#my edits: harsh realm

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

[nc-vb]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧?

originally a commission, repurposed for readervision! writing about the ladies is fun and i should really do it more often, mhm.

notes -> pls i always forget she's 6'1", that's so frickin hot, my gawd

pairing -> quanxi x afab!time-traveler!reader*

warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), praise/nicknames used (*good girl), thigh riding, oral sex (reader receiving), orgasm denial, scissoring/tribbing; partial inebriation (alcohol consumption); light editing.

wc -> 4.5k

The modes of transportation in this place are… dated.

So used to seeing the various Tesla models zipping about, or the suddenly extremely common Honda Civic models, you found yourself staring a little harder at the ones that lined the street. All too obviously, the dilapidated street signs around you indicated your new location being somewhere in China. Still, there’d been an aged familiarity about the place, about all of it, from the specific way the splits in the sidewalk crackle from one end to the other, to how the trees willow overtop of them like old, gnarled hands. The glow from the street lights are all equally dull, and do little to highlight the filth the asphalt roads hold. The houses, in their decaying, years left untouched glory, are still cookie cutter enough to say that it once might’ve been a place that people both lived and thrived in— if anything, they might just exist there now. The bare minimum for any species.

But then you look in the distance, past the caved-in roofs, past the loose, swaying electrical lines and through the smog, find the fluorescent lights of the city resting just outside the horizon of this dystopian suburbia, and find that you feel at home, your own having been bright just like that. 

You suppose that being at arms with a stranger in the middle of what you can only deem some kind of cacotopia must not be real. A dream or a hallucination— a nightmare, perhaps. The fact that you’ve never been to this place, this time or era, and yet, it’d been familiar. This partial hell scape with its scarred roads and patchwork housing, stuck in its darkened stasis of a temporary ceasefire? Wondering what kind of dream beasts this realm holds was unavoidable from the start, but at the very least, it still includes those in human form.

Your foe is formidable-- or, your predator, you should say. Armed thrice and practically naked in consideration for their lack of armour, wearing a thin shirt that exposes her midriff and tight black trousers, and with their one eye obscured by an eyepatch, they’re still as swift as a shadow when they charge forward, one blade extended, the other held in reverse against their forearm— usually a predictability. But they’re enough of a threat to you that you don’t bother to analyze much else any further.

If not for obeying modern physics, the stone at your feet would’ve split from the impact of your own harsh landing— without a weapon or defense of your own, you scamper out of the way of the woman’s sword, gasping at the close call. If anything, being in this strange place for so long, and being targeted by strange looking creatures and even stranger humans, has made you adept at avoiding harm.

You’re not entirely sure you can avoid it any further. You watch the attacker sheathe their defending sword and reach up toward their one exposed eye to— to… extract an arrow from within her skull, so easily as if it’d been normal to “store” it there.

“Don’t lose focus now,” they call — she calls, you finally learn, from your own language; she’d recognized it when you’d cursed at her earlier. A couple of obvious tonal sounds and inflections double down on you being somewhere in China. “I’ll be disappointed if you suddenly let me kill you, stranger.”

Slim, yet muscular. Long blonde hair. A gaze most distant, yet she still smiles, even in the middle of battle. Human? With that ability of hers, it’s unlikely; you’ve learned to differentiate that much, as short a time as you’ve spent here.

Amidst their game of cat and mouse, you can’t help but wonder if the area had been evacuated prior to Quanxi’s arrival, as if she’d been prepared to give chase, or even worse, as if she’d been prepared to fight. You don’t doubt the possibility of the woman having some kind of pull or authority in this time; as perhaps unprepared and bare as she appears, her skillset had quickly been proven. Being locked in at a coward’s stalemate for as long as you’d been, Can’t this end already?

“Please,” you pant, a hand poised in a pleading gesture. “Please stop.” The woman’s one visible eyebrow raises, her expression remaining placid. A moment later, she’s sheathing her blades.

“That’s fine with me,” she says, straightening up. “I’m pretty fond of this outfit and I’ve already scuffed the knees; it would be a shame if I tore anything else. You seem like… the civilized type, when you’re not running away. And if that’s the case, we should introduce ourselves.”

You give yours first, eager to catch your breath. The woman smiles.

“I am Quanxi. Now, tell me. The name of the Devil you’ve contracted with.”

Your expression hardens. “Devil?” you repeat. 

Quanxi does not doubt further the woman’s seemingly earnest confusion. She already looks like she’s not from the area, and certainly not necessarily a native from China, either. In fact, it’d been more like she’s stepped out of one of those futuristic, science fiction movies. Your entire existence did not belong here.

Your tired vision sweeps along the street before rising to stare at Quanxi. “Where is this place?”

Testing, “Do you mean this street? This… neighbourhood? Or this world?” You don’t answer, unable. The silence, accompanied with the difficult read on the foreigner’s partial expression, is an answer enough. “It’s called Earth.” 

“I know this is Earth.”

Quanxi’s lip quirks. “Then this place that you’re currently standing in, is in China. And this street, well… I’m not sure the name matters anymore. No one’s lived here in years.”

She watches you, a silence spread taut like a fishing line through the middle of your conversation as you ponder, before cutting it. 

“Listen. I’m glad you decided to stop running away,” your lip curls slightly at the curtness in her words, but you don't interrupt, “but since we’ve established that you’re not from the area, and since I don’t see a… spaceship… parked anywhere… you’re probably not an alien. But, you’ve also probably got nowhere to go, hm?”

“… that’s, unfortunately, correct,” you murmur, sighing. What a headache…

“And it doesn’t seem like you’re looking to cause any trouble. Right?”

“I’m kind of in some trouble of my own, if you haven’t noticed,” you point out.

“Fair enough. Then, I’ll do you a favour. If you’d be reasonable enough to not do something as stupid as try to murder me in my sleep, I’ll invite you into my home.”

Try? I could barely run away from you. 

“I’ll have to attend to some business in the morning outside the country, but, if you’re a good girl tonight, you’re welcome to stay there while I’m gone.” Your lips part to speak at the woman’s condescension, but by the absurdity of your situation, you find yourself unable to spit the words dancing behind your teeth back at her. Good girl?

“Do you need a physical invitation?” Quanxi says; you hadn’t realized she’d already begun to walk, and soundlessly trails after her. “Good.” Again? “I’ve parked several blocks north of here; it’s about a five minute walk if you’re fast about it.”

“Okay.” True to her estimation, once they’d picked up their pace, they found a sleek black automobile awaiting them only four blocks away. Compared to the older modeled cars you’ve passed, this one is at least twenty years ahead of their design.

Quanxi enters on her side before you can even open the passenger side door, and by the time you sit and shut the door behind you, the car has already belted to life, a soft rumbling heard from within its metal shell. A gear shifts, and they move.

The drive out of the dark neighbourhood where you first appeared, and into the glowing city you’d seen from afar is about three times as long as the walk had been. The luminance of the artificial light happens to be intense enough to make you squint so hard that your eyes become slits.

“Depending on how long you’re here for, you might end up getting used to it,” Quanxi says. You turn your head toward her. “Ah, well, I shouldn’t assume you don’t have these in your own home; apologies. Just, don’t stare at these ones directly. They’re definitely not up to code.”

You nod, glancing forward again.

“You aren’t very… chatty, are you,” Quanxi speculates, lowering one of her hands from the wheel to rest in her own lap.

“It’s… hard to think of something to talk about in my situation,” you say, wringing your wrists a little. “Small talk and idle conversations… is even harder.”

“You could always ask more questions.”

“I… can’t think of any.”

“Or ask if I know of a way to return you to your home.”

“And do you?”

“No. I can do a lot, but time travel?” Quanxi scoffs lightly. “Science fiction, for now. Maybe there’s a Devil out there that can do that. But, you could still have bothered to begin that conversation to see if I did.”

You pause. “Is this all a condition of me staying with you? Talking, asking questions…”

“Not at all. Simply makes for better company.”

You scoff, too, and fold your arms over your chest. “Aren’t you worried I’ll destroy your home while you’re gone? Or rob you?”

Quanxi chuckles. “Not at all. You might be lonely when I do, however. By how you greeted me earlier tonight, I should at least make sure my housekeeper doesn’t spook you away into, I don’t know, jumping out the window.”

“If I didn’t value my life, I wouldn’t have run away from you like I did. Why would I jump out the window…” The question hangs in the air, apparently a rhetorical quip.

The rest of the drive is completed in one-sided silence, Quanxi filling it with her own voice when she explains, unwarranted, the existence of Devils and what she’d meant when she’d asked you about a “contract”. It does make sense (and perhaps your interest in the subject did prove that you did have some curiosities), but you still had found yourself verily unwilling to engage in conversation, leaving your thoughts to race wildly beneath your skull.

In contrast to the surrounding buildings, Quanxi’s is not nearly as vibrant. The only lights come from the large fixed windows pressed tight between the dark brickwork; signs of life that neighbourhood from before had sorely been missing. Even the streets, despite the time, are flooded with chattering humans.

“We’re here, get out,” Quanxi says, putting the car into park and exiting it, herself. You join her on the sidewalk, where she’d just given a man a set of keys. In the corner of her vision, you watch him replace where Quanxi once sat, and drive off with her car, while the two of you enter the building.

“I’m on the penthouse level,” she tells you after pressing a button on the wall of the elevator. “It’s nothing fancy. Comfortable enough when I come home from an assignment, and for my—” Quanxi goes silent. You notice, but don’t press. The elevator chimes, announcing their arrival to the topmost level, and the doors open. “This way.”

There’s a keypad on the door, for which Quanxi types a particularly long code into before it beeps at them to enter. Whereas you take off your own boots and set them aside, Quanxi toes hers off and kicks them to the side, knocking yours over.

“A drink?” Quanxi offers.

“… water is fine.”

The penthouse is minimalist and simple, as its owner mentioned it would be. A simple living area full of couches and irregularly shaped chairs; a simple bedroom, raised up, across the room in a loft space. The bathroom and kitchen end up being the fanciest of the space, full of shining metal appliances and smooth surfaces, as white as the moon, itself.

There are but a few adornments and decorations, and you find that across the apartment, there are only a handful of photographs framed and sitting atop a long cabinet, two of which had been turned down— you recall Quanxi doing so as she’d entered ahead of you. Not one to pry — you know just as well as anyone what dredging up old memories does to a person — and with Quanxi busying herself in her kitchen, you cross over to them and quickly tip them up. Both have the woman pressed between four other girls, all with varyingly unexplainable appearances — why are her brains exposed? — but they all easily express their fondness for Quanxi.

“It’s like you’ve never been invited into someone’s home before,” Quanxi suddenly calls from around the corner. You flinch, and without making eye contact, set the frames back down with care. “It should go without me having to say the words “don’t touch anything unnecessary”.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Quanxi sighs, and extends her arm to hand the stranger a glass of clear liquid. “It’s fine. Just don’t touch them again. And try not to get curious enough that you want to ask about… them.”

You accept the glass, nodding, and take a generous gulp from it, immediately reeling.

“This isn’t water,” you say, swallowing thickly, your throat catching from the burn.

“It’s baijiu. Figured you could probably use some to relax while you’re here.” You instantly cough.

“Relax?”

“It’s not like you’ll be able to figure anything out tonight, not this late. And, not if you’re still wired into fight or flight mode. Drink this. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge you can help yourself to. The bathroom is around the corner. Go and shower. I’ll grab you a change of clothing.”

Not that it’d been so severely important to, but you silently admit to her observations. Being sent stuck here and almost immediately thrust into one-sided combat against this strange woman, to being invited to her home for reprieve, has kept you tiptoeing on a jagged edge, teetering more to one side than the other. It’s discomforting. Unfamiliar.

You down the clear liquid in the glass before stalking into Quanxi’s bathroom, quick to strip yourself of your clothing before stepping into the shower. Beginning to scrub away the day’s grime from your body with a sudsy cloth, you realize you’ve yet to feel this calm thus far— must be the baijiu, you assume.

With the glass of the shower all fogged up from the steam, you don’t notice Quanxi standing in the doorway when you finally exit it. Unfocused, you jump, the towel in your hand almost slipping out of your grasp.

“I’m beginning to think,” you start, huffing out a flustered breath, “that you’re the lonely one between us.”

“Perhaps I am.” The ice in her own glass clinks against it when she takes a sip, watching you start to pat yourself dry. “I won’t argue with you. I never thought I would feel like this, even after losing them. They were only Fiends, after all. Not entirely human.”

“... does one have to be “entirely human” for someone to love them?”

“… I forgot who I was saying this to,” Quanxi muses, mostly to herself. “You’re young, after all. Insightfulness comes easier to each new generation of life.”

“Something like that,” you halfheartedly confirm, dragging the towel down each of your legs. You sigh— avoiding certain conversations may not be as easy as you’d once thought with this woman, the involvement of alcohol perhaps making it even more of a difficult probability. “Where I’m from… in my time… in my version of Earth, we don’t have different species of humans. But to be loved by anyone, by anything, even by someone non-human, is a joy, and an honour. Don’t justify them being Fiends so you don’t have to grieve over them. And… just be glad you can remember everything about them.”

She smiles back, but it’s distant; spurious. You know full well what the look is for, and decide it’s unfair to call the woman the only lonely one between them, after all.

Quanxi pushes herself off the door’s frame, stumbling very slightly out of her awkward stance.

“I was only in here for ten minutes. How did you manage to get drunk so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk,” Quanxi swears. “This is my first glass… and I’m a bit of a heavyweight. I just figure I should share some of my vulnerability with you since you’re naked in my home right now. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

You look up at her, having wrapped your head in the towel, and around the washroom.

“Your clothes. Right. I forgot to bring them in. They’re out here.”

“Could you go and grab them?”

“You’re coming back out here anyway, right? Just come and change out here.”

Your eyes narrow. The woman’s already seen her as nude as the day she’d been born, and from her own words, she now lives alone, the existence of those four girls in the photos seemingly otherwise erased from the apartment save for those photos. Being on the penthouse level on one of the tallest buildings around, it’d be unlikely for any of the neighbouring buildings to see—

“You’re overthinking it,” Quanxi calls out. “Is that something you do when you drink alcohol?”

Your attempt at sliding past her in the doorway fails, the taller of the two having lifted her arm to stop you.

“Is it?”

You sigh. Quanxi’s lip lifts into a small smile, and she drops her arm to let you pass and enter the kitchen.

“Is this where you assert yourself on me, and I lower myself into showing you my “gratitude”?” You slip on the folded burgundy tee from the counter, mentally cursing at the woman for supplying you with such a useless piece of fabric, the offending material barely reaching your navel; you shiver. “I’ve read enough fiction in my lifetime to recognize this cliché.”

“Then you must’ve read a crazy amount of sapphic erotica throughout your journey across the stars.” You shake your head and reach for the pants, ignoring Quanxi’s presence at your side. “No,” she answers, “though, I’m glad my intentions go without me having to say anything. A harmless, wordless invitation to share in a little bit of skinship with me. I won’t force you into it, but…”

In still being bare from the hips down, Quanxi dares to smooth a hand across your waist that curls an arm around your middle, and you freeze, your cool skin quick to grow warm under her touch.

“Quanxi—””It’s not lowering yourself to enjoy yourself,” she muses, right next to your ear. You blame your immodesty for the chill that sweeps down your spine. “Let me take your mind out of the stars for the night.”

It’s the alcohol. You’re drunk, too. That’s the only reason. Trying to rationalize your acceptance of the situation with false realities only embarrasses you further— you aren’t drunk. You can’t even call yourself slightly inebriated, not yet. 

Then perhaps it’s your subconscious telling you to cave to Quanxi’s suggestion. To give into the strange offer of reprieve this Earth finds itself willing to give to you.

Her hands travel, soft and featherlight, across your now scalding flesh, and beneath the waistband of the sweats she’d intended on giving you. Loosening them from around your hips, she pushes them down until they slip around your ankles, and with a hand poised at the toned sculpt of her abdomen, she presses you into leaning against the counter behind you.

“Just stand there and stay pretty for me.”

Quanxi doesn’t waste another moment; not particularly keen to stop her, you lean into the hand that cups your jaw, allows her to fit her lips between yours, tries to remember the last time you’d ever kissed or had ever been kissed, and fails. With no other thoughts to keep you tethered to creating distractions for yourself, you keen forward and shift your weight onto a single foot. A small laugh huffs against your lips.

“You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you,” she murmurs. You’re about to argue the opposite, that you’d only been acting agreeable for their best interest, and open your mouth; ever the opportunist, Quanxi is quick to curl her tongue to sweep along the inside of your lips before you get the chance to utter a single word. You flinch, but your own hand stays holding Quanxi’s hips against your own.

