#its not like you care about your court anyway you might as well

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

good lord, it is 1am and im getting so stupidly angry about the fact that Rhysand is barely getting Feyre to engage with the night court's, or rather verlaris', culture. Like, your girlfriend is a fucking artist and youre not taking her to a MUSEUM??? youre not taking her to an OPERA HOUSE when going to the opera is like the classic monarch-date?? literally how are you you gonna be the ruler of this city thats apparently worldrenowened for its Arts if youre not even gonna show up and show your support for them as high lord. And dont try to tell me its bc hes too busy because that man is going to the club like all the time. and he should not be there!! Stop going to the club, start going to the ballet gala!! Also, Feyre never asked to go anywhere?? Again, shes an artist surely she would like to look at art. if i was in her shoes, after rhysand showed me velaris and how beautiful it is, I would go to the opera house and just stay there until ive seen literally everything. rhysand comes up to me asking me to do something for him and im like "hey man, as you can see im busy rn so respectfully im not doing all that shit"

[targaryen-dynasty]

THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs. 

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore. 

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed. 

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around. 

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his. 

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something. 

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out. 

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles. 

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat. 

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor. 

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards. 

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm. 

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut. 

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk. 

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit. 

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following. 

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all. 

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?” 

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.” 

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine. 

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins. 

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment. 

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs. 

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before. 

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos. 

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands. 

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother. 

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness. 

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much. 

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.  

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part. 

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours. 

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back. 

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms. 

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes. 

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more. 

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight. 

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you. 

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words. 

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles. 

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks. 

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned. 

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either. 

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size. 

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum. 

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest. 

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips. 

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him. 

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm. 

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him. 

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice. 

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat. 

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features. 

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you. 

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths. 

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him. 

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 (NSFW) / PART 4 /

PART FIVE (NSFW)

Warning: Mentions of Pregnancy and virginity. piv.

You started Sunday the same way you always did. Wake up before dawn, start breakfast for you and Ma, stare out the window and think about the list of chores you could never keep up with.

“It’s a beautiful morning!” Your mother shuffled past your open door towards the kitchen, “Are you sure I can’t just handle all the work in the field today? Won’t you want to relax before your friend arrives?”

“Mother, please do not blow this out of proportion.” You scolded her light-heartedly, “I’m just going to do my work as usual, and when he stops by I’ll take a break-”

“My baby is getting courted by a big strong orc~” She sang out to you. You followed her to the kitchen. “How did you know he’s courting me?”

“So he is courting you.” She swayed back and forth in front of the hearth, throwing bits of kindling onto the fire.

“Well- I-”

“Y/n, don’t you remember. When I told you about the family that lived in the neighboring plot. The wife told me so much about how strange orc courting was, especially with her being human, and-”

“You didn’t tell me it was a half-orc family…” 

She turned to you with a devious smirk, “Wouldn’t you like to know about a half-orc family.” “MA!” You grabbed an apple from the table (a bright red one that matched the color of your face) and ran out the door. You weren’t really mad at her, but this entire situation was so out of your comfort zone. The only experience you ever really had with being pursued was desperately avoiding Milo for the past two years.

You glanced at the sundial in the garden. Three hours. You had three hours to try and get some work done in the field and shake off the nerves.

-

The tomatoes were a mess. No wonder, this was a corner of the field that had been sorely neglected this season. The sun was climbing higher, and the heat of its rays were beginning to lick the back of your neck. What time was it anyways?

“SO NICE TO MEET YOU- OH YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE!”

Your mothers voice was loud enough to carry all the way to your little corner in the tomato patch. You shot to your feet, craning your neck to see her enthusiastically fawning over a slightly nervous Khargaad. You could hear him nervously chuckling as the two exchanged words.

Well, might as well go save him. You looked down at your work clothes covered in grass stains and mud. Hair was sticking to the back of your sweaty neck. Gross. Probably didn’t smell pretty either.

Your mother caught you out of the corner of her eye and pointed excitedly, “THERE SHE IS!”

You cringed. Gods she was making all this fuss and you looked like you just crawled out of a ditch.

“Hello! I see you met Ma.” You were trying to casually wipe the mix of dirt and sweat from your face, wading over to them through the field. He felt his heart skip a bit when you got closer. You smelled so earthy. And the musk of your sweat was… it could drive him feral.

He started imagining all the ways he could steal you away and worship you. Fill you. Taste you.

“Um… Khargaad?”

He jolted out of his sinful haze, “I couldn’t show up empty handed.” He thrust a basket into your arms. It was laden with fancy imported fruits. “This- This is too much. This must have cost-”

“Hush now,” his voice was like warm honey, “I hunt big game, I can afford it.” He had a cocky little smirk on his face. You thanked him, motioning to follow you into the cottage.

He looked back at your mom one more time, “It was so nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

-

Your first lessons together went just as well as predicted. By the end he was properly frustrated, arms crossed and everything.

“The letters. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s all… mixed up.”

“Let’s just end it here for today.”

He was so cute like this. All flustered. 

He stood up from his seat, being careful to crouch as he easily exceeded the height of the ceiling. “Alrighty, let’s get to work.” He crossed the room in one long stride, pulling his shirt over his head. He looked strong, but not in the way statues are with their lean bodies and taught chiseled muscles. He looked like a man who ate well and worked hard. Your eyes wandered to the slight love handles that peaked over the waistband of his trousers. Gods you were no better than a man, thinking about how bad you wanted to feel him in your hands.

He glanced behind his shoulder, “Where first?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Khargaad.”

“Do you think I’m going to just leave with all this work to be done?”

-

He followed you like an excited puppy to the tomato patch you had been working on. You had tried to tell him that he didn’t need to waste the rest of his day helping with this. But he knew he didn’t need to. He wanted to. And who was going to stop him? Certainly not you.

He started on one end, and you the other, working slowly until you met in the middle. By the end, your hands were red and scratched up from pulling the thistle weeds. Of course, Kharghaad’s were so calloused that it was like he had a pair of gloves on. He gave a little gasp when he saw your sore fingers. “Why didn’t you say anything…” He scooped your small hands into his, as delicate as you would pick up a fresh baby bird.

Every time he touched you it was like this great release. Your mother, as loving as she was, never quite developed a touchy-feely nature. You were so used to it fleeting as soon as it was there. Quick handshakes, brushing against someone in the market. You craved physical touch.

So when Khargaad didn’t let go of your hands. When he held them so carefully and tenderly. So deliberately. You found yourself trying to memorize every little second of the moment.

“I’ll have to buy you gloves.” He muttered, picking out the little needles with surprising dexterity. He took his canteen and went to rinse off the skin. “I can wash my own hands, Khargaad.” You chuckled.

“But I want to,” He blurted out with immediate embarrassment, “Sorry, I guess you could say it’s an orc thing? It’s sorta like… we’re very communal. There’s no reason to do much of anything alone, if you think about it…” He sort of trailed off like he was getting ahead of himself. He paused.

“I hope I'm not smothering you. Maybe humans aren’t like that-” He went to let go of your hands, and a part of you cried out inside. You were tired of trying to play this stoic lone wolf character. It wasn’t who you were. It’s not who any of us are. We all need each other.

“Please, don’t stop…” You whispered to him, thrusting your hands back into his. You uttered the magic words. The words he had been waiting for. He pulled you into his chest. It didn’t matter how gross, hot, and sweaty the two of you were. Or that your mother was most definitely watching joyfully from the kitchen window. Nothing mattered. “Can we go somewhere?” His voice was muffled as he whispered into the top of your head. He was taking long deep sighs, taking in your scent.

“Please…” The need in your voice was palpable. He didn’t waste another moment, leading you to the forest behind your property. “Khargaad… the road is that way.” You motioned behind yourself. “I know a quicker way.” He glanced back at you with that sweet little smirk on his face.

Once past the treeline, the soft light of dusk struggled to breach the overhead foliage. You walked together for some time, before the sound of running water bubbled ahead. He had led you to a little clearing, where in the middle stood a circular style tent. A creek babbled away off to the side. The moon was full and provided plenty of light for you to take it all in. “Do you live here?” 

He nodded, looking down at you expectantly for approval. You grinned, “It’s lovely.”

He snaked a strong arm around your waste, pulling you in. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting your face up to his. For a moment he hovered over you, as if waiting for your permission. You reached up to cup his face, thumbing over one of the tusks jutting out of his mouth.

His lips met yours. It started slow, like sipping on a glass of fine wine. Then it was hungry. Like you had both been starved. You were getting drunk off of the needy little grunts he was making, pulling you in flush with his body. You could feel him through his trousers, and it startled you out of your stupor a bit. You hadn’t been with anyone before, and it was bound to happen sooner or later, but this was a bit more than you ever imagined.

It was almost like he sensed your tension, pulling away to look into your eyes, “Let’s get clean.” He had brought his thumb up to caress over your cheek, planting a small peck before jogging to his tent. Watching him disappear under the flap, your mind raced. What if you weren’t ready? What if he’s not patient?

He bounded out towards the stream, beckoning you over. He started to frown as you got closer, like he could smell the apprehension coming off of you, “Do you need to go slower? Do you want to go home? Nothing has to happen. Nothing at all. You are in charge.”

He started unlacing the ties of his trousers. You instinctually looked away, giving him privacy he clearly didn’t need. With the sound of water sloshing you looked back at him submerged up to his sternum. You approached the water’s edge, looking down into the little bubbles churning in the current. “Hey… what’s wrong?” He waded over to the edge, leaning onto the grassy bank. There wasn’t any aire of seduction in his voice, just one of genuine tenderness.

You sucked it up and opened your mouth, “I’ve never done this before…”

“With an orc?”

“No like… I’ve never done this before… ever.” You winced as the words came out. You were a grown adult, this conversation shouldn’t feel embarrassing. But it did nonetheless.

“And so you don’t want to do this?” He didn’t seem fazed at all by the information. “No!” You yelped out a little too enthusiastically, “No- I mean, yes. Yes I do want to. I want you.”

You started to pull at the ties of your shirt, face so flushed it was probably glowing red. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You ripped the shirt off your head like pulling off a bandaid, exposing your chest to the warm summer air. You went to fiddle with the strings of your work pants. He still didn’t look away, and you didn’t ask him to.

And there you were, clothed only in moonlight. Khargaad thought, maybe the moon had come out just for you tonight, to see your beauty for itself.

You stepped down into the water. “Are you sure you’re human? Not a beautiful fairy playing tricks on me?” Khargaad was completely entranced by you, eyes roaming over the curve of your shoulders to the curves of your breasts.

You felt some of the tension ease, snorting at him “I don’t think a fairy would smell this bad.” He gasped a bit as if he had just remembered, grabbing a bar of soap he had retrieved from the tent. “May I?” He asked, lathering up the bar in his hands.

You nodded, letting him wade closer to you. You felt the palms of his massive hands begin to work themselves into your hair, massaging his fingers into your scalp. “Oh-” You exclaimed a rather embarrassing moan, but it felt so good. He finished and went to clean his own hair. “Hey, it’s my turn now!” You scolded him. He was more than happy to let you clean him. As he said previously, it’s a part of orc culture to do things with other people. That includes bathing.

And oh how he loved to see you doing orc things. Like wearing that yellow dress dyed with orc spices, and making those pickled eggs for him. It made him think about how great it would be to bring you home with him, to meet all of his family. For you to find a place in his tribe. He missed home a lot, and now you were a part of that picture. You finished running your fingers through the curls of his clean hair.

He heard the sloshing of water, turning around to see you drying yourself off. He joined you. You cast a quick glimpse below his waist, blushing furiously at his partially hard cock.

You walked together to the flap of the tent. The inside surprised you. It was so… cozy. “Ah-” He had leaned down to nuzzle into your neck, you loved the feeling of his tusks against your skin. He pulled you to what could best be described as a nest. A nest of pillows and blankets. He very carefully leaned you onto your back, “Is this okay?”

You giggled at him, “Yes Khargaad. I will tell you if I need to stop, okay?”

“Promise?” He leaned back on his knees, his olive green skin looking lovely in the warm glow of the lantern lighting the tent. His member was on full display, completely unashamed. The way it twitched in anticipation made your stomach flutter. “Yes.”

He lied down next to you, peppering little kisses in the crook of your neck. His hands began to roam your body, starting with your shoulders and slowly moving down to your tits. His calloused palm grazed over the sensitive peaks, causing you to let out a breathy sigh. He took your left breast into his hand, thumbing over your hardened nipple. He palmed your chest for a few moments more, like he was savoring each and every new part of you he explored. You felt his cock hard against your leg. You shifted your thigh, giving him just the lightest sensation of friction. The groan he mumbled into your skin made you feel hot between your legs. You clenched your thighs together, trying to get some relief.

His hand traveled down to your stomach, caressing the curves and grabbing a soft handful of skin. “Good…” He whispered. You shivered as his hand glided over your hips, so close to your entrance. He reached for the inside of your thigh, pulling it over into his cock. He let out another breathy sigh that left you completely slick with desire. His hand hovered over the mess of hair covering your mound. You opened your legs, giving him permission.

