#someone free me from this (refuses to be freed)

[blighted-lights]

ravage lives in my head so rent free she may as well start charging me rent

i was put on this earth to think about The Character.

[atamascolily]

There is a tendency I see in PMMM analyses and discussions to treat the witches simply as monsters that can be overcome with sufficient force regardless of other circumstances--and thus Homura's failure to ever win against Walpurgisnacht on her own terms is something that could be easily fixed with more firepower and different tactics. And while there's nothing wrong with this interpretation, it's not one that particularly interests me, either.

What I like about PMMM and what makes it so engaging for me, is that it can be read on multiple levels--both as a literal journey and as a symbolic one. In-universe, witches are the shadow selves of magical girls; is it really so surprising that they also serve as narrative foils to those who face them, thus making victory or defeat as much of a character issue as a tactical one?

It is not a coincidence that Mami Tomoe, a girl who was forced to grow up too fast and who could have wished to save her dying parents but didn't, meets her end at the hand of a particularly childish and immature witch, a lumpen, misshapen doll that transforms into a clown--a girl who never grew up, who could have wished to save her dying parent but didn't. Mami, an experienced veteran who wiped the floor with the Rose Witch and her familiars earlier, is completely caught off-guard and is eaten alive by a witch who embodies all of the issues she herself struggles with and has yet to overcome within herself.

Yes, Mami was careless and overconfident, which led to her doom--but she had also fulfilled her role of introducing Madoka to the world of magical girls. On a narrative level, her death was necessary--not only to free Madoka from her impulsive promise to become a magical girl too early in the story, before she'd learned all the facts and could make a fully informed decision, but also to teach Madoka one final, horrific lesson about what life as a magical girl is really like.

This is not to say that AUs where Mami survives are wrong or missing the point--I've written them myself and I love them! (It helps that Mami's survival is usually the result of someone else's interference, not something she accomplishes on her own.) Nor do I mean to suggest that Mami's death is a moral failing on her part--merely that I think that Charlotte represents Mami's own particular brand of kryptonite at that particular point in her life, one she might have been able to survive if she had been able to move beyond the psychological issues hobbling her.

Meanwhile, Homura is able to easily defeat Charlotte, because metaphorically she's moved beyond the childish worldview that Mami is still stuck in. From that same symbolic perspective, it's this relative level of maturity, as much as her time stop and pipe bombs, that allows her to win.

Likewise, it is not an accident that the next witch Madoka encounters is one that specializes in extracting the memories of its victims, trapping Madoka in a spinning carousel as she is tormented by her own grief and guilty conscience over Mami's death. She is freed by Sayaka, who has moved beyond such angst by her decision to take on Mami's role as an idealized magical girl protector. Later on, Sayaka's descent into dualistic thinking is symbolized by her fight against a witch whose world is literally black and white--whom Sayaka defeats, but only at the cost of pushing herself dangerously to her limits.

As with Mami, Sayaka's death is directly tied to her own psychological issues--in this case, by her incredibly strict rules about how magical girls should behave and her refusal to cut herself any slack whatsoever. Her metaphorical self-denial results in literal self-denial, and her death as a magical girl and rebirth as a witch.

Then we come to Walpurgisnacht, a witch made of cogs and gears--the one witch Homura cannot beat, no matter what she does. Homura is stuck in her loops, unable to imagine a future beyond them, increasingly isolated from any meaningful connections or relationships--Walpurgisnacht may be the "fool that spins in a circle", but so is Homura. The inside mirrors the outside; when we watch Homura fight against Walpurgisnacht, we are also watching Homura's struggle with herself. Unlike Mami and Sayaka, Homura's magic allows her to fight this battle over and over again--again and again she is forced to retreat and start over, unsatisfied with the results and determined to do better next time. She doesn't die, but she doesn't win, either--instead, she's locked into perpetual stalemate with no end.