Her thighs are thick, discovering them to be more muscular than you’d first presumed when one of them press between your own and shift upward. You gasp, a soft sound, when the coarse material of Quanxi’s denim begins sliding back and forth along your bare clit; you tremble, and grips her sides just a little firmer.

“Ah, see? You don’t have to use your words to show it.”

A hand slips around to hold your neck, Quanxi pulling her mouth hard against yours, and you moan, your breaths shared with each tilt of their head and each swirl of their tongues around the other dense, purposeful. Was it the alcohol making your mind fuzzier? Making your judgment clouded? You hadn’t yearned for something this hard in much too long a time, though it did go without saying— yes, I’m enjoying myself.

You shiver at the sudden soft pecks and harsher licks at the curve of your neck, and Quanxi grinds your crotch against her bouncing thigh a little more insistently when you’d begun to shudder.

“You’re close, right? So soon?” Reluctantly, you find yourself nodding. Quanxi hums. “Not here.” She lowers her knee almost too abruptly, and releases. Your head snaps her way, frowning.

“This isn’t how I want you to come,” she explains, decidedly tugging down her own pants and kicking them away. “Too simple.”

“Why did you stop?”

“It’s only for a moment,” Quanxi assures you. She takes one of your hands and begins pulling you toward the staircase to the loft, quick to guide you along to sitting at the edge of her plush bedding. “Don’t look so frustrated, hm?”

You scoff, but it’s choked, heart still racing from your formerly impending, now lost, orgasm.

“More condescending words of yours,” you mutter, “just like earlier.”

“Condescending words from earlier…” Quanxi pauses. “Do you mean when I called you a “good girl”?”

“Yes. It was patronizing.”

“And… if I were to call you a good girl now?” Quanxi releases her hold around your wrist and, before you can pull them back (whether you were going to or not), fits her fingers through both of yours and kneels between your legs, spreading them further apart with her shoulders. Your entire body flinches, and your arms both jerk upwards with nowhere to go. “Is that still me being condescending? Or…” Quanxi tilts her head forward once more, and licks a stripe upward against your quiver. “… maybe it’s patronizing now?”

“Y-You’ve… well surpassed the definition of both of those words,” you groan.

“Maybe.” Quanxi’s tongue curls, catching on the hood of your clit. You gasp. “But look at you, my little time-traveling friend, behaving so well for me. I think this deserves a little bit of praise; a small reward.”

“Stop talking about it and give it to me, then.”

Quanxi doesn’t speak again, having suddenly busied herself with the wet kisses she supplied to your cunt. Your eyes fly upward to meet hers, tongue flicking so frustratingly calculated between your folds. You stir, arms twitching impatiently in her hold with nowhere to go— until she releases them again. Unable to help herself, you lurch forward, one hand pressing the woman between your thighs deeper into you, the other clawing at the sheets beneath you. When Quanxi goes to mumble something, not bothering to remove her tongue from against you, you send a hazy glare her way.

“Don’t talk, j-just—!” Quanxi’s grip shifts, instead to wind her arms around your thighs when your squirming becomes too uncontrolled. You cry out, a sharp noise that ends up startling you back into biting down on your own lip, as Quanxi suckles on your swollen bud. It’s impossible to stop her, to want to stop her; your hold on her head lessens, though it’s only when your legs begin to tremble in their attempt to fold shut, and when your voice catches in her throat that Quanxi finally pulls away, lips and chin glistening under the moonlight and hair slightly disheveled, and you groan again, a noise that grows progressively louder and more frustrated as the blonde rises back onto her feet.

“I never specified if you’d be the only one getting rewarded,” Quanxi points out, chuckling. “Keep your legs open.”

You manage a frown, but still hold your thighs apart for Quanxi to straddle you. Your hips buck, feeling the sudden pressure, the sudden heat and slick press against her; Quanxi doesn’t waste another moment, having been denying even herself the pleasure she’d now twice ripped away from you— punishment for the frustratingly short answers you’d provided throughout the evening.

Hands falling next to your head to grip the blanket, she rocks forward, lower back instinctively arching upon the friction finally reaching her— Quanxi moans, and you, impatient and shuddering once more, reach behind Quanxi to grab at her ass to pull her tighter into you.

“So eager,” Quanxi groans. Jerkily, she forces your shirt up over your breasts, nipples pert from your arousal, and dips her head down to wrap her lips around one, tongue swirling.

“Quanxi, I—” she pops away, gasping, hips still gyrating and pelvis grinding into yours with such a desperate fervour; she suddenly swivels herself and takes hold of your leg from under her knee, bringing it upwards. “Quanxi—”

“Go on, then,” Quanxi pants. Both mouths dripping, she takes her tongue and drags it up your calf. “Come for me, my little time-traveler.”

You choke on your breath, and your hands seize for Quanxi to hold her in position while you suddenly flip her around, grinding down on her, instead. Teeth gritted, Quanxi pulls and tugs at the sheets, moaning with the sweet relief of her own orgasm, and you tremble, crying out soft and low from the washing over of — finally, finally — your own pleasure.

Spent, you huff at the one-eyed woman when you lower herself down fully onto her pelvis. “Don’t… call me that ever again.”

Quanxi’s laugh is one of disbelief, and has you reddening above her.

“I was supposed to have an early night… I can always sleep on the plane.”

© nc-vb 2024 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[lexluvswriting]

I’m so excited for princess treatment!!!!

EDIT: PRINCESS TREATMENT IS OUT !!!

I AM ALSO SO EXCITED FOR PRINCESS TREATMENT!!!

For some reason, my brain has decided that Hozier and Loki are like tea and biscuits, which makes tears roll down my thighs. AHEM.

Anywayyyy... because anon that requested princess treatment has waited so long for me to get my shit together, i'd like to give you guys a slice of the cream pie Loki will give you THE FIC while i polish up the final touches (hehe) <3<3<3

--- ⋆⁺₊✧｡˚⋆♛｡⁺୨୧˚⋆⁺₊✧ ---

[18+ CONTENT AHEAD, SUGGESTIVE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

“He was right.”

“Who, love?” He hummed, barely listening to your vent, more focused on soothing you and your body- his vice, as he’d tell you whenever he was in between your legs, or looking up at you as you’d ride him- only to pause at your next words.

“The lord.” You sniffled, looking up at him with teary eyes as you shuffled slightly, climbing up him to rest your head against his chest.

“The lord? The lord is an insignificant fool- a worm who has been left alive to wriggle for too long. You are wonderful, beloved-”

“Loki.” You groaned, sullen as you hid your face against his neck, not in the mood for sympathy- regardless of how sincere it may have been.

“Be honest with yourself!” You snapped, the anger not even anger at all, but a storm of self-doubt, harsh self-criticism and insecurity,

“All these nobles see is a frumpy pig in pearls & frilly dresses, alright? So let us say it for what it is. I am fat. I am fat, and hard to look at, and I don’t even look like a proper princess-”

“Never,” He had flipped you both over faster than you could blink, his snarl protective as he grabbed your face with his left hand, pinning your hands above your head on the pillow with your right, rearranging your positions with that unfair godly strength he possessed, “Utter that filth again.”

Your tears had stopped in their tracks; doe eyes wide as you looked up at him, pouty lips parted in shock, face slightly flushed from crying.

“For as long as the sun brings day, and the moon calls night, I never want to hear you utter such horrid curses. Not a damn word. Do you hear me?” He growled, fingers holding your chin firmly before his hand cupped the side of your face instead, thumb brushing away the tears that lingered before his thumb rubbed at the soft squish of your cheek, index and thumb pinching the apples of your cheek- the only apples he’d crave as long as he lived- gently, before kissing either side of your face.

“You are the only woman in all nine realms I love. You are the only woman I want; be it above me, beneath me or by my side. You may be the people’s princess, but you are a queen to me. The only woman I would kneel for- be it in the comfort of our bed chambers, or in the middle of the damn courtyard. Understand?” His words reverberated in your ears, rattling around your puddle of a brain before slinking over your heart and straight down to your core. The warmth he had triggered when he defended you during the meeting came back again in full force, your breathing hitching as you gawked up at him, before finally nodding dumbly, as if you had lost all ability to speak.

“If this is truly how you feel, then I must be punished for failing you.”

You blinked, trying to understand where he was going with this- your sulky voice a mere squeak as you echoed his words,

“P… punished?-”

“Oh, yes. Punished severely, for failing to present just how infatuated I am.” He murmured lowly as if this was a grave offence, his cock stirring in his pants as he saw your brain working behind your eyes; the way the words clicked and the way your thighs squeezed together, making your cheeks redden as your lips quivered.

“If I have to fuck my love into you for you to remember how beautiful you are, then I will make sure neither of us leave this bed until I have done it successfully.” His voice had taken a husky dive, your stomach coiling as your chest puffed up, nipples pebbling beneath the layers of fabric making up the bodice of your dress.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧｡˚⋆♛｡⁺୨୧˚⋆⁺₊✧ ---

I hope we all like!! 🤭🫣

Will be out in a few hours!! <3 <3 <3

[tarotwithdanise]

10 reasons why you should love yourself

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose a pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

4 - 5 - 6

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

1. Just a quick disclaimer : This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! i don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

2. Please ignore any grammatical errors on my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

3. Third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

4. Lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

TIPS JAR DONATION BOX

MASTERLIST PAID READING SERVICES

[ ♡ ] check out my second account @danisetarot.

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , I don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits and reading itself goes and belong to yours truly. I use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header and divider.

Pile one

You don't take bullsh*t from others.

Your opinion is way more matters for you rather than other people opinion of you now.

You are good at dancing.

You are highly connected to divine and spiritual realm.

You have a strong fighting spirit.

Cutting people off for you is like as if you were cutting a paper pad. Too easy.

You've got a brightest smile and pretty hands.

You prefer few friends rather than a bunch of friends who are just fake and plastic. Quality over quantity.

You always want to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You are brutally honest person.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile two

You are good with arts, crafting, sewing, music or painting.

You are unique, feels like a weirdo from everyone else. (aquarius?)

You prefer old fashion rather than to keep up with the trends.

You have a peaceful and positive mindset.

You have a nice thighs.

You are passionate and hardworking about your work.

You always stay focus at your project, seems like you are perfectionist individual.

You are a great listener and advisor, probably someone who is there for everyone. A friend that can rely on with.

You are good at reading and observing people.

You are quite person but d*adly scary.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile three

You love taking care of yourself, you prepare for your daily healthy foods and keep yourself hydrated everytime.

You are good at guiding other's, someone who can be a teacher, tarot reader or a leader itself.

You have a high respect for people especially for your parents.

Many people love you online or in real life.

You are grateful that God give and provide your everyday life. You are thankful that God has given you another chance to live again, to prove and improve yourself.

You love the sound of rain while reading your favorite book.

You like reading newspapers even though through online sites and watching documentaries.

The fears you are fearing before, you can deal with them now.

You are creative human, there's something new up and something incredible happening to your mind 24/7.

You finally learn how to say ‘no’ with those things and someone that you think won't serve you. You rather be hated for who you truly are rather than to be someone else who faked everything.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile four

You are soft-hearted individual.

You have a sexy body.

You have this mindset - it's okay to cry then start to fight again for tomorrow and for your future.

You are determined and doesn't give up easily.

You know how to pampered yourself when you have money.

Even though you doesn't seems see yourself as a good leader atleast you always perceived yourself as great team player.

You know how to handle and organize your own time and things.

You think your ship doesn't yet come to the shore and so, you knew there's a lot of lessons for you to uncover in this lifetime.

You are someone who know themselves well, someone who knew that they have strengths, weakness, positive and negative traits about themselves. In short, you accept your own flaws.

You have a strong faith.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile five

You are lucky and grateful about your life and about yourself.

You are kind to yourself and to others.

You are lovable individual, partner, son/daughter and best friend.

Type of person is not easy to get fooled and scammed.

You know how to discipline yourself about something or someone.

You can deal with your personal issues alone without the help of others. Maybe sometimes when you badly needed it.

You have this quote ‘loving yourself first before loving others’.

You know how to have fun and you know how to joke around with other people. You have a jolly and positive energy.

You have a perfect eyebrows?like even though you don't casually wear brows pencil.

You only have you in this world and you have your family.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile six

You have unpredictable nature, that may lots of people wonder what were you thinking.

You are very secretive and mysterious individual.

You look good in every outfits and styles you wear.

You know how to forgive and forget others. But you don't give chances.

You have a great story and will, to share with people.

You have a beautiful and graceful ; soul, body and mind.

You know how to celebrate your own victory. You are happy in small things.

You are generous individual.

You usually have a good music and artist taste.

You know how to defend yourself in a bad situation.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

© daninixx ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

[bruhstories]

blind

summary: after four years of being ignored and abused, y/n decides to teach aegon a lesson OR how aegon actually becomes king

pairing: aegon targaryen x lannister!reader (aged up, ofc)

warning & content: canon divergent, aegon is a piece of shit, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), bit of degradation (if you squint), a lot of manipulation, fem bodied reader

wc: ~4.5k

a/n: i have no words for this. i am a slut and i embrace it. not edited because we die like men

Every time Aegon took another of Y/N's maids to bed, a part of the her heart crumbled to dust. He was simply not interested in her, despite once being good friends. And it wasn't as if she could play the same game, no. Y/N had to patiently wait for her husband to drunkenly stumble back into his chamber, falling onto the bed into a deep slumber until his mother would wake him up with a slap and a string of insults.

Y/N could not possibly fool around with other men without the realm finding out. She could not run away to Essos, nor could she change Aegon. He was far too irredeemable.

Alicent, however, was great with her. She made sure to treat Y/N with respect, to listen to her complaints. No matter how loving and caring Y/N tried to be, Aegon did not want her, which was a problem, because she hadn't given him an heir in four years. After their wedding, Aegon was too intoxicated to perform in bed, barely taking her maidenhead before passing out, leaving Y/N awake and distraught at what her life had become.

Whenever her husband was away, she would spend her time either reading in the Red Keep's library, or listening to Helaena's strange, yet intriguing dreams, or stroll through the gardens. Y/N liked Helaena. She was soft and sweet, and loved by everyone in King's Landing, despite her awkwardness and timidity. Y/N tried to be like her, to be kind and gentle, but her Lannister nature unfortunately made her vain and selfish, and it was taking a lot of willpower to mask it.

So, she decided to be exactly that — vain and selfish.

On Aegon's twentieth name day, a tourney was held, with knights from all around Westeros entertaining King Viserys' first-born son. Although Aegon himself wasn't much of a fighter, he enjoyed watching the men compete, and eventually fight each other to the death. And if the wine in his cup was sweet, and the maidens pretty, he could not ask for more.

"Where is your lady wife?" Otto scoffed at Aegon's disinterest in Y/N and interest in the wine he had accidentally spilled.

"How should I know? Shit, this was good wine!" The Targaryen smacked his lips in annoyance, only to feel his grandfather's hand tightly around his shoulder.

"Don't make me slap you in front of everyone, boy. You should be grateful Y/N married you. Who else would want a miserable, pathetic excuse of a man such as yourself?" Otto's words were harsh and they cut deep, but Aegon stopped caring a long time ago.

"You find her, then. In fact, I am thrilled she didn't come. She would embarrass me, sitting down, looking like a septa." The Targaryen scoffed, releasing his shoulder from Otto's grip, focusing on his tourney.

Alicent watched the scene between her father and her son unfold, and after exchanging looks with Otto, she knew exactly what was going on. Nothing she could do would change Aegon. She got up, straightening her green dress, and as she turned on her heels, she was faced with Y/N.

"My lady." She bowed in front of her mother-in-law. "My apologies for being late. I couldn't find something appropriate to wear for such an important day."

"Nonsense, you are beautiful wearing anything." Alicent complimented her.

"As are you." Y/N smiled before making her way to the empty seat next to Aegon.

She offered him no words, no curtsy, no smiles, instead giving her favour to Ser Criston Cole. It was then when Aegon noticed the corset around her waist was tight, and her dress was red and gold, the colours of her house. For a moment he thought he maybe drank too much, for he rarely saw Y/N wearing something so bright and bold, and when she sat down, he could see how low the cut of her cleavage was.

"How long have you been hiding those tits from me?" Aegon whispered in her ear, his breath reeking of wine.

"They were always there, you just did not bother to look, lord husband." Y/N beamed and waved at Ser Criston, but her voice lacked the warmth of her smile.

He leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes at her response. Only because she had decided to wear a tighter dress did not mean she was good enough for someone like him. Not that the servants or the whores he slept with were, but they were easy. They would never say no, they would not complain, and they would most certainly not talk back in such a disrespectful manner.

Indeed, it was Aegon's fault for not paying his wife more attention. To give her credit, she tried her best to show him affection, to care for him when he was too drunk to even stand, and to even defend him in front of his family. But Aegon never took the time to appreciate all of that because, like his grandfather put it, he was a pathetic excuse of a man.

When the tourney ended and he stumbled into his chamber, Aegon couldn't find his wife. Normally she would be there, waiting for him, helping him undress, despite him calling her all sorts of names in his drunken state. But that night, she wasn't there. His mind went blamk and he fell asleep, half-dressed, with stains of wine all over his chin, and his hair a knotted mess.

And when he woke up, she still wasn't there.

Aegon's head was hurting, regretting the decision of drinking so much the other day, and he lazily and clumsily managed to get dressed in clean clothes. When he looked in the mirror, he was disgusted by his own reflection for the first time in four years. Every night, every single night since he had been married, Y/N washed him and brushed his hair before bed, and without her he looked like an imbecile. Perhaps his grandfather was right — who else would willingly marry him when he couldn't even dress himself?

The Red Keep was particularly cold that morning —or perhaps it was him who was cold — and Aegon made his way down the stairs towards the kitchens, only to be stopped by the sound of laughter. He turned on his heels, taking a left instead of a right, and followed the melodious voice that seemed vaguely familiar. The Targaryen found himself in front of the dining hall, and the guards stepped beside the doors to allow Aegon to enter. Confused, he stared at the people gathered around the table — his siblings, his mother, his grandfather, and his wife.

"Finally!" Alicent waved at the maids to bring more food and mead.

"Uh, what is happening?" His ears were ringing, his temples burning. Aegon sat down next to his wife, and again, she was not dressed in her usual garments, but a pale green dress, with golden earrings and rings. She rarely wore rings, he thought.

"Your lady wife had the beautiful idea of breaking fast together this morning." Otto poked the sausage on his plate with a silver fork.

"Has she now? And where was my lady wife last night?" Aegon's eyes darted towards Y/N, watching her gingerly cut a piece of meat.

"In my chambers." She simply answered before chewing her food.

"Since when do you sleep in your fucking chambers?"

"Aegon!" Alicent slammed her cutlery on the table.

"Since last night." Came her response, bored and indifferent.

"To see, you must close your eyes." Helaena whispered. "To win, you must lose."

"Aemond, tell your wife to stop talking in riddles. My head is aching." Aegon devoured a piece of bread, helping it slide down with mead.

"Or, you could go back to your chambers." Aemond suggested, holding his Helaena's hand in his.

Aegon shrugged, already tired of everyone around him. He silently ate his food, considering his brother's idea of going back to bed, until his eyes landed on one of the maids, and her figure. He closed his eyes, imagining what she looked like under the dress, but all he could see was the silhouette of his wife. The Targaryen shook his head — clearly he had drank too much at the tourney, and the mead did not help.

"Y/N, thank you for the wonderful idea of eating together." Alicent got up. "If you will excuse me, I shall go see the King. But we must do this more often!"

"And next time tell me so I don't come." Aegon snorted, proud of his harsh words. He watched his wife get up, and instinctively, he wanted to ask her where she was going, however he resorted to sneering at her.

"Why do you think I haven't told you this time?" Y/N smiled before excusing herself, and even Aemond chuckled at how she barked back at her husband.

Aegon waited for the doors to close behind his wife before slamming his fist onto the table, startling Helaena. Not even the gods could understand how much hatred he held for her.

"What is her problem?" He asked, expecting his grandfather and his brother to side with him.

"You are her problem, you buffoon." Aemond got up, offering his hand to his wife. "Come."

Aegon watched how his sister looked at Aemond with so much love in her eyes, and how his brother gently held Helaena's hand every time they were together, despite how aloof Aemond normally was. Was that what Y/N wanted? To have him hold her in his arms? To whisper sweet nothings in her ear? How could he do that when now she stopped sharing his chamber? Of course it was her own fault for the treatment she received.

Weeks went by after the tourney, days spent drowning in wine and ale, but something changed — Aegon's cock wasn't buried in some whore's cunt. He tried. By the gods, he went to brothels as often as he could, but the women there just did not appease him anymore. If he closed his eyes, he would see his wife, and if he held them open, he would think of his wife.

Aegon hadn't seen her in days, and when he did, she would be busy — sewing, reading, sleeping, riding horses, taking baths, anything to keep him at away. He finally understood what it meant to be wed to a Lannister, because every time he would ask Y/N what she wanted from him, she would reply with incredulous requests — the finest Myrish laces, the sweetest wine from Pentos, the greenest emeralds from Lys. Aegon truly believed her, and complied, only to find out Y/N requested such gifts to spite him, to give him a taste of his own medicine — because if she wasn't good enough for him, then he wasn't going to be good enough for her.

It drove him mad that she wasn't there to take care of him anymore, that he had to rely on maids who did not know what he needed. Y/N knew exactly which clothes to pick for him, how hot he liked his bathwater, which foods he ate after drinking too much. Without her, he was incomplete and incompetent.

Was that what Helaena meant when she said to win, he must lose? Had he lost his wife? Aegon did not truly know happiness, not since his mother and grandfather filled his head with ideas that he was a threat to Princess Rhaenyra, that he should've been named Viserys' heir to the throne. He did not want the crown, he had no desire to be king, and perhaps he would've loved his wife if there wasn't so much pressure and weight on his shoulders.

There were moments when Aegon wished he could trade places with Aemond. His younger brother was by far better suited to rule, but he had the misfortune of being born first. If only he was the second son, things would've been different.

Aegon was sat on his bed, toying with the blade of his sword. He didn't deserve Blackfyre, didn't deserve to be named after Aegon the Conqueror, and he didn't deserve his wife.

His wife.

Lately she was all he would be thinking about. How she scrunched her nose whenever she saw him, and roll her eyes when he said something ridiculously stupid, how beautiful she looked on his name day, and how she would tuck her hair behind her ear when reading under the weirwood tree.

It took him four years to realise this, but Aegon was undoubtedly and irrevocably in love with his wife.

The Prince jumped out of his bed, opened the tall, wooden doors of his chamber, and ordered his servants to fetch his wife. He needed to see her to confirm his feelings, and while he waited, he paced up and down his room, like a pup, eager to see its master.

When the door creaked, his heart jumped out of his chest, watching his wife walk inside. She had a stern look on her face, but she was beautiful nonetheless.

"You wished to see me, lord husband?" Y/N straightened her silk robe.

"Do you love me?" His question was as sharp as his blade, and it cut right through her facade.

"I am wed to you." She answered, avoiding a clear yes or no.

"A political marriage, we both know that. What I am asking is if you love me or not." Aegon closed the gap between them, his hands holding her by the shoulders.

"I..." Y/N trailed off, eyes avoiding his gaze. "Used to."

He let her go, his hands falling down to his sides. Not the answer he was hoping for, but she wasn't done talking.

"I've known you since we were children, Aegon. I married you out of love, not politics." She bit into her lower lip, bringing her arms across her chest.

"Then what changed?" His tone was desperate.

"You cannot be serious. What changed? You mistreated me, disrespected me, insulted me! I did not stand by your side for four years out of duty, husband, but because I hoped and prayed you would change!" Y/N shook her head. "I washed you, dressed you, fed you, yet you never once said thank you. I am not your servant, Aegon, I am your wife."

"You are right." He agreed, his head hanging low and humble. "You are right, you are my wife. I cannot change the past, Y/N, so tell me what I can do to fix this."

She pondered with her index finger pressed on her lips before lifting Aegon's chin up.

"Make me your queen."

Her voice was as sweet as honey, her fingers ghosting over his collarbone.

"I don't want to be king." Aegon was tired of repeating that sentence so many times.

"But you want to be loved. Not just by me, but by the people." The words were seductive, and so was his wife. With each sentence, she slid the robe past her shoulders. "You want them to chant your name. You want them to bow down to you." She kissed his hand. "You want them to swear loyalty to you, my king."

"Careful, your words mean treason." His fingers trailed down her arm, gripping her wrist and bringing her hand to his bulge, urging her to palm his cock.

"Will you have me imprisoned? Bound and gagged?" Y/N licked her lips, the idea exciting her. "I am loyal to no one but you."

"Shit." Aegon threw his head back, enjoying the way she touched him. Not even the whores could be so enchanting. Clearly, he had been a fool all these years. "You really want me to be king? Or are you following your own ambitions?"

"A little bit of both." She allowed her nightgown to pool at her feet, exposing herself to her husband. "Right now, however, I want you to fuck me, Aegon."

"You really are something else." A smirk crept on his lips, his fingers pinching her nipples. The whimper that escape her lips made a shiver run down Aegon's spine, only arousing him more.

Whores pushed their luck and maids were terrified of him, but Y/N was exquisite. He allowed her to be in control when she dragged him towards the bed, pushing him onto the soft sheets. Aegon hastily removed his clothes, but not before burying his face between her tits.

"Fuck, Aegon-" Her breath hitched when his hand snaked between her thighs, fingers slipping past her folds.

"So wet." He mumbled into her skin. "You want my cock?"

"Gods, yes!" She whined when he removed his fingers.

"Show me, then. Show me how much you want it, how much you want me."

Y/N fell down her knees, her tongue poking out her hungry mouth. She had heard Aegon talk in his sleep about how he wanted his cock sucked, and she couldn't deny her own morbid curiosity. Hesitant yet inquisitive, she dragged her tongue up his shaft, tasting the salty droplets of leaking precum.

"Don't be shy." He groaned whenever he felt her hot lips on his cock. "Suck."

She did not need to be told twice, eagerly opening her mouth and taking in as much as she could. Aegon was big. Not that she had seen many cocks before, but she couldn't imagine they were all so thick, and she struggled to breathe when she could feel the tip in the back of her throat. The sudden feeling of asphyxiation brought tears to her eyes, but in a sick twist, it also brought her pleasure.

"You want to be a queen but you're really just a whore." Aegon's words were perverse, and they should have made her feel disgusted, yet they had the opposite effect on her. The kind of effect that left her skin dotted with goosebumps, and her cunt aching.

Y/N couldn't answer back, not when her mouth was full of him — and she did not want to answer, anyway. It took Aegon four years to finally see her sacrifices to, and her love for him. She couldn't possibly spoil that moment. It did not help that the more she sucked, the more she enjoyed it, and Aegon knew that very well from the way she moaned and rolled her eyes back.

That was just a taste of what she could give him, and a part of Aegon regretted not having that conversation earlier in his marriage, had he known it would end with his cock down his wife's throat. Y/N pulled back in desperate need for air, wondering if this is what her husband was doing on the Street of Silk every night he was away, but she did not have enough time to give herself an answer.

"Come here." Aegon offered Y/N his hand, and reluctantly, she took it, helping herself stand. Never has he been so gentle to her, but his kindness soon came to an end when the Prince slammed his wife onto his bed. Her reaction wasn't to scream, or protest, but to pull Aegon closer to her, his body hovering over hers.

"My lord husband," She whispered, her lips ghosting over his, "I know you do not wish this responsibility, but the burden is not just yours to bear. You did not marry me as your equal, but I equally and willingly share your duty. You are not alone."

"I know." Aegon's hand found its way between her legs again, his thumb rubbing circles against her sensitive bud. He never took pleasure in pleasing women, but something snapped inside the Prince. His wife was not just any woman, but his future queen. "I know, and I was blinded by my own thoughts. But not anymore." He kissed her neck, dragging his tongue down her skin, between her tits.

"Aegon..." She mewled, fingers raking through his silver locks. "Aegon, please..."

"What is it, my queen?" He sneered against her skin, unwilling to give her what she desired just yet.

"Don't make me beg." Her back arched when she felt two of his fingers slip past her folds yet again. "I already t-told you what I want."

"Say it again." The Prince demanded, and whatever Aegon wants, he gets.

"Shit-" Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, praying to the Seven Gods that the guards couldn't hear the wicked words that would come out of her and Aegon's mouths. "Want you, m-my king! N-need you... I've always needed y-you!" Her voice went up an octave, cracking and breaking like the most fragile stained glass in all of Westeros.

"Fuck." Aegon whispered, his hot breath tickling her skin. "Do you really love me?"

"I do! I do, I do, I do!" She cried out the more his fingers toyed with her needy cunt. He removed them when he felt her spongy walls tighten, and when she gasped, Aegon did the unthinkable. "Taste yourself  then, if you love me." His fingertips smeared her slick all over her lips, and without hesitation, she sucked his fingers clean.

Her eagerness to please left the Prince in awe, because never has a woman so willingly allow herself to be degraded by him. All the humiliation he instilled in maids was by force, and whores did unspeakable acts for a coin. He would know that all too well. Y/N looked up at Aegon with doe eyes, seemingly innocent, but the way she squeezed her thighs together for much needed friction betrayed her.

"Do not worry, my lady wife." He cooed at her, his soft voice in complete contrast to the predatory gaze in his eyes. "I am a merciful king, I shall grant you what you so desperately desire." Aegon's much broader frame hovered over hers. "Open."

Y/N complied hastily, obediently spreading her legs for her king, lacking any shred of dignity. She had been shy on her wedding night, pulling the bed sheets over her body trying to cover herself, but not anymore. Aegon pushed his cock between her folds painstakingly slowly, as if to test the waters. Although he took her maidenhead four years ago, he hadn't laid with her since. And it did hurt, for a short while — the pain turned into discomfort, and discomfort into pleasure.

"Harder, faster! Please!" She squirmed under him, hands roaming all over his back and arms, fingernails digging into his skin. Aegon wasn't the kind of man who took orders from others, everyone in the realm knew that, but he gladly took that order, thrusting into her with ferocity and anger. Anger, because he had been so blind for so long.

"Whore." He mumbled, still trying to blame his wife for his own demons. His silver locks fell over his face, and she pushed them out of the way to gaze into his violet eyes. "My whore." Aegon kissed her, teeth sinking into her lower lip. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Oh, gods!" Y/N arched her back before wrapping her legs around his waist. "I'm yours, Aegon! Your whore, your wife, your queen!" She pulled him closer, until she could feel his chest pressing onto hers.

His frantic thrusts became quicker, harsher, until all his vision blurred from the bliss. She was close, he knew that from the way her walls clenched around his cock and how she gripped the white sheets, chanting his name like a prayer. His grunts were louder, and so were her moans, until the room fell silent, his seed filling her up. They stayed like that for some time, his heavy body collapsed onto hers, the silence interrupted only by his chuckles.

"What?" She was intrigued by his juvenile laughter, her fingers twirling his hair.

"Nothing." Aegon kissed her chin, burying his nose in the crook of her neck.

"Must I ignore you for a moon before you talk to me?" A smile crept on her lips.

"Heavens, no!" His body tensed under her touch as he propped himself on his elbow to look at her, his other hand resting on the plush of her hips. "I was just thinking about how bitter the wine tasted when you weren't there for me. So bitter I could not bring myself to drink it today."

"Aegon..." Y/N sighed, almost feeling sorry for her husband, however, he deserved it. He deserved to feel what she had felt, to understand how dark and sorrowful her days had been.

"I will be king, and all of Westeros will bend the knee to me, to us." He laid his head on her chest, the sound of her beating heart loud against his ear. "Just... love me." Aegon's embrace was needy, searching for her approval, her acceptance, as he fell asleep. He couldn't see the lack of emotion on her face, the indifference in her eyes when she professed her love to him right before his eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

She knew all too well Aegon was still Aegon, and that he would perhaps still fuck up every once in a while, infuriating his mother and grandfather, even after taking the crown. But all of that did not matter.

There was a reason she agreed to wed him, and it was not love. It never has been.

"The Lannisters send their regards."

[writingwenches]

Beginnings

synopsis: we meet our peasant girl!OC, Lyn, as she travels to a market to sell her wares were she runs into a supposed prince, who is a bit of a brat lol. (it is alluded to that the OC is plus size and mixed race, but I did write this quick so its missing lots of info bits).

authors note: this is basically an info dump LOL the opening chapter of an oc/au House of the Dragon Aemond/Peasant!OC fic. Very Princess and the Pauper. The main idea behind it being – wanting to introduce more woman living at court in the Red Keep. Targaryen!cest is not my thing, and I think there's a lot to be said about the lack of woman at court and the fact that Targaryen daughters are expected to marry their brothers #oops.

additional lore: More about Lyn, the Lannisters, and Helaena/other characters.

word count: ~3k

warnings: barely edited, ableism, classism, body image issues, misogyny, general medieval sentiments, very AU/fast and loose when it comes to ASOIAF lore (such as I know the Septas teach girls to read, but its more fun for a cute crush to do it)

The road was well built and raised from the dank, mudded ground. The sound of horse hooves pounding ebbed in and out of focus as they hurried by. The Sister Septas never wanted to give the impression of favoritism, so they made sure to never allow the girls in their charge to ride along, if they were old enough to walk, they could carry themselves to the market, it was one of the many harsh lessons the sisters blessed her with other the years, made up of weeks of seven days, each guided by one of the seven gods.