He started by slowly palming you, just beginning to give you the attention your pussy was desperate for. You felt a finger slip past your folds, getting drenched in the slickness. Khargaad shifted you up a bit so he could have better access to your chest. He dipped down, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucked playfully. “Oh f-fuck-” You were stuttering at the pleasure of it all. He grinned into your chest, “Keep making those noises sweetheart.” The pet name made your heart flutter.

He kept gently probing a finger up and down your slit, until he dipped one down just at the beginning of your entrance. His fingers were bigger than your own, but this wasn't so much of a stretch. He slowly sheathed the finger in you, “Tight.” He grunted. He made a come hither motion into that sensitive spot of your inner walls. You yelped out a completely sinful moan as he prodded you a few more times. His finger exited your hole, pulling the wetness of your cunt onto your swollen and sensitive clit.

“Khargaad-” Your hips bucked up into him as he swirled long languid circles around that little bundle of nerves. He pulled off, and sat back on his knees, “Can I taste you?”

It was the way he asked more than anything. Like he was close to begging for it. You nodded, spreading your legs for him. He settled down in front of you, using both of his thumbs to spread your lips apart. You felt the tip of his fat tongue probe your needy pussy. He reached up to play with your nipples, while he moved up to your throbbing clit. He started with light kitten-licks, making you whine and buck up into his mouth. That wonderful tongue of his made swirls and then quick flickering motions over the sensitive spot. At this point you were almost completely lost in pleasure, and reached down to thread your fingers through his soft brown curls. 

You were already sensitive when he started, so you were very close to finishing. You actually yelled when he inserted a finger into you. Prodding that sensitive spot while attacking your sensitive clit; it was making the most obscene wet noises. “Close.” That was all you could manage as he devoured you. There it was, feeling crushed over you like a ton of bricks. You coated this hand, legs spasming. He dipped down to lap up the remnants of your release. Your taste, your smell, the feeling of his hair clenched in your fist. He was addicted.

He leaned back, taking in his work. You had a hand on your forehead and a hand on your chest, calming down from what you just experienced. You glanced down at him, both hands on his thighs. His cock was completely erect, tip glistening with pre-cum. It was so heavy it bowed down under its own weight. “Y/n…” He was trying to figure out what to say next. His cock needed to be buried in your pretty little cunt. He needed to bottom out into you. He wanted to hear the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. But he couldn’t say that, though. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready.

So when you propped yourself up on your elbows, legs spread for him, he almost felt like crying. His human mate was so strong. So ready for him.

He crawled over you, pinning your legs over his shoulders. He took the base of his cock into his fist, guiding it slowly over your folds. You were so warm for him. He pushed his pulsating tip past your lips, wincing from the sensitivity. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, but you were completely entranced watching his cock slide into you. His tip found your hole, sliding in but not going any further. He was absolutely strangeling the pillow he was resting his hand on, trying to maintain control. Khargaad was watching you, every little subtle expression. He kept sinking himself into you, stopping when you made the first wince of pain. He was big, and you were so tight. 

“Y/n?” You looked up at him through those pretty lashes. He nearly lost it all right there, just from the eye-contact. You got off of your elbows, leaning down completely. You gave a little nod, still making direct eye contact. Slowly and gently, he worked his way in until his hips were flush with yours. He leaned back, still buried in you, letting you adjust to the stretch.

He wouldn’t last long at all, seeing you like this. Your little face with knotted brows, arms thrown overhead. Khargaad brought his hand to your stomach, rubbing little circles into the soft skin with his thumb. You were perfect. Perfect to take his seed. Perfect for growing a little half-orc.

He wouldn’t yet, of course. Not until you were ready. For you, he would wait as long as needed. But his strange orc hormones and instincts craved it beyond explanation.

He began rocking out and back into you, keeping a slow languid pace. You reached out for him, and in an instant his head was nuzzled in your neck again. His pace started to ramp up a bit, earning little mewls from your lips. Oh he definitely wouldn't last much longer. “W-where…” His breath hitched in your ear. “Huh?” You were too flustered to try to understand what he was asking.

“Going to-” He was hissing and groaning, barely able to work out a sentence, “On your body- ah- or o-on the bed?” His motions were getting jerky. “Fuck- sorry- oh fuck.”

He pulled out just barely in time to empty himself onto your stomach. He fucked his rough fist through the climax, sighing at the sight of his seed coating your tummy. It felt a lot warmer than you expected, and much more… volume. He finally let go of his cock, reaching for a linen cloth and dunking it in a bowl of water he had set nearby. “I made a mess…”

He sounded so guilty, and you giggled at him teasingly. One of his hands cupped your face, while the other softly wiped the length of your cunt, messy from your own slickness. He wiped the cum that was coated across your stomach, being careful not to spill any on the bed.

“You did so good.” He started cooing sweet nothings to you while running his thumbs across your cheekbone, “Wore me out…” He chuckled, throwing the rag across the room. He yawned and stretched his arms above him.

“Do you want me to go home now?” You were all too familiar with the stories women told about men finishing and ordering them to leave. You didn’t quite have the confidence yet, to advocate for yourself. To tell him you wanted to spend the night wrapped up in his arms.

For Khargaad, this question felt like an arrow to the heart. Had he not done enough? To make it clear how badly he needed you with him? He laid down next to you, pulling you close, “I would kill the person who would try to take you from me right now.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is Part 5 for you lovelies <3 <3 <3 btw Khargaad is living in a yurt, that's what I was trying to describe lol.

I attached a playlist I put together. These are the songs I've been listening to while writing this, if anyone wants to hear the vibes :3

Tagged List <3

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786

[innerangeltoadlover]

IDEOLOGY : LIFE IN SCHIZOPHRENIA

1. I was inspired to write this because I believe a diagnosis of schizophrenia silences those who suffer from the illness. I wrongly believed after my sister took me to Court in an effort to make me homeless that I would never have to fight for my truth to be heard again. Poor outcomes for patients are linked to expedient treatments - ones which may ignore salient indicators of abuse in order to place mental illness as the cause of behaviour and the only valid truth. There is probably nothing more demeaning and disheartening than telling your therapist about abuse and having it received as a fairytale. My story will show the consequences of skepticism and disbelief in the treatment of schizophrenia which allows for the generalisation of experiences without differentiation. We are better than this.

Sometimes , well often, when we read a memoir there’s an assumption that the person writing has overcome some insurmountable hardship. It motivates us to think that we can do the same – and at some point we , like the author, will walk into the sunset with clarity, humour and perhaps in hand with another. These are the kinds of books I usually stop reading after the first chapter because life , and in particular my life, has not been like this. I want to write about the ugly side of mental illness and the reason why there are so many of us who exist without that longed for happy ending. For those of us who don’t crawl out of the mire our lives are not improved by the application of lipstick or the urging of those who have. Despite our travels through a social media polluted with inspiring memes and motivational scenarios real hardship is present and remains unchanged despite its synonymous pairing with choice.

So my story isn’t going to be particularly uplifting -there has been no victory here – I write because I have to – not because I want to. I’m hoping in writing that I might gain some internal peace over the war my mind wages with me, particularly at night when the lack of distraction makes sleep elusive. I think publishing is a bit of a minefield for people like me. I’m wary of writing anything that resembles some clueless manifesto but at the same time I think it’s important for people with this illness to write something real that isn’t Instagramable and also at nearly 60 I’ve come to view my illness as a valid part of my individuality and I wish to defend it rather than have this unique part of me trampled into submission by doctors who view me like a bacteria in a Petri dish. The truth is this illness is crap but the treatment is crappier and you are trapped in it , well I have been anyway. However the older I get the more I’ve realised that much of the prejudice and stigma linked to this illness has much of its origins in treatment. I used to have a social conscience and was concerned about the plight of my fellow sufferers but it has been chipped away. When my Shrink tells me of advances in care it sort of hangs in the air like a fog in a windowless room. These days I say very little when these professionals say this nonsense which I’ve heard so many times– I’m nearly old but I was young once and I wasn’t born in the Dark Ages- I was hopeful , though that hope has disintegrated. The old mantra “you can’t reason with a schizophrenic” is alive and well in most psychiatrists offices however it is often only the benefit of hindsight that allows us to see the stark relief against the empty rhetoric. It also painfully exhibits that in my case my treatment was inhibited by doctors who could not tell fact from fiction and who had ultimately decided that some lives are worth more than others.

[choccy-milky]

Hi Darling! First of all.. OMG I REALLYYY REALLYYYY LOVE YOUR FIC ♥️♥️♥️! I've been a silent reader for too long and this is the first time I came to the surface to thank you for this amazing fic and art that you've made.

I also have gathered my courage to ask you this. But headcanonically (if that's even a word but wtv 😭) in your fic world. Did Sebastian ever court or interested in someone before Clora? I had a wild thought that he was into someone and had courted them but wouldn't last long because he had to take care of Anne and this lass he courted was tired of his rambling about Anne this and Anne that. Sebastian decided that they should end things because not appreciating Anne means not appreciating him.

And when he dated Clora. He met her again. She desperately wants him back and apologises (She does have another intention though). He declines because he's already ill with her and is now crazy in love with our darling Clora. He chooses not to tell Clora about this. But I wonder what happened if Clora knows tho.

ANYWAY! THANK YOU FOR READING MY LONG ASS WILD THOUGHTS BUT I AM AN ANGST GIRL IN THIS ANGST LIFE. 😭😭😭💙💙💙

AW THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME💖💖IM GLAD TO HEAR IT💖💖 AND OK its funny you bring this up bc i actually planned for sebastian to have a bit of an internal monologue in my most recent chap about the girls he's had a crush on (before clora--omg... B.C), but i ended up cutting it out because it was part of a deleted scene. but no seb has never actually dated/courted anyone before clora, tho he defs did have crushes....but if he WAS with another girl before clora....🤔🤔hmm🤔🤔 i guess it would depend when in their relationship clora found out? if it was at the beginning when clora was still really shy/nervous/self conscious, it would obviously make her even moreso, and she would have compared herself and wondered if she was good enough and if she was doing things right. and i feel like that early in the relationship, if that other girl DID come back and try and get with seb, clora might actually be worried they'd get together again, esp if she ever saw them talking (kinda like the lawley situation, but in reverse BAHA) if it was NOW though and clora just suddenly found out....LMAOO oh boy. she'd obvs be like why did u never tell me, and itd go something like this: seb: "it was brief enough that i didn't see any point in mentioning it--we hadn't even snogged." clora: "well, it just so happens that i was with a boy before you, too. but we hadn't snogged either, so by your logic, i guess you don't care." seb: ".........." seb: "........alright, point proven." (and then seb would be all worried and confirm that she hadnt actually been with anyone before him/that she was just messing with him, and shed be like LMAO YES IT WAS JUST FOR ARGUMANTS SAKE OBVS) anyway clora might be sad for a bit but she'd get over it pretty quick, since she knows seb is so devoted to her/hed make it a point to be a huge simp for her to show her he has no leftover feelings for anyone else LOL (like how he was after the relic incident & during her period) honestly its just hard to make clora jealous in the first place, bc seb is such a mega simp for her LMFAO. and aS HE SHOULD BE!!!👇🧎‍♂️

[maximwtf]

Izzy Hands x reader fanfic where the reader courts him by sending anonymous love letters.

Izzy Hands x Reader

words: 2760

google docs pages: 4,5

warnings: Oddly enough for something I’ve written, none! Is this lowkey corny though? Yes, maybe that needs a warning of its own. 

opening: Your desperate earlier attempts at courting the first mate of Blackbeard’s had gone unnoticed, so you resort to writing love letters. Maybe he’d realise if it was laid flat in front of his eyes. 

AN// Reader can be any gender! It’s been a good while since I’ve written anything fluff-like, so apologies if that affected the quality of this :”D! Requests are still open <3! (please someone request something sword-fight related, or I’ll have to think of something myself)

 “Not worth your time”

How many attempts would it take for him to realise what you were trying to say? How did he not notice even when you thought you couldn’t get any more obvious? Or was he just on purpose ignoring you? Were thoughts that had been on your mind for a long time now.

Izzy Hands, the first mate of Blackbeard's, was either too focused on his work and just didn’t realise or was ignoring your confessions on purpose. Of which you hoped wasn't the latter. For the past few weeks you had tried almost everything you could have thought of, not counting in just telling him how you felt. The only reason why that card hadn’t been used yet was because you didn’t know if he cared for you in the same way. You wouldn’t be able to bear the heartbreak of confessing to him and being rejected would cause. Not to even mention having to be on the same ship with him after, you’d rather take a jolly boat and leave at that point. So you had resorted to hinting your feelings for him through actions, which had proven to be unsuccessful. 