Madoka, however, is able to see beyond the vicious cycle represented by Walpurgisnacht and thus easily and repeatedly defeats an enemy that Homura cannot, regardless of her relative power levels in any given timeline. It's probably too simplistic to say that hope triumphs over despair--and yet, that's exactly what happens, every single time. Homura has numbed herself through repeated exposure to where she no longer feels hope or despair, thus existing in perpetual stasis with her purpose the only thing driving her. Paradoxically, the one thing she needs to do to win is the one thing she cannot do--and the thing that Madoka can do all too easily.

(This is not to say that Madoka doesn't have her own issues--she does!--just that her issues are different from Homura's, meaning she's not tripped up by this particular obstacle in the same way that Homura is. And it's not that Homura's struggles were pointless--they were what allowed Madoka to get to point where she had both the power and the knowledge that she could save everyone, including Homura.)

Homura's final battle with Walpurgisnacht shows Homura going to insane lengths, including a wall of C-4 explosives inside a refinery, a flaming oil tanker, and a submarine with Type 88 Surface-to-Ship missiles--none of which has any lasting effect on Walpurgisnacht whatsoever. That episode goes to great lengths to show that Homura's approach to fighting Walpurgisnacht fundamentally isn't working; I don't think adding more nukes would help.

The one time Homura gets the closest to her happy ending is the one timeline where she and Madoka fight and fall together--the one timeline where they are shown as equals, and the one where they debate becoming witches together and destroying the whole world before Madoka thinks better of it. This is also not a coincidence. If there is ever to be a truly happy end to this franchise--or an end at all--Homura and Madoka must be equal and willing partners, not one protecting/sacrificing themself for the other again and again. It is also likely that they will remake the universe in the process, through the combined power of their mutual wish.

[It also wouldn't surprise me if that line foreshadowed future plot elements--after all, Madoka technically became a witch in the final episode of the TV series (she got better, thanks to the nature of her wish), and so did Homura in Rebellion--but we shall see if the series ever follows up on this.]

This is why I'm so excited that Walpurgis no Kaiten seems to be laying the groundwork for Homura creating her own enemies and her greatest enemy being herself--once again, making the metaphorical literal. I'm excited about the prospect of Homura getting a do-over with Walpurgisnacht, which would represent a chance for her to confront her narrative foil one more time, and show us how her character has changed. Though it may play out on a larger stage, the real battle will be inside Homura's mind and heart--and, I would argue, always has been. The only way the outcome will change--the only way we can move beyond what's been and into something new--is if/when she changes.

I want to be clear that there's absolutely nothing wrong with the strictly literal interpretation of witches, and I think people should write what they want to write; if that's the story you want to tell, then go for it! For me, however, I find it far more compelling--not to mention richer and truer--if the actions and words on-screen correspond to the characters' emotional and psychological journeys, and there's no question that this preference how I interpret media in general, and PMMM in particular. And it's not that I think Homura couldn't defeat Walpurgisnacht in an AU scenario--merely that any story where she achieves this victory without changing in any way or addressing her own psychological issues in some fashion removes exactly the elements that drew me to this series in the first place.

[heartfullofleeches]

What would happen if fast food reader tried to quit?

"I quit!"

Fourty minutes in - that's a new record. You're in the middle of a transition with a customer when the newest in a line of new hires comes storming from the back, apron and badge on hand.

"In the single hour I've worked here I've been yelled at till my ears bled, pelted with plastic balls, saw my reflection drown itself in the toilets, and had my wallet and keys stolen."

"I'd say you had an okay start...." You pause for a moment, centered on the task at hand. ".....So will that be cash or card?"

Your coworker stares at you like you've grown antlers which probably wouldn't be the weirdest thing they've seen, but still up there in rankings.

"You're staying?!"

"I can't quit."

Pity flashes briefly in their eyes. "Being jobless is better than whatever this is, but I'm sure there's something else out there."

"You don't understand. I literally can't quit."

Your ex-coworker scoffs. "I know the job market is pretty rough these days, but come on..."