The Day of the Mother was spent serving those in need and Lyn had worn the village paths well. Lyn was no stranger to hard work. Her frame was sturdy and healthy. Her back was wide, good for hauling bales of hey and baskets of stone. Her legs were powerful, easily carrying her the tens of miles to those in need of her services. And, adorning her face since birth, was a black mark of raised flesh below her right eye. Many say it's an omen of her mother’s sins, and a reason to be left to the charity of the Sisters. Whatever it was, it made Lyn easily requested for hired labors.

Most in the Realm would scoff at the offer of manual labors from a woman, but those in need are much kinder. They they are not always grateful, it is not because of her sex but because no one wants to turn beggar. 

The Day of the Crone was for lectures, often on the immorality of allowing one self to be in need or unwanted. For unwanted men of the realm, there was the Night’s Watch. Some unwanted boys are sent as soon as they were old enough to lift a sword. They were raised and trained to be useful along their brothers, forged to the sole purpose of defending the realm and never to be left wanting. 

The Faith recruited woman of fine birth, in want of a life not owned by a husband, and those who’s families were willing to pay handsomely for a life of purpose for their unfortunately female child. Women worked and clawed and won their way into the duty of a Septa, the Faith had no use for useless girls. There was no place in the realm for unwanted girls. Brothels did not want them. They already had enough bastards, and young flesh did not turn enough of a profit. Girls were not wanted unless they were useful, and many unuseful girls found themselves living on the streets or dead in a ditch. 

That was what would befall Lyn is she were ever to be found wanting, of something more, of something else. She was lucky to have been given her place amongst the holy woman of the Faith, even if she was not going to benefit from their handouts much longer.

Lyn was not sure how many baskets she was carrying, she had threaded her arms through as many as she was able and began the miles long trek to Haronfall Port for the market. Though she was not yet allowed to keep her own coin, it was good practice for her future life of trading and bartering amongst the peasants of the realm.

Charity is the only hope for useless girls, and not enough to go around. The Maidenhouse of Haronfall was an ancient structure, run by the Faith for centuries as a place to send discarded girl-children, forging useless girls into something worthy. It was their true calling, regardless of what those girls’ wants. 

Lyn owed everything to the Faith and the Septas, even when she received her lashings. She always deserved them. Six lashes for each offense, as was the law of the land, one for every god of the Seven, counting out The Stranger. It was bad luck to strike a seventh time, unless wishing them death. And the Septas were never that cruel. 

Lyn had received lashing her six lashing for talking back, and being a layabout, for asking too many questions, for being too ambitious, for pride, for stealing bread, for not finishing supper, for lying to protect another, for being too loud, quiet, and simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The same was true for all the girls. Sets of six lashings for each failure on the long list of their life, unless there were seven failures, then eight sets of lashings would be administered. For good luck. 

Lyn was forced to the side of the road by passing carts, hounds barking from the back of the cart as they passed the strange shape of her basket cocoon. The mud is thick and pliable, every footstep loudly sucked from the dank swamp like floor. The hundreds of other feet that had trodded the ground began the kneading. Lyn feels like she is swimming along the the edges of the road.

Lyn surmised most of the Septas had not imagined ending up in such a cold, dank place in the middle of the Kingsroad. The western shores of The Bite was unforgiving terrain, a swamp of brackish, mud-colored water that every structure eventually sinks into. The Reverend Mother often reminded the girls of her life in the southern Reach, of the endless summer days and sweet smelling grass. The wet, grey skies where the North, Riverlands and Vale meet leaves much to be desired for a southerner. 

Lynora was not meant for a life as a Septa, as was foretold since her youth. The maesters and Septons tested the young girls as they came into the charge of the Faith and Lynora, and the other girls of the Maidenhouse, left them unimpressed. She had not shown intelligence, or gifts for art, or sums, or memorizing prayers. So, she was ranked amongst the useless girls who needed to be molded into something more. 

On the Day of the Smith, the girls were instructed to work on their personal projects. Lyn was a skilled basket maker, she harvested, dried and weaved the fibers all on her own. If only the world had been in want for more basket weavers. The Septas assured her there was never a need for an extra weavers apprentice.

“Lyn!” a voice called, her face blurred out by the rising sun. “Have you been to the market yet today?” It was Mads, her fellow ward of the Maidenhouse. 

“No, it is too early,” Lyn answered the obvious question, “How did you–“

“Listen, Lord Ryver sent a raven,” Mads continued, finally coming into speaking distance. 

“But, the Septas hate when he does that–“

“Lord Ryver is playing host to none other than the prince,” Mads could not keep the secret any longer. “I have seen him myself, silver hair and all.” 

Lyn did not bother reacting, as Ryver was a known talltale-teller. “And I am secretly Lady Frey,” she laughed, “The prince is not in Haronfall.” 

“It is fated that you say Frey, because you shall never guess–“ 

“The septa told us nought a week ago of the King’s birthday tourney, don’t you think his son would be there…in the Crownlands, with his father.” 

“Waltel Frey has seen his dragon!” 

Lynora stopped at this. “And we are now believing Waltel Frey?”

“I have to go fetch Wren! She can not miss this,” Mads was the one walking now, back down the road towards the Maidenhouse to spread false whispers the Septas were sure to retaliate for. 

Lyn stepped aside when she heard the call, a two horse cart clomped past with banners of indigo, emblazoned with a proud, white bird. A matching figure sat on the cart, in the place of honor. A woman in a white dress, adorned with dyed feathers and pearls.

It was a strange feeling, knowing someones name, there was an old power Lyn felt creeping from the roots below the swampy road. Lady Hanna Mallister, filled to bursting with another pup for her lord husband. It was sickening the way her belly jiggled as the horse mindlessly aimed for the most uneven path before them. The lady had traveled a week from Seaguard for the monthly market, and Lyn had watched her grow every month with child, enough for Lyn to wonder how many babes were inside her belly this time. 

There was a parodical to bow in the presence, but there was nothing behind the lady’s eyes to notice. Lyn studied her as she passed, searching for something in response, something that could say why this woman would spend half of her life on the road, when so pregnant. 

If there was something to be said about unwanted girls, is that they were unwanted by all. Lyn was glad she would remain unwanted, there was nothing expected of her, so no one would ever be disappointed. 

Sometimes as the Lady Hanna Mallister passed, she would take a passing place down at Lyn. Lyn imagined she was looked at the mark on her face. Many people would say a quiet prayer when they say her, especially those swollen with child. A prayer that their girl doesn’t end up so disfigured and disgusting. Lady Hanna did not seem to say a prayer when she gazed down on her face, the lady did not seem to do anything. 

Lyn did not mind being disgusting and ugly, actually she enjoyed it. Girls did not care about such things as ugly, they cared about her all the same. She knew of the dangers of a beautiful face, the Septas told them every tale that could exist of beautiful girls being dragged away and savaged by men of all ages and sizes. It was horrifying. Lyn was glad that no man would ever want to drag her away or trap her in a tower. All she could promise was ugly children in return. No man wants that. So, she was glad the world was not ruled by women, just like the Septas they would force a use for her in their world, no matter what she looked like. 

By the time she reached Haronfall, long after the Lady of Seaguard she imagined, Lyn had almost forgotten about the tale of the silver haired prince. The other girls of the Maidenhouse fell into step with one another, each of the group responsible for their own wares. Name sharpened knives, Name jarred herbal jams, Name made rope, Lyn wove baskets, and the girls would peddle their wares every monthly market, bartering with connections, always on the lookout for open positions or wanted work. They were not going to live in the Maidenhouse forever, and the older they got, their chances of a comfortable life dwindled. 

His father had thrown yet another grand week in his own honor, tourneys and a great hunt in the Kingswood. Aemond had been forced to sit through enough for one lifetime, even if he was barely a man grown. He could not help but find a quick reason to excuse himself from the festivities, especially with the task of traveling halfway across the kingdom. 

Helaena had been born so closely to his father, the king, that her own name day celebrations were always greatly overshadowed. He could not help but jump at the opportunity to fetch her a gift in the Riverlands…or the Vale…or potentially the North. Flying above the lands on Vhagar, he had noticed a distinct lack of boundaries, like the ones on the Maesters maps. 

Aemond had been stuck in the cold swamplands for nearly a day, and could understand why his studied of geography skimmed over the shores of The Bite, there was simply nothing there. He was glad at the lack of fanfare at his arrival, the Lord of the keep was away, celebrating the King’s name day, and all that was left was his two sons, one near his own age, and the other barely aged out of childhood. 

His fist connected with bone. Blood leaked from holes in the boy’s face. Aemond had wrapped himself on the boy, to pin him to the first and wailed into his face. Aemond could hear the other boy shouting and grabbing his shoulders, Aemond did not yield. He was going to prove himself the victor even if it killed the boy. 

Aemond could feel hands wrapping around his face, his reflexes reacting as if they were clearly going to remove his eye patch. 

“My prince!” Ryver shouted, as if he were about to warn of a fire.

Aemond pulled his punch as Ryver’s alarmed expression bringing him back into focus to the world around them. The bustling sounds of the town. 

“The maidens,” River said, gently shaking Aemond’s shoulders at his confusion. “They are arriving!”

Walton Frey, the boy Aemond had been beating with his bare fists, smiled as blood splattered out of his mouth. 

The young boy, River’s kid brother, barely old enough to be out from his mother’s skirts, offered him a skin of water.

“What?” Aemond could not find any other word to describe his confusion. He knew of Maidenpoole and House Mooton, but they were on the other side of The Vale. The young prince racked his brain for the towns and houses of the area, unable to find an explanation. 

He simply needed to follow the pointed finger of Lord Ryver, as the Frey boy cleared the blood from his face with half the skin of water.

He heard their song first, the same tune he had heard carried by the Septas in King’s Landing when he went light candles with his mother, the queen. He had never heard the tune carried to lightly, with punctuations of laughter, and the crisp voices of youth. 

There were about a dozen of them. 

“The old bats let them come to our markets,” Ryver offered the prince his hand, to finally move Aemond off the Frey boy. “Truely, it is the only thing the market has to offer, if you ask me,” Ryver laughed, ushering the prince to the edge of the weakly fenced in training yard. “The Maiden’s of the Maidenhouse,” Ryver sighed, melting into the fence.

Pesants. The lot of them. Girls dressed in grey wool that made Aemond’s skin itch. They were each different, wearing the same dress, lacking the graceful symmetry of courtly woman. The ladies of court had their places at the sides of their husbands and fathers, offering a gentle voice and soft hand to hold. Women were there to make men better, otherwise, Otto had told him, men would regress into beasts, doing nothing but fighting and burning the realm to the ground. The ladies of court were raised with the knowledge of how to quell thoughts of violence with a simple kind glance. Not that Aemond had ever experienced it himself, but his grandsire had assured him during their many conversations about…urges.

“Ladies!” Waltel Frey called out with a wave of his sore arm. 

Aemond scoffed, it was an insult to the world to call these creatures ladies.

They approached in an uneven form, whoever veered down the path at their beckoning of a Frey. One limping girl was even carrying her own shoes amongst her wares, and Aemond could see mud past her ankles. 

“Lord Frey, do you not have two castles to sleep in, and yet you still choose to be here?” The first girl asked as she reached the fence, knocking on the helmet Ryver’s kid insisted on wearing, Aemond assumed even to bed. 

Aemond did not bother hiding his disgust at the pathetic display of peasantry that appeared before him. During his rides through King’s Landing, the prince had seen more organized gaggles of geese. The cream atop the cake approached, wearing armor of baskets, and a face smeared with mud.

She dropped the baskets at the fence line, releasing a long, labored breath. “So,” she spoke, clearly minded. 

Aemond wondered how heavy baskets could possibly be. 

“Is this your prince, Lord Ryver?” The grey clothed girl looked him directly in this eye, no sense of pretense or reverence. 

Ryver wrapped himself around the nearest fencepost to Aemond, with a wolfish grin, ready to pled his case to the nonbelievers. He had said these girls were raised by the Faith, but Aemond knew of piety, and these girls were a poor example of what a pious woman could be. 

“Are we to believe that he is the only one-eyed, silver haired, man in all the world?” a sceptic asked. 

“How many could there possibly be?” Ryver argued. 

“Yes, but,” a smaller girl interrupted, “he looks like he lost his eye, rather than–?” 

There was a bubbling in Aemond’s chest, as the peasantry spoke about him as if he weren’t even there. He could feel the dragon fire bellowing in his chest, daring them to speak ill of him, ready to burn their pathetic village to the ground. 

“Wouldn’t he had been born that way? They are forced to marry their bothers, after all? Resulting in…such things?” 

Aemond’s mouth was open, without him realizing. The rage at the memory of his defeat at the hands of his nephew vanished and was replaced with the vision of a cyclops babe, writhing in its crib. 

Ryver eyed him with suspicion. 

Aemond could not help but laugh.

[daisiesandsage]

hi there! now, it's my turn to visit your inbox ❤️ i'm here to drop off a request (my first one ever hehe) but don't feel obligated ofc! only write it if it's something you'd like to do:

okay, since we're both swooning over Cas rn how about a fluffy piece that includes this prompt from that link “Don’t look at me like that."

Maybe reader is the one to say it since Cas is looking at her some type of way. Cas and reader can be "friends" (we all know how that goes) or they can already be in an established relationship. It could be followed up by a "like what?" "like you love/want to kiss me."

even if this request doesn't speak to you, I am excited to read whatever you'll write 🥰

A/N = I honestly hate this but it is the first thing I have written in FOREVER, and i edited it super fast in desperation NOT to read it back, sorry if it was more angsty than fluffy (whoops) but I tried…hopefully I will be blessed in the future by writing skills. HOPE YOU'RE WELL LOVELY.. also its so short I am so sorry <3

tw = bad writing, mostly fluff, angst, and not really suggestive

Cassian brushed his hair behind his ear with far too much brute force than necessary, but that wasn’t at the forefront of his mind as he willed the book in your hands to shrivel up, and quite frankly die. 

He wasn’t being overdramatic, it was the only rational response to something that could capture your attention so ubiquitously that was not an almost 7 foot illyrian warrior with and a bastard by the name of Cassian. Huffing loudly, his eyes slid to yours in hopes that maybe your own would meet his, even just a peek would suffice at this point.

Gods, if Az or Rhys could see him now. The thought clanged through his head, the image of him sitting there, practically panting like a puppy and so eager for your attention it surpassed the realms of embarrassment. His hair fell once again from behind his ear as he physically shook the thought from his mind, if only you would look up, if only you would see him, if only you felt the same wa-

“Shit.”

Your eyes snapped up, taken out of the romantic love confession of two mates right into the eyes of Cassian, a stressed Cassian, whose mouth was dropping curses like rain in a storm, something peculiar shrouded your gut as if Cassian’s very own thoughts had become tangible and twisted your insides itself. You reached out slowly, gently brushing his hair behind his ear and repeating the motion in a bid to soothe the both of you; the harsh hazel around his pupil eased into something softer, as if your very touch forced it away.

“Don’t look at me like that. Please.” His typically gruff drawl had retreated into a feathery timbre with a strange sort of intensity. 

“Like what?” The words fell before you could stop them, eager to understand how the illyrian was feeling, but they hung in the air and made it feel just that bit more heavy.

“Like you love me.” 

You pressed your lips to his, thumbs resting atop his cheekbones as if they were meant to be there, his lips were plush, opening slightly to take in your own top lip. The thrill of his kiss shot through you, down to your toes and back up, coiling in your gut and stirring into something sinfully warm. All you could breathe in was Cassian and all he could breathe in was you. He sucked your lip, so gently, so softly and used his large calloused hand to caress the back of your head. Slowly, his hand explored downwards, lovingly tracing your body as if eager to remember it blind. You felt his tongue lick into your mouth and it tasted heady and warm, just like Cassian’s presence, you let yours meet his; wanting to feel every aspect of him. Your grasp on his face tightened, as if begging for him not to pull away, begging him not to step out of this moment, begging him not to end it.