As long as you’d known the man, he had never been too good at expressing his feelings. If he was upset, he might have said something about it to you and then disappear for a moment to resolve whatever was going on in his mind. Never had you seen him cry, but you expected he was just the kind of person to cry whenever he was alone. But even when he was happy, he’d show it through very small actions, sometimes not even his expression changing. You weren’t even sure if the man had ever been in love. Maybe he just didn’t know how to express that either? Or perhaps that was you hoping the earlier attempts of getting him to realise how you felt hadn’t been for nothing. 

Either way, it was clear you’d chosen a man who was harder to read than a map drawn by a toddler. He hadn’t and seemingly wasn’t going to notice you flirting with him, but maybe something else would work. Flirting had never been your strong suit anyway, you’d always been much more skilled with written down words. It was easier to think of what to say and carefully choose the right words, which you couldn’t do while spending time with the first mate. And perhaps you could blame yourself even for the bad success, knowing your flirting and how it usually played out. So your plan was clear. To start writing anonymous love letters to him, and slowly make it as obvious as possible. 

To be quite honest, you weren’t so sure if the man even knew how to read. Though, surely for one to become a first mate they had to know how to read, right? Or maybe that was just your last hope speaking. You’d seen first mates get chosen and there wasn’t a job application that came first. The person who was thought out to be the most experienced with piracy was chosen ultimately over the skill of literacy. Though, Stede appreciated the skill understandably more than the seadogs you’d sailed with for most of the time. 

Literacy had been the reason why you and Lucius started talking as well. You’d started to take turns writing notes for Stede after you had gained his trust. Due to this new formed relationship with the man, you would sometimes talk to him about Izzy. From what you collected, Lucius wasn’t the biggest fan of him, understandably. But Lucius hadn’t been against you trying to court the man either, he’d even encouraged you to write the letters. Perhaps he was hoping you’d succeed and manage to change Izzy for the better somehow. But that was thinking too far ahead. 

Firstly you had to figure out what to write in the first letter. It ended up not being anything too obvious, but you made sure to put an emphasis on the parts where you mentioned admiring his seamanship skills. Not leaving a signature or anything that could retrace the letter back to you, you folded it nicely and sneaked it to his quarters by sliding it under his door. It was only at that point that you truly realised how silly this was for an adult to do. Though, you forgave yourself for the sake of this being the last trick you had up your sleeve. 

The evening passed quickly, night cooling down the air and bringing a slight fog with it to hug the vessel sailing across the water gently. You’d taken the lookout shift for tonight, knowing you wouldn't have been able to sleep. It also gave you time to write the second letter, knowing there was almost never any activity on the sea in a weather like this. It was going to be a calm night.

You sat down in the crowsnest, leaning over slightly as your pencil danced on the small piece of paper. The contents of the letter may have been more flirty than intended because of your sleep deprived mind, but you scrapped none of it. Letting your thoughts run as they pleased, the second letter was finished with a small heart as a signature at the bottom. You folded it nicely like the first letter, using a drop of wax from the candle you had up in the crowsnest to seal the paper. 

The sky began to change colour when the sun decided to make its return. You climbed down, back on the main deck. You’d walk by Izzy’s door before going to sleep and slip the letter under his door like before. Most of the crew was still asleep, it only being the very early hours of the morning. Pure luck for you, since no one would notice you sneaking around like this. 

Izzy was one to wake up rather early, so you didn’t dare to make any noise. At times it felt like you were holding your breath just in case that would alert him, though thinking about it after, it sounded silly. But nevertheless, you’d gotten the letter delivered and made an escape for it. All the way to one of the free hammocks where you got comfy and fell asleep rather quickly. 

After that you took a break from writing the letters. Not a long one, but you had to think the third letter through more thoroughly. You’d sat down with Lucius, and chatted with him about it. As far as Izzy knew, the two of you were the only ones who could write and practised it actively. So the first mate didn’t have many options on who could have been writing the letters. “Lucius, I need to ask something from you.” You started, knowing he might just do this for you. The ‘mhm?’ he gave was all you needed as a sign to explain further. “Give the third letter to him.” You said quickly, biting your inner lip. The plan was to ask Lucius to give the letter, and when Izzy would eventually realise it wasn’t written by Lucius, he wouldn’t have many options left. Lucius stared at you for a moment before a faint smirk formed on his face. “Alright.” He said, raising his eyebrows in a knowing manner. It seemed he didn’t need a further explanation, the plan being clear to him.

After the conversation, you got to writing. This letter was more bold, more straight forward. You allowed your handwriting to differ more clearly from Lucius’, making it more obvious it wasn’t from the other man. Half way through writing, you leaned back on the chair. Was this even going to work? You had continued talking to Izzy after the first two, but he didn’t seem like he was even trying to figure out who was sending the letters. Or maybe you’d just missed his eyes wandering across the deck when he thought no one was looking, desperate to find who’d written words like that of him. Who in the crew would ever think of such things of someone like him?

You shook your head, resuming back to the letter. Writing the third one took the longest, only because it had all your thoughts in it. A proper confession with an ‘I love you’ at the end. You thought of signing this one, but then decided against it. He was witty enough to figure out it was you based on the letter, and if he felt the same he’d come looking for you. Hopefully.

That same evening you delivered the letter to Lucius, almost scared to let go of it. With a swift wink Lucius took it, and promised to give it to the first mate just before the crew usually went to rest. That way you’d be up in the crowsnest, the look-out shift taken by you yet again, and you could get some fresh air before having to face the first mate. 

Time passed, the tension within your body building up. With stiff steps you got up to the crowsnest and slid against the mast to sit down. A deep breath. Lucius would have given Izzy the letter around this time. There was no turning back now, but there was also still that part of you that didn’t even want to. You’d waited for long enough, and this was like ripping off a bandaid, only you didn’t know what the damage under would be. If any. 

Lucius had found Izzy, handing the letter to the man with that same amused grin on his face which he had tried to hide. “What is this?” Izzy asked, furrowing his brows slightly as he accepted the piece of paper. “Have you-?” He was about to add, but Lucius was already turning away to leave. “That is for you to figure out.” He said, before leaving Izzy alone with his thoughts and the letter. His eyes stared blankly at the folded paper, carefully opening it for reading. 

The first mate’s eyes scanned through the words, his free hand going slightly over his mouth. This letter had far more passion in it than the other two mysterious letters he’d received. But yet it was written tenderly with care, still anonymous. Lucius had been such an asshole about revealing who it was. Of course he had thought it must have been Lucius playing with him from the start, but after the second letter it had gotten far too advanced to be just a crude joke anymore, he hoped. But there weren’t many literate men on the ship.

Izzy took the time to find Stede’s diary in his hands, scrolling through it just enough to be able to compare the two handwritings together. He knew you and Lucus took turns writing notes for Stede, and to his luck he was able to match the styles. Lucius’ handwriting looked different from the one used in the letter, but the other style in the diary matched the one in the letter’s almost perfectly. It was you, had been this whole time.

Izzy slammed the book shut, folding the letter into his pocket and making his way to the main deck where he knew you were. Just today he’d told you to skip and leave the shift for him, but you'd strongly insisted against it, saying you didn’t feel tired due to the full moon. He’d wanted to ask what you were talking about, the time of the moon being full still at minimum a week away, but you had left before he was able to. But now he knew why you’d left so abruptly. 

Izzy appeared on the main deck, gaze searching for you. The deck itself was empty, it wasn’t yet so dark that he couldn’t see as much. The sky was clear of clouds, no fog in sight. No lookout in this weather would be on deck, you must have been in the crowsnest. His gaze travelled up, seeing the faint light of a candle up in the mast. “Aye!” He called out, voice keyed up. He hadn’t even thought of what to say, just wanting to know why you thought such things of him, still in the belief it must have been a bad joke being played on him. 

Izzy’s voice made your heart skip a beat, making you tense. He’d figured it out, of course he had. You swallowed, finding your mouth dry and jaw tense. “Yeah?” You called back, frozen in place. It didn’t take long for the man to reply. “Come on down here!” Another hard swallow. You should have just jumped over the gunwale earlier or left on a jolly boat, this was terrifying. “In a moment!” Your voice wavered as you got up and started climbing down, through the lubber’s hole, towards the main deck. 

It felt like the wooden flooring was lava as you stepped on it, finding Izzy standing there. The faint light of a singular lantern giving some light in the otherwise dark environment. You felt like running away as Izzy pulled the latest letter from his pocket. “Did you..write these?” He asked, breaking the silence which had been creeping its way between the two of you. You hadn’t even realised the force you’d been biting your inner lip at, before now. “I- Yes.” Your voice betrayed you yet again, the words coming out shaky. Almost like you thought you were in trouble? “So Lucius is off the hook.” Izzy said, the words not making you feel any better. “So I’m still- on the hook?” You asked, a light joke in an attempt to make the nervous sweat back down. “You could say so.” He put the letter back into his pocket. “Surely you don’t fucking think of me in that way?” The first mate added, the tone of his voice giving you the impression of him thinking you were tricking him. 

You wanted to reach out to him, to somehow tell him that you were speaking the truth, but your mouth was still dry. All words that were so beautifully written on the paper, now somehow gone, disappeared into thin air. Or in this case thick air, you felt like you couldn’t bloody breathe. “Izzy, I meant every word.” You said, voice almost so silent you feared it might have gotten lost in the light wind. Though, in truth there only being a cat’s paw on the water. Izzy’s eyes snapped on you, almost dropping the cigarette he’d been about to light. “You-” He started, but you wanted not to hear the things the man thought of himself. “Yes, I love you, you moron.” You allowed yourself to say, taking an awkward step closer to him. “Dear, I’m not worth your time…” He started yet again, which you wanted so desperately to end. He did not see the things you saw in him. “Shut up, please.” You took the cigarette from his hand, daring to look into his eyes, your gaze searching for his answer. Did he feel the same? 

Izzy must have seen the question marks in your eyes, as his expression softened to one of slight worry. “Please, don’t do this to me.” He said, his hand rising but not quite sure what he should do. “Say it.” You pleaded, eyes glued on his. “I do, more than I should. I love you” You bit back a relieved smile, gently placing your free hand on his collar. He didn’t pull away, rather leaned in which you took as a yes to kissing  him. It didn’t last long, the tension of it making you pull away slowly, but not far. His face left with a mix of emotions, of which most he didn’t know how to express. You smiled, turning to light the cigarette with the flame of the lantern. You took a quick drag from it before placing it near the man’s lips. He raised his hand enough to take a hold of the cigarette, mouth left softly agape. “I love you-” He said, voice lost, like he had to repeat the phrase just to make it sound real to himself. You wanted to reply, but a wave hit the bow of the ship. You wouldn't have otherwise reacted, but the moment had caught you off guard, just like the wave. It swayed the ship softly, pushing you against him. There was no real danger of tumbling over, but the first mate still placed his free hand swiftly behind your back, looking rather awkward after. “I know.” You smiled, now knowing saying that was true. Finally you knew he cared for you too, knew that he’d realised how you felt.

AN// It's yet again 4am when I proof read this, so if there are any mistakes I apologise for that!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Predator and Prey[***]

Dark!Rhys x reader

a/n: Okay, so, this isn’t ‘canon’ to the Desk Pet series, it’s more like it’s set in that universe but it’s a what-if scenario! Because I read this and wanted to write a little drabble for it!!!

warnings: uh, I think it turned into angst? It’s not written to be sad, but you might read it as sad? Um, anyway, Rhys doesn’t die, he’s fine, it just cuts off dramatically. Enjoy! :) (also, reference to past noncon, please be careful)

word count: 2,638

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Velaris. 

The city of Starlight. 

Home to the High Lord, and rumoured to be a haven for dreams. 

A place to rest and recover, where the colours shone brighter and the air tasted crisper. Where sleep was no longer a restless resignation but settled over its citizens fully, a night to guarantee fresh minds in the morning, relieved of aching joins or a heaviness to their eyelids. Where even the sun shone brighter, and the moon appeared like a silver coin in the sky, starlight glittering like dewdrops on a cobweb caught in the early morning light. 

And it was true—any occupant would gladly testify to Velaris’ strangely healing nature, the rare beauty that painted the streets colourful and full of life, that had the denizens struggling to remain in a foul mood for long, but then something strange happened. A small change that caused the eventual death of that wonder and healing safety. Few details were given, but it was clear something had happened. Something detrimental to the Court’s well-being. 

And one by one, the stars began winking out. 

It started with a curfew—no citizens were permitted to roam the streets past midnight, and were required to remain indoors until the sun broke across the horizon. 

Then the darkness started to feel thicker; heavier. Gone were the clear nights; the twinkling stars. Instead they were replaced with cloying shadows, a tension that wound its way through the streets and scratched slowly at doors. Searching. Hunting.  

Then at last came the beast itself. 

No one had ever seen it, but to deny its presence would be pointless. They could all feel it, they had all noticed the weight that descended across the city, the clawing tension that tightened skin and had throats constricting. No one knew what would happen if they disobeyed the curfew, what would happen if they ventured out into the night to seek out the thing that had swallowed their beloved starlight whole. 