Sighing heavily, you carefully remove your apron- folding and setting at atop the counter along with your hat and badge. Glancing apologetically at the customer, you mutter.

"I quit."

Really, it only took the first syllable for what happened next, but it felt weird not to finish the sentence.

The entrace doors swing to a loud shut. Music playing over the speakers descends into static. Caution tape peals and tears from the walls as management's door pries it from position. Darkness oozes from the cracks as a body presses against the frame. A hand reaches out - pointing behind you.

"So!"

Your ex-coworker and the customer scream. You look over your shoulder at your manager's grinning face as they grip your shoulders.

"Please don't touch me."

Your manager laughs. "Oh, you and your silly jokes. So, I hear someone isn't having the best time. Your little friend is free to go, but you are a valued member of our team, Y/n. Anything we can do to make you stay?"

"No."

Your manager hands their head in sadness, immediately perking back up as they remove their touch from your shoulders. "I see..... Well! We'll all miss you dearly, but we respect your decision. Allow us to give you a portion of your severance in hand as thanks for your service."

"Please don't."

"Lambchop!"

The lights flicker as the freezer door slams into the adjacent wall. They continue to flicker with every heavy click of hooves on titled floors. The hulking figure ducks beneath menu signs, narrowly missing its curving horns getting stuck as it rises to full high. The reds of it beady eyes cast you in eerie glow as it stares - pupils shrunk as it turns. It seems to blink away tears as it snorts.

In a flash, the store mascot picks your ex-coworker by the throat and slams them to down on the counter. It reaches for its belt, sorting the sharpest cleaver of its artillery and sporting it against its prey's neck. Your coworker shrieks and flails, ceasing all movement as warm blood runs down their neck. As your eyes meet, you remain perfectly calm - brows raised in a sort of "I told you so look".

They pathetically beat at the goat demon's arm. "What the fuck.... what the fuck?!"

Your manager clicks their tongue. "I do apologize, but it's in their contract. Money is important, but we value something more here. As payment for self-termination from our team, Y/n here is to receive the beating hearts of everyone in the building in loo of breaking our own unless... they've changed their mind."

You shrug. "Long as you're still cool with my taking cash from the registers."

"Wonderful! Lambchop, could you please let the spoiled meat go? I'm afraid they won't be any good trying to posion our dear Y/n like that and I doubt they'll even make it out of the parking lot."

Your coworker scrambles for the door as soon as they're freed. Their blood, which you refuse to clean, paints the front door seconds later. Your manager sighs.

"Now that that's out of the way, please see to comforting Lambchop. You know how they get when you threaten to leave."

You look over at the mascot would bleats softly as they knock their head gently against the side of yours. You pet their horns as you throw your hat back on.

"Come on, Choppy. You can feed me fries in the breakroom."

Lambchop throws you over their shoulder and heads for the back as your manager takes their leave as well - leaving the customer alone in the main lobby.

"They... never gave back my card."

[sleepybbie]

Your Dan Feng thirst makes me so... Oonga boonga.... Thank yew for the meal op 🙏 if I may humbly ask for a blurb of thirst can we have Dan Feng showing Dan Heng the ropes on how to make you—Dan Heng's (and maybe soon Dan Feng's as well)—partner feel great in bed? After all!! What better way to learn how to please your own partner than yourself!!

𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 | dan heng & dan feng drabble

a/n: ahhh another dan heng request! >.< it’s not so surprising to see how popular my first hsr fav has grown ^o^ <3 yet still, i’m excited to see more works of mine regarding him because he’s the most requested in my inbox rn :3

dan heng il x fem!reader x dan feng

warning: smut ;3 some fingering here and there ^^

“i refuse to believe someone like you is my reincarnation.”