Alas, he slipped away.

“Sweetheart don’t cry, please, if I took it too far-”

Once again Cassian was interrupted, not by the tears slipping down your face but by the soft smile that curved the lips he had just kissed.

“You are an idiot.”

Oh, not what he was expecting.

“Well I mean, sometimes but I fail to see the relevance in this moment.” He rolled his eyes but they fell back on you, prompting you to go on.

“Of course I look at you like I love you, because maybe…I do love you.”

Once again, not what he was expecting. 

The Lord of Bloodshed spluttered, reduced to nothing but mush by a shabby love confession, the irony not lost on him that he interrupted a fictional one for a real one (yes he had been reading the book over your shoulder and no it still did not warrant your attention).

“Well that’s good I suppose.”

“Suppose! You suppose?” You were gobsmacked, you had confessed your love to a male and this was all he could say? “Is there anything else?”

“Right, of course, yes, I do love you too. Have done, for a while, I think.”

Shaking your head, you reached out, pulling the male’s jaw to your own and smashing your smile into his.

[tapioca-puddingg]

Why GoWR Valhalla Is Important

Hey. It's me again. This time I'm not yelling about Kingdom Hearts or Drakengard, but I wanted to talk about God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla today and why I think it's important in trauma-centered narratives. This isn't a detailed analysis, just me spitballing.

SPOILER WARNING: There will be spoilers for God of War Ragnarök: Valhalla, so please proceed with caution!

EDITED: 2/26/24

As a brief summary, Kratos spent almost the entirety of GoW 2018 refusing to talk about his past. His guilt, shame, and trauma deeply affected his relationship with his son, to the point where he didn't want to be around Atreus bc he was terrified of being a bad influence on him. It was only when Atreus' life was in danger did it force him to finally admit just a sliver of the truth. Now I don't mean to say that Kratos revealing his godhood wasn't a big deal because it absolutely was, I'm just saying that it's just one piece of a MUCH bigger story. Anyway, he recognized his past mistakes, but the shame was too much for him to openly acknowledge it until damn near the end of the game.

Come Ragnarök, Kratos was pretty much an open book. He had grown SO much in those short years of fimbulwinter: He openly talked about his trauma to Mimir and Freya. He worked so hard to be a good father and a good support system to his friends. He went out of his way to make amends with Freya and restore their friendship. And he fought to restore peace to the Nine Realms.

But come Valhalla, Freya wants to recruit Kratos to be the new God of War of the nine realms, or at least to be a part of the new peacekeeping council that she's putting together. Kratos is extremely hesitant to take up the mantle. He doesn't feel worthy or deserving enough to hold this position given all that he's done. He and Mimir (and later on, Tyr) are constantly going back and forth about it. Both perspectives are completely valid. Valhalla is about Kratos facing his past in a more literal sense; parts of Greece have been manifested from Kratos' memories of it, so it's like he gets to be there in real time again. This is about helping him process what happened and to add some nuance to the conversation. It's like free therapy for Kratos.

It's funny too bc you have both opposing viewpoints being represented. On one hand, you have Mimir and Tyr being the supporting/validating voice, and Helios is the contrarian. Since he's a manifestation of Kratos' memories, he represents the doubts that Kratos has about himself. The harsh voice to show how hard he is on himself, and not without good reason.

The reason why I think Valhalla is so important is bc in media, survivor narratives are often linear. The character just "gets over" their trauma and then that trauma isn't addressed again. It's presented more as a hurdle than a lifelong battle. I guess this goes to show how misunderstood survivorhood is. But that isn't how healing works. We regress sometimes, and sometimes we still mull over the things that have happened to us. We might heal, but that trauma does leave emotional scars. So even after the many leaps and bounds Kratos has made, he's not "over" his past, far from it! It still haunts him every day and every night. Valhalla is Kratos still processing everything. From my own healing journey, I've learned that it takes a long, long time to fully process your trauma, if there even is a "fully", anyway. It takes a long time to learn and understand all the complexities and how it affects you in current day. And it takes even longer to process such a complicated history like Kratos'.

Generally speaking about the idea of processing trauma, I said earlier that survivorhood is extremely misunderstood by the masses. Imo, our society is very anti-victim/anti-survivor. So with that in mind, from the perspective of the audience, some might perceive the processing trauma bit as repetitive or "milking it". These are mediums of entertainment after all, so ofc I understand wanting to put out an engaging story where the audience doesn't lose interest. But screw those ppl lol. We have to understand why we do what we do if we want to do better, and it's amazing that a video game is willing to have these conversations. Being more open about all the nuances of processing trauma, grief, healing, etc will go such a long way.

Even the roguelite gameplay style perfectly reflects this theme. Processing this stuff is slow. It doesn't happen overnight. Unless you're in Valhalla, I suppose.

Okay I said this wasn't a detailed analysis but I lied. I'm a liar now

[aliasnz]

Undesirable Presents: Le/vi Acker/man for @nametakensff and @kawaii-kushami's snzblr secret santa event <3

Tags: aot/snk-canonverse, allergies (pollen), cold, contagion mention, spray, mess, language. Word count: 2000 (and counting) A/N: I have several apologies to make about this fic >-< First of all, I am so sorry that it is so late! Secondly, I apologize for being unfamiliar with the other fandoms requested, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for writing for my fav. Third thing: just so I can have something out sooner rather than later, please consider this a part 1 that will be edited, updated, and self-reblogged upon completion. Finally, this fic may be too indulgent, but I am crossing my fingers that it is enjoyable anyways ~ 

If Levi had his way, he would have spent the day in solitude. 

His ideal birthday was simply his ideal day. In the warmer months, it would have been a sunrise run followed by a cold shower, his warm sweat and clingy pollen swirled down the drain. Then, his civilian clothes and a walk to the brick cafe at the edge of town. Black tea, white croissant, yellow pages of his favorite novel. Head ducked down and buried in his book, anyone who recognized him - for better or for worse - received the message: leave him be. He would sip until the porcelain ran dry, would stay until his stomach rumbled. With the last hours of daylight, he would stop at the butcher stand and purchase a few ounces of meat. It was about all he could afford on his military salary, but with rare optimism, he preferred to say it was all he cared to buy. Steak dinner for one. Lights out by dark. It was his way.

But Levi hardly ever had things his way.

He was a December baby, as Hange so mockingly put it, who loathed winter cold and winter colds. Instead of that morning jog and downtown stroll, he shuttered himself in his room with intermittent napping and tidying. Some considered his celebration traditions pitiful, but he could not complain. In ways as weighty as a family to visit or write to, yet also in aspects as miniscule as a good night’s sleep, Levi had been cheated in most realms of life. In time, he had come to live with it, found comfort in little joys, and wished the others understood that. That wish was most wanted on his own birthday, for everyone else seemed to celebrate it more than the man himself.

In the depths of his heart, he knew they cared about him. The yearly plethora of visits all accompanied with gifts should have proven that, but he loathed the treatment he received. Perhaps the early symptoms of the annual cold were to blame for that. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, contagion made quick work of the barracks. Sooner or later, it would catch up to him, and that onset always seemed to hover around his birthday. On occasion, he wondered if he would be better off facing that inevitable infection head on rather than repeating the futile delay, but his train of thought was always cut off one way or another. A pang of headache, a harsh cough, a runny nose, or a sudden sneeze. This time, it was a knock at his door, the first of the day, one of many sure to come. 

Levi swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bright rays reflected off the metal buckles of his gear and reflected into his eyes, garnering a wince and dawning thought: just how late did I sleep in? Standing up, he immediately noted how his shoulders felt heavy, his breaths labored. If he had to guess, his cold would take hold of him before the 25th was over. Lucky him. 

Hand clamped down hard on the handle, startling the two on the other side just before he creaked his door open. The tall couple cast shadows over him: Nanaba and Miche with -

Shit...

Levi braced himself for their scream, but instead, they spoke calmly, handing over the bouquet with a pair of matching smiles, “Happy Birthday, Levi.”

He startled, not because he was surprised by their presence, but intimidated by their present: a bundle of bright-red poinsettias, pointed with specks of pollen he doubted they had noticed. They were far too innocent to have purposefully gifted him such a slew of allergens. Others, however, he was less sure about.

Instead of reaching out to grab them, Levi crossed his arms and tipped his tongue in refusal - refusal of their gift and refusing to indulge in the sneeze he already felt budding. Speaking quickly, he aimed to rush them out before they could witness his unravel, “I don’t want them.”

“C’monnn, Levi!” Nanaba pleaded, bending at the knees and shooting up again quickly. In her eager bounce, his eyes widened as he watched the petals flutter with her. His arms instinctively flinched before him as if he could block the microscopic wave. “Miche and I stood outside for hours in this freezing cold -”

Great, two more patients upcoming.

“- waiting for the flower shop to open.”

“First in line,” Miche added. “Do you know how popular these things are at this time of year?”

Levi’s stance remained unchanged, Nanaba saw his disinterest and felt compelled to play it up, selling the present rather than gifting it. “They smell good, too!”

Miche, on the other hand, preferred the path of insistence. Snatching the stems from his partner, he thrust them to Levi’s face, nearly touching, “Go on, smell them, you’ll see for yourself.”

He held his breath, reluctant to inhale as long as those were within reach. Aiming for subtlety, he feigned to nonchalantly scratch his nose with his wrist, “If you like them, keep them.”

“Someone’s ungrateful…” Miche teased, unhurt by the shorter man’s attitude, but never passing up an opportunity to rag it. “Y’know, most people would say ‘thanks’ or something…”

Levi frowned, he wasn’t ungrateful. Deep down, he was touched. On the exterior, though, he was objectively irritated, and could understand why they misread him. With a pang of guilt, he sought to correct the miscommunication, but that pang was miniscule compared to the burn of his nostrils, a flame that the leaves were now fanning.

“No, it’s just…” his face scrunched as he attempted to fight it off, just until he could finish the sentence, at least? “It’s… just…” 

However, that bouquet was set on denying him. Throwing in the towel, a rare occurrence for humanity's strongest, he whipped around and buried his nose in the crook of his elbow, “Hah’AESCH-ihh!” 

Fuck, all three parties unknowingly shared the same thought. For Levi, the nature of his curse was multifaceted. Foremost, the unexpected harshness of that sneeze, the wind knocked out of him first thing in the morning. From that, the daunting notion that this was the first of many sure to come, either from allergies or the cold. Finally, the flush that flooded his cheeks. That outburst had shown enough vulnerability already, Levi lingered behind his arm and remained turned away, waiting for the blush to disappear as well. 

Yet, even after those awkward seconds of silence, neither Nanaba nor Miche could erase that image from their mind: his tan coat spotted brown, the mist that shot from beneath his elbow and faded into the room’s sunlit atmosphere. With the captain turned, they allowed their faces to contort with disgust. When his audible sniff confirmed what they thought they saw, they looked to each other and cringed, agreeing that this birthday visit was over.

His comrades did not put the dots together, that the sneeze was a symptom of his allergies rather than the cold that was notably floating through the halls. Fearing for their own immune systems, they retreated several paces, but not before Miche thrust the flowers in Levi’s grip and snapped his hand back, no chance of handing them back now.

By the time Levi turned himself around, arm still bent at his nose, the pair was already a distant blur.

Nanaba waved over her shoulder, “Feel better soon! Don’t come near us until you do!” A joking-not-joking singsong to her departure.

“Have fun with those!” Miche cupped his hand around his mouth, allowing his bid to beckon from down the corridor, “You can thank us later!”

Levi dropped his arm, prepared to call back. Doing so, however, meant that his guard was let down, and he should have known better, that his assailant would be quick to take advantage. With the distance, Levi did not turn or cover - not that he had the time for that - and instead ducked his head down, sneezing onto his own torso. “Hnn’kkshu! Heh-ISHhew!!”  

Unfortunately for him, the height at which he landed placed him adjacent to the very bouquet that set him off. A dire proximity, each inhale killed every second - any hope - of relief. 

The mess was not only audible, it was tangible, piercing the threads of his button-up and sinking through to his undershirt, summoning a shiver. The clean freak could not bear the sight, nor was it his habit to. After each sneeze and before opening his eyes, he assessed the tickle. If it remained, his lids likewise remained shut until his system managed to kill it. The first attempts at regular breaths informed him outright: you’re not done yet. Levi kept his head down, bangs intercepting his eyeline with each jolt. “Heh’tchew! Kk’shuu!!” 

Once again, he paused to survey his own state. Although he beckoned for a break, his body merely mocked him. That all you got? Clearly unsatisfied, with frustration, he submitted to its demands, exacerbating the expulsion as best as he could, aiming to please. “Hah-ESHhew!! HIH’kit-chew! Hah…Hah-AEshih!!” 

His intakes had been audible even from those meters away, his fit an early alarm clock for all still asleep in the vicinity. Dammit. As an insomniac, he was especially remorseful to have been responsible for waking anyone on the weekend. Even redder now, he tried to convince himself it was not his fault, that they should have known better than to shove those flowers in his face. However, as his voice crescendoed, it became more of a stretch to blame the gifters rather than the receiver, the inducer over the screamer.

The burn in his sinuses was unbearable, he decided to look to the windows behind him, hoping to coax relief. Before he could lure his gaze that way, though, he caught a glimpse of pity on his teammates, and somehow, that was what bothered him the most.

Fuck, this has to stop. At this point in the fit, breaths were hard to come by, and his life-or-death experiences had molded his mindset to meet his most urgent needs first. Perhaps counterintuitive, Levi understood that defeating the irritant meant battling with it. Working through rather than around. Meeting their eye contact, Levi yanked their gift to his face and took a deep, deliberate intake, figuring that his unconventional strategy could get two messages across: he was allergic to their gift, but at least it was good for something. And maybe they’ll remember this scene come next year.

Indeed, they would, and Levi would be lucky if the memory remained confined to those two. The finale was a sneeze that made them cover their ears and made the last few sleepers snap up in panic. For him, the aftermath resembled the end of a workout: tire and exhaustion, yet inexplicable relief. For them, it read like a newspaper headline: steadfast, hardass germaphobe of the branch soaked in his own saliva and other unspeakable substances. The tight-lipped, ever calm captain engaged in the toughest battle of his life: no titan in sight, but tiny irritants also impossible to see. Screaming the barracks awake, he would have been the last culprit anyone suspected. Only true friends would keep this episode a secret, maybe he shouldn’t have been so terse with them.

Vengefully, and with the slightest bit of told you so, Levi motivated himself through the end with the anticipation of seeing their guilty faces, but by the time he opened his eyes again, they were long gone, either cowering from contagion or gossiping already. Around here, viruses and rumors spread like wildfire. 

Worked up and let down, Levi released a shaky exhale, wiped his face with his sleeve, flung the door shut behind him, and tossed the bouquet onto his bed.

One down.

tbc!

[chaifootsteps]

Wanted to pop-in with a little correction about Lucifer wanting to usurp God, being prideful, temping Adam and Eve, falling, the works.

Biblically speaking, that's actually conflating 3 separate characters who not only aren't even the same entity, none of them are the same species.

Lucifer was not a fallen angel, but rather a human. An incredibly prideful human who saw himself as above others and at the level of the heavens (as many kings and pharaohs did in those days, seeing themselves as manifestations of the divine), but a human nonetheless. The king of Babylon, to be precise. Remember that point in The Prince of Egypt where Rameses says "I am the morning and the evening star, if I say day will be night it shall be written"? Same basic idea. Pharaohs and kings in those days saw themselves as commanding a divine right over others. Lucifer was just a particularly cruel one who didn't treat his people with respect.

From Isaiah 14, verses 3 through 20:

3 On the day the Lord gives you relief from your suffering and turmoil and from the harsh labor forced on you, 4 you will take up this taunt against the king of Babylon: How the oppressor has come to an end! How his fury has ended! 5 The Lord has broken the rod of the wicked, the scepter of the rulers, 6 which in anger struck down peoples with unceasing blows, and in fury subdued nations with relentless aggression. 7 All the lands are at rest and at peace; they break into singing. 8 Even the junipers and the cedars of Lebanon gloat over you and say, “Now that you have been laid low, no one comes to cut us down.” 9 The realm of the dead below is all astir to meet you at your coming; it rouses the spirits of the departed to greet you— all those who were leaders in the world; it makes them rise from their thrones— all those who were kings over the nations. 10 They will all respond, they will say to you, “You also have become weak, as we are; you have become like us.” 11 All your pomp has been brought down to the grave, along with the noise of your harps; maggots are spread out beneath you and worms cover you. 12 How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! 13 You said in your heart, “I will ascend to the heavens; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. 14 I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.”(edited)

15 But you are brought down to the realm of the dead, to the depths of the pit. 16 Those who see you stare at you, they ponder your fate: “Is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble, 17 the man who made the world a wilderness, who overthrew its cities and would not let his captives go home?” 18 All the kings of the nations lie in state, each in his own tomb. 19 But you are cast out of your tomb like a rejected branch; you are covered with the slain, with those pierced by the sword, those who descend to the stones of the pit. Like a corpse trampled underfoot, 20 you will not join them in burial, for you have destroyed your land and killed your people.