Except you. 

————

It’s been less than a month since you escaped his bruising touch, the sharp bite of his teeth. 

Less than a month, and your body still aches with phantom pains that blister and swell as though his talons are still raking gently through your mind, plucking at your pain to keep you under his thumb. 

The cool night air is like a balm to your skin, burning hot from anxiety as the clocktower strikes twelve, and the few lights that had been illuminated are snuffed out. You watch from the small attic window as the darkness unfurls, rising from the cobbles, giving the unshakable impression that it never truly leaves but rather temporarily sinks below the floorboards, just waiting to slink out and drag you down into the earth. 

It’s why you’ve kept to sneaking into deserted attics rather that hiding out in garden sheds. 

You don’t want him to be able to find you. 

Just a few more days, that’s all you need, and you’ll be out of Velaris for good. You can worry about what you’ll do after once you’re out, for now you just need to make it past that last house. 

You’ve managed to scout out a couple nearby and have picked the one you’ll stay in for your last night. Then first thing in the morning you’ll be free. As soon as the sun breaks over the horizon, you’ll run and never look back. 

————

Your heart is pounding in your chest, wild and alive as you spring through the undergrowth, bag on your back weighed with enough to keep you going healthily for a day or two, but you’re out! 

The air tastes different, clearer and purer. Even the ground feels different, more secure in some way and you’re struck with the urge to remove your shoes and feel the grass beneath your bare soles. It’s been so long since you’ve been out in the woods that shroud the outskirts of the city, and emotion swells in your chest. 

But you don’t have time for that yet. You’re onto your next task, escaping the court as a whole. 

You’re familiar with the territory—maps were easy to locate in his study, and easier still to pluck from a draw before leaving. 

As far as you can tell you have three options that you’ve been running through ever since you made it into that last house. Option one would be the swiftest escape but also the most likely to get you caught: escaping by sea. Velaris isn’t far from the coast and you could likely make it on foot in a day and a half if you pushed yourself, but the docks would be busy and you don’t doubt he’ll be keeping an eye on them. And with his daemati powers you’d be easily recognisable to anyone he’s commanded to pull you from the ships on sight. 

Option two is to make your way southeast down to the Day Court boarders. Once you’ve crossed, safety won’t be assured but you’ll be a hell of a lot more protected than remaining in his territory. But it will take time and you aren’t sure you can afford to risk such delayed escape. It won’t be long before he begins searching further than Velaris, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to sneak into houses unfamiliar to you which would mean being outside overnight, which will guarantee your capture. 

Option three: you remain in the Night Court and hope for him to grow bored or restless. Wait for him to make a move and reveal his cards. The last option and least favourable, one you’d only pick if the first two were ruled out for some reason. It’s a last resort—you don’t want to spend a second longer in his territory more than you absolutely must. 

Of the three, the safest would probably be to trail down the coast for the swiftest path but it’s true he might predict that, in which case you should muddle your route—keep more inland and go that way, stopping from town to town and slowly making your route South. 

Yes, that has to be the right choice. 

————

He hears the voices around him but is paying no attention to their flurried chatter, useless and completely unaware of the real problems, concerned only with menial issues that will solve nothing important. 

His violet eyes are blank as usual, expression cold and unreadable as the meeting proceeds, watching from somewhere far behind his eyes as mouths move, hands raise in gestures of outrage and demand, postures folded into defensive positions when they’re targeted. His mood darkens—how they manage to occupy themselves so fervently, how they manage to swell such unseemly waves of emotion over such meaningless topics, it’s waring his temper dangerously thin. 

It’s been nearly a month since she disappeared from his life, vanishing from the house he’d kept for her and running out into the night. He still remembers the strange emptiness he’d felt when he’d returned, tired and worn out, seeking nothing more than to fall into bed with her. Nothing more than to inhale her scent again, to feel the soft shape of her body as it slots against his own, hear the quiet noises of her breath as she tries to keep it from hitching whenever he reaches for her. The tinge of fear in her scent whenever he approaches, or the flash of terror then rage that passes behind her eyes so swiftly it leaves him slightly breathless. 

He had thought she was warming up to him. That the lack of protest had been promising, and that the steady disappearance of resistance had meant she was beginning to forget. And he had responded to that by granting her more freedom—not much, but she had access to the gardens—and being that small bit less forceful in his touch. 

Resurfacing into the current reality, the voices swarm at his mind, loud and grunting as they argue themselves in circles. 

He had been close last night, had caught her scent on the ledge of a window near the outskirts of his city, but it had been faint and days old. She will have likely made it out into the forests by now. 

Darkness unspools across the floor, his mood seeping into the room as tension spreads itself across the table, tightening around the council’s throats. 

He needs to find her soon. For her to be out in the woods, alone and near nightfall. If something happens to her…

The faelights fail, flicking softly before they wink out, and the chamber falls into silence as the absent darkness at last finishes plying the life from their bodies, at last allowing silence to settle. 

————

The boarder isn’t far now, but your heart is pounding so hard from running you’re worried he’ll be able to hear it in the few seconds it takes to inhale. 

He’s much too close for your liking, and one wrong move… 

He’s relentless in this hunt, stalking your steps as he prowls after your scent, tracking you how he’d been raised to, following the signs you’re unable to hide in the spare moments your magic deactivates. You’re lucky you’d had no reason to use it after Amarantha’s fall. 

It’s been a while since you’ve handled it, but you can temporarily go invisible to hide yourself from sight. A handy trick certainly, but it wouldn’t be enough to get past him on its own. Which is why you’re thankful for its one step further. 

For the duration you can hold your breath, it’s as if you don’t exist. You can run through the brush, step on as many twigs as you like and no one will hear. Can sidle up to birds and other creatures without them even noticing you. Even your scent is covered. Were it not for this, you wouldn’t have stood a chance of escaping. 

And yet between those breaths when you resurface into reality, he’s able to sense you. An acute awareness he’s pinned onto you that alerts him of your movements in those bare seconds. 

The darkness swarms to the position you’d been not even a minute before, and your heart stops when you spot the silhouette that’s prowling through the shadow. Tall and intimidating, perfectly cut lines stark against the inky blue of the night sky, able to make out the locks of blue-black hair that glint like raven’s feathers beneath the sliver of moonlight. 

Terror filters through your blood as he calls your name, pausing at the foot of the tree you’d been at, glancing at the ground before his violet eyes skim the surrounding area. 

Nails dig into your palms when his attention pauses on you, watching the darkness between the trees that you’re hidden in, brows narrowing ever so slightly. 

It’s impossible. There’s no way for him to know where you are. Your scent is covered, and noise you make is absolutely annulled, your presence itself entirely smothered, so how? 

You don’t waste time considering it—how sharp his senses must be—keeping your breath held as you dart away, running for your life through the darkness of the woods. The boarder of Day is still far off, there’s no way you’ll be able to reach it before the sun rises. 

He’s going to find you. 

He’s going to take you back. 

Your lungs are burning, and you’re forced to yield another gasping breath before returning into that invisible pocket that’s keeping you separate from him. 

In that one second you feel as he shifts, the immensity of his power concentrating to the space not even three steps behind you, and your legs fumble, giving out from terror at how close he’d come. 

You flip onto your back, scrambling away, heart pounding as he stands there, violet eyes practically glowing in the dark as he scans the surrounding area. 

You aren’t going to escape. He’ll find you with the next breath. 

Your heart stutters, pulse spiking as your trembling fingers brush the hilt of the blade at your side. 

At a normal pace you can last about four minutes, five if you’re patient and concentrating. Now, with the panic set in, the wild flutter of your pulse, you have a minute and a half. Two at most. One-hundred and twenty seconds to figure out what to do with the blade at your side and the male stood before you, blessedly unaware that you’re crumpled on the floor two strides from his feet. 

It’s simple once you think about it. 

You have a blade, and he’s unable to sense you. 

You can kill him. Or at least incapacitate him.

The realisation shocks through you, hands tightening around the hilt of the blade, banishing the tremble from your fingertips as you shakily get to your feet, standing before him as violet eyes search for a hint of your presence. 

Again your heart stutters as he somehow looks straight at you, watching the space exactly before him that, to all of his senses, should be empty. And yet. 

You look at him silently, blade grasped tightly in your hands, and you can imagine how it will feel to slide the steel up through his ribs. Even if he is High Lord, even if it’s Illyrian steel and not ash, it will be enough. 

His brows narrow almost imperceptibly, hands removing themselves from his pockets and your stomach clenches as he takes a step forward. 

It’s all you need to get you moving, your feet shoving against the ground as you run at him, pulling the blade back, allowing the breath to slip past your lips as you inhale sharply to give your muscles the air they need to stab the blade up into his chest. 

Violet eyes go wide as you appear before him, moonlight glinting on steel a fraction of a moment before it cuts clean into him, sliding through his ribs and piercing his heart. Your lip is curled, hands shaking around the hilt, fingers trembling where blood is dripping down, features twisted into an expression of frightening fury. 

Has he done that to you? 

The momentum combined with the agonising pain knocks him back, your own strength so focused on forcing the blade as deep into his rotted heart as you can that your legs give out with him, bodies falling together, crushing into the ground as his arms wrap around you. 

Disgust crawls across your skin and you think you might be sick, but you keep one hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade, meeting his horrifically familiar violet gaze as you manage to twist the steel in his chest. His features contort in pain, hot liquid burning against your palm as it saturates through the fine material of his clothes, sinking into your sleeves. 

Breath pants from his lips as he tries to steady his breathing, and you brace for whatever fury he’ll unleash upon you, already making to inhale again in order to escape, but his arm has wrapped around the base of your spine, his palm cupping your jaw so he can look at you. Violet seems to almost shudder, and you can hear the frantic pulse of his heart, skin already paler than seconds before. 

You freeze beneath that look, body paralysed at the familiar softness to his irises. How he’d look at you before…everything. 

Blood pushes from between his lips, colouring his teeth a raw red as life leaks from the wound you’ve made and it looks like he’s trying to speak. 

His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, settling gently down as he pulls you to his chest, a look like relief on his pained features. 

“You’re back,” he breathes, fingers stroking across your hair. “You’re back.” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

I keep picturing this:

(Not yet bf!)John going short of ballistic with genuine worry when you refuse to hold hands.

CoD ML

Okay, obviously this needs context.

So, John tags along with you to the V&A. Now, being a proper gentleman, he first takes you out for coffee and a bite before you slowly make your way to the museum in South Kensington. After all, it’s one of those rare sunny and warm London spring days and you could do with some Vitamin D.

No, not Vitamin Daddy. What was that?

ANYWAY! As soon as you enter, you fall into the habit of wandering about without any regard whatsoever for your companion. It’s not a conscious decision, of course, but sometimes you need to turn your brain off and enjoy art while protected by your personal bubble.

When you’re in the Cast Courts, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It takes every ounce of self-control not to let the scream tickling the back of your throat escape, which would definitely break the amiable peacefulness of the museum.

“There you are! Do you have any bloody idea how worried I was?” John’s lightly panting, eyes wide and pupils dilated with a frenzy that leaves you wondering about the cause of it. “I let you out of my sight for one second and you have me run around the entire museum looking for you.”

“Well, you kinda invited yourself,” you mumble under your breath, masking the way you flinch with a step back.

“Pardon?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Nah, Y/N.” His fingers dig painfully into your cheeks as he grabs your face and forces you to look at him. “You’re a big girl so use your words. Go on. You know how.”

“Y- You wanted to come with. Invited yourself.”

“I guess that’ll have to do for a proper sentence.” He lets go and extends a bear-like hand. “Before you wander off again with that silly little head of yours.”

“No.”

“Hand. Now.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking,” John growls, forcefully entwining his fingers with yours. The grip on them is firm, iron-like. Fully aware you won’t be able to escape.

You slowly walk about the space like that for a few moments. Eventually, you find the courage to defy the seething rage you feel emanating from him.

“I… I’m sorry, John.” You’re not afraid of his mood, but it’s rather the guilt that sinks its claws into you which evokes tears in your eyes.

He stops in his tracks, lets go of your hand, and turns around so fast it’s like he’s trying to evade a bullet. Within seconds, he has you wrapped up in his arms, his fingers running through your hair in an effort to console you. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m not mad with you, just a little annoyed you don’t account for me and worried about what might happen when you’re alone. I know you’re a capable girl, Y/N, but I still care about your well-being too.”

The back rubs help soothe the storm of tears welling up inside you, waiting to come thundering out. Nevertheless, the kiss on the top of your head calms it. “How about we grab a coffee, hm? Maybe get something to eat too. My treat.”

He holds you at arm’s length, checking your expression while lovingly wiping the tears rolling down your cheeks away. “Does that sound good?”

You nod. You inhale and exhale deeply, feeling silly for acting like a child at your grown age. “I’m sorry you had to see that. And for me not telling you where I was.”

