#return of the ice emperor

[icy-watch]

Look, he's having an identity crisis, ok?

[iamsonormalaboutninjago]

Poll cause I’m curious while watching it

Cause genuinely I like it but a lot of the missed opportunities and stupid useless plot points make me mad.

[revrads]

“The Bo-Staff”

Some angst based off my Ninjago redesign! There’s a reason why I gave Zane a bo-staff from the start and if you’re interested in reading it, proceed to the tags cause I’m too embarassed to do it in captions lmao (Spoiler- it has something to do with the Ice Emperor)

[vesivoro]

Wu was theorising about dragon forms and when theres even a tiny chance it could be done suddenly hes like nah bro

[localguy2]

Meanwhile at the writers room:

Alright, we got potentially amazing character development for Zane by exploring his trauma in a season/episode...

Let's give his trauma a joke episode-

[canonrenaissance]

CR • Backstabber

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

[closed starter for @thelittlestdemon]

Do not ask how he got here. Do not ask how he finally got out of the hospital clinic, or where he got the matching vintage hat and swimsuit. Do not ask how he managed to have a date with silvery hair and a matching sun-hat and one-piece on his arm.

All anyone at the ball needs to know is that a Fae is present, and so are his drinks. Surfs up, anyone?

[cast-iron-bug]

*me who goes on two hour walks a day just to do this very thing* ....oh god dammit-

[ineffectualdemon]

(AO3 link)

The attack came out of nowhere. 

Luo Binghe was off settling some administrative issues Shang Qinghua had uncovered and Shen Qingqiu was waiting in gardens of the palace for his return.

Mobei Jun was nearby 'waiting for Qinghua' but they both knew he was actually on guard duty.

Unfortunately it didn't help when the attack came.

The demon lord who had been embezzling and other unsavoury things decided taking a hostage would help. 

It seems he forgot who exactly his Emperor had married. 

Xiu Ya flashed white as it parried and attacked while Shen Qingqiu serenely moved around the garden, dodging attacks that made it through his defense. 

Behind him Mobei Jun also fought, the attack planned well enough to account for him but not well enough to succeed. 

Soon all the would be kidnappers were dead and Shen Qingqiu flicked the blood off of Xiu Ya. 

"Thank you for your assistance Mobei-Jun though they were hardly a challenge." Shen Qingqiu said as he turned to face the demon in question.

"Consort Shen did well." The ice demon replied. As if Shen Qingqiu was a disciple in need of reassurance instead of a Peak Lord. 

Shen Qingqiu grit his teeth. 

"You little shit! Just because I'm not Luo Binghe or Liu Qingge doesn't mean I'm low level trash!" He thought. 

"It's so kind of Mobei-Jun to say so despite this Master's 'inferior talent' and 'inflexible techniques' as Mobei-Jun was so kind to inform me of back when we fought." Shen Qingqiu spat acidly, not like he held a grudge or anything. 

Mobei-Jun shrugged as he moved the bodies in a pile for easier removal. 

"It is not Consort Shen's fault. It was unfair to compare him to Qinghua." Mobei-Jun said as if what he just said wasn't absolutely insane.

"I'm sorry. WHAT? You're comparing me to Shang Qinghua!?" Shen Qingqiu wanted to bite something. Possibly that weasel Airplane.

"Yes, it was most unfair. I have yet to meet a cultivator his equal." Mobei-Jun said, managing to make being contrite an insult.

"Shang Qinghua? The same Shang Qinghua I know? Your husband?? The Peak Lord of An Ding who never fights unless he has to and even then he prefers to play dead or hide behind others? THAT Shang Qinghua????"

Surely not. Surely this is a jest made by the Ice Demon who was notoriously not one for jokes.

"En. He is very good at saving his skills for when he needs them and is clever and fast on his feet." Mobei-Jun almost looked happy talking about Shang Qinghua, "His humbleness is a virtue much admired by cultivators as this King understands it. This King did not appreciate it at first but seeing how he uses it to get opponents to underestimate him has made this King see it's value."

Shen Qingqiu felt like he'd been slapped in the face.

"Wait. Are you saying Shang Qinghua can fight?" 

Mobei Jun got a far away look in his eye that Shen Qingqiu wanted to erase from his memory as soon as he saw it.

"Like a god." 

Shen Qingqiu stood very still for a long moment.

"I need to get drunk." Was his thought when his brain rebooted and he soon stalked off to find something that would allow it. 

[night-invader]

Meme for my au of Sensei G returning a couple months after the end of season 10 (His good and evil sides got reunited or some shit. Took a while after the resurrection and splitting of his soul)

He's held at gun point by literally everyone.... for obvious reasons of everyone thinking emperor Garmadon is playing some sick twisted deception on them Nd especially Lloyd.

He got back and nearly got blasted back to his prison cell or to the Departed Realm once again.

Kai is literally on fire and ready to make some Oni barbecue.

Nya is ready to drown him in the saltiest water known to mankind.

Jay is one second away from releasing millions of volts.

Cole be lifting a mountain and throwing it at the Resurrected man.

Zane is making an ice coffin for him already.

Pixal is unleashing all of her new gun installments.

Lloyd is conflicted because goddamn, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that his dad is long gone and dead and that the only way he can see him again is if he dies and goes to the departed realm.

[icy-watch]

Sir, how are you

how are you controlling your limbs?

[moodymisty]

Hiii!!! I LOVE everything you write since I followed you a long time ago. I would like to read something about Rogal Dorn. I can't find ANYTHING about him and i just can't stop thinking about him.

I don't mind if it's smut, whatever you feel confortable with, but if it can have a little bit of fluff i would LOVE It.