The metaphor of a “star” is used in referring prophetically to the Davidic kings of Judah (Nu 24:17), and if you look into Bible history, the Babylonian dynasty for a time did rise above these Judean kings by conquest of Jerusalem. A similar prophecy in Daniel chapter 8 describes the small “horn” of some future power as trampling down certain stars of “the army of the heavens” and moving against the Prince of the army and his sanctuary (Da 8:9-13)". So human kings being seen as stars was a rather common metaphor.

Satan was an angel who was God's prosecuting attorney in Job, who fell from Heaven in the New Testament for unknown reasons, likely because by the New Testament God was getting out of his "I control all good and evil and demand you slaughter these nonbelievers to show my power" phase, so there needed to be another to be the new evil with God being seen as all good. And when Satan did fall, he was cast down to Earth, not Hell. He wasn't cast down to Hell until Revelation (by which point centuries from Genesis Satan and the serpent were seen as the same by that time), but Revelation was just an acid-trip of a metaphor for Christian persecution under the Roman Empire anyway.

And the serpent? In Genesis it was just a crafty serpent who was described as being "the craftiest out of all the beasts of the field the Lord God had made". And it was declared in the Genesis story as being cursed to slither on the ground, likely as a way of explaining why snakes slither and have vestigial legs.

There's plenty of interesting things you could do with Lucifer, Satan, and the serpent. Make them all the same guy. Make them all different. Make Lucifer Satan's jealous rival who wants to usurp him in Hell and has the serpent as a talking animal sidekick. There's a lot you can do with it.

But Lucifer should be prideful. Whether you go with him being a human, an angel, the devil, something, his pride his always consistent. Or should be. You'd think it would be in Viv's universe, since he's the King of the Pride Ring.

Except he's just... not. So why did Viv even make him the King of Pride in the first place if he doesn't have a prideful bone in his body. He's more like P. T. Barnum in The Greatest Showman than anything else.

Man, I'm as agnostic as they come but Biblical lore is nuts. So many opportunities and Viv ran with approximately none of them.

[loveislandthegame]

i have no clue how FB reused S8 MC—a move that unquestionably saved time and money—and still managed to make the new hairs look tragic. weird shading, colouring outside the lines, and on one particular hair, the bangs, part etc. are so high up you can literally see the shadow of MC’s bald head. all that for 17 gems, what a steal 😍

& i mean no disrespect to people who are balding or have thinning hair. my problem is that it looks that way because FB is lazy as fuck, rather than realism and representation (it’s in the same realm as uma’s face and body being two different skintones)

made a really quick edit (and i should’ve picked a different colour because the harsh grey highlights they used on the black swatch are killing me … im too lazy to do it again though)

[darkleysgarden]

Hello can you post facts about Lucifer?

I'm gonna be honest, I really only do the Asmo one because I'm a huge fan of his and like to try and challenge myself to know more and more about him. But, ofc. For you I will. But, it won't be ongoing and it will be shorter. Also, for anyone else reading this, please don't flood my asks with every character. I don't plan and don't want to do everyone.

Lucifer Facts

1. He frequently tells Diavolo all about his brothers. This even goes as far as Belphie's favorite napping spot from back in the Celestial Realm!

2. He's mostly left-handed as that is the hand he's shown writing with in multiple official arts. Though, he's also been seen using his right, proving he's ambidextrous.

3. Even if people consider him to be harsh or unjust, he really loves his brothers and is always there for him. He literally brought Satan back from a panic attack about their similarities, highlighting their differences.

4. Mammon is his favorite brother.

5. Diavolo likes to look back at the time they meant and recount it fondly. Lucifer hates it and gets embarrassed. He also gets embarrassed if Diavolo compliments him "in public".

6. Simeon says that Lucifer is the most comfortable he's ever seen him in the Devildom, specifically around Diavolo.

7. His June 6th birthday makes him a Gemini.

8. Lucifer attends most of Asmo's Asmo gatherings.

9. When he tore away his wings to create Satan, it was all six of them, not just two. Though, four grew back.

10. Lucifer is considered to be incredibly beautiful.

11. Lucifer has many fans, maybe even equal to Asmodeus. Though, they usually don't approach him or send as much fanmail out of fear. He still receives plenty fanmail anyway.

12. He doesn't like technopop music.

13. He prefers his tea strong.

14. Levi isn't the only one who rambles. Catch Lucifer after he watches a good play, and he will talk your ear off and constantly quote bits.

15. He can play multiple instruments. This includes violin, guitar, and piano.

16. When Lucifer admits to meeting Lilith's past lover, he is made fun of by his brothers for being overprotective. He is left a blushing, embarrassed mess afterwards.

17. He is the vice president of the student council.

18. Mammon's first car was actually bought with hard-earned money. Though Mammon couldn't get the car he wanted at first as it was only limited edition. Lucifer pulled some strings through Diavolo and was able to secretly help Mammon get it. Mammon didn't even know until Lucifer lost his memory in around lesson 30-40.

19. When Diavolo finds out about Christmas from MC, he wishes to go all out for the holiday. Lucifer gets incredibly mad at MC because that will only cause more work for him.

20. Lucifer acts extremely goofy when drunk. He frequently sends out drunk texts, usually there MC.

[marley-warriors]

Loki/Basim's background and motivations analysis

Based on AC Vallhalla, Mirage, Dawn of Ragnarok, The Golden City novel, and Forgotten Myths comic

To start with, the creator of Sages, Darby McDevitt explaines Sages as such.

Basim and Loki are the same being born in different time periods. Basim is Loki, but has amnesia of his past Isu life. It is only after accepting his Loki side (aka Nehal) that he lifted his amnesia and remembers his first life.

Edit: Sarah Beaulieu, narrative director of Mirage, indicates it may be a takeover, contrary to Darby below. Seems the lore is still unclear.

So here is what we know of Loki/Basim's background.

Loki had brothers once, but Basim did not. From the Edda's we learn of two older brothers; Byleist and Helblindi. His Father's name was Farbauti, which translates to 'Dangerous striker'.

In the Golden City we learn that Loki's father was extremely cruel and violent towards him, and apparently never loved him. From a young age, Loki would have felt unworthy of love. He was a child. He needed love to feel safe, but instead was forced to adapt to violence. Also, note how sad he is in the text. He's neglected and traumatised by his childhood memories.

It's saddening how Loki/Basim is filled with a childlike jealousy at Hytham's care for Leo. Because deep inside Loki/Basim craves that parternal love and affection which he never recived. And perhaps Basim's architect father provided a balm for that, but it was not enough, because even this father abandoned him by dying. And again he is forced to grow up fast as an outcast amongst society.

He is not evil, and had ambitions. Basim wanted to aid the less fortunate and had a strong sense of justice. We never met young Loki, but Baldr approached Loki specifically for mentorship in diplomacy.

[I will need a mentor in the art of diplomacy - and none is shrewder than Loki. - Baldr]

From an Isu perspective it would have been sensible to employ Loki as a Diplomat. It might have been his actual job, which explains why he was free to travel between the warring empires. Not just that, but he is half Jotnar and half Aesir. In the games Loki referes to himself as a Jotnar, but in the comic he acknowledges that he is not a pure-blooded Aesir, indicating his mom was Aesir.

The comics indicate that he was born and raised in Jotunheim, being well familiar with the area and serving as Baldr's guide.

[Jotunheim, realm of the frost giants was a harsh land. But Loki knew it well. For six days he guided Baldr through the mountains as they sought their treasure, evading the residents of that terrible place.

Loki: Stay in the shadows and out of the sunlight, no matter how tempting the warmth. Jotun eyes are keen and there are many about.

Baldr: Aren't you cold?

Loki: Don't mistake me for blood-kin Baldr. My father was bathing in blizzards while yours lounged in summer fields.

[Baldr is freezing in place and becoming an icicle while lamenting death.]

Loki: Perhaps I should have come alone.

Baldr: I couldn't let you risk the danger on my behalf. Not when I am invunerable and you-

Loki: - can endure the cold better than any pure-blooded Aesir? ]

Jotunheim under Jupiter/Zeus/Suttungr seems to be North America. Perhaps Loki grew up in Alaska or Canada. Loki is also a frost giant with the ability to manipulate ice (might also be a piece of Eden or bio-engineering).

The comics show that Loki loves spinning tall tales and has a real passion for story crafting. Baldr was aware of that and played that to his advantage.

[Appealing to my ego? Transparent, but... effective. - Loki AC Forgotten Myths after Baldr sweet-talks him.]

Loki has a big ego, and is aware of it too. In general, he seems keenly aware and insightful of his own nature, and engages in philosophical musings with Baldr. A sense of self-preservation drives Loki, and he uses this as a shield against anyone that threatens to do him harm. Loki is quick to fear death (as are most beings of course), but Loki's fear of death seems extreme, possibly steming from deep-rooted trauma.

[My nature is neither better nor worse than the next man's. When I am kind, it is because it suits me. When I am cruel, it is to preserve my existence - and that of my kin. The fear of death is the root of my "callousness." - Loki]

[I cannot be other than I am. All of this was fated. All this will happen again.]

Loki fully believes in fate, and so justifies his actions as already being calculated by the fates. There's no point in trying to be a better person if the fates have already declared you to be the bad guy, which is how every other character makes him feel.

[Have you considered that Havi may not want Loki redeemed? - Freya to Baldr in AC Forgotten Myths]

It doesn't help that the others keep enforcing this idea by calling him a trickster and oath-breaker, because if they don't hold him to a higher standart, why should he himself? Even the blood-brother Loki once looked up to has decided that he should never be seen as redeemable.

[Yet only a fool trusts Loki - Loki to Baldr after Baldr asks for mentorship in AC Forgotten Myths]

In the comics, it seems that Loki has weaponised his stereotype, and he warns Baldr a few times that he should be cautious around none other than himself. Either Loki has been verbally abused often enough to fully believe that he's the bad guy, or he uses it as a persona to hide his vunerability and hurt. Perhaps he was even trying to give Baldr a fighting chance of surving his own wrath?

Also, we must remember that Loki and Havi saw each other as real brothers. Havi called Loki his 'brother' or numerous occasions, but when angry, he'd call him 'Jotnar' or derogatory terms. Even Loki and Baldr called each other nephew and uncle on multiple occasions. Loki grew up in a broken family, found a new family in the Aesir, and forged a family of his own with Sigyn and Aletheia, but all of his families were shattered and taken from him.

[With such gifts would Loki find forgiveness. My brother always knew how to win hearts. To him, it was almost as easy as breaking them. - Havi]

Loki can be very charming if it gains him favour. He loves using bribes and offering gifts to appease the Aesir.

As is the case with some traumatic childhoods, Loki seems to understand love as transactional. Love needs to be earned by good deeds or gifts. And Havi's words seem to further reinforce the the notion of Loki only being valuable if he could offer contributions.

[Now Loki had the three gifts he needed to win redemption in Asgard. - Havi AC Dawn of Ragnarok]

Loki/Basim has a strong sense of justice, hence killing Baldr had been Loki's last resort. He had tried countless other methods first. Fenrir's imprisonment infuriated Loki, so he tried to reason with Havi. (Rightly so, Fenrir was a literal BABY who had done nothing wrong). Loki wanted to appeal to the council and courts for an overturned judgement, but Aletheia stopped him as she feared they'd kill him. Loki and Aletheia then polygraphed Havi before attempting to imprison him. When Juno freed Havi, it further foiled Loki's plans.

Loki informed Jupiter of what was happening, but even Jupiter failed to end the threat. It seems at this point that Loki really snapped and decided to do the job himself. He aimed to kill Havi before ever thinking of killing Baldr.

[Oath-breaker? I did to you what you did to my son. This is only fair. Release him, Havi. Release Fenrir, or I swear I will kill you here and now - Loki AC Valhalla]

Now this is interesting because of the blood-oath. Loki was ready and willing to kill Havi, which would activate the blood-oath and kill him too. The blood-oath promised mutual assured destruction, which is essentially a murder-suicide on Loki's part. But he was willing to die of suicide if it meant Fenrir could be free. Havi spared Loki because Havi had no intention of dying.

So Loki, who has become suicidal, sets off to stalk Baldr, and decides "Curse all! If I can never hold my son again, neither can Havi!"

[I have a tale for you. A tale of Loki, who claimed righteous vengeance upon Havi through his hapless son... - Loki imprisoned in AC Forgotten Myths]

Loki truly believes this is justified. He essentialy stabbed his only ally in the back, killing the last Aesir that had any trust or love towards him. It's interesting that Havi's own self-fulling prophesis brought this about, which Loki himself cautioned Havi against.

Loki is cunning, shifty, self-serving, a liar, but he is also diplomatic, patient, helpful and has a strong sense of justice. Circumstances have pushed him to this point. If Basim is Loki, we know that he is capable of good, and longed to do well (this depends on whether Basim was Loki or serves only as a vessel to him).

Loki only ever wanted to be a good father. He wanted to be the father he never had. When Loki lost Fenrir, he probably hated himself, because in his mind, he was now just as bad as his own father. He was willing to endure his two worst fears - death and lonliness - to free Fenrir. Not to mention Loki's cell being a claustrophobic coffin, completely alone (his biggest fear), only taken out off his coffin prison to be physically tortured. It's no suprise he experiences CPTSD/PTSD from his childhood, his imprisonment and the imprisonment of his son.

PS: Some people say Loki was evil in the Edda's? I read over them, and Loki was never malicious or evil (except when he killed Baldr and bragged about it). He was a troublemaker and caused chaos, but never for malicious or evil reasons. Loki was never jealous or plotting. He was more of a prankster. In fact, the Aesir were unreasonably cruel to him, constantly threatening him with death or bodily harm. Loki only caused the Aesir trouble for two reasons; he was A) Bored or B) Hungry/hangry. (Do not touch his food. He will fight you).

[chimcess]

Birdie Shoppe || pjm (V)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 7.1k Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the north and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Birdie, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the 123rd Birdie, a young girl who was given her position too early and asked by the goddess herself to fulfil a task none had ever done before- become the Grand Witch of the Foxglove pack. Now a woman, Y/N is revered as the most loved and powerful Birdie of all time, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Chapter Warnings: Long-hair Jimin (yes, this is a warning), Cursing, Violence, Mentions of blood, Descriptions of blood, Descriptions of gore, Main Character Badly Injured, Did I say long-hair Jimin? (think The Witcher), the feels, ANGST, this is probably the most angst we’ve gotten, fluff, just Jimin being a cinnamon roll (partially edited) A/N: Not me updating within a month. I’ve been writing a ton lately, so I was able to pump this out. Hope you enjoy~

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My heart ached at the sight of Kim Taehyung. It had been little more than a day since he had been chosen and already his life was spiraling out of control. The pack did not accept him as their leader and Sol, while clear in her desires for him, had been barred from seeing him until everything had been sorted out. Namjoon had challenged him and his authority just before four in the morning which led him to my door step.

He looked worse for wear. His unruly hair tangled into matts that would take hours to brush out. Chief Ahn had taken out much of his frustration on the young boy and now Taehyung’s once lovely skin had bruises, welts, and cuts all over it. One look at him and I did not hesitate to allow him sanctuary. It was the least I could do for the man who saved me from heartbreak.

“I’ve got your face,” I mumbled, reaching back into another jar of salve. I had used two on his face and neck alone. “Take off your clothes. I need to make sure nothing is infected.”

Taehyung nodded, still crying. The moment I let him inside he had unleashed all of his emotions and was having a very difficult time getting himself under control. I did not mind. I felt pity for the alpha.

I was not surprised to find his body in just as bad of shape as the rest of him. I took great care not to stare for too long. I was not uncomfortable with his nakedness, but I was still aware that he was a man. Grip harsh, I started with his stomach. I let out a large, frustrated breath through my nose.

“I can’t believe this,” I grunted. “Why would you allow them to do this to you?”

Taehyung hissed in pain as I pressed too hard on a tender spot.

“I did not want to fight,” He replied.

I laughed humorlessly. “So they get to do as they please with you then?”