“Shh, ‘s alright, love.” While normally he wouldn’t allow himself to do it since you’re not official yet and he doesn’t know whether you reciprocate his feelings or not, he kisses your forehead and the tip of your nose. “Let’s go to the café. Don’t let go of my hand.”

And you don’t.

(Might make this imagine into a proper scene for my dad’s best friend!John Price story. It’s in the works, btw! I’m currently gathering inspiration and writing bits like the above here and there, organically creating the tale, so to say.😉)

[spenglersweetheart]

I have a request

Yk the court scene, reader is also there having been there when they were digging up the road, so maybe when the slime explodes and releases the spirits (and the judge is freaking out) reader has the calmest bitch face ever even when the judge says that the case is dropped and she just looks at the others and smirks and is like “Let’s kick some ghost ass it’s been to long” or smthin like that

deciding to write this first bc it's an idea fresh in my mind and i absolutely love this so much !!

─────────────── ✦ ───────────────

God, I Missed Busting

definitely a reader, but it's all platonic as of now!

WARNINGS : none !

─────────────── ✦ ───────────────

YOU AND THE OTHER THREE HAD LANDED YOURSELVES in court. With Louis Tully being your goddamned lawyer. You knew that it would go horrible. You knew that Louis couldn't build a case for absolute shit. But for some reason, they had got him anyway. But, luckily, everyone else in the room, and maybe even the other three you were sitting with, were about to get a rude awakening.

You, along with Egon, Ray, and Peter had noticed the slime bubbling. While the other three men were freaking out about it, you were calm. They actually didn't question this. You and Winston were the calmer ones in the group. Right now, all you could do was glance at the slime and then the judge. You kept doing it until it finally blew up.

Wind all over the place, lightning somehow makes its way into the courthouse. The four of you finally stand up from your chairs. You guys witness the chaos that is currently around you.

The four of you are hiding, including the judge. Egon and the other two convinced him to drop the charges. The four of you were finally able to grab your proton packs.

When you put yours on, it pretty much felt like a breath of fresh air.

Each one kicks on, one by one.

Peter's proton pack comes on first, "Do ..."

Then Ray's, "Ray ..."

Then yours comes on, "Mi ..."

Then there's Egon. "Egon!"

You all look at him. You only shake your head, a smile appearing on your like. Egon was silly, but that's okay. You were just happy that you were catching ghosts again.

You look at the two ghosts. The judge has identified them as the Scoleri Brothers. You didn't really care who they were. Just that you were about to get them.

"Thank God, it's been way too long," you say to them, "Let's kick some ghosts' ass!"

Four of you split up. Ray and Peter on one side of the courtroom, you and Egon on the other. Might as well try to capture them at the same time since there were two of them, and four of you guys. Two will grab one Scoleri brother, the other two grab the other.

Ray and Peter manage to get theirs first. Quickly getting into the trap. You and Egon have a bit of a struggle. That way until Ray finally slid the trap over to the two of you. You and Egon get it into the trap, and it closes, there's steam coming from it.

The four of you surround it. All of you are happy with this outcome.

"Two in the box!" Ray says excitedly.

"Ready to go," Egon says.

"We be fast, and they be slow!" All of you call out, pointing to the small box.

That's when you knew that the Ghostbusters were officially back in business.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

"Difficult to please"

"Focalors with a reader that can switch bodies"

Characters: Focalors x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: The obvious things right away: I've never written for Focalors before nor do we have much information about her yet, so I wrote her mostly from my gut feeling after seeing her in the Fountaine trailer.

Anyway, I love Furina as you might have guessed by me changing my theme for her. She's such a little gremlin and her design is so beautiful. I can't wait to see her and how she changes (well, hopefully somewhat to the better at least) in the story.

I’m going to use “Focalors” and “Furina” interchangeably, since I’m 99.99% sure they’re the same person, but hey, if Hoyoverse somehow pulls a huge twist on us and I get it wrong it would also be kinda funny.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Focalors

To say that you were nothing more than a glorified babysitter for Fountaine’s Archon would have been a massive understatement. Once a young law student aspiring to one day become a judge, it didn’t take you long in your position as lawyer to attract the attention of your archon. Not in the “have a vision and beat up the bad guys” kind of way, however. Instead the weird clients you represented never failed to deliver her a somewhat entertaining spectacle, causing the Chief Justice to “volunteer” you as the Archon’s advisor… a role that, while sounding nice, de facto only had the responsibility of keeping her entertained enough to not sully any more court hearings than necessary with her cries of boredom.

When you found out about your powers to switch bodies, you knew better than to tell anyone other than your closest companions… especially Furina. While she got away with her attitude in her own body, you didn’t even want to fathom how many friends she’d be able to alienate or from how many shops she’d get you banned from if she did the same while running around in yours.

However, all of your hard work of keeping it a secret eventually turned out to be futile, as the Archon would eventually figure it out one way or another. After all, the reason she got so little done was not for a lack of ability, she simply didn’t care about most cases and delegated them to whatever judge crossed her path first, but when you began acting a bit stiff around her, the challenge of figuring the reason out was more than enough to keep her on your case.

If it weren’t for the fact that a small voice in your head worried about where to start a new life after having your entire image destroyed by the one currently occupying your body, you would have found the day in your Archon’s body amazing, you got to attend as many court cases as you wanted without anyone batting as much as an eye, got to have your first experiences as a judge and even didn’t have to pay for any of the most delicious food and drinks Fountaine got to offer. The stares you received from the other officials, probably wondering what could have happened for their notoriously difficult Archon to have such a good day, were a bit much at some times, but it was not like you were complaining.

“I want to change back!”, Focalors demanded the moment she stepped into her office, swinging the door behind her shut with as much force as she could muster and not even wincing in the slightest at how loud it was. Beelining towards the couch as she let herself fall onto it, letting out a groan of annoyance loud enough to make any bird sleeping outside fall out of its nest.

“Can’t handle being asked out all the time?”, you tried to crack a joke, knowing all too well that answering earnestly would only earn you a bored sigh.

“Ha!”, Furina let out a loud laugh before turning her face towards you. “Remind me to make you my court jester the next time we are in need of one”, she stated sarcastically before looking back at the ceiling. For your and Fountaine’s sakes however, you decided to disregard her order and to not to remind her of how she had just fired the last one for “being boring”.

“Aren’t you humans supposed to have interesting lives? What happened to ‘live every day like it's your last one’? Or is doing *this* what you all desire??”, she asked while extending her arms and wildly signaling into the air.

“What did you do all day?”, you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible even though your mind was starting to panic about what you might be greeted with tomorrow. But instead of answering your question, your Archon ignored you and continued to complain about how boring your life was, causing you to start worrying even more.

“I bet you loved this day, watching boring court cases, getting any food you desired for free, being asked for your opinion… eugh”, she let out yet another groan, making you wonder how easy it was for her to read you.

“Furina.”

“Anyway, I want my body back. So give it to me”, she continued to ignore you as she stated her earlier demand once again.

“What did you do while in my body, Furina?”, you asked one last time, grabbing both of her shoulders to force eye contact with her.

“You’ll probably have some explaining to do. I honestly want to see it all play out, it’s going to be the most entertainment I’ve had in months”, she answered off-handedly, causing you to bury your face in your palms as she continued on as if nothing happened.

“I’ll make you a judge as compensation, it’ll be a win-win. You’ll get to do what you always wanted to do and I may get one or two interesting hearings out of it”, Furina stated before pulling your hands away from your face and placing her forehead on yours, prompting the two of you to finally change bodies.

Yet, her offer caused you to feel even more conflicted than you already were. Finally, it was your time to let out a groan.

“That’s Nepotism.”

“I don’t care”, she responded bluntly, forcing you to use all your self control not to fall into the deep pit of hopelessness for your nation currently seeming to open in front of you. “Didn’t you want to become a judge?”

“Yes, but I want to earn it!”

What followed were a couple of seconds of silence before Furina turned around, walked over to a different couch, sat down, let out a long sigh and spoke a sentence so laced with irony that you didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at it.

“Fine. Geez, you’re so difficult to please.”

[animatorweirdo]

Gone And Lost Again

You had been in love with him since you were children, but now that fate threatens to take him away once more, you find the courage to say the words you never dared to reveal and hope it might spare you from the sorrow.

Requested by Anon

I would like to request a Gwindor x female elf reader story. The reader is Finduilas's younger sister who is in love with Gwindor but never confessed her feelings because her sister loved Gwindor. Until on day when Gwindor finds out.

The ending is upto you.

Thank you ☺️💖

Warnings: mentions of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, pining, unrequited love, getting captured, mentions of Gelmir's fate, scars, a missing hand, some discrimination toward Gwindor, Turin and his bad luck, some fluff, and a confession.

------------------------------------------------

You were the youngest daughter of King Orodreth and the younger sister of Princess Finduilas. Timid in nature, but well-liked by your people. You had a good relationship with your father and sister even though things had been difficult since your mother died. Being a princess had its own challenges, which meant studying, knowing certain things about courts and politics, and being expected of things. 

It was not too bad since you were the youngest, so you had more free time than your older sister. You’re usually engrossed in reading, keeping up with the latest news, and worrying about the future.

However, the biggest challenge you could not overcome no matter what were your feelings toward someone.  

Gwindor. He was a kind and handsome elf. He and his brother had been friends with you and your sister since you were children. 

His kind and loving nature pulled you toward him like a moth to a flame, and you could not help but fall hopelessly in love with him. You even imagined yourself marrying him one day and having a family with him. However, that day never came when you grew older and he fell in love with your sister. 

You envied their relationship, especially when later they decided to get engaged. However, you could not bring yourself to hate your sister. You loved them both and since you cared for their happiness, you distanced yourself, wishing the best for their engagement and hiding your broken heart. 

It was not hard for your feelings to go unnoticed by everyone. You were a very silent person, but one did notice and that was your father. He confronted you about it and you told him about your feelings toward Gwindor. He was sharp when it came to you and your sister, so there was no point in trying to hide it from him. 

You felt heartbroken, but you were happy for the pair. Even though you might never be able to love someone else, at least they would be happy with each other. Your father encouraged you to be there, and you did support and comfort them when things got difficult and Gwindor lost his brother in the Sudden Flames.

Then the worst happened: Gwindor decided to join the battle for the north despite your father’s orders not to partake in it. Unable to let go of his brother’s loss, he went anyway, and you wished him a safe return.

However, he never returned and you later heard how the battle came to a devastating loss. Your heart broke for him and you mourned with your sister, believing he had died. It helped break the ice between you and your sister, even though you never told her of your feelings toward Gwindor. 

Many years after the battle, to your joy, Gwindor returned with a human man who called himself Agarwaen. He was scarred, had lost a hand, and his appearance had changed significantly. It would have been difficult to recognize him from his former self, but you still recognized those eyes, which still held kindness.

Joy took over your mind and heart. You even embraced him to see if he was really there. Gwindor was surprised by the gesture but returned it with a soft smile. You nearly cried when you expressed how glad you were to see him again, alive and free from Morgoth’s cruel clutches. 

Gwindor comforted you and then introduced you to his human friend. 

Your soul felt at ease to have him back home. You gladly helped him and his friend settle back in Nargothrond. His friend was odd and quiet, but he showed gratefulness for your kindness. You finally felt like things were going to be better, perhaps the Valars have finally taken pity and granted you joy by returning Gwindor from the darkness. 

However, things between Gwindor and Finduilas were never the same. You saw how she was glad to see him safe and home, but her eyes no longer held the love they once had for him. Instead, her affection was directed toward the human man who had begun to earn fame and recognition among the elves of Nargothrond.

It was not too long when she decided to end their engagement and relationship in total. 

Your heart ached for Gwindor as he seemed saddened yet did not feel anger toward his friend who had Finduilas’s heart. Even after everything and losing so much, he did not feel the slightest ounce of anger or resentment. 

You decided to try to be his comfort, especially when some people mistrusted him for his past as a thrall. You understood that some wounds caused by Angband would take time to heal, but you did not believe Gwindor to be a spy. If Angband had managed to tamper with his gentle heart, he would have been less kind toward everything— but he wasn’t. Angband had not managed to break him. 

Gwindor felt appreciation for you and your support. You two began spending more time with each other, catching up with silly conversations you used to have as children. He shared what had become of his brother, Gelmir, and you felt sorrow at the thought of his sweet brother facing such a cruel end. 

Gwindor had come to terms with his brother’s death during his time in Angband. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of returning to Nargothrond and reuniting with you and your sister.

Your heart felt warm by his conviction, and your feelings for him resurfaced the more time you spent with him. You simply wanted his smile to light up his features once more. 

You felt certain reluctance toward your feelings for him. He had loved Finduilas, and thus would never fall in love again, so what would be the point of confessing your love for him? 

However, you had your answer, when the man he came with turned out to be Turin, and he began to encourage your father and the rest of Nargothrond to go to war with Morgoth. A great bridge was built. Gwindor was against it as he knew the might of Morgoth better than anyone. However, no one would listen. 