Thank you for everything.💞

Author's note: Ok so I am deciding to do an idea i have for awhile, that I believe someone else posted but I cannot remember who. anyhoo, enjoy. Perhaps it's not as fluffy as you might have wanted, but fluffy Dorn is sort of awkward, nice Dorn so I hope you still like it;;

Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader (reader is a remembrancer)

Warnings: Perturabo calls you a whore but other than that nothing really of note

"I never did thank you properly for all of the clothes, Lord Dorn."

You look up at him, golden armor still shining in the relative dimness of the bridge- to only get a light nod of his head in response.

Inwit is freezing, unfathomably cold, and the clothes you had worn previously on Olympia failed to cut it. That had been a very quick, and very upsetting realization. Dorn had- in his stalwart silence - requisitioned you more only a few days later. Many more, custom-made. They were lined with warm furs and comfortable, built for hard winds and ice, trapping your body heat close to you. You had taken some of the layers off since you were arriving to Terra, a planet with a much more tempered climate. You don't miss the burning of your cheeks and frozen snot, but you do miss the planet overall.

Terra... Coming here makes you nervous. You know who is going to be here. Take a few deep, self-assuring breaths before looking in Dorn's general direction. The large glass viewport at the front of the bridge illuminates most of the floor, casting you all in a variety of colors.

"Lord Dorn, may I ask you a question about something?"

He turns to you, looking down at your hesitant expression.

"Did Perturabo make you beg permission to speak to him? Just ask it."

He did, more often than not. You remember more than a few instances.

"Well, he was actually going to be what I wanted to ask about."

You twisted your wrists in your hands, trying to do some sort of fidget to focus on while Dorn had his full attention on you.

"Has he always hated you? The entire time I was in his company, there was always just undertone of pure, seething hatred for you, but whenever I saw you, you didn't seem to even care."

There are a few other Imperial Fists on the bridge, watching as Terra comes into view. You're in the process of getting caught by the planet's orbit and mooring close enough to come down to the surface. You can see the palace already, even from this far, a golden target that is still growing larger with each day.

"Perturabo has always been that way, yes."

Dorn turns to briefly give an order to a questioning Imperial Fist, before returning to you and his explanation.

"He sees competition in my existence. I don't care."

Polux approaches, choosing to stand on your opposing side and wait patiently for his moment to speak. You give him a brief smile as greeting before returning your eyes to his primarch. Dorn looks forward and out the viewport, watching the palace of his design inch closer and closer.

"Sanguinius and Horus' rivalry is even matched. They both find growth from it. Perturabo's rivalry with me is a childish urge to beat me into the ground and prove to everyone that he is better."

You don't disagree with him in even the slightest. Perturabo was always so desperate to beat Dorn above all else, even to the detriment of other facets of his life.

"Despite the fact that he isn't?"

Dorn looks at you fully again, eyebrows raised and you swear, you swear, the inkling of a smile on his face.

"You have spent more time with him than I. Do you think that?" He turns on his heel slightly, armor shifting and clanking against eachother to face you more.

"Do you think The Emperor was right in claiming me Praetorian over him?"

You've been with the Imperial fists for a few months now, and this is far from the first time you've spoken to Dorn. Far more than you ever interacted with Perturabo, despite the fact that Dorn is known for being tight lipped and humorless.

You nod.

"Yes, I do. Perturabo's plans are always so complex, and he hinges them and his entire self worth on being better than you. And when he fails, he sulks." You smile. "I don't imagine you or your sons to be the type to sit and pout if something went wrong. You would all be too busy trying to correct it."

Dorn looks down at you, face as stoic and frozen as you've become quite used to. You don't know entirely what he's thinking, but you don't get a chance to ask before someone else's voice interrupts you.

Polux has a younger astartes walk up to him, stating some information that flows in one ear and out the other for you before walking away. He turns to the both of you, looking two his primarch but referring to the both of you.

"My lord, we are ready to depart for the palace. Is she accompanying us?"

You've never stepped foot on Terra before, to even come into it's orbit is an idea that you could barely handle; Alongside the fact that the primarch and his captains have little need for you there. You gather yourself, preparing to return to the Librarium aboard the ship to continue your work before Dorn's voice stops you in your tracks and sends almost every emotion through you at once.

"She is. Let us go."

Your first time on Terra was going well, in the first hour or so.

Dorn isn't much of a communicator, so he has spent the long of it conversing with his men, giving orders even while not aboard his ship. Either orders given to send back to the Phalanx, or to the Imperial Fists on Terra assisting with the Palace construction. You stand idly by and occasionally draw, or write something down that interests you.

The smoothness stops however, when Dorn looks away abruptly. His sons are confused, before they also perk up not a moment later. You look to Polux, as you know he's the one who will most likely acquiesce to your questions.

"What is it?" You say. He tilts his head vaguely in your direction, but doesn't actually look at you.

"Primarch Perturabo is on his way. He must've heard we had arrived," Polux takes a breath, presumably steeling himself for whatever is to come.

"His... footsteps are quite loud." Not a few more moments later now even you can hear them, and then see him shortly thereafter.

Perturabo storms closer; You can tell by the red flush over his tanned skin, that he is beyond furious.

Dorn looks down at you, and points behind him. His voice leaves no room for question, not as if you would even considering doing so in the first place.

"Go to Vulkan."

The Salamander's primarch had finished speaking to Dorn not long ago, now standing across the massive open area that you presumed served as a training ground for the astartes. You do as your now primarch commands and rush towards him, feeling his eyes on him as you approach.

