not there.

─ He treats you as if you couldn't do anything on your own, as if you were weaker than him, he likes you to be like the typical character in trouble, it makes him look cooler, doesn't it?

─ He probably received some threat, he could only laugh at the band that thought could touch a single lock of your hair.

─ The problem is that your restrictions increased and your 'free' time decreased, typical, but in this case Ran will be much more paranoid, don't think about spending a single moment alone from now on until he investigates and kills all those cockroaches who dared to threaten your life.

─ The moment he sees that the shooting starts in one of his brothels when he is spending time with you he gets furious, he will get you to safety immediately, he locks you up and even gives you a gun in case some smartass find you.

─ He will personally take charge, with some help from his brother, of killing the gang that had started the destruction in his business right there and will return to you to calm you down with a session of kisses and hugs if you get scared.

─ Poor Mochizuki was never good at romance, he didn't have many partners and his position in one of the biggest mafias in Tokyo was not a positive incentive to find someone who loved him.

─ So he thought that his obsession was justified when you showed some interest in him, of course that was before you knew who he really was, but it was too late, he got his hopes up and he wouldn't let anyone break them, not even yourself.

─ If he needed to have you drugged for you to accept him, he would do it, but no one would take away what he had longed dreamed for so long.

─ Don't let his tough exterior fool you, he could be a total idiot just for you, although he didn't always use the most legitimate means to get something you wanted, you couldn't do much either.

─ He always keeps you in a close hug, squeezing your shoulder and holding your body close to his as if they were going to steal you from his hands.

─ It's impossible for him not to worry, he knows the world he moves in and he is the weakest link among the Bonten executives, the guy who is in charge of some of the dirty work and knows that he has many guns pointed at him.

─ That's why he couldn't help but get involved in a shootout when he was trying to enjoy a night walk with you, he was incredibly quick to get you out of the way of the bullet that was aimed at your head, but he didn't expect for another one to embed itself in your lung seconds later.

─ His whole world shattered because he thought he had been able to save you, but seeing you dying in pain while he tried to take you to the nearest hospital was something worse than death for him, especially because you didn't make it.

─ It's not a surprise that the day after mourning that entire band was brutally murdered with just his fists, the sound of bones breaking under his knuckles was music to his ears that day.

#tokyo revengers #tr #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere #yanere tokyo revengers x reader #request #bonten #bonten x reader #yandere bonten x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #reader is not specified so...#gn reader #male reader #fem reader #x reader

375 notes · View notes

ecoterrorist-katara · 6 months

Text

Katara would’ve been such a good diplomat (it’s canon)

everyone rightfully hates on the ATLA comics because the politics are baffling and the characterization is even more so…but if there’s one thing we can take away from the dumpster fire that is The Promise, it’s that Katara was BORN to be a diplomat and an international force for peace, okay? Especially since her besties, the Avatar and the Fire Lord, aren’t actually very good at this.

If you haven’t read The Promise, the Wikipedia summary is pretty good. The TL;DR is that Zuko and Kuei agree that the Fire Nation colonies need to be returned to the Earth Kingdom. The colony of Yu Dao is not happy about this because the people of the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom have been mixing together (under inequitable conditions) for more than a hundred years and “just kick out the Fire Nation” is not as straightforward as it seems, since there are blended families now. Zuko refuses to kick out the Fire Nation people from Yu Dao, Kuei wants to play hardball, and they almost launch another war. Oh and there’s a weird plot about Aang debating whether to put Zuko down like a rabid dog

For all that the Wiki page does a good job of summarizing the events, it forgets some key facts:

It’s Katara who first starts thinking about new solutions after witnessing the situation on the ground, and then comes up with the idea that Zuko and Kuei should meet and talk about the colonies:

It’s Katara who tells Kuei that Zuko has legitimate concerns (without saying that Zuko is right), when Aang tries to hedge and sugarcoat the truth:

And it’s Katara who says to Kuei, wait, what the hell do you mean that you have no idea what your people want, that Yu Dao is just a dot on the map for you? We’re getting you out of this stupid blimp and you’re gonna talk to people before you make a decision that affects their lives, you coward

To recap, Katara demonstrates some pretty freaking key political skills, like:

finding out what people want before making a decision for them

seeing people as people first and foremost, not as fire nation or earth kingdom

encouraging her loved ones, the Avatar and the Fire Lord, to resolve a conflict by beginning negotiations instead of brawling like a couple of drunks at a bar / kids on the playground (both analogies fit btw, 13-17 is a weird combination of ages)

realistically reporting tricky disagreements without sweeping them under the rug

kidnapping a king to the middle of a battlefield to give him a reality check about listening to the people he’s trying to rule

Anyway, Katara is hyper competent at both war AND peace! We see this in the show, with her compassion for the prisoners of the Earth Kingdom (by inciting a prison riot) and the suffering people of the Fire Nation (by committing ecoterrorism), only now that compassion is backed up not only by her fighting prowess and speeches about hope, but actual ability to manipulate the levers of power.