He did not know what to say.

“If you ever want to be taken seriously-” I opened up another jar of salve and began rubbing it into his chest, “-this will never happen again.”

Taehyung bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. He seemed upset by what I had said. He was such a naive boy. I felt my eyes watering with anger. If Kim Namjoon were here right now, I would kill him myself. How dare he allow anybody to do this to a child and feed into it by challenging him? I would be sure he knows just how unhappy I am with him.

“I do not want to rule with violence,” Taehyung said. “I don’t like fighting or shouting. It’s… uncivilized.”

I hummed. While I agreed I would not entertain the idea. Taehyung needs to fight if he wants to be seen. It is the only way to garner respect unless he wants to be compared to the others for the rest of his life. Chief Ahn would never allow that. Again, my anger spiked. That man…

“And yet you can come to my doorstep at the crack of dawn like some kicked puppy?” I spat. “Are you truly that pathetic?”

Taehyung whimpered and I almost felt bad. Harshness was necessary in these circumstances and I wanted him to become fired up. Instead, it only served to back him further into a corner. Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to calm down.

“Alpha,” I said.

“Taehyung,” He corrected weakly.

I sighed. 

“I apologize for my rudeness. I’m sure you’ve gotten enough of a beating for one night and I don’t intend to add to that.”

He laughed without humor. It was scary how much my temper flared at the sight of him. All I wanted to do was march down to the village and give every single one of them a piece of my mind. A certain fair haired man came to mind, and I saw red. How could he allow this to ever happen?

“However,” I continued, “You’re Sol’s mate. She needs you to be strong right now. Think about her.”

For the first time tonight, I saw something light up in his eyes. I knew it was torture for the both of them to be away from one another. Sol was probably raging a storm back in Foxglove and I knew she expected the same from her alpha. She would be dreaded to know where he was instead. Taehyung seemed to have picked up on that idea as well.

“I have been!” He snarled. “It’s the only reason I didn’t want to fight back! The chief is her father and she wouldn’t forgive me for that.”

I bit my tongue. As much as I wanted to throw him out for yelling at me, I was glad to see some spark in him. It made sense why he would allow Chief Ahn to get away with just about anything. The pack would kill him if he had laid a hand on the old man. However, the rest of the wolves should have been given no mercy. Again, I thought of Jimin and seethed.

I wiped my hands on my nightgown and stood. Taehyung was covered from head to toe in the salve, and already the marks were going away. It would take more than that to heal his bruised ribs. So, I went to the kitchen and looked around for a healing potion. I did not feel like making one at this hour.

“Why did you come here?” I asked, gently.

Taehyung sighed. “Because I knew you would help me.”

Again, my pity returned. While my blood boiled, my heart hurt for the alpha as well. I could imagine him hurt and abandoned, nowhere to turn to, and not being able to trust the local doctor. I found an old potion in the back of a cupboard.

“You can sleep here tonight,” I offered, handing him the potion. “Any wolf idiotic enough to poke at me is a dead man.”

Taehyung seemed at ease with this. Downing the potion, he curled up on the couch and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Birdie,” He grinned.

I did not reply. Instead, I used my magic to bring him a few blankets and struck up the fireplace. He was weak and may not be able to regulate his body temperature as easily. It got cold in the living room at night. Seemingly satisfied with his place on my small, uncomfortable couch, Taehyung fell asleep within seconds. 

I had never seen anything like it in all my life. Stifling my laughs, I began blowing out the candles around my house, and put away all the used tubs of salve. I would need to make more soon. Exhausted and still recovering from the ceremony, I drug myself back to bed. Shiloh was waiting for me when I arrived.

“How many times do I have to tell you to take your bedrest seriously?” The barn owl nagged.

I groaned and rolled into my bed. It was warm and soft. Shiloh flapped to her nest.

“It was Taehyung,” I argued.

“I don’t care if it was Lilith herself, you better stay your-”

“Shiloh,” I warned, “Shut up.”

The bird grumbled to herself, but I was too far gone to pay attention.

I awoke to loud pounding on my front door. I could hear voices outside, none of them sounding too happy, but all I caught was the name of a pack alpha. Angry and still sore, I used magic to lift myself out of bed and threw on my robe. I saw Taehyung curled up in a ball in front of the sofa. He did not notice me until I was standing in front of the door. 

Shiloh was shouting at me to get back in bed, to let the wolves handle their own business, but I ignored her. When they decide to take their anger to my doorstep I have every right to give them a piece of my mind. Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath before forcing my arms forward.

My front door flew off its hinges and into whoever was standing behind it. Namjoon was unfazed by this and slapped the thick wood out of his way. I could see the shock in his eyes but I was not finished with my assault. I began to sing, a whirlwind of objects floating around the room. Namjoon backed away but this only pissed me off more. Shiloh shouted as a large, hot, blue flame sprouted from the palm of my hand and flew at the wolf.

“How dare you?” I shouted, everything dropped once my singing stopped. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Hoseok and Jimin stood on either side of their brother. I knew I would regret attacking them eventually, possibly the moment they left, but I would not let myself falter. No one was going to come here and intimidate me. I don’t give a damn who they are attempting to fight with. 

“Birdie-” Hoseok pled.

Ignoring him, I kept my gaze perfectly trained on Namjoon. He stared at the large, ashen spot at his feet as I stared at him. My face burned with anger and I felt another surge of magic rush through my body. A dull ache began to form in my back and I knew I was bleeding again. I had used too much magic and my body was having a hard time healing. 

“Who do you think you are to challenge him, Namjoon?” I roared, eyes burning. “Sol chose him. The Goddess chose him! Do you think you know better than Lilith now?”

Namjoon swallowed thickly before finally looking at me.

“Of course not. I-”

“You listen to me,” I sneered. “If you ever get the gull to come bang on my door again, I swear to you, I will not show you the same mercy.”

Namjoon scoffed, “Mercy? You had better watch your tone, little girl. Especially with a limp like that.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but a voice from behind me beat me to it. 

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Taehyung said.

Namjoon seemed to darken. I felt my muscles clench as I readied myself to defend the boy. No one was going to hurt him. I promised to protect the Luna with my life, Sol was my good friend, and I refused to let harm come to her mate. I was as good as dead if I had. 

“There you are,” Namjoon taunted. “Been looking everywhere for you, infans.”

Taehyung growled. I steadied my racing heart. I would have to protect him inside. Namjoon would have the advantage of leaving, and I was vulnerable to the sun’s rays if he decided to extort that. Still, I positioned my hands defensively.

Suddenly, Shiloh flew out of the house and screeched loudly. Everything happened quickly. First, Shiloh was barreling towards Namjoon and then a wolf was standing in his place. I knew it was an accident. Taehyung was only trying to protect me, however, his massive frame surged me forward. I was in the sun before I could save myself, and soon my face slammed into my front steps and the sun beamed on my back.

My skin burned immediately and I could not help the tortured screams that flew out of my mouth. Unfocused eyes trained on Shiloh saw her turn towards me before a large, russet wolf shoved her out of the way with his nose. I felt many hands on me and I was dragged back inside.

My body trembled as I screamed. Every inch of my skin was on fire and I closed my eyes only to see white. It felt like someone was tearing me apart. All around me I heard screaming and shouting.

“What the fuck do we do?” Hoseok shouted.

“I don’t know,” It sounded like Taehyung was crying.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I could not think straight. The pain was numbing. Opening my eyes again, I saw my ceiling and raised one of my shaking hands. Black feathers had pierced through the skin and I cried out once more.

“Get away from her!” Someone screamed but I could not make out who.

“Is she alright?” 

I knew something was happening a few feet away but all I could focus on was the fire in my body. I knew this would subside eventually on its own, but I had something that could help. I just needed to gather the strength to get it. I opened my mouth to speak but could only scream.

“It burns,” I managed to grunt, convulsing.

I could feel hands on me but I could not get my eyes to focus. Sleep would be impossible now and I knew my body was in the worst shape it had ever been. Between the ceremony, the small amount of magic I used, and the sun I would be out of service for an entire week at this rate. Possibly even more.

“Move,” I heard Shiloh’s voice through the rest of the nonsense going on around me.

Looking through my lashes, instead of an owl there was a beautiful woman before me. Her fiery hair glistened in the sun and looked like it was underwater. Her skin had a dim glow to it and sparkled brightly. She looked like diamonds and I reached out to touch her. The spirit had tears in her eyes, the water shining brilliantly, before she caressed my hand.

“Sanitatem,” She whispered, fingers grazing my arm.

Instantly, I felt the relief I had been begging for wash over me. Sighing in relief, I closed my eyes and curled closely to Shiloh. I felt her fingers running through my hair and felt extremely tired.

“I’m going to put you to bed,” She whispered. “Where you belong.”

When I woke, I could smell food cooking. I was in my bed, my memory faded and hard to recall, but I knew Shiloh had been in her true form. Rubbing my eyes, I thought about Taehyung and my mood darkened. I could not remember the alphas leaving. My body screamed in protest as I sat up but I pushed forward. No one was going to harm him- not while I still had air in my lungs.

Upon entering the kitchen, I had to grasp my door frame for support. The stove was lit, I could smell the applewood, and one of my large pots was on top of it. The rest of the room was clean. Far cleaner than I ever left it. Someone had mopped and swept by hand. I could smell the lemons they used on the wood. Taking a large breath, I began taking a step forward.

“You should be in bed.”

I jumped up. Whipping my head around, Jimin was sitting in my recliner across the room. Taehyung was staring at me from in front of the fireplace. Neither Hoseok nor Namjoon were there. I could not feel or smell my familiar’s presence either.

“Where’s Shiloh?” I demanded, stumbling forward and grabbing on my island. 

Taehyung stood up and came toward me quickly. 

“Please, don’t push yourself, Birdie,” He said softly.

The alpha led me to my loveseat and helped me to sit down. Jimin sat beside me and covered me with one of my spare blankets. He must have went digging around while I was asleep. Sparing a glance at my hands, all of the feathers were replaced by nasty scars. They were pale white already, like they had been there for years, but I felt sad looking at them. I could only imagine what the rest of my body looked like. Almost sensing my mood, Jimin placed his hand over mine. I looked at him.

“She stepped out for a while,” He finally replied.

I had been angry with him, I remember vividly I thought of our next conversation, but being in front of him now it had all but vanished. There was no way Park Jimin would ever be fine with what had happened. Nor would Hoseok or Namjoon. Even thinking of him I found myself more sad than anything. I could only imagine how he had felt after everything had happened. I did not think anyone could have prepared for that amount of shock. However, gazing at Taehyung, most of my sympathy stopped there. Namjoon was still trying to kill someone else over his own lack of faith. His own ego was blinding him. I just hoped he could see that before he destroyed his own life. Sol would never forgive him and neither would I. 

“Is everyone alright?” I asked.

Jimin hummed, “Everyone but you. Namjoon and I got into a fight before he left but he’ll be fine.”

I scowled at Jimin. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting.”

He grinned, “Don’t worry, amica. I won.”

“Doesn’t change my feelings.” I grumbled and looked at Taehyung.

He seemed confused. While most of his face was perfectly schooled, his eyes told a different story. As they bounced back and forth between Jimin and I, I could see confusion turn into something… other. Almost, acceptance. Strange, I thought. I did not think about it too much. My affection for Jimin was likely apparent, and stronger, than that of the other alphas. The boy was probably trying to get used to it. Then he winked at me and I looked away,

Was it possible that he had caught onto my feelings? Had I sized him up too quickly? I knew he was mischievous and care free, but I also knew he was very aware of others. When he had spoken so passionately about being what a good ruler was, I had gotten that impression as well as his own naivety. However, my troubles were quickly dismissed as I looked into Jimin’s eyes. It was impossible to stress when he was around.

“Do you mind if I stay with you both for a few days?” He asked.

My eyebrows shot up. 

“What for?” I replied.

Jimin hesitated before responding. “I found the letter that your friend sent you in your coat pocket. Your familiar asked me if I would stay.”

Confused, I frowned. What on Earth was he talking about? Racking my brain, I found myself at a loss before the lightbulb went off. 

“Wendy!” I exclaimed. 

Going to stand, Jimin gently grabbed my arm. He looked bashful and unsure of himself. I was just like the last time he had been here, only it felt different. He almost looked… afraid to tell me what he had read. My breath quickening, I pulled my arm out of his grasp.

“What did it say?” I asked, wearily. 

When I got no response, I lifted myself up and ignored the two men. I hobbled to my coat rack. However, strong arms wrapped around me before I made it a foot away from the sofa. 

“Taehyung,” I threatened. “Put me down. Now.”

“Sit,” He pleaded and walked me back over to the living space.

Frustrated and anxious, I turned my head and bit the side of his arm. The wolf yelped before letting go of my wait. I stumbled, wobbled over, before landing on my ass. 

“This is ridiculous,” I complained, slowly lifting myself up. I ignored Taehyung’s outstretched hands. “You come to my home, go through my things, and then not allow me to read my own letter? She’s my friend! If it’s important I ought to know.”

Jimin sighed, frustrated. I refused to back down and continued to stand up. Taehyung had given me some space, which I appreciated, but was close enough to catch me if I fell down again. The older alpha and I had a stare off.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Jimin spoke, “If you had more patience, I could have given it to you. It’s in my pocket.”

“If you,” I countered, limping back to the sofa, “had just said that instead of looking at me like an idiot then I couldn’t have gotten up.”

The alpha glared at me but said nothing more. Snatching the paper from his hands, I made myself comfortable in my spot. Taehyung came closer, a weary look on his face. An apology was in order but I fought with my own pride to give it. He picked me up without consent and so I bit him. End of discussion. Still, the need to tell him I was sorry was strong.

Birdie,

I’m happy to hear you are feeling better. However, I’m sure by the time this reaches you the Luna’s ceremony would have taken place and you’ll be back in bed again. I’ve always marveled at how powerful you are and yet so fragile. My mother thinks it was the way the Gods meant for it to be. You’d be far too much if you had all of your abilities and the same willpower as any other witch. In other words, goodluck and I hope you have a fast recovery.

In other news, my sister has decided to marry Seojun. I am very happy for her and I know Irene will make a good wife. It did, however, make me think of you and I. Will there ever be someone for us? Will you ever get the chance to find them even if they were out there? It’s incredibly mean for the Gods to put you under such horrible conditions. At least you are able to leave in a way Aldara never was. I do hope I can learn of your name before you pass on. I’ve known you for far too long and we’re too close for me not to. Please tell me you will.

Birdie, would you hate me if I told you I was considering staying here? My time in Northorn has opened my world to many possibilities. Then I think of you, Yoongi, and Seokjin and the thought repulses me. Oh, I love him. I love Seokjin. I want him to be with me and yet… my eyes still wander. Is that wrong? I know you understand me more than anyone else. Have you ever thought about telling him how you feel or is it too scary? Because I’m scared, Birdie. I’ve hurt him too much.

I should stay here, right? Spare both him and Yoongi the heart ache. Goddess knows I’ve put too much of a strain on their relationship already. From what I hear, they’re already back to being friends since I’ve kept away. Yes, I think I will stay here.

Please help me. Do something for me. I’m confused and unsure of myself. Irene says I’m overthinking everything, but I know you will be more honest. Sending you all of my heart- at least what is left of it.

Your dearest friend,

Wendy

Rereading the letter over again, I felt my heart sink. Shiloh must have decided to go and see her after finding out. I mentally thanked her and immediately went to fetch a pen and paper. Neither wolf tried to stop me.

It made sense now why Jimin would hesitate to talk with me about the letter. He had never, as far as I know, met Wendy. It must have been confusing to read through. I remembered her line about me understanding her and my stomach sank. That must have been a strange thing to read about, too. I cursed under my breath before I began to write.

Wendy, my darling,

I am fine. There is a lot happening in Bangtan at the moment, most of which I hardly understand, and it has taken its toll on me. Between the ceremony and now I haven’t one moment of peace. I do hope you can help me relax once you return. I know you will. 

Forget about those two fools and remember why you have stayed here all this time: your mother, the sisterhood, your coven, and the forest. Whoelse can tame a magindara like you? No one. Who can purify the sea and sing with the shore like you? No one. Do not let petty, childish things stop you from enjoying your life. You will always have me and I will forever be there. I’m happy for Irene! Her engagement is splendid news and I wish I could be there with her. 

However, Lilith has chosen a different path for me just as she has chosen one for you. I am frightened, Wendy. Everyday I am scared of what it will bring, but I do not let that stop me from enjoying the sunshine. I love the flowers, the trees, and the winds that ripple through them. Aldara used to tell me, “Fear reminds us that we’re alive, and without it many would surely be dead.” So, don’t kill yourself off just yet, darling. Keep swimming and come home. Talk to Jin and he will understand. Yoongi has no ill will toward either one of you. Let go of your fantasies and stay rooted in the reality of your heart.