DAN HENG clicks his tongue in annoyance, sweat slowly dripping across his face as he pathetically watches DAN FENG spreads your legs apart with his long fingers, perfectly along with scissoring open your cute little clit as you squirm and whine, his tail wrapping around your waist to keep you still.

this was not what he meant when he needed slow guidance on how to please you better, as a sweet lover. his goddamn irritating incarnation however just had to pop out of nowhere and give him a ‘lesson’ on how to take you to a seraphic paradise. you were vulnerable, unable to move from your lover’s incarnation’s tail, your bare back from your disheveled clothes pressed against dan feng’s chest while his other free hand toys with your tits.

“..deciding to want to make love with your beloved when you don’t know how to treat her in bed properly…”

“i don’t need you teaching me how,” dan heng tells him, an angered expression written across his face. dan feng scoffs, his digits rubbing your cunt in slow circles, feeling your fluids drip slowly out from your cavern while you mewl loudly. “then why are you looking so intensely while i fondle her?” the former high elder speaks, his gaze never leaving dan heng’s.

dan heng anxiously swallows a lump down his throat, his aching cock pleading to be freed from his pants as the male desperately tries to refrain from touching himself right at that moment. the sight of you being touched and pleasured by his incarnate, makes him annoyed…yet at the same time, it was quite the sight to witness. your breasts about to pop out of your clothing, lips leaking few drools while your pretty cunt was displayed in front of him, glistening like a gem as dan feng teased your hole with his fingers.

“i must say, she is sort of acting like a woman with sexual innuendos.”

“are you saying she’s a ‘whore?”

“is that how you people call it these days? hmph. then, yes..you’re quite lucky…she’s not lucky however…” dan feng removes his hand from your tits, grabbing your chin to make you face him as he continued to speak to your lover, his reincarnation. aeons, he and dan heng really look alike, but instead—dan feng’s gaze was a little more colder, a little more stern. “she’s supposed to make love with someone who’s supposed to be my reincarnation, whom ends up not knowing how to please a woman.”

dan feng slowly makes you face back to your lover, who’s cheeks were red, panting heavily as he sits there and watches his incarnate prod open your pussy wide, drips of your impurity leaking from your hole as a loud whine escapes your lips. dan heng jolts.

“you—

“if you want to please a woman, it’s best to know how to do foreplay. first, you’d want to rub her clit down, just like this..” dan feng slowly repeats his steady massages down your weeping cunt, watching as you quiver at his touches, long sharp fingers kneading them down, your whines never fainting away. he’s…good. you love dan heng with all your heart, but his incarnation was talented with this. the former high elder chuckles, “what a loud mouth she has. it sounds like she’s wanting more, don’t you think?”

“wha—

“quit yapping and come here. you look like you are about to pop over there if you don’t touch her,” dan feng cuts him off, shushing him down as he commands your lover to come over closer. oh no…

dan heng approaches, not so eagerly, but slowly, his red face sending dan feng a death glare when he arrived close to you. a small smile appears over dan feng’s face, like he was smug about dan heng holding back to a pretty girl like you. “do not hesitate now, touch her.” dan feng tells him, removing his hand from your clit as he grabs dan heng’s wrists and places his fingers on top of your hole. he stops for a moment, looking at you with a nervous expression, breath heavy as his chest pants. you were so…pretty, so helpless, you were pleased. that’s all he ever wanted.

dan feng rolls his eyes, “what are you waiting for?”

“s-shut up…”

forgive me, y/n…

dan heng was fumed by his words, it was all over his face. he was frustrated and turned on. you looked at him, feeling dan feng’s tail pushing you further up to him before dan heng slips a finger inside your cunt for a brief moment. you cry, and he pulls it out again, flustered. he looked at his finger, and saw how drenched it already was from your fluids.

that…was

“see? she’s liking it. do it again, with two fingers this time.”dan feng orders him, his hands still continuing to play with your breasts, twirling your hardened nipples around.

dan heng did just what he was told, giving his forefinger and ring finger a small lick, before splitting you open with his fingers. a loud moan escapes out of your throat, head pushing back on dan feng’s shoulder as the two vidyadharas pleased you with ease. dan heng focusing on his fingers in your cunt, while dan feng parades you with praises, licking your earlobe, toying around with your tits.

oh fuck, dan heng thinks. the face your giving right now…he’s so fucking hard from the sight you’re making him receive.

