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painted-flag · 2 days ago

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OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 7.3k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ The world tilts, friends fight friends, and there is no escape from the carnage.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. This time, we’ll take them all out. Starting with this spoiled bitch.’

Cole’s words echoed in your mind as tensions ran high. You saw the elven soldiers around you as they watched on to what their king would do. Cole was in open subordination and that stance alone seemed to shock a good portion of them. The other portion looked surprisingly calm, faces blank as they watched on with calculation in their eyes. The sun beat down through the thin canopy of trees and you could smell the bustling breeze that carried the scent of flowers in the fields beyond the camp. The fields of your old home that happened to be on the verge of being set alight.

The gleaming steel of Cole’s sword was pointed at you, just a few metres from your body. Within a few moments after Cole threatened you, Aemond moved from your side to be in front of you. His hand had grabbed your forearm and pulled you behind him. The hand left you to then rest on the hilt of his sword, yet he waited to draw it.

“You will have to pass me first, Cole.” Aemond’s tone was calm but held a weight behind it that you had scarce to ever see.

“No, you will step aside and let us finish what you could not.” Cole's words were threatening, not unlike anything he had ever said to you. However, this time it was towards his king and in an area so open. Your mind got caught up in his words. Us?

“Careful now,” Aegon pipped up from beside Daeron as he stood with the other elves, “That is your king.”

Cole let out a strangled laugh and paid Aegon no mind, his eyes staring intently at Aemond, “You’ve been so blind to your own elves' anger at your inaction.”

Aemond made a move to speak, but Cole did not let him, “So many of your people have grown tired. We want them gone.” You were overcome by anger at his sentiment.

“So this is why you started the taint? Because you could not let anything go?” You had tried to step forward to get nearer to Cole. All notions of self-preservation had left you, but Aemond’s arm which had been ready to seize his sword flew out to keep you behind him. While it warmed your heart at his innate need to protect you, your adrenaline urged you to fight Cole yourself. Truly, it would not go well for you as you had never held a sword in your life.

“You be silent, scum!” Cole had lost what little composure he had left when you spoke. It was like he was offended at the fact that you thought it was okay to speak to him, to even look in his direction.

“Say that again.” Aemond challenged. He moved his hand back to the hilt of his sword and squared his shoulders. The disrespect Cole had shown him, especially in front of other soldiers, would not go unpunished.

“I said that she is a whore,” Cole spat out, “And I do not fight alone.” At those words, many of the elves standing by pulled out their swords as well and aimed them at Aemond. You nearly stumbled back completely. Almost half of the current forces here – which was already a few thousand total – had sided with Cole. This could not have been sudden but rather planned. Bile almost rose to your throat. How long had he been planning this?

In quick succession, the elves turned on their own soldiers and started to attack. They seemed to already know which were on Cole’s side. Aemond unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Cole to block the elf's strike. You yelped as Aemond pushed you back and out of the way. The wound in your side throbbed. You looked around at the chaos around you. Just moments ago everything was alright and now it had crumbled into chaos.

Clanging swords against one another rose with a fervour. Elves fought with senseless and reckless abandon, cutting into one another. Guttural screams rose above the clanking metal, intermixing with the sounds of dented armour and cut skin.

Aemond and Cole were locked in on one another. You could not help but be entranced, stuck in awe at the sight in front of you. The way they fought with such skill and precision outmatched any you had ever seen. It was a dance of wrath; born from one friend's growing discontent and the other’s betrayal.

While Aemond was distracted, an elf from the sidelines came at you with his sword raised. You had no means of protecting yourself, no weapon to even try. You wished, with all your might, that you had learned how to fight for yourself. In all your years, you had learned to live by yourself – but fighting had never been an option.

The elf, just moments from you, had suddenly stopped as a piece of steel burst forth from his throat. He choked on his blood, the squelching sound being driven into your head and forced to rest there forever in blistering torment. The steel slowly receded and left his throat, causing the elf’s body to tumble to the ground. Aegon stood there, looking at his sword as if he were in shock at what he had done.

Too soon after that one attack came another. This time from behind you and Aegon would not be able to intervene. Aemond, amid his fight with Cole, seemed to still be keeping a close watch on you. He lunged forward and struck down the elf coming straight at you, but unfortunately, it left him vulnerable and Cole swooped in. The elf’s sword made a brutal downward chop toward Aemond’s side with nothing but unbridled brutality behind it. Cole seemed lost in his indignation towards the King and struck with rage rather than precision.

Aemond stumbled to the ground, his knees hitting the solid dirt. His sword fell from his grasp and Cole swung his longsword down. Aemond was able to roll to his side away from it and let out a grunt. Cole began to scream as he swung his sword with reckless abandon, each time he hit the dirt, Aemond managed to dodge the swings. Eventually, as Cole paused for a second to breathe, Aemond kicked out his leg and knocked Cole to the ground. Cole grunted loudly as his body, covered in hard armour, hit the ground with a loud thump.

You watched on, now between Daeron and Aegon for safety, as Aemond and Cole used their firsts to strike blows at one another. They tossed and turned in the trampled shortgrass. Each movement caught a ray from the sun on their now dirtied armour. It was all snarls and bunched-up firsts as they fought.

More elves came to try and strike at you, each being taken out by Daeron or Aegon. You never wanted to feel this helpless again in your life. If you had any chance of survival, you would not suffer this again. You would learn to defend yourself. The brutality in front of you compounded. It was like hell had opened, spilling chaos from its yoke.

In your moment of distraction as you watched Daeron plung a sword through a weak spot in an elf’s armour and into his belly, you heard a strangled shout. The voice, so instilled in your bones had never made that sound. The world seemed to slow as you turned and saw a dagger in Aemond’s stomach. There was a small opening in his armour, and Cole had taken advantage of it. The hilt looked a lot like the one that Cole had used to stab you. Aemond’s head hit the ground and he lost his strength.

Cole kneeled above Aemond. He tilted his head up to the sky, letting the rays hit his face and closed his eyes in victory. His arms were outstretched as if he accomplished all that he had ever wanted. Your eyes slipped to Daeron who was near you and currently fighting an elf. There, resting on his hip, was a sheathed knife. It was not large but had enough of a blade to create damage. You surged forward, no thought in your head other than pure desperation to protect the elf you loved. It did not matter if you had no experience; you would die trying.

You took it from Daeron's waist causing him to turn to you in surprise. You made your way towards Aemond, seeing his eye closed in pain. In the haze of the fight, his eyepatch had slipped off and you could see the intensifying blue of the sapphire that replaced his destroyed eye. You knew it was a sapphire, he had told you so those weeks ago by the campfire the two of you shared. Yet, he never showed you. That would require a level of vulnerability you did not think he could display. Now, here, seeing him wounded on the ground with his eye so exposed made you think of the memory you saw of when the human prince had attacked him and taken his eye.

Both times, Aemond was forced to fight someone he thought of like family; always ending in a piece of himself, a part of his soul, being ripped from him and exposed.

While Cole was celebrating an early victory, you found a spot on his neck that his armour did not cover and you used all your might to drive it into the side. You had come from behind him. With the chaos of everything around, noises louder than ever, he had not heard you. If it was any other scenario, you would not stand a chance against the seasoned warrior. It had been a cowardly move on your part, but again, he had stabbed you first.

It was only natural you would return the favour with similar cowardice to mock his own.

Cole choked and scrambled off Aemond as his hands reached up to try and stop the blood from pooling forth. His body convulsed and he scrambled away. He finally looked at you. The amount of gratification that came off of you at the look of realization in his eyes felt almost evil if it was not for the given circumstances. The discovery that he had been bested by a human in more ways than one shot through him. His eyes shone with anger, confusion, malice, and even fear.

With a gargle, faint words came from Cole’s last breath, “For the order.”

His body crumbled to the ground. As much as you wanted to relish in that moment, your fear for Aemond took control over the carnal side of you that wished to fight. You turned to Aemond and knelt down beside him. Your hands took hold of the wound to block the blood. He looked up at you with a haze in his eyes, as if unsure that you were there.

“Aegon! Daeron!” Your voice was hoarse, seeping with despair. The two brothers saw you on the ground with Aemond and instantly moved into action. They whistled out for soldiers that eventually formed a perfect circle to protect the royals. All around camp the elves had taken their stances on who they wished to fight for. None of it mattered to you, Cole had this planned coup for a long time with the amount of supporters he had.

Aegon and Daeron crouched beside you at their brother who had gradually started to weaken. Your hands shook as you tried to staunch the blood. There was nothing around to help. No medical supplies or even any herbs within the immediate area. You tried with all your might to hold back tears, but they silently trailed down your face and carved red lines in the skin.

“Daeron. What,” You choked out, “What can we do?” You pleaded. It was like all your skills as a healer left your body at seeing him mortally wounded. All Daeron gave you was a solemn look in return. His eyes communicated what he could not do vocally; there was nothing either of you could do to help Aemond. That confirmation caused your shoulders to shake as you sucked in a deep breath.

Aemond’s wound was serious. It was shaking to see such a strong-willed and powerful being be reduced to nothing but an injured creature. He was the king. Countless tales and bard songs – even in your kingdom – spoke with a fearful reverence at his might and success on the battlefield. Elves were immortal, but still susceptible to death. That you knew all too well in the eyes of your patients. The fleeting of their soul was something you recognized.

That is why it petrified you to see that same look on Aemond.

The barrage of elves still threatened to break through the protective circle. Daeron and Aegon had no choice but to join in the fight and left you with Aemond. You were breathing heavily by then, short inhales and exhales made your head feel fuzzy. The surrounding slaughter, a symphony of clanging metal, shouts, screams, and spilled blood intensified the pounding that began to build up in your skull.

You were trying to think of anything that could work to help Aemond, but nothing came.

His voice, quiet but heard, reached out to you. Aemond had muttered your name, his one eye trained on your face. You shuffled to rest on your legs and lifted his head to be on your lap. If you could do one thing, it would be to offer him comfort as he slipped from the land of the living.

“We match,” He croaked out. You furrowed your brows, but all he did was tilt his head to look down at the dagger in his abdomen. He was speaking of both his and your injury.

“That’s not funny, Aemond.” You reprimanded through tears.

A faint smile, one you had never seen on him, graced his lips. “I like it when you say my name...” He said with a look in his eye similar to the one you would see between Amara and Liriel.

Amara and Liriel…

There was a single solution that could save Aemond, but proposing such a thing was preposterous. You remembered, in the first week of your stay in the kingdom, the wedded couple telling you of elf marriages. They could be romantic or platonic, but each had the characteristic of the binding of souls which helped rebuild the body. Maybe his wound could…

No.