You were meant to be with the most stubborn, loud, obnoxious, lovely, kind-hearted man in all of Lustra. You and I both know that, and have known that, for a long time. So go for it. Even if I am afraid, you do not have to be. See you soon.

Missing you greatly,

Birdie (I’ll tell you someday. I promise.)

My body was beginning to loosen and the pain was becoming bearable. Satisfied with my response, I waved it in the air to make it dry faster as I rummaged through my drawers for an envelope. I could only hope I could muster the strength to send it off. If Shiloh were hare, she would have went off herself or asked one of the boys, but I was on my own now. Alone and in desperate need to get this damn letter to Wendy. Shuffling to my ceremonial bag laying by the front door, I sifted through it until I found my Meteor Powder. 

I knew I was taking a risk with this sort of thing, but I had to be willing to risk it if it meant I could change Wendy’s mind. I was already hours behind. Without a second more to lose, I gathered up a piece of parchment and a pen to begin drawing. Remembering Wendy’s face was simple enough, years of drawing and perfecting using the powder making it almost easy to do, but I still felt uneasy. My heart would not rest until I received word back or the sea witch showed up at my door.

Praying that I got every soft feature right, I contemplated adding color but quickly dismissed the idea. It would not really make any difference and I was not sure if her hair was dark or light anymore. Wendy often went through fazes with that sort of thing. Laying the paper on the floor, I said her name for good measure, and threw the powder on top of it. Less than a second later, the paper was gone and I sighed. 

“Hope she got it,” I mumbled to myself.

It was Taehyung who broke my trance.

“That was so cool!” He exclaimed.

I chuckled, “Not as cool as my own magic, but it’ll have to do. I can hardly feel anything in my body.”

Walking back to the couch, I curled up beside Jimin. He looked worried again and I realized I had messed up. Admitting that I was weak and tired would only make him drag me back to bed. Readily myself for another spat, I squared my shoulders and looked at him.

“She seemed upset,” He said instead. “I had not realized your friends were involved in that way.”

I hid my surprise well. It did make sense for Jimin to worry about others, I had just never imagined he would take my friend’s hardships so seriously. Grinning, I nodded.

“It’s been a thing since we were children. Don’t worry too much, she will come back and they will be together.”

“Why aren’t they now?” It was Taehung who asked.

“Because,” I sighed, “they’re both far too stubborn.”

Taehyung was a nice company to have around. He took good care of his things, cleaned up after himself, and was useful. I had stopped sending supplies to Foxglove, something that neither Taehyung or Jimin agreed with, but it did not change my mind. They did not deserve my help if this is what they were going to do with it. No one had come to collect anything either, so I assumed they were boycotting my services indefinitely. 

Wendy had written to me the following morning confirming she was coming back. She had even written to Seokjin. While I did not know what she had said I could take a few guesses. It was only a matter of time before Seokjin told me all about it. He was the worst at keeping secrets. 

Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and stared at my altar. My magic had come back a few days ago and I had been allowing it to rest. Today was the first time I had performed a ritual spell in days. Looking over my shoulder, I smiled gently at Jimin napping on my sofa.

He had not left since he arrived. While we had not spoken much since that night, he was doing his best to help Taehyung make a plan to win over the town. While I thought it was foolish to think he could do such a thing without a fight, I believed in them enough to support it. Jimin was a loved person and having him on Taehyung’s side greatly increased his odds. I knew the pack was feeling his absence.

“What’s a cah-dee-jo?” Taehyung asked, obnoxiously loud.

“A cadejo-” I corrected, rolling my eyes, “-are spirits that help worthy travelers find their way.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “And if they’re not worthy?”

“They’ll eat them,” I replied easily.

The alpha had been interested in my books after finding something I had written about the magindara when I was a kid. He was going through them so quickly, I was having to go to the cellar to get new material for him. As naive as he was, Kim Taehyung was a bright young man with a vivid imagination. He always asked questions, never settled for one answer, and listened carefully. 

“Why?” He asked.

“Why not?”

He said nothing after that and went back to reading. I had started growing fonder of the man and hoped he was able to go back home. When he spoke of his siblings his eyes lit up and it broke my heart. His parents must be worried sick. 

Having spent most of my morning sitting, I decided to make lunch. I was expecting Shiloh to be back later today. Wendy said my familiar had gotten to her inn just before she sent off her letter, so I knew the owl was safe. Thinking about her I grew emotional. Exposing her spirit form was extremely dangerous, a risk I would never have asked her to take, and she had done it regardless. 

Going to my kitchen window, I whistled loudly and began pulling out a pot and pan. Tomato soup sounded lovely and I could always make a quick loaf of bread. A few minutes later, Delinah was at my window. Looking up from the onion I was dicing, I grinning at the deer.

“Morning, Dee,” I greeted.

She bowed her head. “Glad to see you moving around. You gave us all a fright.”

I hummed, scooping the onions and throwing them into the pot along with three whole heads of garlic, some fresh herbs, and oil. In the corner of my eye I saw Jimin beginning to stir on the sofa. 

“I’m good as new,” I joked, using a spell to light my stove. “Would you mind fetching some tomatoes from Seokjin’s garden? I’d ask Shiloh but she’s out of the forest for the time being.”

“Where’d she head off to?” Delinah asked, pulling the cloth tote I kept on the windowsill into her mouth.

“Northorn,” I replied.

“Northorn? What’s so important in that miserable place?”

I laughed, placing my knife down to help my friend get the tote around her neck. Delinah nuzzled my hands. Giving her a quick pat on the head, I promised her carrots when she got back.

“And to answer your question,” I walked back to the counter. “Wendy is attempting to run away so she’s bringing her back.”

She laughed, “Oh, that Wendy. You never know what you’re going to get with that one.”

“But we love her.”

Jimin was up and walking around right after Delinah left. Taehyung was still head-first in my magical beasts book. I took over my try of onions and garlic and let them begin roasting over the open flame of the stove. The tomatoes would not take long to char. I could hear the two men talking quietly but decided to play them no mind. It was hard to have privacy in this house as it was.

Delinah was back quickly and I sent her off with a bundle of carrots. After roasting the tomatoes, I used my pestle and mortar to blend everything together. Working in small batches, I took my time to be sure everything was smooth before throwing it into the pot I had taken out. 

“Birdie,” Taehyung called out. “Can I get your opinion on something?”

I nodded, “Ask away.”

“I want to write a letter to Namjoon but I’m not sure how he’d take that.”

I paused for a moment to think. While it might be a wise idea to test the waters with a note of some kind, I was also not foolish enough to think he would be able to deliver something to the village at this time. People were looking for him and to show his face might lead to more speculation. However, he had to do something before the elders made a decision as to what to do with him. Namjoon had officially challenged him and only revoking that, which would terminate the fight, would be his best option. I had full faith in Taehyung’s ability to defend himself if he truly wanted, but his personality would make it hard for him to commit to a brawl. Namjoon would win just from his determination alone. 

“I don’t think that would help much,” I admitted. “Everyone is committed to seeing you fight at this point, and your runaway stunt has them more on guard. I would seriously begin considering a fight, Taehyung. It’s your only option right now.”

I heard his sigh of defeat and felt saddened. I empathize with the alpha’s situation. I knew it would be a hard thing for him to do. In my younger years, Aldara enjoyed teaching me defensive magic but I could never strike her back. It was not until that night I truly saw what I could be capable of if left to my own devices. I shuddered at the thought. I would not wish that on anybody- especially Kim Taehyung. Mixing the soup, I spoke.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

“Me too,” He replied.

The three of us ate our lunch in silence. Jimin had been more quiet than usual and I knew his brain was on overdrive. He had also been away from his family, his pack, and his home for three days without an end in sight. I knew how hard the silence could be and even then I had been quieter. Still, it must be hard on him. It was a wolf’s nature to be with his family. 

Taehyung did not ask anything after that. The rest of the day, he sat on the floor near the fireplace and read book after book while Jimin looked out of the windows. They never went outside. I managed to do a few chores, practiced some new spells, and wrote in my grimoire, but nothing else had sparked an interest in me. The tension in the house was suffocating. It was not until Shiloh returned at sunset that the house stirred.

In a whirlwind, the barn owl flew through my bedroom window, her loud voice bouncing off the walls. Carelessly I threw my pen down onto my grimoire. Black ink smeared into the pages ruining all of my hard work, but I did not care. She was back and I could breathe a bit easier then. I knew Shiloh would have an answer. She always knew what to do.

“Between those wolves and you witches,” She complained, “I’ll never, ever catch a break.”

“Oh, Shiloh,” I cooed, opening my arms to her.

My familiar raced into my waiting embrace and let herself be babied. I pet her head and smoothed her feathers down gently. The owl leaned into my touches with joy. I could not remember the last time I had smiled so widely since she had gone.

“You’re so strong and mighty, little one. I missed you dearly.”

She laughed, “I’m so happy to see you up and walking around.”

“Where’s Wendy?” I asked, letting her go.

Shiloh flew into the kitchen and I followed behind her. She must be exhausted after the long journey. She pecked at the bread from lunch and made note of the wolves in the living room.

“She’ll be back after her sister’s wedding.”

“Oh, wonderful!” I clapped my hands together in delight. 

“Another pain in my ass,” She mumbled.

And I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

It was always an adjustment when you first transform, I found. Even after all this time I was slightly disoriented after the whole ordeal. The first night Taehyung had been here, he had almost broken my bedroom door down trying to see if I was alright. If Jimin had not reassured him, I was sure he would have been traumatized by the scene. It was the fourth night now, and Taehyung slept peacefully through my screams. Shiloh had gone to bed extra early. Jimin was the only person still awake when I flew through the kitchen window.

He was still dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing for days. I hand washed everything twice, but he insisted on keeping them. I had made clothes for Taehyung and was a bit upset at Jimin’s rejection. However, I never brought it up again. I simply washed them and used magic to get them dry. 

Tonight, however, he had taken off the long cape he usually wore. His socks and shoes were also somewhere else, and I noticed his belt was also missing. He wore his hair down, the silver strands sitting at his waist, and I saw a simple headband keeping his bangs out of his eyes. He was sitting at the kitchen island staring at whatever he had been writing. I decided to go to him.

“Hello,” He offered, a smile that did not meet his eyes thrown my way.

He looked tired, more so than usual, and worn. Taehyung snored loudly on the floor and rolled over. Jimin did not bat an eyelash and continued looking at the papers. I hopped closer and twisted my head to look at them. The alpha did not try to stop me.

B.

They turn into paste if you mash them. By hand, they keep their nectar, and the flavor is much better.

When they’re whole you need to wait much longer for the flavor to seep through.

No, but it is one that is very dear to me.

I realized it was the paper I had used when I had visited him a few weeks ago. I felt myself growing emotional. He had kept it… something so inconsequential and yet he had kept it. Apparently, he even walked around with it. My heart grew fonder with every encounter we shared, and I found I could not breathe properly.

“It brings me comfort,” Jimin whispered. “Knowing that you’re out there.”

Turning to look at him, I found him crying. The moonlight illuminated his delicate face and the tears that ran down his cheeks. For the first time since I have known Jimin, I felt sure of myself. Drawing near, I gently flapped my wings and landed in his lap. Clicking, I rubbed my face on his stomach and allowed the warmth within me to shine. He had kept it. 

Jimin grabbed me and held me tightly as he wept. What his sorrows were for, I was not sure, but I had to guess it was something to do with this situation. Whatever the case may be, I melted into his touch. He was always so open with me like this. I wished he would hold me tightly as a woman, too. I knew I was beginning to grow greedy but did not care anymore. He had kept that stupid piece of parchment and I was completely done attempting to care about customs. I loved him more than anything else.

“I don’t know what to do,” He whimpered. “I couldn’t live with either of them dying.”

And as mad as I was at Namjoon, as badly as I wanted to throw him against a wall and scream in his face for being such a pig-headed nitwit, I could not say I wanted him dead. We were friends after all. Even after our spat the other morning I could call him that freely. I knew something had to give sooner or later. It killed me to see Jimin torn up.

The alpha only allowed himself two minutes to cry. After that, he apologized to me profusely before gently setting me back down on the island. Wiping his face aggressively, he excused himself before leaving the cottage entirely. I wanted to go after him but thought he might need the space and time to think. Looking down at the paper at my feet, I felt something shift inside of me.

So what if a letter is offensive? They beat Taehyung to a bloody pulp, exiled him, and made his friend think he needed to challenge him in order to keep the pack in order. If a simple letter would be the thing to set them off then I would happily be the bad guy. Knowing that I was more than likely making an awful choice, that the chances of someone else getting their hands on Namjoon’s letter were high, I still had to try. I would never see Jimin cry like that again. My mind made up, I gathered up some paper and an ink jar and began to write.

Taglist: @greezenini​ @adventures-in-bookland​ @kthstrawberryshortcake-main​ @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12​ @canarystwin​​

© chimcess, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[obm-avenquire]

extra luke thoughts i couldnt be bothered to edit

my tone in more edited writing often ends up sounding a bit. melodramatic and over-think-y, but i dont really perceive luke as a sad character! he's someone incredibly resolute, and even if his surface level opinions seem harsh, they're brittle and easy to break through. i think luke worries too much about being fragile, when that fragility can just as easy become /flexibility/. i believe this flexibility built on his foundation of genuinely strong morals will make him - already makes him - incredibly strong as a person. 

i do think there's some inevitable heartbreak that will happen - luke idolises too much for that to not be the case - but i don't think there is much that is unsurvivable for him. part of why i'm so irritated by a lot of the excessive infantalisation and chihuahua jokes about him is that like...he is the character who has received the most development in obey me. like he has changed a LOT throughout the story, and while i won't spoil anything there is a clear arc, and even WITHOUT that luke is already incredibly up there so far as strength in character (as a person, not as a literal character). the jokes just feel...so misplaced, i guess? like he's not some over eager annoying brat that wants everyone out of the way so he can take over, he's genuinely eager to learn, and his hostility to demons is completely understandable and the reasons he has for fearing them (being evil) is literally something a lot of the demon cast take pride in for a good chunk of the plot. 

admittedly i think a lot of my frustration also comes from chihuahuas being notoriously mistreated and boiled down to accessories (hence why theyre often aggressive and yappy. theyre small, their needs arent being met and they cant defend themselves any other way) because i sure do lack the parental/older sibling urges needed to feel like...protective or genuinely attached to luke in any sorta way. he's like bottom 3 on my list of charas to care about and thats not out of dislike, just out of apathy. but i also cant stand for slander and hypothetical injustice (/lh) so im gonna complain!!!

ANYWAYS if nothing else i think. lukes belief is important. like he really trusts that people like micheal and simeon are good, and will be good and keep that strength. by that same virtue he can have a similar confidence in himself, not arrogance, mind, just. yeah. hes good. he knows that!! he needs to learn to be better since the racism isnt ideal but yknow-

speaking of learning hes REAL determined like!! hes genuinely happy to keep working and trying. he doesnt want to be coddled because he genuinely wants to know and be better.  like. he DOES think like a child. he wants to grow up so fast, but he has so much time, so much more than most, but if he has all the time in the world then why not NOW? (course, waiting is easy for patience, simeon, someone who hasnt let time move for himself in centuries)

i think theres a sorta. inevitable conflict with simeon and luke coming whether solmare mentions it or not but like. dynamic wise. because simeon refuses to see change in others unless they dont let it be ignored, he needs everyone to be within his perception of them and the role hes assigned them in his mind. but luke is someone who WILL change, and is changing, and simeon can only infantalise him for so long before it genuinely becomes a problem, especially when it’s balanced/offset by the way that him and luke very much begin playing the roles of a struggling parent and over eager child. while luke is strong, and good, and genuinely skilled, he also needs time to be none of those things. everyone does, but it’s especially important for child development, even if said child is over a thousand years old. 

its something that id argue does give us way more insight to the celestial realm than a lot of other vague exposition we’ve gotten. while luke is considered especially talented, there never seems to be any indication that he is odd for an angel, adult or child. that combined with how vacant the celestial realm feels, how emotionally detached it is, gives some interesting extra details to the basis of the celestial realm not being holy and happy in the way it’s implied/perceived to be. which isnt a new revelation by any stretch, but...context, yknow? extra supporting evidence. idk! these are my rambles that i am putting out many of which are years old and some that i thought about literally yesterday!!!