"I am terribly sorry to bother you Lord Vulkan, but My lord Dorn told me to-" He ushers you closer with a hand, his voice gentle despite his overwhelming size.

"I am well aware of your circumstances, and what is more than likely about to play out. You can stay here with me."

You take refuge close to the Salamander's primarch, both standing and watching as Perturabo confronts Dorn. Multiple of his Imperial Fists straighten up and hold themselves at the ready, prepared to fight for their primarch if it ever be needed.

"Dorn!"

A disrespectful finger points his way, but Dorn pays it no mind. The white fabric of Perturabo's Olympian clothes flow softly and comfortably in the gentle wing, in contrast to the sharp, unforgiving features of his face.

"You think you can just steal from me now? Are you truly so bold now that you're praetorian?"

Dorn only speaks up when Perturabo is close enough that he doesn't have to yell.

"She wanted to leave."

Dorn speaks plainly, bluntly, as if he's just totally uncaring of the conversation.

You've learned over time that Dorn is far from emotionless; He merely doesn't waste it on things he deems pointless. This is pointless, and so he only speaks with the most blunt, monotone voice. It pisses Perturabo off to an unfathomable degree.

To think he was so upset about your departure without his dismissal. He had been nothing but cold and cruel to you, despite the fact that you were merely there to document his legion's progresses.

"I don't care what she wanted. She was indebted to my legion, and I will not tolerate deserters no matter how useless I think they are,"

Perturabo yells. Once his frustration at Dorn is exhausted enough that his attention can be deviated, he turns his gaze to you.

It feels like the gravity of a planet is pushing down onto you, the sheer weight of his anger. Even from so far away. Even the weight of Primarch Vulkan's hand on your shoulder does nothing to shield you from it.

"I hope you heard me, you lying, traitorous little whore. I hope you know I'll wring your neck myself when I catch you."

It takes every bit of energy to avoid crumbling instantly, at the threat of a primarch. Thankfully he leaves shortly after, storming off with the flowing white fabric of his clothes flowing behind him.

Vulkan sighs. You think he said something to reassure you, but you can't hear it over the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"I truly don't think there is much we can do to change him." Corvus- whom you've only just realized was here the entire time with a startle upon hearing his voice - shakes his head.

"His desire to be superior is tripped up at every point by his insufferable personality."

Vulkan looks down at you as an Imperial Fist approaches.

"Are you alright?" He says, and the caring nature of it is a bit overwhelming.

"I, I hope so." Vulkan doesn't laugh, but there is a softness on his face as he smiles at you. Corvus simply watches, and you once again realized that he was there.

"We all know Dorn. He has mentioned you quite a bit,"

"For him," Corvus adds. Vulkan gives him a quick look before turning back to you.

"I do not think he would ever allow anything to happen to you."

The reassurance of a primarch is a feeling next to none; But so it's the threat of one. They both battle in your heart and soul as the Imperial Fist reaches you.

"Lord Dorn is going to have one of us escort you back to the ship."

You nod, looking up to Vulkan to thank him. He simply smiles and speaks before you have a chance to give any gratitude.

"Stay safe, little one."

You follow that Imperial Fist back, before he leaves you on your own close to your quarters. Once you get into them, the door shutting behind you with a hiss, your chest starts to tighten like something has a hold on it.

Every Iron Warrior now likely knows that Perturabo wants your head on a pike. You try to steady your breathing, dumping your papers onto your small desk and sitting on the edge of your bed with a soft thud.

It's getting harder to breath, you swallow a massive knot in your throat. You try to shake your leg, dig your fingers into your palms to stop the feeling, like your heart is going to explode, the thumping of blood in your ears-

It starts to level down after awhile, the room steadies and no longer is spinning. Once that happens, the tears actually start to come, and you keep trying to wipe them away each time a few fall.

You don't regret leaving the Iron Warriors; Olympia. You don't know what Dorn saw in you that was enough for him to offer you a place but you don't regret taking it. His legion's treatment of you compared to your time on Olympia was incomparable, but the petty nature you had witnessed from the primarch was now focused on you; Your betrayal of fleeing to Dorn.

You have your arms wrapped around yourself, tightening them as someone opens your door. Your momentary startle fades when you realize who it is.

It's Dorn. You don't know when his presence stopped being so intimidating, even as a primarch; Perhaps it's the time you've spent with him recently that has gotten you used to him.

"You have been crying."

It would surely be easy to tell- you can still fear the wetness of tears on your face. You take a deep breath and clear your throat to try and speak normally.

"Primarch Perturabo wants my beaten corpse at his feet, and I don't, I don't know what to do-"

He comes closer, face neutral and stoic. You try and contain the emotion on your face.

Stupid, all of it, is what Perturabo would've said to you. You were always a stupid, pointless inconvenience forced upon him. But yet one he was still so upset to see leave.

"I knew very well how he would behave when I offered you a place here. I will not allow him to harm you."

In his own, odd way, the sentence calms you. It's not a lie, it is the utmost truth put into blunt, simple words. You sniffle and unwrap your arms from around yourself, returning to some level of normalcy.

"Thank you..." You say, and Dorn- to your surprise - kneels.

"Do not thank me for something I should do. I put you in this predicament and made you an enemy of him."

Dorn is quiet for a moment. You look at him questioningly, but he doesn't seem to notice. Then suddenly a hand rests heavy on your shoulder, and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

It's only a split second, it's chaste and quick, and he pulls away as a string of spit snaps between you both. You barely even have a chance to process it all; A primarch just kissed you. You had liked him, but you firmly pushed those thoughts from your mind for the sheer absurdity of them.

“You shouldn’t cry.” At first you think he’s telling you not to be weak- To suck it up.