Absolutely and unequivocally no.

But what other options were there? What other path was there to take save for watching him bleed out in front of you?

“Aemond,” Your hands put more pressure on his wound to slow the blood flow. The warmth of his blood was more intense than the small rays of sun that penetrated through the treetops.

“There is one thing I could do, but –” You were so conflicted in telling him, but it was worth it to at least try, “Take a part of my soul.”

His eye squinted and the lucidity he was drifting out of came back at your suggestion. He tried to sit up more but grunted in pain. The wound was just small enough to give him time to slowly bleed out. Cruel, but it gave you more time to likely convince him to even do this.

“What?”

“It would heal your wound, right?” You questioned.

Aemond shook his head from side to side, “Yes, but–”

“Then do it.” You voiced with determination. It would hurt you. You loved him and nothing would pain you more to be so close to him, but not be loved in return. Not allowed to truly be with him. However, that was infinitely better than never seeing him again. Being his friend over watching him die was the best option.

“You would do that?” Aemond enquired.

“But would you? Bind yourself to a being you hate?” Your tone bordered between seriousness and a jest. However, Aemond was not looking at you with laughter in his gaze. There was a gentleness there, a vulnerability exposed as he lay helpless on the ground.

He sighed, “I never hated you. I hated that I couldn’t.” His words struck you so deeply that you had no other recourse than to stare at him. Was it you that was hallucinating? Had you died to Cole and all of this was some sort of manically charged last surge of your mind before it faded?

Aemond lifted one of his hands to move and grip the hilt of the dagger in his stomach. You put yours over his to stop him as he tried to pull it out.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?”

“We’ll need a blade,” Aemond grunted, “If we are to do this.” You understood what he was saying. If you did the ceremony, the wound would begin to rapidly heal; having a knife in the way would be ghastly. A knife was also needed for the ceremony. It was fitting that the same steel used in an attempt to kill you both would be what intertwined your souls.

A sick jest from the gods, perhaps. Even sicker as you knew Aemond was only doing this because he had to, not because he wanted to.

He sucked in a breath before pulling the blade out. You immediately covered the wound with one of your hands, but knew it was futile. The warmth of his blood, the sheer heat of it, overwhelmed you.

“Hold,” Aemond winced, “Hold out your hand, rūklon.” You obeyed and gave him your free hand. It was already covered in his blood. He took the edge of the blade and cut a long thin line on your palm. He shakily handed you the dagger before holding out his hand for you to do the same. You gripped his hand, which was significantly larger than yours, and cut down the length of his palm. His fingers twitched just slightly at the pain.

His cut hand took your cut one and you could feel the blood mixing.

“Are you sure?” Aemond asked you again. You thought for a moment. It might have been the adrenaline from recent events or the throbbing in your side from your still-weakened state that influenced your decision. Truly, however, you simply could not and did not wish to live a life without him, even if you knew he did not return such affections.

“Yes.” You told him. He nodded at your words.

“Repeat after me,” Aemond said. He began to speak in the Old Valyrian Elvish language. You did not understand the words but listened intently so you could repeat them.

“Ondoso ānogar, ondoso ñelly, ondoso soul. Ēva morghon, iksi hae mēre.” He muttered the words while looking into your eyes. You took them in and began to repeat the words back to him. Your voice stuttered multiple times and you felt embarrassed, but you managed to finish. When you were done, Aemond tried to pull himself up, but you stopped him from over-exerting himself.

Your cut hands were still joined and he used his other hand, also covered in blood from holding his injury, to reach up and cup your face. You could feel the wetness on your cheek but paid it no mind.

“Do you trust me?” He asked. Your head tilted up and down in confirmation. Your faces were just inches apart and he leaned in slowly. It was like your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt his lips just brush over yours. The skin was soft and quickly the two of you sunk into it. It was tentative at first, full of a delicate nature that sharply contrasted with the ongoing battle. While entirely new for you, it felt familiar; as if it was something you had experienced your whole life. Your heart began to thrum louder than the thunder of the soldier's footfalls on the ground.

A buzzing feeling started at your joined hands and spread through your body. Aemond’s hold on your face cradled you sweetly and his thumb made back-and-forth motions against your cheekbones. You felt his lips move against yours one last time before pulling away. You had to blink a few times to get your mind back in control of your body that had slipped into a daze.

The look in Aemond’s eye was tender, “Avy jorrāelan.” He spoke.

“Avy-”

“No,” Aemond interrupted you, “That is not part of the ceremony. It’s…” He trailed off. His hand left your face, but his other one did not leave your hand.

All at once, the two of you let out winces in sync. You felt a terrible, sharp pain in your side where your wound had been before it disappeared. Any sensation of pain that you had and the feeling of the stitches against your skin was gone. Your gaze moved down to Aemond's wound and was immediately surprised that it was gone. Through the small gap in his armour and the tear in the fabric, thick blood still clung to the area. Yet, the wound was gone.

You were suddenly aware of the fighting around you again and proceeded to move on shaking legs. Slowly, you were able to get up. Aemond, as if never hurt in the first place, moved up and grabbed his sword that had laid disregarded on the ground. He stared down at Cole’s limp body just a short distance from you. The emotions that battled in the storm of his blue eye were hard to grasp; pain, regret, and fondness were the ones that came easy, but others were likely left a mystery that only the elves could feel in their centuries of wisdom.

Despite the hate you felt for Cole, you were saddened that his death struck Aemond so strongly.

Turning around, you saw that Daeron and Aegon had moved back inside the circle, having stopped fighting. You could tell, by the fact that Aemond had not stopped holding your hand, that they saw what had just happened. The brothers moved forward to speak to their king.

“Brothers,” Aemond addressed them both. His eye squinted and the scar on his face crinkled as he studied the fighting outside the circle of guards, “You are to get the Queen back to the castle safely.”

Queen?

Your mind stuttered as you struggled to absorb what he had said. You did not sign up for that. It had not even crossed your mind. Surely, one had to be qualified to take up such a position. There were no qualifications in your past to even merit a spot as a lady, let alone a damn Queen.

“Yes,” Both Daeron and Aegon responded.

“What?” Your voice fell on deaf ears as the three elves ignored your protests.

“Bar the gates, do not trust anyone else to keep her safe. Do you hear me?” Aemond’s voice boomed with authority as he stared his brothers down. He adjusted his grip on his sword, glancing every few seconds at the fighting elves.

“Of course,” Daeron responded while he turned to scout for a possible escape route.

Aemond nodded to Aegon and spoke, “I will stay behind and end this.”

“Are you serious? You were nearly killed!” You argued. Aemond tugged on your connected hands to have you face him fully. He removed his hold to place his hands on your shoulders.

“I’ll be fine. It's you that I worry about. Go home and work on that cure, yes?” His voice had calmed significantly from his previous demanding tone. You could do nothing but nod, too focused on the care reflected on his face and the fact that you could feel some of his emotions. It came with the ceremony and you knew it, but it still surprised you. To feel part of another’s emotions was incredibly weird.

You nodded in confirmation and he gave you a tight-lipped smile, “Good.” He quickly kissed your forehead. It happened so fast that you almost did not perceive it. He let your hand go after giving it a tight squeeze. He pushed you gently towards Aegon.

When Aegon grabbed you to leave, Aemond stopped him, “Brother…” There was fear behind his eye as it darted between Aegon and you. He was scared for you, terrified for your safety. It was odd for someone to be worried about your safety. It had been so long since that happened.

Aegon did not need any words and understood his worry, “I know. She'll be safe.” They both bowed their heads once before Aegon tugged on your forearm to make you follow behind him. You wanted to keep watching Aemond but had to turn away. The last you saw of his figure was him moving to the other side of the circle and going to leave the lines of protection to join in on the fight.

The guards dispersed and then made a smaller formation around you, Aegon, and Daeron. Your group cut through the elves around you on their journey to the edge of camp. When you had come in, you were on a horse and that time had passed by quickly, but walking it now you could truly see how vast the elvish army was. A chill went down your spine when you realized that this was not even the full army. They were still waiting for legions from the outer corners of their kingdom.

In due course, your group had made it to the surrounding edge of the camp where many horses stood about, fighting against the ties that kept them near the ongoing chaos. Through a mess of confusion, Aegon had lifted you onto one of the horses and got on one for himself. Daeron and Aegon flanked both of your sides while the other guards that helped you mounted other horses.

From there, reluctantly, you could do nothing but look back as your horses fled the scene. You wished, desperately, to catch a glimpse of Aemond for any reassurance that he was alright, but could see nothing.

Blood.

All you could see was blood.

Your group had arrived back at the castle no less than an hour ago. Since then, you had run to the laboratory with Daeron to make sure all of the brews were alright and if the other healers had been doing their work. You were all still waiting for them to finish, as the potions were on the very brink of being ready. The other healers were excused. You could not remember what Daeron told them, only that you were incredibly relieved when they left the room.

Looking down at your hands, you could see Aemond’s blood on them. It had cooled and begun to congeal with bits stuck under your fingernails like dirt after a long day of tending to growing herbs. They shook as you tried to wipe away the blood. Turning to a shelf of vials, you could see your dishevelled image in the reflection. Aemond’s bloody handprint had taken over a large portion of your face. In your state of panic, you tried to swipe it off but only managed to add more blood that had come from your hands.

You began to hyperventilate. The carnage you had witnessed was nothing you had ever seen before. You were lucky enough to grow up in a period of centuries of peace. Precarious peace, but there nonetheless. Two hands shot out to hold yours still. Through the fog of your vision, you saw Aegon looking at you with worry.

“You there, little lady?” He slowly guided you to one of the tables, where a bowl of water and some disregarded scraps of fabric were. “You’re alright, you’re safe now.”

“What if this is just the beginning of his blood that is spilt?” You whispered. Aegon had trouble hearing and leaned in, but you could not repeat it. Your mind was running at speeds that you could not catch up with. Aemond was in danger, imminent danger. His soldiers had turned on him. Who was there left to trust?

Aegon had picked up a rag and dipped it into the water. He carefully ran it over the planes of your face. His fingers would ring out the water after washing the blood off and he repeated the process slowly and calmly. When your face was clear, he submerged your hands into the bowl of water and began to clean them off.

“He’ll… he’ll be alright, won’t he?” You began to ramble, “Ridiculous, selfish of me to worry about only his safety when there are countless sick people in need of saving and soldiers laying down their lives at this very moment.” He had to grip your hands to keep them still as they had begun to shake again. Daeron silently worked a few tables away, potting doses of the potion into vials to distribute to the patients in the hall.