“feels good, darling?” dan feng questions to you, and you nod. dan heng looks at him, looking like he’s about to stab him with cloud piercer any moment now.

“don’t forget who she belongs to.”

“ah, a shame. it appears she likes the both of us…”

fuck yeah you did. it was clear dan heng was jealous, and so, he leans in, giving you a passionate kiss, muffling your cute noises. with dan heng’s fingers, mouth and dan feng’s praises that were suddenly being possessed by filth along with his rhythm of his palms that presses down on your nipple, you won’t be going to last long. you were growing louder and louder of every minute. dan feng pulls dan heng away from you, resulting in a very irked dan heng.

“what the hell?!”

“patience. look at her, she’s close.”

dan feng was right. the knot in your belly was about to be cut open, hearts moulding into your pupils as a euphoric sigh passes your lips. it didn’t take long for you to squirt your release out, dan heng closing his eyes as your orgasm came to the edge, spilling some on his face and mostly on the ground, your hazy dreamscape of pleasure weighing down on your mind as you came down, panting hard. dan heng too was panting, face flushed as you heard him cursing underneath his breath.

“impressive. seems like you made a girl squirt on your first try.” dan feng says, before he bends you over, your face hitting the area of dan heng’s fabric pants before the former high elder hikes your skirt up.

“next, you should know how to let her take cock.” he says, and you knew you were going to end up very sore afterwards.

[novaursa]

Hey would you ever do a Helaena fanfic maybe yn is Helaena's older or younger brother and they get married or while Helaena is married to Aegon she falls in love with yn or something like that

Beyond Duty

- Summary: Helaena refuses to marry Aegon because her heart was already given to someone else. You.

- Paring: brother!reader/Helaena Targaryen

- Note: This short story will be expanded with the second part adding a marriage ceremony between the reader and Helaena.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: marriage

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The candlelight flickers softly in the chambers of the Red Keep. The night air is warm, carrying with it the faint scent of the gardens below, where jasmine and roses intertwine. You find yourself seated by the window, a book resting idly in your hands. The words blur together, your thoughts distracted by the events of the day.

A soft knock at the door draws your attention, and before you can respond, it creaks open to reveal Helaena. Her presence is like a breath of fresh air, her silver-gold hair cascading over her shoulders, the pale lavender of her gown catching the low light. She hesitates at the threshold, her violet eyes meeting yours with a shyness that belies the strength within her.

“May I come in, brother?” she asks, her voice gentle and uncertain.

“Of course, Helaena,” you reply, setting the book aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

She steps inside, closing the door softly behind her. There’s something different about her tonight, a quiet intensity in her gaze that you can’t quite place. She moves to the window beside you, looking out over the sprawling city below.

“I saw something today,” she begins softly, her hands clasped before her. “A dragonfly caught in a spider’s web.”

Her words are typical of her, cryptic yet filled with hidden meaning. You’ve always admired her peculiar way of seeing the world, her ability to find beauty and truth in the smallest things. You wait for her to continue, sensing there is more she wishes to say.

“I freed it,” she murmurs, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “It struggled so fiercely, but I could not bear to see it trapped like that, its wings torn and tattered.”

“Did it survive?” you ask, leaning closer, your interest piqued not by the insect but by what her words might signify.

She nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “It did. It flew away, its flight uneven, but it was free.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you filled with unspoken words. You can feel her gaze lingering on you, and when you meet her eyes, there’s a softness there that you’ve never noticed before, a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

“Do you ever feel like that, Y/N?” she asks quietly. “Trapped, struggling to break free?”

You’re taken aback by her question, the raw honesty of it. You’ve never spoken of such things before, not with anyone, and certainly not with her. Yet here she is, her eyes searching yours, as if she sees past the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around yourself.

“Sometimes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are times when it feels like the expectations, the duties, they weigh down on me. It’s hard to breathe under it all.”