You tried to talk to your father about it, having your own doubts about the plan. But he was also convinced of Turin’s plan. 

Then came the day when the forces of Nargothrond were to march to war with Morgoth, led by Turin and your father. And to your fear, Gwindor had also decided to join the battle despite his scars and lack of hand. 

You decided to reveal your feelings now while you still had the chance rather than keep them secret forever and possibly lose Gwindor again to the fangs of war who spared no one who happened to get caught by them. 

“Gwindor, wait!” 

The elf stopped when he heard you and turned to look at you as you approached. His armor gleamed with silver, and a helmet rested beneath his arm. It was a sight all too familiar to you, which only deepened your dread about his chances of returning home.

“Is there any way I could convince you not to go? I’m afraid this plan is too far-fetched and you and father will never return,” you explained as you caught up to him. 

“Turin is confident that we might win, and besides, even if we didn’t go to war, Glaurung would still come this way,” Gwindor answered softly. 

“And we could have been able to stay hidden if that bridge had not been built. It’s standing there like a sore thumb, a dead giveaway to our city,” you stated. 

“I mean no disrespect toward you or your friendship with Turin, but I’m afraid his hatred for Morgoth and thirst for revenge has clouded his judgment. Building the bridge has already left us bare to the world, and what shall we do if you lose this fight and we are left defenseless?” you questioned, sounding nearly desperate and devoid of hope at the thought of being attacked by Morgoth’s armies. 

“That will be left to be seen…” Gwindor said with a tone of hesitation and sorrow. There was no denying it. He was not fully convinced of the plan, and yet he could not stop himself from joining the hopeless fight. 

You thought about your feelings for him. It was no or never. 

“Gwindor, please. Do not go. I already lost you once. I do not think I can bear the pain of losing you again,” you said. 

“You know I can’t just stay behind. It would be neglectful on my part,” Gwindor answered. 

“Then hear out what I have to say, because if this might be the last time we speak, I will never be able to say it again,” you said and he listened. 

“Gwindor. I have loved you since our childhood. And I pushed myself away and never dared to put myself between you and Finduilas. If this might be the last time we talk, then I at least wish to share my feelings toward you once and for all then leave them unsaid,” you revealed, tears nearly prickling out your eyes as your heart was open to him. 

Gwindor looked at you with shock and surprise. 

“I do not expect you to return my feelings. I just wanted to tell them rather than hide them and regret never telling them,” you added, waiting for his reaction. 

“Even If I made foolish decisions and became this…” Gwindor motioned his scars and missing hand. 

“I have never been one to care about looks. You might have lost a hand or been scarred by the dark lord, but you never lost your love and kindness. I can still see in your eyes,” you said as you caressed his face. 

Gwindor leaned into your hand, placing his remaining hand on top of yours.

“To think I was this fool not to notice this..” Gwindor uttered with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the warmth of your hand that nearly felt like a gentle candle flame. 

“If I have said something earlier. Would you have perhaps accepted me?” you asked. 

“You stood by me, even when Finduilas lost her affection for me. Perhaps it has always been possible to fall in love for the second time. My answer is yes,” Gwindor answered, and for a moment, you felt your heart be lifted from the sorrow. 

Then the dreaded horn sang, indicating it was time to march. 

You two looked at each other one final time. His eyes held sorrow, yet familiar warmth as he gently took your hand away from him. 

“I must go now… If the Valars will take pity on us. They will allow us to meet again in the future,” Gwindor said and you then watched him leave. 

You did not want to let him go, but you did nothing and watched as he left with your father and his supposed human friend. You wished you could have even the smallest specks of faith or hope that winning was possible. However, fate was unkind as the dragon and his orcish armies were the ones to return. 

[wiliowisp]

Take Care of Me ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.2k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x masc!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, aged-up characters, Hogwarts seventh year, smut, sub!Sebastian, subspace, dick-sucking, back-blowing, and a whole lot of moaning

A/N ➻ i am the number one sub!Sebastian warrior. anyway, enjoy this filth before the angst in the new chapter of my longfic on sunday! (hopefully)

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

Sebastian has been looking for something in his partners that they can't give him—until an old friend surprises him. Sebastian meets him in the restricted section, hoping to be taken care of.

Sebastian Sallow needed to be looked after. It’s not as tender as it sounds.

Since the age of thirteen, not a single morning had gone by where he hadn't woken up rigid and wanting. For a young man of his means, he’d satiated this desire. He’d managed to charm his way through many of the more outgoing ladies and gentlemen of Hogwarts. Purebloods were particularly inclined to him; due to the relative purity of his blood and his prowess with a wand. Not to mention the fact they were raised in the more progressive wizarding world.

This was where the issue with muggle-borns came into play. Muggle society was always so tight-lipped around sex and pleasure—which was ridiculous, Sebastian thought. Why would you withhold something as good as sex from yourself? The muggle-born ladies treated his flirting with doe-eyed faces and trembling hands like he might get on his knees any minute—not in the fun way. The men, however, would be nervous in an entirely other way. They were so skittish about being caught with another man, no matter how many queer couples walked their halls. When he pushed them against walls, his tongue finding its way into their mouth, they would push him off until they found somewhere ‘safe’. They hardly allowed him to flirt in class.

Until he did.

The new fifth year, as he was known. Although many years had passed since he was a fifth year, that was for certain. On the cusp of their graduation, the other boy had filled out—grown. He’d matured in a way that Sebastian had noticed, in fervid, desperate moments, when his eyes would lathe over the lines of his friend’s body, would imagine them rid of all clothes. Would imagine him under the other.

It began rather innocently. They had been friends for years and knew things about each other that they would never dare to tell anyone else. Sebastian knew that his friend had never taken any lovers while at Hogwarts. He chalked it up to the fact that the other was muggle-born and uninterested in courting without the purpose to marry; as was the custom. Regardless, Sebastian had an insatiable appetite and found endless fun in flirting with his friends. Ominis had borne the brunt of it for years, oftentimes they had been mistaken for a couple because Sebastian’s tongue reacted far too desirably in public. Their other friend, however, never returned any of Sebastian’s comments. He simply brushed over the words of his flirtatious Slytherin, changed the subject, chuckled and then moved on.

Until he didn’t.

“If those trousers hug your thighs any tighter, you may as well take them off,” Sebastian mewled.

His friend turned around and raised a brow. “Says the man in shirts so tight you may as well wear a corset.”

Sebastian baulked. The other boy smirked, his lips a wet promise.

“Then again, I think you’d look good in a corset,” he commented. Then he shrugged, turned around again, and left.

Sebastian’s cock went stiff startlingly fast. Which was new.

Therein lay the problem. He’d been yearning, desperate, for something ever since he was able to conceive of that want. But despite the number of lovers he’d taken over the years, he never felt full.

The ladies would whimper and moan into Sebastian’s mouth, their lips so pliant and easy to pry apart, to breach. His fingers would work circles into their cunt as they came apart in his hands. Afterwards, maybe they’d touch him, seal their mouth around his cock. But they remained mewling, doe-eyed things, wanting his approval. The men would bend over for him, present themselves as he pumped his pleasure into them, moaning for his assurance, his dominance. Sebastian needed something else.

He realised this when his best friend locked him in place with a simple comment about a corset. Words that sounded like a delicious promise.

I want to see you beneath me.

After that day, the flirting continued for weeks. Sly asides about Sebastian’s body, his sinful mouth, the threats that come wet and fervid off his friend’s tongue. Sebastian found himself brimming with a want that made him hungry. Each night spending up to an hour in the Slytherin showers, a hand pressed into his lips to stifle the whines and mewls that came from his throat. 

As simply as it started, like putting the needle on a disc and listening to the music, it crescendoed. The object of his desire placed a note on his desk one day. Small, folded. Inside it read:

"The Restricted Section. Twelve Chimes."

Heat curled in Sebastian’s stomach. He crossed his legs, hardening cock trapped between the thighs his friend had complimented so many times. He read the same sentence over and over again for the rest of the afternoon.

As the clock chimed in a succession of twelve, Sebastian wandered through the bookshelves of the Restricted Section, his shirt clammy with sweat. His mouth dry with a thirst and a hunger he knew so well. The air still, in anticipation. 

Hands were on his jaw and a mouth was on his mouth on their mouth on his. Sebastian’s back hit a shelf, arching. Hips against hips. Heat on heat. The other boy tilted Sebastian’s head, opening him with his lips until their tongues could taste each other. Everything reduced to the points they touched. Sebastian whined—whimpered—into the other’s mouth; his hips rolled into his friend’s rigid cock.

“Fuck, Sebastian—do you know what you do to me?” His voice was gravelly. Sebastian swallowed the sound.

His lips latched onto Sebastian’s neck. Sucking bruises. Sebastian was still grinding his hips, delicious friction sending fire up his nervous system. Arousal licked at his abdomen. He was aware he was moaning, keening, whining. Every sound from his mouth unbidden.

“I’ve been thinking about you every—aahn—day,” Sebastian stuttered. The other lifted up and ate the moan from his mouth.

His hand flew to Sebastian’s cock, stroking him through the fabric. Sebastian whined against his neck. His fingers grasped at the other’s scalp, clutching to his skin through the clothes. He was incorrigible. Salacious. His body was only an instrument, his friend’s hands bringing out the song.

Then they separated. Sebastian immediately went cold.

“On your knees,” His desire ordered.

His legs bent before his brain could protest. He dropped to the floor so obediently.

“So perfect,” his lover whispered, hand coming to stoke his jawline. Sebastian’s eyes wide. Fawn ears flapping at the attention. Doe legs tucked beneath him so prettily. “You okay with this?”

Sebastian blinked. Was he? What a stupid question.

He nodded. “I want this.”

“Okay.” The other boy started undoing the buckle on his belt. The sharp sound struck lightning through Sebastian’s skin. The thought made his mouth slick. His hands folded on his lap. His lover brought his cock from his briefs, his tight length wet at the tip. I did that to him. Sebastian opened his mouth. 

“Good boy.”

Merlin. This is it. This is it. This is what he’d been looking for.

His lover placed the head of his dick on his bottom lip. Sebastian leaned forward, taking it into his mouth. The other boy moaned, watching Sebastian with glassy, half-lidded eyes—blown with desire. Sebastian took him, letting the heat of his cock warm his mouth. Then, he started moving. Tentative movements, working on instinct, wanting it only deeper. Further. More. Sebastian relaxed his throat. Let the calm and the pleasure pulse through him like syrup. He sunk deeper on his length until his nose was nestled into his lover’s abdomen.

“Oh holy fuck.”

Then, the other started moving. He held Sebastian’s jaw in place, softly grinding his hips into Sebastian’s eager mouth. All cocky, flirtatious quips fucked into his throat. Sebastian moaned with each thrust, his voice raw and carnal—keening.

He was so painfully hard in his trousers, a warm dampness in his briefs but Sebastian only wanted one thing. To please. To be good. His mind was a euphoric blur, all worries, all fear, standing somewhere in the distance. Like an out-of-focus photograph. 

“You’re doing so well, pretty boy…” His friend's demeanour had shifted into a practised role. Sebastian’s puppy eyes shone up at him—lit up from the praise. Meanwhile, the other boy was sloppily grinning as he fucked his throat, red-faced and handsome. “Wanna be fucked, baby?”

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut with a moan.

“Yeah—yeah you do,” the other gasped.

He pulled his dick out of Sebastian’s mouth, a pearly string connecting them before breaking. Sebastian’s lips were glossy with spit and lust.

“On the table,” another order, Sebastian’s body attuned to the other like a dog on a leash. Sit. Good boy. Bend over. Good boy.

Sebastian bent over.

His hands were palming Sebastian’s ass, kneading the flesh. Another came in front, unbuttoning his trousers and pumping his cock through his briefs.

“Unnh—please,” Sebastian begged.

“The noises you make, Seb,” he growled, “fuckin’ beautiful.” He pulled Sebastian’s cock from his briefs, gently pumping him. “Look how wet you are, God.”

All Sebastian could do was whimper and shallowly thrust into his lover’s palm. His pleasure balled tight in his gut.

His lover released his dick, earning a cry, before he was pulling both their trousers down. His palm slid down to Sebastian’s hole, his fingers slick with something warm. He pushed in slowly, the stretch making Sebastian shiver. 

“Gotta prep you darlin’.”

A hand went back to Sebastian’s cock, stroking him, while fingers pumped in and out of his hole. His lover crooked them, bending upwards into a spot Sebastian had never been able to reach. Pleasure surged into his fingertips, guttural wails coming from his throat. He no longer cared if anyone found them. Let them watch.

Another finger joined his hole, as the other massaged Sebastian’s prostate; his dick leaked precum that dribbled onto the table. “Please, please, I need you inside—Aah!”

“Yes, okay, yes—fuck.” His lover’s pleasure sat on his tongue and made all the words sugar. “Seb, honey, the safe word is ‘Graphorn’, yes? You want to stop, you say it.”

Sebastian nodded.

“Say it back to me.”