Aegon thought for a moment before responding, “It is not ridiculous at all to worry about the people you love. You do love my brother, right?” He began to pick under your nails to get the last of the blood out.

“More than anything.” Your response was immediate and full of truth.

“Good.” Aegon nodded while focused on your nails, “He needs that in his life. Deserves it.” While his words were appreciative, there was a look of yearning on his face; a deep form of pain that could only stem from some kind of loneliness.

“I know those feelings are not returned, but I will treasure him regardless.” You wanted to reassure Aegon that despite the desperate nature of your hasty ceremony to keep him alive, there was still care there. While you did not know what you were entirely signing up for, you would do your best to care for Aemond and the kingdom. You may be human, but you were comforted by your achievement of discovering the cure. Surely, that of all things, has won over the hearts and minds of the elven folk enough to grant you an easy transition into your new position.

Aegon let out a short laugh at your words. He dropped your freshly cleaned hands and looked you in the eyes, “In all your genius skills, the obvious always seems to evade you.”

Aegon gestured to Daeron who was now standing at the door and calling in some of the other healers. You looked at the filled vials and somehow nothing felt real. It felt like an out-of-body experience. It had not been more than three moons since you were hunched over at a desk in your tiny home in the village, struggling to put together your father’s research. Now, the cure was in front of you and you knew it worked.

While your heart tugged towards Aemond and the need to know he was safe, your duty was to remain here and begin curing the patients. With time, you could move on and work on the rest of the taint that stained the land. For now, you will fix what you have control over and pray to any and all gods out there that they keep Aemond safe.

It had been hours of back and forth between the laboratory and the sick hall. There were constant rotations of elves brewing more potions and giving the finished ones to patients. It would gradually heal them, but that period varied from patient to patient. Some had gotten up to walk, while others still lay in a state of pain – though they thankfully described a gradual gentle relief making its way through their body.

You had wanted to help with making more brews, but Daeron had stopped you. Making the blood sacrifice and dealing with the loss of energy was a requirement to brew it as the mortua terra flower would take from the host. However, according to Daeron, you could not do that anymore. Your soul was tied to Aemonds, therefore any dark magic would not just suck at your soul, but his as well. It would be unfair to the bond you now shared to weaken it in any way.

Time was spent moving from patient to patient, giving doses to the ones who had yet to receive any and taking notes on the ones who had. It was incredible to see the wiry darkness of the taint start to fade from the patient's skin. The dark purple, almost black bruises that formed on the skin faded over time. The volume of coughing had gone down significantly and it was the longest period between having to summon guards to carry a fresh corpse out of the hall.

On the way to your next patient, you passed by an empty bed. A sharp stinging pain shot through your heart. It was unfamiliar to not see Lyra sitting in that bed and be greeted by her smile. You were too late to save her; which may be one of your worst regrets. It would be a guilt you shall hold for as long as you live.

You had just made it to your next patient when the two large grand doors of the hall creaked as they opened. You were frozen in your spot as two guards came in to push the doors open further.

Standing there, battered and bloody, was Aemond. He had sheathed his sword. His armour was scratched, with some of the metal being dented. It was covered in dirt, grass, blood, and some burn marks. You had no idea how the hell burn marks would have ended up on his armour, but only that it must have gotten worse after you left. His eyepatch was put on again, also dirtied. However, he was still standing – that fact alone hit you with more relief than you had ever felt.

His eye scanned feverishly about the hall in search of something. He had a frantic glint in his eye. You stood up from your crouched position beside the patient's bed and it immediately alerted him to where you were. When he spotted you, you could see the tension in his shoulders ease as they slumped down. His lips parted like he lost his breath. You could see his frame was veiled with exhaustion.

Without wasting a moment, you placed your notebook down on a nearby tray and bunched up the skirts of your dress in your hands to make a rapid move toward him. You speed walked down the centre aisle past the beds of sick patients and healers. They had all turned to look at their king but shied away when you were walking towards him. One thing you liked about elves was their tenacity in providing privacy when needed.

You had finally reached him but paused, unsure of what to do. What do you do? Should you hug him? He was your husband, surprisingly so. It felt inappropriate to do so, especially in front of the elves. Despite being married, it was not exactly a wanted union. It had been born out of desperation rather than love.

Aemond did not speak, just stared at you with a certain fondness you could not pinpoint. After being in the hall for hours and tending to elves, you were running on muscle memory alone.

In your mind, you saw him as another wounded patient that needed tending to. However, you wished for more privacy.

You reached out and grabbed his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and then pulled him out of the hall. The two of you silently walked down the torch-lit hallways of the castle and towards your room.

You released your hold to open your door and usher him into the room. The hearth had been lit to keep the room cool. You could only guess that it was sometime in the middle of the night. Both of your bodies were wrecked with exhaustion. Before Aemond could even think to sit down, you stopped him. He would need to take off his armour if you were to assess and care for his injuries.

Aemond grunted in pain and tried to take off his right pauldron, but struggled to keep his arm up. You gently swatted his hand away and took over. Your fingers nimbly took off the metal from his shoulders, almost touching the skin of his neck that was exposed by removing the piece.

You worked in silence, the moment too oddly intimate to speak. You were taking off his outer layer of armour, slowly stripping the soldier away and revealing Aemond underneath. Again, he seemed to always be watching you. Your cheeks heated up under his gaze and you struggled to keep your nerves from making you shake. Each piece of metal weighed more than expected and you could not help but marvel at the strength he possessed. To be able to carry such weight and still fight was a feat.

Once the metal had been laid out in a pile, you moved on to taking the chainmail off and then the under gambeson. Aemond was left in just his leather boots, pants, and a thin linen shirt. You guided him to a chair and watched as his exhausted body slumped into the seat and his eye closed. He rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and put his chin in his hand. His chest heaved with deep breaths.

You collected some things in your room that would be needed to help him. Various rags, a bowl of water, salve, and bandages were carefully laid on a small circular table placed beside the padded chair. You stood in front of him awkwardly. In order to clean his wounds, you would need to remove his tattered shirt.

“Um, I’ll need you to…” Your voice trailed off. Aemond opened his eye and looked at you before moving on to grab the hem of his shirt. He pulled it up partway but got stuck near the shoulders. You could already see large bruises forming on his torso. You helped him take it off and discarded it next to the pile of armour on the ground.

Your feet carried you back to the door to the room and you opened the door, leaned out, and spoke to a guard stationed in the hallway, “I’ll need some male clothing, could you task a handmaid nearby?” The guard silently nodded and left. You closed the door again and walked back to where Aemond sat and dragged a stool so you could sit down.

Once on the stool, you soaked the rags and began to work. You started on one arm and began to clean it and then applied a salve to larger cuts. It was difficult to not ogle the lithe muscles of his skin, especially the ones that composed his torso. Aemond trained daily and that habit showed by the nature of his body. You moved onto the other arm. Once that was done, you started at his upper chest. The whole time, he watched you through his half-lidded eye. You swallowed down saliva that had pooled in your mouth and continued your job.

“They’re cleaning up the bodies now…” Aemond trailed off. You knew what he meant. At this moment, countless elf corpses were being dealt with. Their bodies thrown onto carts to be buried or burned.

“It’s over?” You questioned as you meticulously wiped away dried blood patches.

“No,” Aemond muttered, “I don’t know how many were working for Cole. They could still be here in the castle and are most definitely posted throughout the kingdom.”

You nodded at his words and pulled away to clean the rag in the water. The hearth fire crackled and sputtered while the wood snapped piece by piece. Even in the warmth of the room, the water was cold and trickled off of the rag.

“I’m sorry for not believing you. When you came to me about Cole…” Aemond told you. Your fight was still fresh. The anger and insults hurled at one another that morning echoed in your mind. If you had simply stayed in your room and talked with him, how much different would things be? You would have never gone to your lab and Cole would not have tried to kill you. Though, he likely would have tried some other time.

“You had every right to not believe me. He was your close friend. I’m only new here, Cole has known you for longer.” You gave him a half-smile and went back to dragging the cloth across his chest. Aemond’s hand went up to grab yours and stop your movements.

“Yes, but…” He paused. He was battling with himself to speak more, “We have to talk about–” Sharp knocking sounded on your door and you quickly shot out of your seat and away from Aemond. You do not know why you were so eager to get away from him. Perhaps it was fear in what he wished to speak to you about.

The deal had been met.

You knew that you were to stay in the kingdom for a year or until there was a cure. The cure had been made and now you have extended past your welcome here. Maybe he would have you sent back home. That thought alone pained you. After all, why would a human be allowed to stay with the elves?

However, you were also technically the Queen. You had married Aemond – despite his likely wariness of it all. Yet, you were unsure of your place here.

You opened the door and spotted a handmaiden with folded clothes in her arms. You muttered words of thanks, took the clothing, and closed the door. Aemond watched closely as you walked back to him. You held out the clothing to him and refused to look at his form. If you did, you knew that the heat would come back to your face and a redness would coat your skin. There was no need to make Aemond any more uncomfortable than he was.

Your arms extended and Aemond grabbed the clothes from you. His fingers brushed yours and you felt a jolt trail up both arms. You skirted away and held your hands behind your back. You wanted to curse yourself out for acting so distant. You were closer than ever, souls bonded, yet you could not get through the wall between you two. There was something there, unspoken and present, that prevented you two from being on the same page.

“It’s best that you get some rest. Fighting for so long has drained you.” You spoke. Aemond stood up from the chair and placed the clothing down where he had sat.

“About us, we–”

“The people need their king right now. Eat, sleep, and get ready for tomorrow.” There were still elves among his people who likely sympathized with Cole and his cause. It would be a challenge to find them all and interrogate them for answers. You also could not stand there, exhausted, and have Aemond tell you that your arrangement was only one of convenience.

Your heart would not be able to take his rejection. You had only just lived, that would surely be what would kill you.

You decided to let him change in your room and took the initiative to leave. When you had finally opened the door with the mission to go back to the laboratory, Aemond had called out your name. Your gaze shifted to him. He stood there, his face was a mix between yearning and dejection.

“You need to rest as well.”

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile, “I will rest when all of my patients are cured.” With those words, you closed the door to give him privacy.

Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion Preview

“I feel as though I owe you an explanation,” Aemond spoke as the two of you began to waltz across the floor with the other dancing elves.