“I, should not have allowed him to speak to you that way. I allowed him to make you cry.”

Crying is nothing; the fact that he has said he would protect you from an enraged primarch that by all intents and purposes you betrayed, is more than worth its weight. You don’t care about the crying.

"I'll be fine. I just needed a minute, and," You laugh. "Hopefully that's the last time I ever see his face." Dorn doesn't smile, but his voice has a gentle tilt of amusement that makes you smile a bit wider.

"I admit I would be jealous of you if that were to be the case."

You don't envy that he will have to continue to deal with Perturabo, especially now that your presence has created a deeper rift. Alongside his duties as Praetorian.

Dorn rises up from his knee and reaches out a hand.

"I am going to speak to my men about progress of the Palace walls. Come with me."

You take his hand, and you expect him to just allow you to pull yourself up, but instead he wraps his fingers around it and holds your hand, guiding you out of your room. He lets go moments after, but the gesture was there none the less.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024) Day 12 - Facefucking

Kink: Facefucking

Pairing: GN!Reader x Incubus

Other Kinks: Sex Toys, Blow Jobs

Word Count: 1525 words

Kinktober Masterlist

“How many-” Your voice falters as you suck in a deep breath, more focus needed than normal to form a proper sentence, “-s-settings does this thing have?”

“13.” Elijah says, still perched on his loveseat. He snacks on a bowl of figs and nibs of dark chocolate, slow and luxurious, like a despotic emperor forcing men to fight for his amusement. “You’re only on level 3 darling, so desperate for more already?”

“Ahh-I didn’t say that.” You pant, hip flexors beginning to burn as you hold your legs wide open for the thrusting dildo. Mixtures of sweat and lube splatter all cross your inner thighs, spread out on the fucking machine currently wrenching you open. “J-just…curious.”

“Hmm, I bet you are.” Elijah’s molten gold eyes soak in every inch, forked tongue flickering to wet his lips as he takes another sumptuous bite of a fig. His nostrils flair with every moan, every twitch of your hips as the contraption moves in and out, in and out. “Don’t love it too much, darling, I can be quite a jealous demon.”

You roll your eyes, considering this was his idea in the first place. Brush the dust off an old sex machine he hadn’t needed in ages, the typical limitless stamina of his species meaning it was often useless. But after making you come undone in all the other kinds of ways, he figured a few toys wouldn’t hurt to spice things up.

“Fu-uck.” You sigh, bringing a palm up your neck and feeling yourself. Elijah’s gaze is hot and heavy, not missing a moment of his favorite meal. It’s a real boost for your ego, knowing he’s enjoying this in more ways than one; Taste, sight, sounds, it’s all for him to consume. So you like to put on a show for your boyfriend, swivel your hips and project your dirty noises. 

But your boyfriend is also a little shit, so of course he decides to click the remote and switch you to level four. 

“Oh shit!” You nearly keel over, the jump between three and four exponential as the machinery begins to creak with its exertion. Your eyes roll back, the burning fire becoming all consuming. “Ooooh, Elijah!” You scream out his name as you cum, trembling as the machine leaves no mercy, pistoning into you through your orgasm. It makes your toes curl, has your mind turning to slush.

Elijah is quick to catch you once you collapse off the toy, the fuck machine still whirring as you fall into your boyfriends waiting arms. He moves like a panther, lounging one moment and pouncing the next. He takes a deep whiff into the crook of your neck, shuddering as he tastes the wafting pheromones.

“Absolutely delicious.” Elijah sighs, smacking his lips as he rubs your lower back. The dildo on the machine hadn’t been huge, but its mechanical force had been enough to leave you sore, even as the high of climaxing faded.

“Thanks.” You slur into his shoulder, your faculties slowly returning as Elijah lies you on his stomach, lounging back in his loveseat. A pitcher of ice cold water tips into your mouth, most dribbling down your chin, but refreshing nonetheless. “How many stars?”

“3, Michelin of course.”

You give him a lazy thumbs up, nuzzling your face into his bare chest. He’s warm, as always, the kind that draws you in and begs for you to touch.

Elijah is sweet, playing with your hair and feeding you figs, but the unmistakable bulge still in his pants has you sitting up, forcing your tired body to move.

“Want to make you feel good.” You mutter, eyes still hazy from the afterglow, though no less wanton.

“Dearie, you know you don’t have to do that.” Elijah’s claws scratch the bottom of your jaw, a shuddering feeling that has you shiver. “You’re human, your body has limits.”

“Ah yes, but I have more than one hole, don’t I?”

You press a kiss into abdomen, then onto his stomach, below his belly button, his v line and then to his deliciously tight shorts. You pick up length of his clothed bulge, Elijah’s tail flicking behind you.

“I can smell your tiredness, my dear.” Elijah says, as if you can’t feel his cock twitching against your lips.

“Then use me. Use me like a toy.” You moan, your own engine revving at the idea. “Use my mouth like that machine used me.”

You slide off the suede loveseat, falling into the plush shag carpet and opening your mouth wide. Elijah brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek, still slightly disapproving.

“Please, baby.” You pant like a dog, pursing your lips for extra effect. 

Elijah sighs, gripping your jaw like you're made of porcelain.

“I have shacked up with quite a salacious human, haven't I?”

You nod, eyes sparkling with mischief. Elijah chuckles.

“Alright, but I thought I was to be the ravenous sex demon in this relationship.”

Elijah stands up, moving his hand to the back of your head as fishes out his cock. It's already dripping with pre, the buzzing aphrodisiac that you’ve become addicted to over the course of your relationship. You wiggle your butt, too excited to keep still.