And have I mentioned that she has the ears of both the Avatar and the Fire Lord and her dad is Chief of the Southern Water Tribe? Even if Katara didn’t get a diplomat position based on her skills, or her status as a war hero, she could nepo baby her way in. The fact that she does not pick up a career in international diplomacy is a crime & a colossal oversight from the creators. At minimum you know Katara would’ve established Healers Without Borders or something. She deserves to be yelling at people at ATLA UN and then drafting world-changing resolutions.

And as a bonus, Katara demonstrates her gift for diplomacy by not smacking Zuko up the head for attempting to legitimize colonization through the argument of economic progress…

…and by not smacking Aang up the head for seriously considering anti-miscegenation as a viable political solution:

This patience is a new development because show!Katara did not have this in her, but maybe this is what growing up is all about and not just yet another strike on the “comics are wildly OOC” tally

TL;DR: ATLA boys lost their brain cells post-canon. All hail Katara, Sugar Queen of international diplomacy.

#Katara #Katara deserved better #atla comics #Chief Katara of the Water Tribes #United Republic Councilwoman Katara #Ambassador Katara #I’m not picky which one she becomes I just want her to exert political power as a principled and fair and compassionate representative #She saved the world it’s only fair she gets to run it especially since unlike most nepo babies (ie monarchy) she’s qualified #pro Katara #atla #my meta

192 notes · View notes

a-romantics-guide-to-life · 20 days

Text

⋆ ₊☽˚𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼˚☾₊ ⋆

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : you and coryo had gone through hell and back, you've been together and far apart yet you could never find the courage to say how you truly feel for him. so, you wrote them into letter form, but you never sent them. and so what happens when one mr. snow finds each and every letter only to realize that it's too late?

𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : written in letter form from the readers perspective, talks of jealousy and sad feelings, r is definitely from the capitol

𝓪/𝓷 : tbh, i have SO many other things i should be writing but this idea popped into my head and so i've been writing it when i have time in between classes and other stuff so here ya go, hope you enjoy!

𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

⋆ ₊ ☽ ·˚𓍲⋆ 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮: 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓸𝓻 ⋆𓍲˚· ☾ ₊ ⋆

Dearest Coryo,

Congratulations on making the top twenty! I am so proud of you darling!

After everything that we’ve been through, you deserve it. I am sure that the Plinth Prize will find its way home into your hands so you can pay off your family's debts and so you can finally take me out on a proper date.

I know that I will be there in person to congratulate you at the reaping ceremony but I just wanted you to know that no matter what, I will be cheering you on from the side lines.

You know, the first letter I ever wrote for you was way back when we were kids during the war, right?

Me and my family had just fled to our safe house in the mountains and I was wondering how you and your family were doing. Then of course, news of your fathers murder spread even into our small cabin in the middle of nowhere. Of course, my first instinct was to pull out parchment and a pen and just write, write, write.

And write, write, write I did. I somehow ended up writing 30 pages of parchment front and back recounting every single moment we had until that exact moment. From the first time we met at the tender age of three at a family dinner, to the first moment we played at the park together. Even now, I still remember the ache of my wrist after writing for nearly the entire afternoon. My mother even helped me bind the collection of letters into a book for you, do you remember that?

Or well, I suppose you don't see as I never sent the letters. Something in my chest just never let my hands grab the letters where they lay hidden in my room, underneath my bed. My heart never left those pages though, and as I write this letter I feel my heart once again pouring into every dotted i and crossed t.

I have no doubt that this letter too will never see the light of day just as many other letters I have written over the years have. It is quite the affair after I finish a letter. I feel as though I have accomplished something by immortalizing my feelings and memories into these written pages of paper.

Anyways, I love you and I am just so proud of you my dearest Coryo.