“An explanation?” You questioned. Aemond’s eye was scanning the room. You could see it in his stance, he wanted to talk about something. Deeply. However, his posture held hints of nervousness.

“I know our union may have been done in haste, but I need you to know that,” Aemond licked his lips, took a deep breath in, and locked his eye on you, “I–” He huffed. You could feel his fingers tighten just slightly as his gaze swept to the floor. You were unsure of how to proceed. You had never seen him in this state.

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aonemanarmy · 3 days ago

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The look of surprise in Vincent's eyes didn't escape Sephiroth's notice, although he didn't understand why the gunman would react in that particular manner. Emotions had always been a difficult thing for the madman to comprehend beyond their most rudimentary form, which left all forms of expression he might've expressed largely flat and off-putting. It was unnecessary though, because from as far back as he could remember he'd always been told that emotions were things meant for humans, not things.

Not him.

Perhaps that was why he lacked the capacity to understand Vincent's line of reasoning. Sephiroth knew Shinra and what they were capable of and while he was intelligent enough to realize not every paper pusher or bean counter might've committed atrocities directly, the metaphorical blood was still on their hands because at the end of the day they had a choice. None of Shinra's countless employees were forced to do the corporation's bidding, but they had chosen to do so of their own volition and they could've resigned at any time. They didn't though, and that was what made them different.

So it was laughable that the ex-Turk would suggest they didn't have a choice. There were other jobs to be done in the world not related to the company, but they had taken the easy way out at every turn heedless of who or what may have suffered because of it. Sephiroth wasn't the slightest bit surprised as it was in human nature to avoid hardship, but it was nonetheless disappointing.

“Here I had thought that Shinra employees chose to sign their own contracts.” He said dryly, his expression remaining as immovable as stone as he spoke. “I had not thought that Shinra forced them to work while compensating them with paychecks out of the kindness of their heart. It is really quite touching the stark difference then between the two of us.”

Sephiroth had never been given a choice. If he had been ordered to do a task then he did that task regardless if he wanted to or not and if he refused all that awaited him was further pain and suffering with no compensation whatsoever even when he complied. He had been caged like a beast, allowed nothing of his own that the company didn't grant him and which they would gleefully take away should he disobey. As such, he didn't have a single item to his name that they didn't own, not even his own freedom...until now.

“As a Turk I had thought that killing was part of your position, so what difference does it make? Do you think yourself merciful sparing other killers who would hold no hesitation in doing the same thing to you?”

While not a part of the Turks Sephiroth knew of the department and what Shinra used them for. They were corporate muscle, used for all of the underhanded and less than palatable jobs that needed to be done. In that vein it wasn't uncommon for their organization to delve into everything from bodyguard work, blackmail, and threats to extreme causes involving beatings, torture, and even assassinations. The Turks were criminals in everything but name and they hid it all behind the veneer of pressed suits and corporate smiles.

It disgusted him.

“Besides, I had thought after all that has been said and done that you already had plenty of blood on your hands. So what does any more matter?”

The not so subtle jab made at him didn't even sway Sephiroth in the slightest. It wasn't the first time that humans had thought themselves to be above him and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The difference was that he knew that he was different and he had never lied to himself about that fact or tried to dress it up as anything else than what it was. Thanks to Jenova he now knew that he was the rightful inheritor of the Planet, its savior, and he would fulfill that destiny whether the humans fought the inevitable or not.

“I am aware of what your kind think of me.” There was no emotion in his voice as he held the ex-Turk's gaze, his own unwavering as it bore into Vincent. “You like to think that you are better, when in reality I am the monster that you have created.”

'After all, where were you back then?'

'Where were you when I needed you most?'

'You were never there.'

'Now like all the rest of them you blame me for it all.'

The accusatory thoughts flowed unbidden through his maddened mind, their words like jagged glass that ripped and tore at what small shreds of sanity Sephiroth had left. It was an avenue of thought he usually avoided just for that reason, even if he wasn't consciously aware of that fact. All because it opened up an old wound that had never truly healed, one that stemmed all the way back from the young and broken boy that he had been all those long years ago and that still cried out for mercy in the depths of his fractured psyche.

Sephiroth shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he lifted his gaze skyward, noticing the break in the clouds. “Where were your fears back all those years ago? Why did you not end me back then when it would actually have counted?”

The night wore on, and as the two made there way up the mountains through the snow, morning had begun to break, eventually casting a light glow over the land. However, it didn't give off its usual warmth. Even the sun's warmth was in competition with the impending terror that was wading through the snow and towards the Whirling Maze. Even the planet itself seemed to tremble the closer Sephiroth and Vincent approached their destination. It seemed all but certain the planet would meet its demise. Vincent could feel the planet's pulse grow stronger, tugging at his chest as if begging him not to move further. But if he were to spare the lives of those he cared about, he had no choice but to follow the planet's most feared enemy, knowing he was also now an accomplice.

All the while, neither of them spoke a word even though both were hyper aware of one another's presence. One was tirelessly hastening towards his goal with reckless abandon, while the other was feeling the weight of every footstep getting heavier, and more blood stained the closer their destination became. Vincent's mind was trying to puzzle the pieces together, contemplating what all would befall Cloud and the others once they did meet up.

No matter how one could spin it, the fact that Vincent was now serving as a protector of Cloud's and the planet's worst enemy, not to mention his friend's murderer... it spelled betrayal on a level that would have put Cait Sith aka Reeve to shame. If the entire party turned against him, so be it. Perhaps it would be better in the long run for their sake. Vincent had sworn to never get close to anyone again. But here he was worrying about the bond he had with his friends, especially Cloud-- the fragility of life, friendship, and forgiveness. If things went exactly the way Sephiroth and Jenova intended, Vincent would lose them all, including Lucrecia. Even if they managed to defeat Sephiroth and Jenova, the planet was already on the verge of death. Sephiroth was merely enabling and hastening the inevitable. And once the planet had had enough, he would still be left alone, and Lucrecia's spirit would be lost to the abyss along with every other soul Vincent had ever cared about. So why was he going through with this...?

At this time, the snow had all but vanished, being exchanged for some more harsh winds that threatened to cast off any and all over the depths of the canyon. No sane individual would cross such a dangerous path. The essence of death was growing stronger from within the caverns of the Maze, indicating to Vincent that several had made this place their resting place. He could already tell it would soon become a tomb for countless hooded figures, should they dare to venture further in pursuit of Sephiroth.

Vincent's thoughts were diverted once he heard Sephiroth's voice, guiding his attention to the large edifices and winding path before them. Though he had never ventured into this place before, Sephiroth’s words told him everything he needed to know when it came to how close their destination was. The sinking feeling was more keen than ever.

Vincent watched as Sephiroth turned towards him, crimson and mako colors clashing in a brief moment of mild confusion. The question wasn't exactly surprising. But the genuine curiosity got Vincent's attention more than the question itself. Why did Sephiroth care? Was this just a ploy to pull out any weakness from the gunslinger? Or was Sephiroth actually curious about what made Vincent a sympathizer instead of a cold-blooded murderer?

For a moment, Vincent stared at Sephiroth, a hint of surprise in his eyes before he decided to answer. "Not all who bear the mark of Shinra are mindless killers. Humans aren't that simple." Vincent began, looking off the side to look at the canyons around them, or perhaps he was sparing himself Sephiroth's gaze. "Sometimes... they don't have a choice when it comes to committing atrocities. Just like when you didn't have a choice to become what you are today." Perhaps Sephiroth could understand that much, but even then, Vincent knew it would have been ludicrace to hope for Sephiroth to have any sympathy for humans at this point.

"If I didn't spare them, then it would be easier to take the lives of many more." In essence, he would become numb to killing. He furrowed his brow and shut his eyes for a moment, keeping some thoughts to himself, the wind tossing his hair and cloak in a chilling breeze.

A moment later, he lifted his head and allowed their eyes to join once again, a slight hint of determination in his gaze. "...and should I fail to quell the beast inside, I would become no different... than you."

#.Cycle of Suffering #phantomyre

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bansurii · 2 days ago

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cocktail

cw: sukuna x reader x yuji }{ yuji has DID and sukuna is his other personality}{ smut, mental disorders, trigger warnings, just don't read it if you cannot handle mental illness discussions and things of the like }{ also reader is a psych major }{ reader choice at bottom for smut }{ unedited, wrote in an hour haha hope you enjoy }{mdni

you didn't expect anything at first. he was cute, he was talkative, he was gentle. you liked his vulnerability, his openness, his judgement-free zone, his carefree and childlike attitude. he was super fucking dope!

you had sex a couple times and it blew your fucking mind. better than anyone you had ever been with. as you started to get to know him more and better than before, you started to fall in love with him. albeit, there were growing feelings anyway from his plans for his life and the way he talked to you as if you had known each other for years. the chemistry was truly unparalleled.

he was everything you asked and more.

after a while, you began to notice subtle changes. small, but noticeable enough. and for a while, you said nothing.

until one night, he said something that made you realize something absolutely startling. it had you on the edge of your mental seat. physically, you were calm. or you'd hoped you looked calm.

he noticed how uneasy you got even if you were damn near unreadable. the part of him that became apparent to you, the version of himself that he tried hard to bury had come through in subtle ways. he knew it scared you, but it was hard for him to hold that part of himself back. he knew that only one of two things would happen whether you left or not.

his insanity would get the best of him and you would accept it, or he would wake up and realize you were gone. as if you had never existed. but the residuals were there. a mark left that could never be removed.

he was obsessed with you. you gave him something no one has given him in a very long time; kindness, vulnerability, friendship, everything he asked and more. you weren't afraid of him in the beginning like most were before. some say they saw someone in him that scared them beyond return. some say it was just his energy. but he wasn't sure what you saw. maybe you were naive. or maybe you knew it but shoved the thoughts and feelings down because you were going through a drought and needed it bad.

but he knew deep down and so did the part of himself he hid: you were the perfect one for him.

he didn't know how long this would last. hell, he didn't even think it would last this long. but he knew he wanted it. he knew he couldn't let you leave him. he knew he couldn't stay away from you. he needed you in every possible way.

he often wondered in the wee hours of the night and the morning if you knew how good it felt to be needed. to be desired. he wondered if you felt the same deep desire for him. he knows it was rather soon, too soon perhaps, that he liked you from the beginning. he was infatuated, but that soon grew to something longer-lasting, something more serious. he had truly never been so compatible with someone before. there were too many similarities and even with other people he knew and was compatible with, knew them for longer too, just never could compare to what he felt with you.