“You look so cute on your knees.” Elijah lines his cock up with your mouth, your lips falling apart as wide as you can make them. The wet head rubs against the flat of your bared tongue, Elijah's claws digging into your scalp. “My little human toy. All for me; to fuck, to eat.”

Elijah’s cock is as hot as the rest of him, practically searing your mouth as it slides in. The perfect thickness and the perfect length, that buzzing precum softening your throat as he fully seats himself inside. He tastes like honey and salted caramel, making you desperate to keep him inside. 

“Let's see if you’re as durable as my machine, eh?”

Elijah smirks, his sharp fangs glistening in a curled smile when he pulls his cock out and shoves it back again. He sets a brutal pace, heavy balls sleeping against your chin as drools spits from his harried thrusts. He keeps his eyes down and on you, watches his precious toy take his cock over and over.

From below he looks especially devilish; His pupils slitted, his horns extra tall and overbearing, his mouth snarled as he fucks your mouth like it’s a piece of plastic. He pounds the back of your throat with each hit, your cheeks bulging with his girth. You try your best to move your tongue, play with his shaft, but he’s so big that there’s hardly any space in your mouth to do so. So you just enjoy the ride, watching his curled up face expressions while he chases his own pleasure.

“Doing so well, darling.” Elijah pats your cheek. “I’m so lucky to have found someone like you. Just as much of a degenerate as me.” Elijah swivels his hips on the word degenerate, watching his cock move around from behind your cheeks. He smirks, then resumes his thrusting. 

You wink, sucking in another breath and sealing your lips around his cock. Elijah’s eyes go wide and he bites down on his bottom lip, drops of black unholy blood beading to the surface.

“Fuck, you’re too good to me.”

Elijah’s stamina is always impressive, but it seems his full belly and your performance from earlier have him off his usual game, his cock already beginning to twitch in your mouth. His pants with every thrust now, the girl on the back of your head furling as he twists.

“Gonna drink my cum, darling?”

You nod to the best of your ability. Elijah laughs.

“That’s what I thought. Always so hungry for my cum down your throat. So dirty.”

Elijah’s features grow more wild as he grows closer to coming, his beastial nature popping out when he chases his own orgasm. He’s always been comfortable embracing his demonic side around you, your trust and closeness leaving little need for a facade meant for luring, but this is something that only comes out during his most primal. At the pinnacle of his nature.

“Here it comes!” Elijah punctuates each word with another thrust, ending with his cock at the edge of your throat. It’s quickly coated with sweet tasting semen, filling up your mouth easily and dripping down your jaw. Elijah catches his breath as he rides out the rest, petting the sore spot where he gripped the base of your skull.

“So good. So good.”

Elijah unsheathes with a pop out of your mouth, falling back onto the loveseat with a thump. You don’t even have time to wipe your face before he scoops you back up into his arms, lying the two of you and grabbing the pitcher of water once more.

The haze of sex lingers in the air, your sweaty bodies sticking together as you both suckle at the water pitcher, not caring how wet you get.

Elijah’s tail wraps around your ankle, arms pressing your waist into his. Interlocked and bellies full, you both fall asleep, perfectly content.

[muffinlance]

Zuko, banished, no crew, no uncle, no quest for the avatar. Says "fuck this" aka, if I can get back to caldera maybe I can convince my dad to take me back. Horribly wounded thirteen year old finds dragons, starts a civil war by accident

Zuko didn’t think he was still delirious. The Sun Warrior’s healer hadn’t wanted him to leave yet, but—

But he’s standing here, back in the throne room, and the room is set up again for another war meeting so maybe he should have waited before coming in. But the guards hadn’t even asked him—or anyone inside—before they’d thrown the double doors open, so. He’d thought father wasn’t busy.

The general he thought he was going to fight at the Agni Kai is here, and so are all the others, even uncle. And father, at the head of the table, standing.

Father is the only one standing. Everyone else is... They’re kneeling. 

When he’d come back to the palace, the servants in the courtyard he’d landed in had hurried to open the doors for him, all the way here. And the guards had let him in. And now the whole room is kneeling except for father who—

He doesn’t look like he did on the Agni Kai field. Father had been… he’d been so calm, then. He’d been doing what he had to do, to instruct Zuko, to correct him. 

Now he just looks angry. 

So. So Zuko is screwing this up, too. He practiced his speech the whole way home, it was a good speech, he’d based it on the one the Stone Prince made to his father the Mountain Emperor when he’d come home to beg forgiveness, bringing the treasures of the Ice Spirit with him as tribute. But Zuko doesn’t remember how he was going to start. And the flames behind father are getting higher, and hotter, and Zuko is okay now with flames that flicker with purples and golds and greens, but red flame is—

It’s so hot against his face—

“Father,” he croaks. “Father, I’ve returned. With dragons.” 

He is so, so stupid. Ran and Shaw have flanked him from the courtyard, have wound through hallways paralleling his path, are snaking between the pillars of the room until coils of red and blue dwarf everything here. Ran breathes her own flames out, and the fires before the throne shift from Ozai’s reds to the shimmering rainbow-sparks of dragonfire.

“A sign from Agni,” Uncle Iroh says. He’s bowed like the rest, but Zuko can see his eyes, and there’s the same glimmer there that father and Azula get before they do something Zuko should have seen coming.

“You dare,” father says, and Zuko isn’t sure if it’s him or uncle he’s talking to. But when he takes a step forward it’s towards Zuko and when he raises a fist it’s towards Zuko and when he makes the fire it’s towards Zuko and—

(And Zuko cowered the first time the dragons tried to show him their flames. It was all around him, swirling, and he hit his knees and shoved his face against his arms because he’d learned better than to look up. 