Sebastian gulped. “Graphorn,” he gurgled.

“Good boy.”

Sebastian’s back arched, another pulse of precum leaving his slit and puddling onto the table. Something warm, heady, and wet pressed into his entrance. He heard his lover inhale shakily behind him. 

His dick entered him. Inch-by-inch.

Sebastian’s head thumped into the table, a whining sound erupting in his throat. It burned so good. Seconds stretched as Sebastian took his lover. The warmth thrummed through his bloodstream. Eventually, he felt the flesh of his stomach as the other bottomed out.

“You okay, baby?”

Sebastian panted. “Please—”

His lover pulled back and slammed into him. 

Everything zeroed down. His tip slammed into Sebastian’s prostate in a way that made his toes curl. He started a pace, slowly grinding into Sebastian’s ass while Sebastian moaned into the wood of the table; pushing back into the sensation. A hand snaked up to his chest, fingers running over a nipple. The sensitive bud reacted, jolts of pleasure radiating into his fingertips. 

His pace quickened. Wet slapping echoed through the library, clung between the books, the sound sticky music in Sebastian’s ears. Each pump punctuated by a depraved cry directly from Sebastian’s throat. His mouth open. Eyebrows pursed in rapture.

“God—need to be quiet, Seb.”

Fingers went into his mouth and that’s when it happened.

The pleasant buzz of fog that had overtaken his thoughts went white. Everything fell away. All Sebastian could feel, could think, was reduced to the points they touched. Any inhibitions remaining died against the fingers on his tongue. 

He felt himself come. A tidal wave of utter bliss, warming through his bloodstream. The ball in his stomach snapped open like burst fruit. Some moments later his lover came, too. A thick pump of honeyed ecstasy filled him. Warm. So warm. So peaceful.

Things were happening around him. His body was moved, gently, but Sebastian’s eyes were unfocused. His entire being relaxed. It felt like lying in a bed that smelt like your childhood home. Or being submerged in warm soapy water. His mind was a fog but he didn’t mind. Not when it was so warm.

Slowly, things came back into focus. The lens on his camera clicked as objects and time emerged in the fog. Hands stroked his hair. Anchored his shoulder.

“You back with me, Seb?”

Sebastian hummed.

“Here, baby, drink.”

A cup was placed into Sebastian’s hands. He sipped at it. His lover’s cloak was draped over his naked body. Its owner looked at him with gentle eyes and even gentler hands as he stroked Sebastian’s cheek.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Sebastian frowned, “Merlin, that was good. Weird, but also so good.”

The other boy chuckled. “Think I may have fucked your brain out. You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

His lover smiled. He was already dressed again. Cock stuffed into his trousers. He went to grab Sebastian’s clothes, offering them to him. “We can’t stay here—come back to my room?”

Sebastian didn’t usually get attached to his nighttime tirades. But he was still feeling marooned after leaving his brain behind. He wanted to be held. He wanted his hair stroked as gently as his friend had done. He wanted to be looked after.

He would be.

[nestaismommy]

“What did Nesta even do”

“She’s so useless”

Yeah I’ll show you what she did

A Court Of Thorns and Roses

My hands slackened at my sides. “You went after me,” I said. “You went after me—to Prythian.”

“I got to the wall. I couldn’t find a way through.”

I raised a shaking hand to my throat. “You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

She shrugged, looking at the sliver she’d pried from the table.

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

-

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.”

A Court of Mist and Fury

I didn’t dare look at my sisters. Look at this house, that might very well be turned to rubble. I rasped, “There are good people here.”

The golden queen sweetly parried with, “Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them.”

Silence.

And it was Nesta who hissed from behind us, “We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”

The eldest one’s face softened. “It is no easy choice, girl—”

“It is the choice of cowards,” Nesta snapped.

A Court of Wings and Ruin

Chapter 18

“By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

Chapter 30

“My sister, it seemed, had found nothing in her books about repairing the wall”

So I just said, “Rhys gave me a layout of the stacks. I think there might be more on the Cauldron and wall a few levels down. You can wait here, or—”

“I’ll help you look.”

Chapter 42

“It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

“You went off to battle for a court you barely know—who barely see you as friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. And when I asked you why … you said because it was the right thing. People needed help.” Her throat bobbed. “No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the wall. No one cares. But I do.” She toyed with a fold in her dress. “I do.”

Chapter 45

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looked to me, to Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“Armies take time to raise,” Cassian said. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.”

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

“Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta said flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

She looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister … I would be among them.”

“Too long,” Nesta said. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queen’s reign.” She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Nesta remained standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

Chapter 49

“You come with us—to Graysen’s estate, and then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.”Not quite a mission, but Nesta nodded all the same.

Chapter 52

“I was kidnapped,” Nesta answered coolly, not one flicker of fear in her eyes. “I was taken by the army invading these lands and turned against my will.”

“How,” Nolan echoed.

“There is a Cauldron—a weapon. It grants its owner power to … do such things. I was a test.” Nesta then launched into a sharp, short explanation of the queens, of Hybern, of why the wall had fallen.

Chapter 56

“No, Nesta only made sure that Elain was dozing in her tent, and then offered to help cut up linen for bandages.”

“Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud. Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle. Too tired to ask if she possessed the magic to heal it herself. Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

“I helped with the wounded long into the night, Mor and Nesta working alongside me”

Chapter 62

“Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed,” Rhys said.

“Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it.”

Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world. “I don’t see anything.”

“Go deeper,” Amren urged. “Find that tether between you.”

A muscle twitched on Nesta’s brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth.

A small noise came out of her—one of terror.

“Where is it, girl,” Amren coaxed. “Open your hand. Let us see.”

Nesta’s fingers only clutched tighter, the whites of her knuckles as stark as the stones held within them.

Chapter 64

“Nesta had stolen something vital from the Cauldron. And in those moments Nesta had hunted it down for us … The Cauldron had learned what was vital to her.”

“We’d landed inside of them, thanks to Nesta’s specifics. With a perfect view of the city of soldiers that sprawled away into the night.”

Chapter 70

“Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit.

Cassian had been right in the center of it.

Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.”

Chapter 71

“It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come … That she’d done it to save him?”

Chapter 72

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.”

“How,” Rhys said softly.

“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

Chapter 74

Nesta rushed to him, kneeling.

Not to comfort.

But to pick up his Illyrian blade.

Cassian tried to stop her as she stood. As Nesta lifted that sword before the King of Hybern.

She said nothing. Only held her ground.

Nesta jumped back, clipping his sword with her own, eyes flaring wide. The king lunged again, and Nesta again dodged and retreated through the trees.

Leading him away—away from Cassian.”

“Nesta turned over, and threw out a hand.

White, burning power shot out of her palm and slammed into his chest.

A ploy. To get him close. To lower his guard.

Her power sent him flying back, trees snapping under him. One after another after another.”

“And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian.

And covered Cassian’s body with her own.”

I’m not even done but I’m too lazy to complete

[ataleofcrowns]

Chapter 11 Progress [14/MAY]

Hey everyone, it's been a minute since my last update on the blog!! Happy mother's day to all the moms out there 💖

By the time of writing this, I have 40k words written for CH11, and I am both happy and mildly horrified to report that CH11 is looking up to be the biggest chapter yet by a mile. It's very likely the total word count will break through 90k words, primarily due to the LI routes.

First, I've finished the first draft for X's route for CH11 and am mildly exasperated by my inability to properly estimate how long these sections will be.

I thought it would amount to 10k at most, but X's route ended up with 18k words. This is mostly due to all the Imperial Court variations in their opening scene, because I'm a masochist. A single playthrough of X's route is more like 14k words, though, depending on the variations you get.

I'm also close to finishing R's route and have 8k words written for it so far. Their and A's routes will be a little less in word count, since they got more content in CH10, but they'll both likely still be 10-12k words. D's will likely be closer to X's route in word count, around 14-15k.

Altogether, this chapter's LI routes alone will likely be close to 60k for all four. So that leaves the rest of the 30k for the main plot, which I haven't started yet. I literally only have words written for R and X, as well as bits and snippets for A and D so far lol.

Please pray for me so that I can release this chapter in July and give you all a summer miracle 🙏🏼

Anyway, enough about the word count!! I've got some preview posting to catch up to, so beneath the cut you'll find various snippets for X and R's routes in CH11 that were posted on the Patreon.

Hopefully I'll be able to post some for A and D soon as well, once I dig into their routes in the coming weeks.

Here's a small preview of a bit you might see occur across all LI routes, though it still depends on who is appointed to your Imperial Court (and the Lord Samal referenced here is specific to X's route as well):

“Chief Minister, is this allowed? There must be procedure for the appointment of officials—” “It is all at the Crown’s discretion,” Chief Minister Karwan states simply, turning away from the representative again to face forward instead. “But this is highly unusual!” The Minister breathes an exasperated sigh. “Oh, quiet down! Were you not using the same technicalities to get your way a moment ago, you insolent dog?” “Do not speak to me that way!” Lord Samal erupts. “I serve Mîr Behram!” “And I was already serving the Crowns of this Empire when your master was still suckling at the teat!” the Chief Minister snaps. “Now be a good boy and come to heel, we have many more matters to discuss.”

Here's a preview for X's route:

“Why do you have that dagger?” You turn to look at $aname, taken aback by how stunned $athey appears. “$xname gave it to me.” “$cxthey gave it to you?” $aname repeats incredulously, glancing back down at the dagger in your hands. “Did $xthey tell you who it originally belonged to?” “It belonged to someone else?” You assumed $xname was the only one who owned it, but looking at it again, you can notice subtle wear and tear despite its well-cared-for state. Little scratches along its sheath, the edges of pearl looking a little worn along the handle. “Whose was it?” “$cxtheir mother’s.” Your fingers tighten around its sheath in shock, then twitch with the urge to put it away. “$cxtheir mother’s? Why would…” You look down at the dagger in complete disbelief. “Why would $xthey give it to me?”

And finally, here's a preview for R's route:

Your hands reach for $rthem, but then halt and hover in mid-air, uncertain of whether you should even touch $rthem while $rthey’s in this state. “It’s alright,” Perjin speaks quietly from beside you. “You can hold $rtheir hand, if you wish. Your magic won’t cause any problems.”  You take a slow, deep breath, calming yourself as you sit down on the edge of the bed and gently take $rname’s hand in yours. “$crtheir fingers are cold.” Alarmed, you rub $rtheir hand, feeling how clammy and cool $rtheir skin is. You turn to Perjin. “Why does $rthey feel cold? What’s happening to $rthem?” 

That was it for this update ✨

I’m posting further updates and CH11 previews on the Patreon for all tiers, as well as all sorts of fun extra LI/Crown snippets, so if you’d like more AToC content while you wait for CH11, consider pledging!!

As always, thanks so much for your patience and support 💖

[icey--stars]

Heyo, I saw your requests were open and I had an idea for Azris that has been killing me! So we all know that Azzie is severely traumatized by fire in his childhood and is probably deadky afraid of it. Enter Eris, his fire wielding mate. I was thinking of a fic where maybe the two of them are arguing about something or maybe Eris is upset and Azriel is pushing him to open up. And Eris loses control and lashes out with his power, burning Azriel with his fire. The angst would be horrific but sooo good. Becuz of Beron, I think Eris would hate himself cuz he thinks he's become like his father and Azriel has to convince him that they're alright

I completely understand if it's too dark or messed up (I'm sorry I love angst) Have a great day/ night regardless. I love your writing!!

We're Okay

Azriel x Eris (Azris) word count: 2.2k

anon, you have come to the RIGHT PERSON for this one. first off, love the angst. angst is the BEST especially if its hurt/comfort like what you had in mind. (when it's finished, you might find my fic "non est vivere sed valere est" interesting to read if you enjoy this kind of stuff!)

anyway, I loved the idea and I really hope you enjoy :)

(also please note that this idea is FAR from being "too dark or messed up" because I've written way worse, I promise.)

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, lots of self-blame, mentions/references to domestic abuse (from both characters), burns and mentions of injuries (past and present)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

“Come on,” Azriel says, his fingers going up to rub his eyes in frustration. “Tell me. You know you can trust me.”

Eris shakes his head, curling his knees even tighter to his chest and shrinking down and wiggling just another inch away from his mate. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t. And why couldn’t Azriel just understand that? Eris was fine. Or would be. But with tears still staining his eyes, Azriel just couldn’t let it go.

“I’m fine,” he says, his breath hiccupping right after. “Just leave it, Az.”

Azriel sighs, his wings relaxing just a little bit behind where he kneeled in front of Eris.

“Eris,” he begins sternly. “You’re crying. And you just came from a family reunion. Would it be so bad to say that you’re lying?”

Eris glares at his mate through his tears. “Let it go,” he says, voice broken and nothing like the strong, unwavering tone he had been trying to get out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Azriel insists. “Please love, just tell me. Let me in.” Those hazel eyes shined with so much care and worry that Eris felt like throwing up.