he had been alone so long he just couldn't fathom someone like this existed. someone who was... a universe inside of a human body. alone so long he didn't even know how to act right around someone else. he wasn't a great texter, or phone person in general. he preferred to be in person. he wanted the physical intimacy without the sex that you provided, the safe space, the ability to say nonsensical things and still be appreciated and laughed with and cared for and... loved.

so you visited him again after that night. it was about two weeks later, barely texted or called him this time. he wondered why. if it was something he did, if it was... the energy. if you saw the part of him he didn't want anyone to see.

the switch was slow, where normally it is quick. like a light switching off. but he had been holding onto the spotlight for so damn long... he could feel it switching but it was too late to tell you not to come over. you had already sent your eta and when he checked... you were right around the corner. he didn't want you to waste your trip, but he didn't have enough time to tell you to go back home. he barely had enough time to form the coherent thought before he took over. it was too late. he could only watch from the darkness surrounding him. he clawed, and screamed, and fought and tried his hardest to take the spotlight back but over that period of time, those years he held back, he had been weakened slowly but surely. he lost this time, but he had everything to gain through this. he just didn't know yet.

and when you arrived, he opened the door for you as he normally would and greeted you. he took your jacket, your shoes, your bag and he placed it on the racks by the door for you.

he was taller, you noticed, maybe a posture thing. he had a certain aura around him that was different than the aura you were used to. but otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary.

you wondered if he had done something different somewhere somehow. but you couldn't place your finger on it. the apartment was the same as usual. his hair was the same as usual. his eyes were a little darker, but everything else was the same. except for the mischievous smile as you turned your back to him to sit on his sofa.

it was a two seater, a slightly larger love-seat across from you and you expected him to sit there as he normally did. he said he always sat across from you because he wanted you to feel comfortable and because you were so pretty he wanted to see you at all times.

it was charming at first. but now, you wonder if there was something else... something behind the real reason he sat so far away.

he sat next to you. you wondered if he was alright, he was so quiet, so... calculative, it seemed.

"how are you tonight? you haven't texted or called as much as you usually do. you seeing someone else already?"

it was shocking hearing that. you wondered if he was alright but you were a bit too startled to voice it. you took a moment to look into his eyes. he seemed very serious about it despite his next comment.

"just kidding. i know you have a life outside of hanging out with me. you thirsty?"

you smiled and nodded, "no, i brought water."

he smirked, "good. if you change your mind, i've got plenty of drinks."

"thanks... how are you?"

"i'm good. even better now that you're here."

his smile was genuine this time, nothing wild about it. it was beautiful as usual, somehow even sexier. like a grown man, not a random uni student with nice features. this had to be someone different entirely.

and as you sat and stared at him more while he filled you in further on his past couple weeks of not speaking to you often--which he greatly emphasized--you realized just how different he did look when you stared closely, observed, and heard some things. they weren't the usual comments, usual witty remarks and the occasional whimsy responses.

"yuji, are you sure you're alright?"

and the smile you watched grow from normal to really big to verging on deranged shook you to your core.

"not yuji."

the hand on your thigh grew tighter, threatening to break through the fabric of your stockings and tear through your skin. you weren't sure why or how it was possible, but the look he was giving you, the feeling of the pressure on your body --even in places untouched-- really turned you on. he looked positively fucked out...

"i... don't understand..."

"dissociative identity... you should know that, miss psych major. but perhaps you haven't been able to focus lately because you were so focused with this... idea of who we really are... not talking to us for weeks... being scarce... making our chest hurt... you should know better, princess. we don't take lightly to being ignored. under any circumstances."

your heart nearly beat out of your chest. you couldn't focus properly on anything for some reason. it was like he was putting you in a trance with his voice and touch alone. and it took you a moment to realize his hand slowly started running upward, pressing into your sensitive spots, never touching where you needed him most, just smooth, subtle back and forth very close and too far.

"oh."

a breathless response was all you could offer... and in turn, it was all he needed. he knew you wanted him even more after figuring this out. he knew you liked this "hurt little lamb with a side of wolf" idea of him. he knew exactly what you wanted, what you liked, and what you needed. he had plenty of time to learn you through the lenses of the child he shared a body with.

he just needed you pliant and willing, which you already were. he liked that, less effort for him to sway your mind.

because if princess treatment was what you wanted, he would serve it on a golden platter. he already knew you liked the other version of him enough, he knew you were ready for the switch even if you thought you weren't ready for the switch. but you would assimilate accordingly. right?

he would give you what you wanted and what you needed. he would pretend he needed saving so you could... heal him. he would be everything you needed him to be. and he would trap you with the baby he would help you raise. you were... breedable. he liked that a lot. he needed it.

his touches were needier, he grew closer, his lips whispering sweet promises of what was to come in your ear, kissing lightly up and down your neck, sucking on that sensitive little spot on your neck. pulled you closer so he could trail those kisses and bites down your shoulder.

he pulled that cute sweater off so he could see your beautiful body, he was gentle with a hint of aggression. he wanted you to feel comfortable yet desired fiercely. he needed to spear you. he needed to feel every part of you.

usually there was a condom readily available. but oh, so conveniently... "i ran out."

you were too turned on and turned out by him at this point to stop him. he was clean... and so were you... so there wasn't a problem. right?

he made quick work of your bra, licking your chest and making sure to leave those hickies you both loved so dearly. he made the sweetest love to your breasts. licking, sucking, kneading the other in one hand and switching between each nipple, each mound of flesh.

he loved your breathlessness, your soft moans, your fingers in his hair, the one rubbing up and down his arm to his back. the wet lips, the heavy breaths... and most of all those eyes... so fucked and barely touched... so sensitive...

he wanted to steal all of you from everyone you knew, everything you did daily, he wanted to have you all to himself every day in every kind of way.

he needed to see you from sun up to sun down.

he made quick work of your skirt and stockings, the pretty thong soaked in your nectar was a sight to behold. he took a mental screenshot, one he would recreate later... if you were willing.

he removed the thong, slowly being sucked between those beautiful lips with every growing second of your arousal. he made sure to pull from the center of the thing, pushing his finger between your lips purposely as he pulled the center back and tugged, leaving his finger soaked and your pussy wanting...

he lifted your legs as he pulled the thong down, but he liked the residue of your arousal nearby, so he left it wrapped around one thigh. entirely naked for him, open and ready and he barely touched you.

he wasn't sure if he wanted to eat you out, fuck you silly, or watch you do it all yourself and struggle to take all of him without his help...

he knew yuji liked doing all the work, pure princess treatment. but this time, he wanted to remove those privileges... punishment for his pretty princess this time...

which one?

#sukuna x reader x yuji #sukuna ryomen jjk #sukuna ryomen #yuji itadori jjk #yuji itadori #jjk smut #x reader #yuji x reader #sukuna x reader #dissociative identity disorder trope #sukuna and yuji are connected #but no sorcery hehe #i hope it takes well #content warning #reader's choice

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littleslaywrites · 20 hours ago

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we need a little christmas | aaron hotchner x reader

summary: aaron comes home after work one day to you decorating for christmas

word count: 1.1k

cw: f!reader, pure fluff

The candle you had lit filled the room with the smell of pine. Boxes of old decorations you brought when you moved in with Aaron sat next to bags from the Target run you took with Jack that afternoon.

You have always been a decorator, looking forward to every holiday. Even in college, you decorated the door of your dorm at every chance possible. To you, it was never too early to decorate.

Even though Halloween was your favorite holiday, Christmas started right when the clock struck midnight on November 1st. Your Christmas playlist was in heavy rotation from that point on, and a shopping spree for anything festive would always follow.

You had restrained yourself this year, it being your first living with Aaron. That was, until you were in Target with Jack, simply there for an after school run for some laundry detergent. Jack dragged you into the section with the blow-up santas and snowmen, causing your eyes to wander to the rest of the decorations in the surrounding area.

Before you knew it, you had piled the cart with a snowglobe, a nutcracker, two packages of lights, window clings, assorted throw pillows, and a Star Wars ornament for the tree (Jack’s choice).

Back at home, you opened up the supply closet to get out the boxes of old Christmas decorations that you hadn’t even seen since moving in with Aaron. You were singing along to your favorite Christmas songs while transforming the living room into a winter wonderland. You made sure to keep a space for the tree, ornaments finding themselves in a pile next to the area. Jack sifted through them, choosing his favorites and asking you about ones you’d collected throughout your lifetime.

You’re in the middle of arranging snowflake shaped pillows on the couch when Aaron walks through the door. The smell from your new candle brings back memories of past Christmases, and he smiles at the picture of you and Jack decorating.

“What’s all this?” he asks, looking down at the half-emptied boxes on the floor.

“I thought it was about time to get decorating for Christmas,” you say, setting the last pillow down.

“Are you aware it’s not even Thanksgiving yet?”

“You should be glad I waited this long,” you smile, moving back to collapse one of the empty boxes. “Usually I’d start right after Halloween.”

He just laughs, making his way to sit with Jack on the floor. He looks through the ornaments, each one a reminder of your past before him: the In N Out logo (your first job), an illustration of your sorority house in college, a macaroni one with your fifth grade school picture. His heart feels warmer at the thought of your lives coming together, the potential of all future ornaments being shared memories.

“Do you want hot chocolate?” you ask, reaching for some mugs in the cabinet above the sink.

“Sure,” he says, watching Jack hurry to the kitchen to help. Aaron would’ve never chosen to decorate this early, or at all, really. He never had the time, nor the sense of style to do anything beyond put up a tree. Looking around at the half-done decor, he feels grateful for your festive touch. He might tease you for your eagerness to celebrate, but he feels the homeliness that comes with the care that went into the decorations. Seeing you open the powder packets of hot chocolate mix, he feels even happier that you’re bringing some Christmas spirit into Jack’s life.

Aaron gets up, joining the two of you in the kitchen. He listens to Jack’s retelling of your shopping trip as you all sip your drinks. You smile as you meet Aaron’s eyes, shining with love. Eventually, he tells Jack to do his homework, forcing him to take a break from decorating.

Setting his mug in the dishwasher, he looks at the way you study the living room. He’s sure you’re thinking of where to set whatever other decorations you have. His hand rests on your shoulder from behind, and you turn to face him, a hand going to hold his jaw.

“I love it,” he says, his eyes leaving yours to observe your work.

“I’m glad,” you say, following his gaze. “I was worried you’d think it was too early to decorate.”

He pulls you into a kiss, hands running through your hair. “Not at all,” he replies, “next year you should start even earlier.”