The fire stopped, and a whiskered nose nudged him, and then there was a huge scaly coil loosely wound around him until he was done crying, so at least the Sun Warriors below hadn’t seen how pathetic he was.

After that, it was… they made it a game. Little puffs of flames, the kind of sparks he used to make to keep Azula from getting fussy in her crib, until she was old enough to climb out and go exploring with him instead. 

He flinched at first, a lot, but they didn’t hurt. Didn’t even hit him. And then it really was a game, where he would spin their colors in with his own flames, and send them back, and they’d keep playing as the flames got bigger and bigger but somehow they never got scary again. 

When he’d stopped flinching at all, when he wasn’t a coward around his own element, he knew he was ready to return home. Grandfather had once welcomed uncle home with honors for killing dragons. So father would accept his apologies if he brought home two live dragons, right? Making friends with dragons had to be harder than killing them.)

Father’s flames were… they were just red. Zuko didn’t realize what he was doing until the war ministers were gasping. By then he was already spinning father’s flames with his own, mixing in all the colors father’s had lacked, and.

And sending them back.

(Batting fire around with dragons had not given Zuko a realistic grasp on the heat tolerance of the average abusive father.)

Uncle was not the first to bow, when Zuko had first entered. This time, he is.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says.

The war ministers are not prepared to countermand the Dragon of the West. Or literal dragons. They never left their knees, and they don’t start now. Foreheads touch the ground.

Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko’s first order is to take his father to the healers. He’ll let him stay there, longer than Ozai let Zuko.

(You can read this and other prompts at AO3. And longer stories, too. <3)

[tcfactory]

Silly idea of the day: Shen Qingqiu grills the System for answers about how to avoid the whole Abyss scenario and save his little cabbage favorite disciple until the System very reluctantly offers up the option to transfer the protagonist halo - and all the trials that come with it - to someone else if he pays literally all his points. It's a risky endeavor, but he doesn't see any other way to save Binghe from his suffering/blackening, so he decides to take the risk. After some deliberation he decides to transfer the protagonist halo to Mobei-jun. Based on his memories of PIDW, Mobei-jun isn't the type to be interested in world domination and Shen Qingqiu figures if any kind of wild plot is going to happen to the ice demon, it will be limited to the demon world + maybe Huan Hua Palace and that's it.

The System checks in with Shang Qinghua about what kind of story he would have written for Mobei-jun if he had the choice (SQH is vary of the System and answers 'found family and slowburn romance, maybe with a touch of a coming of age plot' because there's no way the System can make something horrible from that, right?) and accepts Mobei-jun as an alternative.

The protagonist halo is transferred with the click of a button; Luo Binghe loses that special spark that designated him for greatness, but at the same time, he is free of the weight of his fate as well. He's destined to live a life as ordinary as a half-demon cultivator's ever gets.

However, Shen Qingqiu is not required for the new story and keeping a 'troublesome' transmigrator around is too risky for the System, so it decides to swap Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu back. There is a high chance of Shen Jiu dying of qi deviation when he's shoved unceremoniously back into his body (his soul has been fragmented and damaged when the System replaced him with Shen Yuan) which would be the best outcome, as far as the System is concerned, because it would be a natural-looking death that nobody would bother to investigate. It's pure luck that Liu Qingge is lurking around, looking for a chance to thank Shen Qingqiu for saving his life in the caves, and can step in and stabilize Shen Jiu.

At the same time Mobei-jun, in the first hour of being the new protagonist, stumbles into a patch of very specific magic weeds and passes out.

Shen Jiu now knows of the System and has some vague awareness of the person who, as far as he can tell from the incoherent hints the System gave him, was kidnapped against their will and showed into his body and fate for the sake of raising some prophecised emperor of the three realms to power, a plan that was foiled by Shen Jiu's return. He doesn't know why this person acted so strange while in Shen Qingqiu's role (coddling those brats, especially that brat?! What was the stranger thinking??), but the System's remarks make something clear: the stranger knows something about the prophecy and did his best to avoid it, much to the System's displeasure.

So clearly the best course of action is to get them back and question them, somehow. But first Shen Qingqiu is going to Yue Qingyuan and shakes him until he confesses why he left Shen Jiu behind, because if he has to deal with a demon (?) or being that can erase him from existence at a whim, then he wants to know the reason. He's facing almost certain death here, it's the least he's owed!!

While Shen Qingqiu is grilling his soon-to-be-beloved-again brother and trying to come up with a way to keep being a decent teacher despite himself, just in case, on Qian Cao a young, amnesiac rogue cultivator wakes up. He was found in the borderlands, almost ripped to shreds by a herd of man-eating boars. He doesn't remember his name or his past or even his cultivation, but Mu Qingfang estimates him to be in his twenties. He has a very well-developed fire root and a sunny complexion, but he is haunted by dreams of ice, so they decide to call him Beilun (悖论 - paradox) for the time being. When Beilun recovers he asks to stay in the sect so he can learn proper cultivation again and after some rigorous testing - a balanced nature between physical and spiritual cultivation, not much of a head for arts, but excellent instincts for politics, trade and strategy - Yue Qingyuan snatches him up as a personal, soon-to-be head disciple (also maybe brand new adopted little brother, because Yue Qi can't help himself). Shen Qingqiu is initially unhappy about having to share Yue Qingyuan's brotherly affection with someone new, but soon warms up to Beilun himself when he realizes how ruthless the young man can be. Second big brother acquired!