She reaches out then, her hand resting lightly on your arm. The touch is unexpected, sending a jolt through you, and you realize how close she’s standing. You can see every delicate feature of her face, the slight curve of her lips, the flecks of gold in her eyes.

“I know what it’s like,” she says softly. “To feel trapped, to want something more, something different. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

There’s something in her voice, a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache. You’ve always cared for her, your sweet sister, but this is something else, something new and terrifying in its intensity. You can feel the bond between you shifting, deepening in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” you confess, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much expected of us, so many eyes watching, waiting for us to fail.”

She steps closer, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her touch gentle and warm. “You are strong, Y/N. Stronger than you know. And you have me.”

Her words wrap around you like a promise, and for the first time in a long while, the weight on your shoulders seems to lighten. You lean into her touch, your eyes closing briefly as you savor the moment, the quiet intimacy of it. When you open them again, she’s watching you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“Helaena,” you murmur, your voice rough with emotion. “I—”

But before you can finish, she rises up on her toes, her lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is tentative, a question as much as a declaration, and you find yourself answering it without thought, your hands coming up to cradle her face as you deepen the kiss.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined, the taste of her sweet and intoxicating. There’s a softness to her, a gentleness that contrasts with the fierce passion you can feel simmering beneath the surface. When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads resting together.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I was afraid to say it, afraid it would change things, but I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

Her confession leaves you stunned, your heart pounding in your chest. You’ve never allowed yourself to consider the possibility, the idea that she might feel the same way you do. But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no going back, no pretending that this moment, this connection between you, doesn’t exist.

“Helaena,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I love you too. I don’t know when it started, but I do.”

She smiles then, a brilliant, radiant smile that lights up her entire face. And in that moment, everything else fades away—the expectations, the duties, the suffocating weight of your lives. There is only her, only this moment, and the love that you share.

For the first time in a long while, you feel free.

The Great Hall is alive with the soft murmur of conversation and the clink of silver against porcelain. The long table is set with an elaborate spread of roasted meats, freshly baked breads, and delicate desserts, the air heavy with the rich scents of a feast. Candles burn brightly in their sconces, casting a warm glow over the gathered family. King Viserys sits at the head of the table, his face lit with a rare smile as he looks upon his children.

Alicent, seated beside him, wears a tight-lipped smile, her eyes flicking between each of you, as if gauging the temperature of the room. Aegon lounges lazily in his chair, his goblet already half-empty, his gaze distant and bored. Aemond sits stiffly, his one good eye focused on the plate before him, his expression unreadable. Helaena, across from you, seems lost in her own world, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup in an idle, absent-minded fashion.

You sit quietly, observing the scene, the tension beneath the surface palpable. These dinners have always been fraught, the weight of expectations and unspoken words pressing down like a physical force. Tonight, however, there is an added edge, an anticipation that crackles in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Viserys clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have been thinking,” he begins, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of something more, something final. “It is time we spoke of betrothals.”

Alicent’s smile tightens, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Yes, Your Grace. It is a matter that has been on all our minds.”

Aegon lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Must we talk of such things now?” he mutters, earning a sharp look from Alicent.

“Hush, Aegon,” she hisses, her gaze flicking nervously to Viserys, who either does not notice or chooses to ignore his son’s insolence.

“Yes, we must,” Viserys continues, unperturbed. “It is the duty of the royal family to secure the line of succession, to ensure the strength and unity of House Targaryen.” He pauses, his gaze settling on Helaena. “Which is why I believe it is fitting that Helaena marry Aegon, as befits our eldest son and only daughter.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words settling over the table like a shroud. You feel a sharp pang in your chest, your gaze shifting to Helaena, whose face has gone pale. Her eyes, usually distant and serene, are wide with shock and something else—fear, perhaps, or defiance.

“No.”