Your smile widens. The prospect of a “next” always makes you smile, no matter how many times Aaron says it. Your heart flutters just like it did on your first date 3 years ago when he asked where you wanted to go for your “next date”.

“Someone still needs to put up the lights outside,” you say, hinting at a job for him to do.

He pulls you closer for one last kiss before intertwining your fingers with his, making your way to the box with the lights inside. You take the box outside while he gets the ladder from the garage. He sets up the ladder, sifting through a small box of pushpins, and you sit on the ground untangling the lights. Slowly but surely, the knotted mess becomes a strand that you hand up to Aaron on the ladder.

After about forty-five minutes, the house is fully covered with the lights. He plugs them in, lighting up the place with red and green.

“It looks beautiful,” he says, standing back to admire the way they twinkle. He pulls you close, arm around your shoulder. You look up into his eyes, the brown shining with the reflections of the lights. He kisses you in, the warmth of his activity heating you up in the cold. “I see why you were so eager to decorate.”

You rest your head on him, absorbing the moment. The two of you stay there for a few minutes, letting the spirit of the season envelop you, before going back inside to continue setting up.

When Jack finishes his homework, he’s eager to suggest that you go get a tree as soon as possible. Aaron explains, to his dismay, that it would be a few weeks until you all took a trip out to the tree farm to ensure it didn’t wither before Christmas could come. For now, the pine scented candle would have to do.

That night, when you lay your head next to Aaron, you see the lights illuminating his sleeping face. You smile, content in your love for your little family. You promise yourself that the decorations will go up even earlier next year, or next holiday for that matter. Snuggling up to his chest, you fall asleep to the thought of what gifts your boys would want to see under the tree.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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lucifermorningstxr · 2 days ago

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To Lucifer, Chloe making any effort alone to understand the celestial craziness he was putting her through was touching enough, but she was going above and beyond with it. Using her rational Detective mindset to make sense of the things he doesn't even fully understand was something uniquely her, and it meant everything to him. No smiling, no bragging about how this prophecy was such a great thing, no selfish ulterior motives. It was just Chloe being his best friend. That was enough to heal any wounds Lucifer had right there. "I was thinking the same thing, Detective. To be honest, I don't know all the details of this prophecy myself, they don't even tell the main characters their precise roles! What I can say is I feel my time on Earth, my time with you, Detective, has made me an infinitely better man. I'll do whatever it takes to be a better man. I don't want to be a monster. I..." He was cut off from his pleading by her touch. Chloe always had this way of knowing how to calm him down, and this time, it was even more than that. With her touch, he felt his light. The human across from him was enough to put the light in Lightbringer, and it was something he'd never get used to, whatever it really meant, but he liked it very much. "You're welcome, Detective. It's what you deserve. I don't think anyone deserves anything more than you." He relished in her touch, finally blinking back his tears as hers began to flow. They'd both known the night had the potential for waterworks, but seeing his human cry was too much to bear. In a move of impulsive instinct, he was beside her on her cushion, pulling her into him. "I can do it, and I will, Detective. I'll do it again and again, because you're worth it. And, call me selfish..." He couldn't hold back much longer himself. "But a life without you in it is not a life worth living. You give my life... purpose."

It was just like Chloe to defend Eve and give her her flowers, even after all the first woman had put the Detective through. That's just the kind of insanely good person Chloe Decker was. "Oh... I suppose I knew she was all over me, but I didn't know she confided in you about me like that. And I trust your judge of character more than I can say, but... I just don't know." And while Chloe was very well right about the first part, two things could be true at once as she continued and hit the nail on the head. Seldom had Lucifer ever felt so vindicated, but that's one way he knew she truly had his back. Maybe it was time to divulge a bit about what had happened in the parking lot after all. "Right! That's just it, Detective. She doesn't care, and she doesn't want me to care either. Back then, I suppose I didn't care, but look where that got me. She's always been Dad's favourite human, his prized creation. Whereas I'm the divine red sheep of the family. She has always been able to bat her eyes and pin her behaviour on me, and I usually just take it because neither of us knew any different. We didn't know better. We barely knew each other. That's what I've been struggling with. I think she likes the idea of me, the way I'm painted in the Silver City excites her. This rebellious bad boy, this dangerously spicy evil... I don't think she even knows who I am, Detective. I told her as much in the parking lot. She was so thrilled about the prophecy, putting you down as a bad influence in the same breath, and I know better. I just couldn't... not defend you, Detective. If I'm set to release evil into the world with Eve by my side, maybe with you, I can fight that and continue to make it a better place." That was a lot, and even more so when Chloe started to apologise. Lucifer didn't want her to have any guilt, so he'd let her bear her soul, but inside, he knew she was handling this as well as any human could, if not better. Even at her worst, Chloe Decker couldn't do anything truly unforgivable in Lucifer's eyes. "Detective, I felt so much better after we had our chat in the garage, but then Kinley and Eve... I can see it in your eyes how sorry you are... I believe you, and I accept your apology. I hope you'll accept mine too. I think, ultimately, we just have to stop letting others come between us. Because the only pain I couldn't heal from is if I lost you, Detective. I'd die for you... literally." A tear welled in his eye as he finished, fighting every ego-saving urge to look away in the interest of honesty and vulnerability with his own favourite human.

#tumblr rp #rp #roleplay #lucifer morningstar #lucifer netflix #lucifer #lucifer x chloe #lucifer x chloe decker #lucifer x detective #partners 'til the end

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cybershock24601 · 22 hours ago

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The Rookanis brainworms got me again bc I’ve gone from wouldn’t it be funny if my Rook and Lucanis crossed paths for a moment before Veilguard and never realized it to formulating a whole au where Rook and Lucanis had a long distance friendship that just started to turn into something more right before Rook gets kicked out of the mourn watch and Lucanis gets stuck in the Ossuary. Rook writes like three letters to try and make extra sure that Lucanis knows what happened and that she’s going to be traveling and likely won’t be able to get any letters but she will write when she’s able to so she’s not super concerned when she doesn’t hear anything from him even if she does have a lot of anxiety about the situation she’s doing her best to bury because sure they’re both busy but surely Lucanis would try to get at least one letter to her, she did tell him that he could always leave a message with Myrna and Vorgoth to pass on, why hasn’t he sent her anything??

Meanwhile Lucanis is imprisoned in the Ossuary and all of Watcher Rook’s babbling about spirits had made it easier to deal with Spite but it’s still a very shitty situation. Spite’s probably even more fixated on Rook in this au because Lucanis wants to get out for a lot of reasons and see his family too but Rook’s probably the only person Lucanis wants to see again that he doesn’t have a lot of complicated emotions about because sure the whole long distance thing isn’t a neat situation, Rook doesn’t come with the same sort of emotional baggage Caterina and Illario have.

Anyways, the events of Veilguard happen and Neve suggests they go recruit the Demon of Vyrantium and Rook’s like sure and hopes that while in Antiva she might get a chance to track down her wayward crow. Rook does not know that the famed Demon of Vyrantium is her crow because it’s not like Lucanis ever really told her exactly who he was in the Crows. Rook knew he was a crow, had a complicated relationship with his grandma and cousin, and that Lucanis tended to play a lot of things close to the chest but seeing as Rook is also from a pretty secretive organization, she was never really that bothered by it because it’s not like she doesn’t have her own secrets to keep. Rook may like Lucanis but it’s not like she’s going to be spilling the secrets of the Necropolis to him and assumes Lucanis is dealing with the same thing which for the most part is true. It’s also that Lucanis liked just being Lucanis with Rook rather than Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium and didn’t want things to change with Rook if he told her about what exactly his position in the Crows was. Honestly Rook probably wouldn’t have cared that much beyond hitting him with a ‘that’s rough buddy’ and probably encouraging him to try to say no to his grandmother more. (“Have you tried telling her no? It’s just two letters. One syllable. It shouldn’t be that hard to say!”)

Which is a good thing because when Rook goes to meet with the Crows she’s starting to put the pieces together pretty quickly about who Lucanis is to the crows once she meets the talons + Illario and is doing her best to play it cool. Rook’s attempts at composure are not helped by being hit with the double whammy of her kinda boyfriend is dead no wait actually he’s alive he’s just been in the hands of the Venitori for a year. Which is totally not going to give Rook a guilt complex about the fact that her bf has been presumed dead for year and Rook didn’t even know.

Neve and Harding who came along to recruit their assassin (because this is my au and I can have a four person party if I want) are definitely noticing something is up but don’t get a chance to pump answers out an unusually quiet Rook (a quiet Rook is never a good sign) before they find Lucanis and are witness to the most emotionally charged yet emotionally stunted reunion they’ve ever seen. Neve and Harding are definitely trading glances between them like ‘are you seeing this shit?!’ as Rook and Lucanis have the most awkward reunion ever.

Rook is dealing with a lot of new information at once and a lot of guilt over the fact that she didn’t know her boyfriend was supposedly dead and had just been worried that maybe he didn’t like her anymore and would she ever have even found out what happened to Lucanis if she didn’t need his help to kill some ancient eleven gods? She’s even more guilty about the fact that he’s been trapped and tortured for a whole year and again Rook did not know!

Lucanis on the other hand is increadibly surprised to see Rook of all people in the Ossuary and almost thinks it’s some sort of dream that’s she’s in here rescuing him because how many times has he imagined something like that? He’s also dealing with a Spite who’s extra determined to talk to Rook and also the whole fact that he’s an abomination now and has a lot of feelings about that.

The first exchange between these two lovers goes something like this “you have a beard now. it looks.. nice.” “thank you? I didn’t really have a chance to shave in here” “that makes sense” cue awkward silence. Luckily Neve and Harding are there to get things back on track. Somewhat.

Anyways, the slow burn of the canon rookanis romance becomes two people learning to reconnect and navigate a very complex tangle of emotions after everything that happened in their year apart. Might write a fic about all this but I needed to get my idea out in the world one way or another.

Other au highlights include:

Rook and Lucanis met because Lucanis had to assassinate a mortalitasi and is sneaking in through the garden while Rook is there decompressing after dealing with the asshole and they both freeze. Lucanis is trying to decided whether he has to kill her and Rook just goes “guy you’re looking for is two floors up and three rooms to the right. good luck” Lucanis is like why are helping me to which Rook responds “this is the fourth time in as many weeks I’ve had to come deliver the same letter of censure to this guy for trying to supersede the royal charter and have to take time out of my day to come out here one more time I’m going start biting people. you’d really just be doing a public service getting rid of this guy”

Lucanis is the reason Rook switched to fighting with an arcane orb rather than a more traditional staff and helped her a lot with close quarters combat. He also gifted her a spellblade and was almost surprised that giving someone a knife worked.