Time passes. Shang Qinghua privately mourns for Mobei-jun when word gets back to Cang Qiong that the Northern prince has been missing so long that they wrote him off. His mourning is tinted by guilt, because he keeps getting distracted by the handsome new Qiong Ding head disciple. Yue Beilun is tall and suntanned and scarred, even years later still not fully recovered from whatever befall him on the edge of the demon realm, but every time he smiles at Shang Qinghua it feels like the world comes to a standstill.

So for one there's the glacially slow falling in love between Shang Qinghua and definitely-not-Mobei-jun. There's the forming adopted family with the two disasters in charge + still-absolutely-not-Mobei-jun. There are Shen Qingqiu's persistent attempts at being a good teacher and a better martial brother (with inconsistent degrees of success, but Liu Qingge is discovering a lot of new things about himself as the primary audience of Shen Qingqiu's self-improvement). There's the long search for ways to get Shen Yuan back from the System, which leads to a whole, wacky side-adventure when they learn the truth about Tianlang-jun and set him free while they are there to get the mushrooms.

Of course this New Plot can't happen without some drama. Beilun is accompanying the masters to the Immortal Alliance conference when the Endless Abyss opens up. Luo Binghe almost succumbs to a sever qi deviation when his seal breaks and Beilun rushes in to fight off the monsters attacking the disciples and falls into the Abyss - which is just the thing needed to break the curse on him...

So Cang Qiong is in mourning over the loss of Yue Beilun who many of them assumed will be the next sect leader based on Yue Qingyuan's strong attachment. Luo Binghe is confined to Qian Cao, half under treatment and half under house arrest on account of being half-demon until they can figure out what to do with him. At least the System has relinquished Shen Yuan, now that the mushroom body is grown enough, and after learning how young he is, he becomes the new replacement little brother of the sect leader and the (ex) scum villain, which is weird and confusing, but not in a bad way.

Meanwhile in the demon realm Mobei-jun makes his return (as far as people know he was training all these years in the Endless Abyss and he is monstrously stronger for it), takes over as Northern King and starts solidifying his power base with Tianlang-jun's help (rumors have it that he was the one who broke the Junshang out of his prison, a feat everyone thought impossible). After all, only a fool goes courting when their court is in disarray and now that he remembers all the things Qinghua has done for him, he has eyes for nobody else.

All the while the Old Palace Master watches the shifts in the demon realm and plots a new war against the demons. With such a cold and ruthless rising Northern King looming on the horizon, not to mention the vengeful Tianlang-jun, it shouldn't be difficult to whip the cultivators up into preparing for conflict...

[qierxing]

Divinity

Yan! Zayne/Li Shen x Reader | Mythos AU CW/TW: Obsessive behavior,  Dub//con, Mention of attempted rape, spoilers for Zayne's mythos story

—

Your first mistake was staying.

In your defense, you didn’t have many options. Treason, even if falsified, meant that if you didn’t flee, meant that your body would be subjected to the most painful torture before dying. And you were much too cowardly for that.

At the time, you were desperate. Scared. Terrified for your life. So with fear and adrenaline rushing through your veins, you run to the one place that you knew the emperor and his court wouldn’t even think to look.

The Tower of Thorns.

In its freezing stone walls, you were safe from others, but not from him. 

People in court have murmured about him, the Foreseer. Old scholars with white long beards and wrinkled skin harped about tradition while old nobility scoffed and argued just what was the point of sending a royal envoy to their death. One of your friends at the time, a lady in waiting who knew how to read, told you that the Foreseer is meant to be Astra’s embodiment, according to the old texts. All this simply did not prepare you for what he actually is. 

“It seems you’re well acquainted with the flowers.” The low, curt voice makes you freeze for a moment, but only a moment.

“This unworthy one has had experience with tending flowers.” is your quick, demure reply. Only really watering them though, nothing like what the palace gardeners do. But still, you did enjoy taking care of the various jasmines, plum blossoms, and begonias in the pretty courtyards and chambers back then. 

More so than being suffocated by the cold, unfeeling blizzard that the Foreseer brings with him.

When you had stepped into the throne room, there indeed sat a body upon the grand throne. You had stepped closer only to find to your muted surprise that the body was encased in ice and prickly dark thorns. No signs of life whatsoever. That was as far as you wanted to check, and you were too relieved. Surely he wouldn’t notice if you took refuge here?

The flowers had been something that you took up to pass time. You didn’t know how long it would take for things to blow over, until the wanted posters were no longer calling for your head. And the buds peekings through the weathered cracks of stone inspired you. It had only been a matter of finding a container, then some snow that had melted into clear water. After that, it was practically routine for you to stop by the balconies to pay a visit to them.

It was when the first buds bloomed into beautiful osmanthus flowers that the Foreseer deigned to do something about the stranger that had invaded his domain.

A chilly wind blows and you shiver. You hated how cold it was here. You missed being back in the city, where the sunshine felt like a companion. 

“If you’re cold, you should come back inside.” The voice draws closer and you tense. “As a human, you are more prone to getting sick.”

“This unworthy one only wishes to finish their care,” you murmur, eyes still not leaving the glistening white petals. “Then they will return.” It had been awhile since you spoke court language, but it comes naturally. No matter how pretty the lotus is, they cannot hide the fact they bloomed from dirt, you thought with bitter humor.

The Foreseer doesn’t speak, but you can feel his disappointment, heavy enough to put pressure to weigh you down. You bow your head lower in submission, praying that it will be enough to appease him. The pressure grows heavier.

“Raise your head. You will only hinder yourself from properly watering the flowers.” 

You pause before you raise your face just enough to see the collar of long, midnight robes. You tip the container again, letting water shower the vines and petals freely without flooding it all and causing puddles to form. You do this several times, around the whole foundation.