Love,

Your Biggest Admirer

Dearest Coryo,

I am so terribly sorry for you. My heart aches just knowing that you got so close to the Plinth prize only for Dean Highbottom to rip it out of your grasp and shred it into a million pieces right in front of your eyes.

And not to mention, the new mentorship you are expected to undertake, I mean do they not know who you are.

Coriolanus Snow, the brightest, most intelligent, most caring, and most loving student at the Academy, a school known for the rich snobby kids who pay their way up to the top.

You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are today, even your cousin worked so hard just to help propel you to where you are now darling.

I believe that it is an utter disgrace to the Academy name to have students such as ourselves, though one could argue you are from another world entirely compared to us plebeians, to mentor district scum. Not to mention, they think it will be a challenge for you to tame that wild Lucy Gray Baird.

Sure, you may get nervous but I know you will pull through. After all, Snow lands on top right?

Although, sometimes I wish that Snow would land on top of me. Oh to feel you hovering over me as you kiss me tenderly or passionately. To be honest I would take either of the two.

It is quite ridiculous, and embarrassing really, how gorgeous you are. I often find myself staring at you from across the room. Your deep blue eyes focused on the assignment or task at hand, sometimes your eyebrows would pull together when you are concentrating on calculations or deep in thought. Your nose would scrunch, adorably, and your lips would forma tight line when you stumble across a particularly hard problem.

But you never stop trying, it's why I love you. You’ve worked hard to reach where you are today, never bribing people with long winded promises or money. You always worked for what you got, even if you didn’t have to put in all your effort.

The fact of the matter is that you’re brilliant Coryo. Even when we were young, I remember there was a time when we were playing hide-and-seek and you just knew me too well and found me within five seconds.

And see that’s the thing, you remember. You always knew exactly what to say to make me laugh when I was crying, what to do when I was furious, and especially when I was sick, you’d bring me flowers and snacks while I lay too nauseous to even ask anyone for food. You truly know me too well.

Just like I know you. Or atleast, I like to think I know you better than say Clemensia. I know that you prefer tea over coffee in the mornings no matter how many espressos you drink with Felix. I know that you dislike strawberry shortcake no matter how many people rave about because you dislike cake. And I know that no matter how hard to try it, those bright blue eyes of yours can’t hide the hunger you have.

Most importantly though, I know you hunger. Money, power, glory. You thirst for it and I just know that through this mentorship you will be satiated and heavy with happiness after.

I will cheer you on, no matter what Coryo.

Love,

Your Biggest Admirer

Dearest Coryo,

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

You’ve been quite busy though so I understand. You’ve really taken into this mentorship, haven’t you?

Not that I blame you, everything you’ve ever wanted is right within your grasp as long as you prove to Dr.Gaul and co. that you are deserving of the Plinth prize. But, that also means that you have to do everything you can to also prove Dean Highbottom wrong.

Of course, that also means that we haven’t really been together in quite a while.

Not that I mean it in that way it’s just, I miss my best friend sometimes you know.

It’s been a blessing to have grown up with you. And to have found you after the war. You are after all, still my Coryo.

But of course, because I know why you’ve been busy so I guess I’ll let it slide as long as you let me treat you, and Tigris and your Grandma’am, out to dinner when you win that prize. Once you solidify your future with me.

Of course, not in that sense, but as in we can attend the University together and take this country by storm together.

I’ve noticed that you and Lucy Gray have been quite close. It was sweet of her to not leave you for dead after that awful rebel bombing.

Did you know I visited you in the hospital as soon as I heard?

You were laying there, skin all sickly and sticky. There were tubes and stuff hooked up into you. The doctors said that they would help you heal quicker so of course I thought nothing of it. And now you are better.

Me and Tigris never left your side in that hospital bed. Sometimes I wonder if you had heard all of my ramblings as I say there beside you in that dingy hospital.

I wonder if you felt my hand as I stoked it back and forth waiting, pleading really, for you to wake up.

I wonder if you felt my hands as I wiped the sweat off of your forehead and handsome face as I cried for you.

I wonder how it felt for you when you woke up and I wasn’t there. You see, Gaul and Highbottom had asked me to step in your place to soothe wild Lucy Gray before she performed on stage. I’d like to think it was because they both knew how close we are. Or perhaps they thought it proper torture to remind me just how much you needed this win and how willing they were to keep you from it.

Regardless, I still begged Lucy Gray to perform with a guitar from my family’s collection that had been requested by you.