The knife also tipped off Caterina that whoever this rando showing up to ask the Crows for help has some connection to Lucanis because of course Caterina would recognize the work of her grandson’s favorite blacksmith.

Illario only found out his cousin was involved with someone after Lucanis “died” and ended up going through his things because sure Illario might have ordered his death but that doesn’t mean he can’t be sad about it. Hidden under the floorboards is a small elegant lockbox filled with letters and a wyvern tooth dagger and Illario had a whole lot of feelings reading them and the slow transition from letters to love letters. Illario doesn’t realize it’s Rook though because Rook wasn’t going by Rook back then and was signing her letters with her government name.

#rookanis #rook #rook ingellvar #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #morticia ingellvar posting

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cherubimcore · 2 days ago

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pairing: alastor x reader

part 1 / part 2

alastor paced in his room, still bothered by the strange familiarity of your last name, unable to shake the feeling that it held some deeper meaning. he had half a mind to dismiss it as coincidence, but alastor was nothing if not thorough. deciding he could use a second opinion, he sought out charlie, hoping her knowledge of the hotel’s heavenly alliances could shed some light on the mystery.

he found her in her office, poring over a stack of documents from recent hotel guests. as he entered, charlie glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

“alastor?” she asked, a bit surprised. “need something?”

with a measured smile, he said, “charlie, i’d like to inquire about something… peculiar.”

she put down her papers and leaned forward with a curious expression. “sure, what’s on your mind?”

“the human heaven wants me to court” alastor folded his arms, considering how best to frame his question. “when i finally got her to introduce herself, she gave me her name. (y/n) (y/l/n).”

“(y/l/n)?” charlie repeated, frowning in thought. “huh…that does sound familiar.”

“i thought the same thing,” alastor said, eyes narrowing. “i can’t quite place it, but something about it feels… significant. almost celestial.”

charlie nodded slowly, an inkling of recognition in her gaze. “if it’s who I’m thinking of, that name goes back generations… there was once an angel, long ago, who left a mark on both heaven and earth. he fell in love with a human woman, and together, they had children.”

alastor’s eyes gleamed with interest. “a scandalous love affair between heaven and earth? how positively delightful,” he drawled. “but i assume there’s more to it than just that.”

charlie leaned back, her expression turning somber. “there is. angels aren’t allowed to have attachments like that, and when heaven found out, he had to flee. he abandoned the woman and his children to save himself. they say that such a heartbreak made waves through heaven and hell, like some sort of power emanated from her”

Alastor’s smile faded slightly as he absorbed this. “are you suggesting that this… lineage has left some remnant of angelic blood and heaven wants me to break her heart to get their hand on her and study this strange phenomenon?”

“that’s what i thought when i figured out where her last name was from” charlie replied softly. “it makes sense that anyone connected to that bloodline has powers beyond heaven’s comprehension, a power that heaven would never ignore.”

alastor leaned back, processing this new information. “so, this means our dear (y/n) is in great danger?”

“yes,” charlie agreed, her expression one of concern. “actually she may be in more danger than either you and i realize.”

alastor stood there, silent for a moment as he weighed the implications of what charlie had revealed. a power that heaven feared yet coveted—a power that could be triggered by heartbreak. the very thought twisted something deep inside him, making him feel an unfamiliar pang. normally, he’d relish the idea of manipulating someone so close to heaven, of causing anguish for his own gain, but this felt…different. perhaps because you were different.

“fascinating,” he murmured, though his voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. “it seems heaven wants me to be a weapon, rather than a suitor.”

charlie watched him carefully, as if gauging his reaction. “alastor,” she said gently, “you don’t have to do what they want. you don’t have to hurt her.”

alastor scoffed, his smile snapping back into place, but even he could sense a hint of strain behind it. “of course i don’t have to,” he replied, almost dismissively.

charlie looked unconvinced, her brow furrowing as she searched his face. “if you start something with her—whatever it is heaven wants—it’s going to put her in a lot of danger. they’ll push you to break her heart, to shatter her. and if she’s anything like her ancestor…” her voice softened. “she don’t deserve that, alastor.”

alastor was silent, that cheshire grin faltering as he thought of your expression, that mix of wariness and determination whenever he tried to charm you with his usual unsettling theatrics. the game had seemed so straightforward before, but now? now there was an invisible weight pressing on his every decision.

“if i choose not to do heaven’s bidding…” he mused, his tone thoughtful, “there’s always the chance they’ll send someone else to ensure her suffering. someone less… courteous, besides…”

alastor never told charlie what he would lose if he didn’t agree to do exactly what heaven wants and he wasn’t going to tell her now, that was his business to deal with.

charlie nodded, somewhat understanding his unspoken dilemma. “you’ll need to protect her,” she said quietly, “not just from heaven, but from hell, too.”

alastor let out a low chuckle, dark and almost self-deprecating. “imagine that: alastor, the radio demon, champion of heaven’s little prodigy. how quaint.”

charlie’s face softened. “maybe it’s more than that. maybe… she’s worth protecting. for her own sake.”

alastor didn’t reply immediately. instead, he stood there, his gaze distant as he processed this uncharted path opening before him. protecting you, shielding you from the very forces that had initially made him their pawn—it would mean defying both heaven and hell, something he hadn’t dared in centuries. yet, a twisted part of him relished the challenge, even as another, unfamiliar part of him tugged in a way that was… tender.

“perhaps i shall take your advice, my dear charlie,” he finally said, his voice soft but resolute. “not out of benevolence, mind you. but because i loathe the idea of heaven believing they can manipulate me to their whims.” his eyes flashed with that familiar gleam, but it held a new, defiant determination. “and if keeping her heart intact spoils their little scheme, then all the better.”

charlie offered a small smile, her eyes filled with hope. “thank you, alastor. i think, for once… you’re doing something good.”

he merely chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “let’s not get too sentimental, charlie. this is simply… an unconventional power play. nothing more.”

but as he left her office, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. it wasn’t just a game anymore, was it?

taglist: @vxllys @songbirdpond

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #alastor

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sykeskassie · 2 days ago

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Missing Piece

This was originally a gift for my muse. Well, more like a reward for getting her schoolwork done. It’s been sitting for a minute and I finally decided to post it.

Pairing: Implied OT8 Stray Kids x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

𓆩♡𓆪ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ𓆩♡𓆪ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ𓆩♡𓆪｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ 𓆩♡𓆪

Something wasn’t quite right, but you couldn’t put your finger on what was missing. You had been tucked away in the repurposed office all morning, forbidding any of the pack from entering. It was your first time since joining the pack that you had made a nest by yourself. You had of course participated in building group nests with Seungmin, Felix, and Jisung —the other omegas— but you had yet to

make one solo. It had taken you a while to feel comfortable enough; despite the constant encouragement from your packmates of all designations, you were anxious. As much as you wanted to grab a member or two, you knew that this was something you had to do for yourself.

Adjusting a pillow against the wall, you breathed in deeply. You could smell hints of cedar, pine, and eucalyptus, the scents belonging to Chan, Changbin, and Minho respectively. You had used sheets from their beds to cover the nesting mat on the ground, effectively making them the base of the nest. They were the foundation of your pack, and thus it was only natural to make them the foundation of your nest.

It had been Minho who originally introduced you to the pack. He was just a bit older than you, always taking on a protector role even before he presented. Honestly, that’s why your families hadn’t been shocked when he did present as an alpha. When his friend Chan asked him to join his pack, he had made it very clear that they would have a frequent visitor to the den. Minho knew that he couldn’t outright ask for you to become pack alongside him; you would never have accepted that without meeting and becoming comfortable with the guys, and Chan wouldn’t just add in anyone that hadn’t gotten everyone’s approval. However, it had become clear after just a few visits how enamored everyone had become with you.

The scents of the betas lined the walls, lavender from Hyunjin and rosemary from Jeongin. They had thoroughly scented many pillows the night before at your request. It was imperative to you to have their scent be on the items that you would rest against; their comfort and support represented in a physical way. You had spent countless hours nestled between the two of them, chattering on about nothing and everything. They had been the most instrumental in your transition to the pack, helping you adjust to suddenly living with eight raucous boys. Jeongin especially, having been the most recent to join before you, understood how overwhelming it could be.

The blankets strategically placed around the nest were provided by the omegas. Towards the foot of nest, Jisung’s clove scent radiated comfort from fuzzy blankets. It was a strong scent for an omega to have, but Jisung was a strong omega. Though he was one of the few to intimately understand your battles with anxiety, he was a fierce protector of the pack. Placing his scent at the entry point of the nest was an acknowledgment that to get to them, one would have to go through Jisung. At the head of the nest laid pillowy quilts imbued with Felix’s nutmeg scent. Extra padding for anyone who wanted to lay down, his sweeter scent felt like a hug surrounding you. Beyond Chan and Minho, Felix had been the first member who immediately welcomed you with open arms. He had been the one to teach you about all the members, helping you integrate near seamlessly.

Your eyes drifted to the flannel blankets that made up the middle. Even with your softer scent of fresh rain clinging to the sturdier fabric, it wasn’t quite complete. Taking each component piece by piece helped you figure out what had been missing all along. You carefully maneuvered out of the nest, making sure not to disturb anything. It was nearly perfect! You just needed your missing piece. Sneaking out of the room, you crept quietly to Seungmin’s room.

Knocking softly, you hear a, “come in, pup!”

You quickly slip into his room, your eyebrow raised slightly. “How did you know it was me?”

Seungmin chuckled, “You’re the only one who knocks and then waits. Everyone else either knocks and barges in, or skips knocking altogether.” He took a second before realizing something. “Aren’t you supposed to be nesting right now?”

You looked down at your feet, suddenly shy. It’s not that you were uncomfortable with Seungmin; it was actually the opposite. Minho may be the one you were closest to, but Seungmin was right behind him. Your omega shined under his attention, and he was the one who really taught you what being an omega in a pack like theirs meant. He was endlessly patient with you, putting up with your questions no matter how silly you thought they might be.

“I am! I was! But…I’m missing you.” You weren’t sure how you didn’t catch it sooner, honestly. If you had to guess, it’s because you weren’t used to having to put all the pieces together by yourself. When you did group building, you usually helped one of the omegas with one designation, while the other two omegas worked on the remaining designations.

“Oh pup. Do you want me to scent something for you to take back to your nest?” You knew that wouldn’t be the right answer, even if you appreciated his offer.