When you’re done, you hold the container and bow again before the Foreseer.

“Then, this unworthy one will go now.”

You leave without raising your head, back to the doors. It is only when you find yourself in the drafty hallways that you dare to start to run.

—

When the Foreseer awoke, you fell to your knees and kowtowed, begging for mercy.

But would someone who is meant to be a guide to humanity and the kingdom by extension, let a fugitive like you live?

He had only given you a long look, before declaring that he has no hostility to those who don’t pose a threat, and walked away. You couldn’t believe it, but you didn’t question it, only grateful he had spared your measly life. 

But then he started appearing at the balconies where you watered flowers daily. You thought it was simply to check if you really weren’t a threat but the days went on to weeks, and he did not miss a single day greeting you there. Watching with those flinty hazel eyes. 

“What are you doing?” 

It was cold and freezing within the tower, but it was not completely uninhabitable. You had managed to cobble together a fire under an iron cauldron. 

“This unworthy one thought you might need some food, venerable one.” You timidly propose. 

“I have no need for such things. I do not have mortal needs such as hunger, if you will.”

Your face lowers more out of humiliation, but a sigh follows after.

“Come, sit.” You start to protest, but the plate holding the stew is slid over to you. The Foreseer merely raises an eyebrow when your stomach growls loudly, making blood rush to your face and neck. You decide not to embarrass yourself further and eat.

The wind howls outside. Tonight, it seems there will be another blizzard again. Just as you dip the spoon into the bowl, he finally speaks.

“Why did you come here, if you’re not an envoy from the kingdom?” 

You stop eating. And here was the dreaded moment.

“I…I’m no longer welcome in the kingdom.” You say. “It’s why I came here to seek shelter.”

“No longer welcome?”

You laugh humorlessly, deciding to throw everything to the wind. Who cares anymore? It’s not like you were any less doomed if you didn’t spill. “Royal authority is absolute. One thing led to another and well…”

Hazel fragments flicker with silver in the candlelight and you quickly lower your eyes. 

“I see.”

It’s a neutral response. He’s not angry, nor sad. It has the apathy of an immortal who can no longer find a reason to care. In a way, you’re relieved. You don’t want useless sympathy nor undue anger. 

His hand reaches out and you flinch, pushing back your chair and nearly falling over. Flashes of leering dark eyes and gnashing yellow teeth flash by in your mind. The heady scent of sandalwood incense. Your skin crawling where he touched, reaching for the closest thing near you to make it all stop—

The Foreseer blinks in slow shock at your reaction. You heave yourself upright and bow low.

”A thousand apologies, venerable one,” you rush out. “This unworthy one will excuse themselves.”

In the end, the Foreseer is left staring at a half-eaten bowl of stew.

—

It’s been three months.

You know, because you scratched the days and weeks into a smooth patch of stone in your room, keeping track so you wouldn’t forget how long you’ve been here. 

Three months should be enough for infatuation to wane and bloodthirst to die down, right? Princes had more than enough options of courtesans and concubines to care about one lowly chamber servant.

When you walk into the throne room, the Foreseer is reading a scroll. It’s long enough that it flows over his robes and onto the ground, showing complicated characters that you don’t understand at all. 

(You wonder if your friend is doing okay. Maybe you could send her a letter to tell her you’re safe?) 

“What brings you here?” the Foreseer doesn’t bother looking at you, and this you were grateful for. His eyes felt like they could see all the way through to your treacherous thoughts.

“This unworthy one simply wanted to announce that they will humbly take their leave here and to once again offer thanks for your benevolence.”

His eyes snap up instantly. Scroll forgotten, he lowers it to his lap, eyebrows furrowing. 

“You’re leaving?” He softly asks with disbelief. You only blink in confusion.

“Yes, venerable one.” You bow again. 

Something shifts in the air. The temperature drops abruptly, and within seconds, you can see your panicked breath fog the air in front of you. When you take a step back, the winds begin howling against the tall windows, hail banging on them incessantly, as if screaming for something. 

His scroll clatters to the floor and you barely have time to react when he swiftly reaches out and grabs your arm.

“Please…” his eyes dim from the usual warm brown and greens of forests to the steely flint of gray. “Please, you can’t go.”

You thrash against his grip, but he uses his other hand to entrap your other arm and before you know it, he’s carrying you somewhere. Your heart hammers against your chest as you try everything to get free, but his unrelenting grip cages you like ice, preventing you from escaping.

It’s when your back hits something soft and plush, that you begin to scream. No, no, no, no—but it’s no use. Large hands encircle yours and drag them above you and your scream is silenced by a desperation that makes you kick your feet. You didn’t want this. How could this happen again? The Foreseer is not human, how could he lust for someone like this? 

“From the moment I saw you,” he gasped out between ravaging kisses, “I knew you were the one. I should’ve been better. Then, maybe things would have been different.”

Despite his cold skin, his tongue felt molten hot, tangling with yours in the most filthiest way possible. Your head gets light headed with the prolonged kisses stealing your air. As your struggling grows slower with your energy fading, his body presses down to take advantage. 

“And you are mine.” he keens in your ear, and you whimper in response. The yearning in his voice is so poignant that it nearly breaks you in, but you yank your head away in an attempt to separate yourselves. In response, he delivers a bite that makes you yelp.

Soon your hips are pinned into place by his and horror begins running through your veins. Even if you try wiggling, something hard and hot is pressing against your nether regions, lighting a terrifying thrill in your chest.

“I’ll keep you safe, no matter what, my dearest.” He softly whispers, as his hands tug your shabby robes off your shoulders.

You wonder if Astra would hear your prayers if you screamed.