And I’m glad that we had a common shared interest, you.

It may have been too much of a shared interest between you and her because I saw you two at the zoo tonight. I left before you two could notice me but the burning ache in my chest left a scar that wouldn’t heal. The way that you cradled her fear ridden face. The way that she tenderly took your hand as you wiped her tears away with your mother handkerchief.

Do you like her!??

But regardless you are my best friend and I just want you to be happy so I’ll pretend I never saw anything, promise.

Anything for you, right?

Anyways, the Games are tomorrow and I hope the odds are ever in your favor Coryo.

Love,

Your Biggest Admirer

Dearest Coryo,

You did it! That Plinth prize is as good as your darling. I'm so proud of you, I mean this is huge, it's your ticket into the presidency. Now, not even Dean Highbottom can catch you now. I hope you unleash your bitter fury onto all of those who doubted you and show them truly how Snow lands on top. Some people just seem to gossip as they please, talking about your too tight shoes and your tile buttons but none of them can take this win away from you Coryo.

Goodness, the way you lit up as you won. It kind of hurt though when you didn;t even spare me a second glance after you won. You and Tigris just looked so relieved and happy which made me happy for you. That all that mattered to me at that moment, you happiness. You smile that nearly lit up the entire Capitol. Of course, when you turned to look at me with those warm arms of yours open for me to jump into you, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

And the feeling of you lifting me up, thanking me for supporting you through everything, kissing my cheek, I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you Coryo.

The feel of your lips against my cheek lit up a light in my chest that I thought I lost when I saw you and Lucy Gray in the zoo that night.

I’m just glad that now that the games are over, we can forget this Lucy Gray and cleanse ourselves of the Games. She can go back home to 12 a hero and a leader and we can continue our lives as they were.

Maybe we could even go out for a celebratory round of drinks, if you want.

Love,

Your Biggest Admirer

Dearest Coryo,

Where are you?

After your win it’s like you’ve just up and disappeared. Tigris has been talking about an eviction and losing the penthouse. I thought that the Plinth prize was yours?

Even Highbottom hasn’t said anything about your whereabouts, or well not to me anyway. But even Sejanus said he knows.

Coriolanus, I’m worried about you.

There have been rumors that you cheated in the Games and got exiled. I hope they aren’t true. I know you, you’d never cheat and destroy your chances at getting the money. Highbottom, no matter how much we hate him, had a point with making the punishment for cheating in the Games severe. There’s no way you would stake your entire family and your home for some District girl, right?

You hate cheaters yourself, remember that one time that we were playing a card game and I had hid some of the cards in my sleeve to ensure I won? You didn’t talk to me for three months. You hate how Clemensia always takes all the credit for your partner assignments when you know damn well that her wrist has never known ache like yours. You hate how Felix has never even had a meaningful conversation with any of the people at political dinners yet he had more support than you did amongst the rich and powerful. You even hate that Sejanus’ family had so much money from a war that we suffered from only to be inducted into the very society their people had been at odds with.

Sejanus told me that you had given Lucy Gray rat poison to kill the other tributes with. He even told me that you retrieved him from the arena, killing one of the tributes. And he said that you had been exiled to 8 to serve as a peacekeeper.

That can’t be true, it just can't, right?

I mean, even if you had been sent to 8, you would’ve at least told me right? And Tigris would’ve told me and your Grandma’am would’ve surely written to my father with the news.

Highbottom and Gaul must be mistaken right? There's just no way in my mind that a boy as smart and sweet as yourself would throw away everything for some District clown in a frilly dress. There is just no way that you would’ve manipulated Gaul into letting her into her lab just so you could sneak in and make sure Gaul’s hellish snakes wouldn’t sic Lucy Gray. There is just no way that you snuck her your mothers compact full of poison to use in the Games. And there is just no way that you killed a boy in the Arena saving Sejanus, there's just no way?

Right?

There is no way that you would leave me here to rot all by myself in the capitol without the one person who has ever mattered to me.

Regardless, whenever you come out of whichever hole you are hiding in, I’ll be here, waiting for you to come home.

Love,

Your Biggest Admirer

this one was admittedly not as sad and its not too long but i hope you enjoyed! stay tuned for pt 2!

#coriolanus snow #coryo snow #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #letters #sorry this was short #this series isnt too long so the next parts should be out soon!#the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #emi sanity

76 notes · View notes