Shaking your head no, you say, “I have all the materials already picked out and set up. I just need you…would you mind coming with me? So I can show you where I want you?”

“You want to show me your nest? Before anyone else?”

You hadn’t really thought of that, of the significance of your request. You took a second to turn the idea over in your head. It felt right, you decided, having Seungmin be the first to see your nest. If you thought about it too hard, you’d realize that a part of you was wanting, maybe even needing an omega’s approval. Your omegas approval.

With a small nod from you, Seungmin stood up from his bed and walked towards you. “We have to be quiet though. I don’t want the rest of the pack to think it’s ready yet.”

“I understand, puppy. Let’s go see your nest.” Grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together, you led him back to the room you had been fussing over for the last few hours. He took a look around when he entered your nest, inhaling deeply to see where you had placed everyone. Plopping down on Jisung’s section, you pointed at the spread out flannel blankets.

“I need you there, please.” Seungmin would never say it, but his heart burst a little, knowing that you wanted his scent in the center. To be the center of a nest was a place of honor; for you to want to combine your scents? He could cry at how touched he was. Nodding very seriously, he began his task. As the warm cinnamon that was all Seungmin began to bloom around you, everything started to feel complete. No longer did you feel like something was wrong.

“There, all finished!” Seungmin could easily tell how you felt about him, about his members, about your place in the pack, just from where you placed things. The amount of care that you had taken to get everything just right, all by yourself, all for them, could make even the frostiest of people melt. “You did such a good job, sweetheart. Thank you for building such a good nest for the pack.”

Your smile was beaming at the praise. Here was an omega, your omega, telling you that you did a good job. “I hope the others will like it…would you go get them for me?”

“Of course I will, be right back, pup,” Seungmin said, already eager for everyone else to get to see how much effort you put into making them nest. As you waited for the pack, you realized something; you weren’t anxious anymore.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids ot8 #ot8 x reader #omegaverse #fluff #nesting #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #rennie writes

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oneinathousand · 2 days ago

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I've assembled some lesser-known quotes about Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, I hope there's at least one in here that most of you have never seen before, though the super-fans among you have likely seen them all ;)

Lee fancies himself playing Aragorn, the archetypal heroic figure of the piece - he would probably be cast as Sauron, the Satanic figure in Tolkien's Middle Earth - but he feels that only a Walt Disney feature cartoon could possibly do justice to the work.

-"Cinemafantastique" Vol 3 No 1 (Fall 1973)

I knew that Lee wanted to play Gandalf when he jumped on board the LOTR movie trilogy, but I didn't know he apparently originally wanted to play Aragorn! My guess is that once he got older, he figured he would be better as Gandalf, though of course he didn't get it. But Lee as Aragorn... if he played the part in the late 50's, 60's or early 70's, I could see him pulling it off, what with his swordfighting abilities. Did he ever comment on the Ralph Bakshi adaptation?

After the liberation of Germany, he [Lee] visited a number of the concentration camps, including Dachau, a deeply disturbing experience which, he says, provided him with such a close-up view of the charnel house side of real life that he is unaffected by anything he sees or does on the screen.

-The Dracula Scrapbook, Peter Haining

I have decided now to tell a tale a bit "out of school" regarding the relationship between Peter and Helen Cushing, especially since this is a lady who remains a bit of a mystery to most Cushing fans - like a figure out of an Edgar Allan Poe tale, considering the way Peter lionized her as if she was indeed his "lost Lenore." During the latter part of 1977, I saw quite a bit of Christopher Lee as he and his family were living in Los Angeles where he played golf (and made the occasional film or television movie of the week.) One afternoon, we were at lunch, and the subject of Peter and his wife came up in conversation; Christopher leaned over to me and said, "You know David, Helen Cushing was a bit of a psychic vampire in life; she kept Peter very close. It was as if she could read his very thoughts before they had them. They really were soulmates of the first order; make no mistake about that! I don't think Helen ever really trusted me where Peter was concerned - even after he and I had made several films together. In fact, Helen used to say to me, "I know you think you are now bigger than my husband don't you?" Well, I just looked at her, smiled and said, "Well Helen, I am taller than Peter you know." Christopher felt that Peter had such guilt - imagined or not - about anything he might have done when they were married; if for example he ever found himself attracted to any of the Hammer glamour girls; whom he worked opposite, it all was now too much to bear. On the other hand, Vincent Price responded to Peter's intense mourning with his usual brand of humor. During the filming of Madhouse, he observed Peter discussing ways of communication from beyond the grave by perhaps installing a phone in the crypt; Vincent listened to all this and then replied with that unmistakably deadpan voice, "Well Peter, what if she's out?"

-David Del Valle, "Diabolique" #16

A few of you may recall seeing a quote posted here from Lee calling Helen a psychic vampire. I tried to find the source for that, but I couldn't. Instead I found this other version, possibly by the same person, which seems to give more insight about what Lee actually thought of Helen, and it comes off as much less harsh on his part than the other one.

A while back, I looked up interviews about the making of The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires, and I swore I saw a magazine or something where Roy Ward Baker, the co-director of the movie along with the Shaw Brothers, said something about Cushing during the making of it to the effect of: “He was absolutely miserable, poor bugger.” But I forgot to take a screenshot of it then and for the life of me I couldn’t remember where it came from, I tried to look through my search history but couldn’t find it. I swear that I saw it, though!

Oh well. Next up is a quote about Lee and Cushing watching Looney Tunes together for the last time, get your tissues out...

In the early 90s I worked for Hammer Films and was asked to organise a voiceover recording for a Hammer Films documentary. Both Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee had agreed to work together one last time. Christopher Lee had asked me to organise one thing: a television and a VHS player in a private room and to have some alone time with Peter. After the recording, I cleared the studio and left Peter and Christopher alone with the TV. They hadn’t noticed that I was still at the mixing desk so I waited to see what they were going to be watching. I saw Count Dooku and Grand Moff Tarkin sit watching Looney Tunes cartoons – each doing perfect impersonations of Sylvester the Cat and Tweety Pie – all line perfect! I can’t remember exactly – but I think Christopher Lee was Tweety Pie and Peter Cushing was Sylvester.

-"Popbitch" 2015 Annual, the quote is just credited to a "JH", but IMDB lists a Jane Hughes as having worked as an assistant director in the Canterbury studio where Lee and Cushing recorded their voiceover, so this is most likely her. I personally would like to believe that Lee was playing Sylvester and Cushing was Tweety because Lee said he was always Sylvester to Cushing, and come on, Cushing MUST have been Tweety, that character would fit him like a glove!

For this final quote, I'm gonna do something different and copy-paste a whole interview done with Lee by a guy named John Exshaw about Cushing a year before the latter died for the magazine Cinema Retro, the interview being put up on their website. The formatting on the interview is all messed up, so I fixed the apostrophes and em-dashes and will put the whole thing here for your enjoyment.

I find this interview fascinating not so much for what Lee says about Cushing, but for how it implied he saw himself compared to Peter:

I didn’t meet him until we did the first Hammer movie. I’d seen him. Of course the thing which I’d seen which impressed me most, understandably, was 1984, which was remarkable. He was wonderful in that… Live TV! [shudders]

Total dedication; and this is the answer to why Peter Cushing is an actor. Total dedication. Total! The most professional actor I have ever worked with. And I’m not going to say underrated, because he isn’t underrated. He’s highly regarded all over the world as a brilliant actor, and deservedly so. The record shows that… Also, one thing that we do share, I think, more than anything, which is more important than anything else - I think we share the same dedication, I think we share professionalism, I think we share the same feelings about doing the best we can - one thing we certainly share is the same sense of humor, which of course the general public is totally unaware of. If they knew what we got up to on the set in every film we’ve made… the imitations that I used to do… Oh, we used to dance together in the rushes, yes; me made up as the Frankenstein creature, a sort of, a sort of, what do you call it - buck-and-wing dance, you know. And in years and years and years he and I have shared this idolatrous love of the Warner Brothers cartoons, you see, and Sylvester, and Tweetie Pie, and Yosemite Sam. And I’ve always imitated them, you see, and he’s done the same. And we used to do that on a set; people used to think we’d gone out of our minds, and we’d make each other laugh. Sometimes it’s so important - in a way, it’s absolutely essential - but we’re both of us ice-cold when it comes to doing it, even if we’ve been been laughing a few moments before. And that’s a thing we also share, total concentration.

And what can I say about Peter Cushing that I haven’t said before? I mean, consummate actor, brilliant technician, and a marvellous human being. I’ve always said, you know - I’m sure you’re aware of this - that he should have been a priest… Because there is a great love for his fellow man. There’s an almost superhuman loving kindness in Peter, and it’s always been in there. I’ve never heard him say anything harsh about anyone. He’s also a deeply religious man. Those are the two things we don’t have in common. I’m afraid I do say what I think. I’m not tactless but I am a more direct person than he is. I don’t have his tolerance. I don’t have his gentleness. I don’t have his faith; I wish I did…

He is not an easy person to get to know, believe you me. There’s a lot about Peter that I don’t know… But of course, as you know, Helen died in the 1970’s and that is his only desire left in life. And it’s genuine. He has stayed alive because he’s a man who would never take his own life because that would be a great sin, and he has stayed alive through some pretty terrible experiences, you know. He’s had cancer, and problems with his legs, his hips, breathing, and all sorts of medical problems, but the spirit is unquenchable and the speed of thinking and the mind haven’t changed at all. I mean, it’s another cliche - the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The same thing with Vincent [Price]; mind like a rapier, both of them. Only the physical disabilities of getting old…

But he’s certainly one of a kind, and of course this business of staying alive, simply existing, which is how he looks at his life - existence. He’s only waiting for that moment; only waiting for it. And he’s been waiting now for twenty-three years. It must be terrible to be so admired and so loved and so respected but to impose, I feel, on yourself, deliberately, a sort of monastic seclusion which he seems to prefer. He seems to; I mean, you wouldn’t think of it if you saw him with a group of people but I think he prefers to be alone. I don’t think the house is full of people. I don’t think there’s many very, very close, intimate friends - but nor have I, and nor have many people.

Acquaintances, yes; admirers, yes - scores of thousands all over the world, people who feel they know him, people who feel that he’s a friend - all that. That’s on a professional basis; I think on a personal basis, I get the impression that he’s a person who keeps his life and his relationship with his wife very much to himself. It’s locked up in a cupboard of which he has the key. He doesn’t open that cupboard and release anything unless he chooses to. But I don’t either.

#christopher lee #peter cushing #hammer horror #vincent price

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