“Leave it,” Eris growls, turning his head away in a futile attempt to hide the tears continuing to leak from his eyes.

He was just being a bit… off today. He’d gone to a family reunion with his brothers, Jax, Hue, and Kuhn in the Day Court with Helion, Lucien, and his mother. Nothing had gone wrong, per se, but emotionally, it’d taken a lot out of him. Helion kept calling him son and Lucien seemed happy and Jax even smiled a little bit-

It was just so tiring. Eris sometimes wished that he could be that happy, but in his mind, he doesn’t think he ever could. With burn scars littering his body from Beron, he wasn’t worth it. Everyone already thought of him like his father and even if a few people didn’t, it wasn’t enough.

He suddenly feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder and Eris panics, throwing out his fire in a desperate attempt to get away. He sucks all the fire from the firelights as well, going to need it to defend himself in this vulnerable state-

He recognizes the pained noise that escapes the person’s mouth and feels a sharp, burning pain down the bond that they share.

Eris opens his eyes and sees Azriel groaning, holding his hand close to his body, moving away from him.

Eris’s heart drops.

“Azriel,” he says breathlessly and immediately moves forward to try and see his mistake.

“No,” Azriel says, backing up even further, his wings curling in closer to him as if in a shield. The shadows that have been relaxing in the darker corners of the rooms come rushing back to his mate as soon as Eris relights the firelights “Don’t-” Azriel begins but then groans, his head going up. There was obvious pain on his face.

Eris spots Azriel’s injured hand and feels like winnowing to the darkest cave in existence and staying there forever. He deserves it.

Azriel’s skin was red and blistering already, especially around the old scars on his hand.

Azriel pulls it away from his chest to examine it. The palm was bright red and blistering around the old scars. There were a few white spots as well and Azriel’s face was tight with pain.

“No,” Eris breathes, more tears coming to his eyes at the sight. “Please no.”

“Eris,” Azriel says, his voice a bit rougher. “It’s alright-”

Eris glances up at his mate and then back down to the burns he caused.

No, he begs. Please no. He wasn’t supposed to burn Azriel. He could never burn Azriel. He’d been slowly working to help him alleviate his fear of fire from that one fateful night when he was eight years old and now he’d just ruined it. All of it.

Azriel could never trust him again. He shouldn’t. Eris was just like his father. Too short-tempered, emotionally unavailable, and cruel that he hurts his loved ones. He never deserved a mate to begin with, but he tried to trust Azriel. Obviously, that could never happen now.

Eris watches in horror as Azriel pokes at one of the blisters a little, hissing some.

Then Azriel looks back up at Eris, tears in both their eyes now, and says, “Eris, take a deep breath. It’s okay.”

“I burned you,” Eris says, horrified. “I-”

“Eris,” Azriel says sharply. “It’s okay. Deep breath for me.”

“I burned you,” Eris repeats, standing up suddenly to try and back away. Where could he go? He needed to leave. Azriel wanted him gone. He’d go see the healers and then he’d realize it was all Eris’s fault that he was hurt-

“Eris,” Azriel snaps. “Look at me, love.”

Eris regrets it, but he obeys the order and looks down at his mate and love.

“Good,” Azriel praises, standing up as well. “You’re okay. Everything’s alright.”

“No- no it's not,” Eris chokes out, backing away right to the wall from Azriel. He could never touch him again. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved nothing. He’d hurt the one goddamn person he was never supposed to hurt.

Azriel walks forward, opening his arms. “Do you want a hug?”

“No,” Eris chokes out, turning away. “I don’t deserve it. I hurt you. I should go. I need to get out-”

Azriel cuts him off sharply, “No, you’re not leaving and you do deserve it, Eris. I know you hurt me, but it’s okay because I know you didn’t mean to.”

“But your half-brothers-”

“I know what they did. They did it intentionally. You thought you were in danger and retaliated accordingly. That’s okay. You don’t get to take all the blame for this. I should’ve asked if it was okay to touch you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eris gets out, his arms crossed over his chest. He probably looked a complete mess right now. He’d already been crying before but now he’d hurt his mate. He could never forgive himself for that.

“My love,” Azriel coos. “It’s not entirely your fault either.”

“But your hand,” Eris chokes out. “It’ll scar even more.”

Azriel scoffs. “Eris, I don’t care if it scars. It’s already scarred. And because of you, I don’t hate my hands so much anymore. And I certainly will never hate you for this. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Eris sucks in a swift breath and turns his head away when it comes out in a whoosh. “I’m just like Beron,” Eris chokes out. “I hurt you, Azriel.”

Azriel stares at him like he could see into his soul and then sighs. “Eris, you could never be like your father. Never.”

“But I-”

“It was an accident, Eris. Accidents happen. I know you love me. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“How?” Eris chokes out. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re reacting like this,” Azriel whispers, daring another step forward. “If you were like your father, you’d probably be laughing evilly right now. But you’re not. You’re so goddamn worried that I hate you that you can’t breathe right now.”

“You should hate me,” Eris whispers, closing his eyes tightly and shifting his weight back and forth onto either foot. “You should hate me like that day I left Mor in the woods.”

“Eris, I could never hate you,” Azriel says sternly. “I love you too much for that to ever happen.”

Eris presses his lips together in an attempt to keep from sobbing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Azriel’s face softens even more. “It’s okay, my love. I promise.”

Eris nods and looks at Azriel’s injured hand again. “We should get you to the healers,” Eris mutters.

“Do you want a hug first?” Azriel asks, his arms open wide still.

Eris contemplates it for a moment before walking into the embrace, burying his face in Azriel’s neck.

“There you go,” Azriel whispers and wraps his arms around him. “It’s okay, love.”

Eris’s eyes leak more tears at that. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I forgive you,” Azriel whispers back. “I love you. I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.”

“It’s okay,” Eris whispers. “I was being dramatic.”

Azriel chuckles a little. “I’m sure the family reunion caused a lot of stress for you. Next time, I’ll try to let it go. I was just worried for you.”

“I know,” Eris whispers, his arms relaxing a little down to his sides so he can wrap them around Azriel’s lower back.

After a long moment of silence, Eris asks, “Are you sure you still trust me after that? I burned you. I hurt you.”

“Baby,” Azriel coos, kissing his forehead before pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “I forgive you. It was an accident.”

“Are you okay?” Eris asks. “I know I probably flashed the lights a little-”

“I’m just fine. I was a bit startled and scared for a moment, but I knew you were just the same. It’s okay.”

Eris nods. “Let’s get you to the healers,” He says, gently grabbing the wrist of the hand he knows he injured. “It still might be perfectly fine.”

“Alright,” Azriel gets out after a hiss of pain. Eris still feels like shit, but he just had to make sure Azriel would be okay now.

Eris grabs his other hand and winnows them directly into the healer’s wing of the Forest House.

One of the female healers startles, but puts a hand over her chest and sighs. “High Lord, how may I help you?” She asks kindly.

Azriel takes a step forward and simply shows her his blistering, burnt hand. She winces at the sight. “Alright, come over here.”

They both follow and the healer directs Azriel to sit on the bed while she gathers supplies.

Eris decides to sit beside him, leaning into his side a little. Azriel turns to kiss his head again. “It’s okay, love,” Azriel whispers. Eris tries to hold back the tears. He knew he looked like shit, but hopefully the healer wouldn’t say anything.

She comes back holding a wad of bandages and a bucket of water. “Please put your hand in the bucket, Lord Azriel. It’s just cold water.”

Azriel obeys, hissing softly. Eris tenses, wanting to be able to take away Azriel’s pain.

“Can I ask how this injury occurred?” The healer asks. “So I know the best healing method.”

Eris winces and opens his mouth to explain his shame, but Azriel beats him to it. “There was just a minor accident when we were in our room, is all.”

“Right,” the healer muses. “Was it an open flame or was it… hot skin?”

“Flame,” Eris answers.

Azriel nods in agreement.

“Alright,” the healer says. “Once the burn stops hurting in the cold water, I’ll bring it out and clean it thoroughly before healing the top layer of the skin. But I’m going to wrap it with some antibiotic cream as well, just to be safe while the parts under the skin heal as well. It’s a pretty simple second-degree burn procedure.”

“Okay,” Azriel says. “Just leave me with some bandages to change it.”

“Do you know how to-” The healer pauses and then clears her throat. “Apologies, of course.” Her eyes were on Azriel’s other hand of burn scars. “Change it daily or whenever it gets wet for a week and then I want to check it again just to be sure.”

Eris hears the word week and winces again. Azriel was going to be in pain for that long?

Azriel grabs Eris’s hand with his uninjured one and squeezes gently to reassure him. “Sounds good.”

“Right. Let your burn sit in the cold water for a while and call me over when it stops hurting or stinging.”

Azriel dips his head slightly and leans into Eris’s side as soon as the healer walks away. “It’s alright, Eris. I doubt it’ll take that long. These,” Azriel squeezes Eris’s hand for example, “Took three weeks and they were bloody. These are puny in comparison.”

“I’d rather you’d have never been burned,” Eris mutters, leaning his head against Azriel’s shoulder.

“I know,” Azriel says. “But what I’m saying is that Illyrians do heal fast.”

Eris nods.

Azriel hums and then shifts his shoulder, forcing Eris up off of it to meet his eyes. “Look at me, baby,” Azriel says gently.

Eris obeys, holding back tears still.

“We’re okay,” Azriel says. “Everything’s alright. Accidents happen, yeah? This is just one of those. I would never think of you any differently because of it. In fact, because of the work we’ve been doing to decrease my fears of fire, I didn’t freak out. Did you notice that? You made me stronger, Eris.”

Eris swallows and then nods.

“I love you,” Azriel continues. “I’ll never stop either. It’s like you’ve grabbed me by my throat and won’t let me go, but I don’t want to leave either.”

Eris chuckles. “I could always actually grab you by your throat.”

“Later, baby. Later.”

And with that, Eris relaxes into Azriel’s side, content to wait with him and help him however he can by changing bandages or by kissing the burns better when they ache. Whatever his mate so desires. He knows that Azriel has said he forgives him and he doesn’t have to make up anything, but Eris can’t help from doting on his mate a little. Both as an assurance that Azriel loves him and that they’re alright.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added!)

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[nkjemisin]

Hi there! I wanted to hear your opinion about this specific, and common obstacle authors might face. What do you think about writing places you've never been in or barely; and by extension, writing about its people, communities you've never really met, or not often? I'd like for my story to be set in NYC, and the people there, to feel real, but I wonder how legitimate I am with only research (can't travel there atm unfortunately). Love your work and eager to read more of Great Cities. Take care!

Well, I had to deal with this in writing the Great Cities quite a bit, so I can't tell you how to do it, but I can at least tell you how I dealt with it. Never been to São Paulo, for example, or Hong Kong or Istanbul or several of the cities that I "characterized" in the story. Some of that was because I was dealing with a lot of other stuff while working on TCWB (my mom had just died, buying my first home and moving, etc.) and didn't have time for research travel like I usually do, and for TWWM I stopped traveling due to covid. So I had to wing it.

I would say that a lot depends on how much you intend to use the location you're writing about. If it's just background, then you can do a surprising amount with remote observation and research. I used a lot of Google Street View, for example. I popped into Reddit threads for those cities and asked questions -- which is always a little fraught with Reddit, but people were mostly pleased to talk about their towns. I also picked up the Not For Tourists guides for a few cities. Basic info about any city is pretty readily available all over the place.

(Writing about communities is a different story, particularly if those are marginalized communities of some flavor. I always recommend starting with Writing the Other, if you're writing outside your own identity... and even if you're writing your own. It's helpful for reducing stereotypes and replicating exploitative traditions, period.)

If you're using a setting for a whole chapter or something, though, you need to either go there, get locals to talk to you about the place, or -- ideally -- both. In my case that meant talking to friends as well as paying several "expert readers" (like, a person born and raised in Istanbul) to read segments of my writing and offer critical advice. I even needed expert readers for NYC-related stuff -- the chapter of TWWM where Brooklyn goes to court, for example. I know nothing about the city's legal system or even which court is right for which kind of proceeding (we have A LOT of courts, both in the city and the boroughs).

You also need to be okay with making minor mistakes. Recognize that it really isn't possible for any one person to know everything, or even most things, about a city with a population of millions and which effectively sprawls across three different states. I've lived in NYC on and off all my life, and I still got several things wrong when I wrote the Great Cities. I read books and went on tours and learned things about my own city that I've never heard before. While I could and did walk right out my front door and have conversations with people who've lived here all their lives, sometimes there were mistakes in stuff they told me, and only research caught some (not all) of those. I feel like I got the stuff that mattered right, however -- the attitudes, the language, the power dynamics, the way parts of NYC absolutely love to talk shit about other parts of NYC, but will square up in solidarity the instant an outsider tries the same thing.

If your story is about the city, though? Set here? You really need to not just visit but live here for a while. There's nuance you're just not going to get from research or even talking to people. For some things, there's no substitute for experience.

Anyway, hope that helps.