The single word falls like a stone into the still waters of the room, the shockwave of it rippling through the silence. Everyone turns to stare at her, stunned. Alicent’s face drains of color, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Aegon blinks, his drunken haze momentarily cleared by sheer disbelief. Even Aemond looks up, his single eye narrowing as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

Viserys’s smile falters, confusion knitting his brows together. “What did you say, Helaena?”

She lifts her chin, a steely resolve settling over her delicate features. “I said no, Father. I do not want to marry Aegon.”

The words hang in the air, shocking in their boldness. You’ve never seen her like this, so fierce and determined. There’s a fire in her eyes, a strength that belies her usual quiet, ethereal demeanor. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a side of her that none of you have ever truly seen before.

Alicent recovers first, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and anger. “Helaena, you cannot speak to your father this way. This is a matter of duty, of family. You do not have the luxury of choice.”

Helaena’s gaze shifts to her mother, and there is a flash of something—hurt, perhaps, or betrayal. “Do you think I do not know my duty, Mother?” she asks, her voice steady, though you can see the effort it takes for her to maintain it. “I have always done what was expected of me. I have obeyed, I have been quiet, I have been good. But this—I cannot do this.”

Viserys looks bewildered, his eyes searching Helaena’s face as if he’s seeing her for the first time. “But why, Helaena? Aegon is your brother, your family. It is a union that would strengthen the realm, ensure the Targaryen bloodline. What reason could you have for refusing?”

Helaena’s gaze flicks briefly to Aegon, who is staring at her with a mix of irritation and confusion. “Aegon is my brother, yes, but he is not the man I would choose to be my husband. He is not the one I—” She stops herself, a flush rising in her cheeks, and you realize, with a jolt, what she was about to say.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the implication of her words hitting you like a blow. Could it be…?

“Helaena,” Viserys says, his tone gentler now, almost pleading. “You know what is expected of you. This is not about personal feelings. It is about duty, about family. Please, my dear, do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

Her gaze shifts to you then, and there is something raw and vulnerable in her eyes, something that makes your breath catch. “I understand duty, Father, but I also know my own heart. And my heart does not belong to Aegon.”

The room falls into stunned silence once more, the implications of her words hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, the unspoken question burning in the space between you and Helaena.

Aegon snorts, breaking the tension. “Well, that’s a fine thing to say. Who, then, Helaena? Who is it that you think you love, if not me?”

She doesn’t answer, her eyes still locked on yours, and you realize, with a shock that sends a shiver down your spine, that it’s true. That all those moments, those glances, those touches that lingered just a little too long—they weren’t just in your imagination.

“Helaena…” you begin, your voice hoarse, unsure of what to say, of what to do.

But she shakes her head, a small, sad smile touching her lips. “It does not matter, Y/N. I know this is not something I can change. But I needed to say it, even if only this once.”

Alicent rises to her feet, her face pale with fury. “This is madness,” she snaps. “Helaena, you will do as you are told. You will marry Aegon, as is your duty. This foolishness—”

“Enough, Alicent,” Viserys interrupts, his voice sharp. “Helaena has spoken her mind, and I will not force her into something she so clearly does not want.”

His words leave everyone stunned once more, even Helaena. Alicent looks as if she’s been struck, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find the words.

“But Viserys, she—”

“No, Alicent,” he says firmly. “I will not have my daughter miserable, not if there is another way. We will find a solution, one that suits us all. But she will not be forced into a marriage she does not want.”

Helaena’s eyes fill with tears, and she rises slowly, bowing her head. “Thank you, Father,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “I will not forget this kindness.”

With that, she turns and leaves the hall, her steps quick and unsteady, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. You stare after her, your heart pounding, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Everything has changed, and you’re not sure what comes next.

[twooftheluckyones]

Cult of the Lamb: Luck of the Lamb Part 3: Paradigm Shift Belief is a force beyond reckoning. What one believes in can shape the entire course of their lives, and if their will is strong enough, the lives of others as well. So great can someone's ideals be, that their divine power might change the very fabric of reality. After all, the Lamb was wrought to bring change. ~Previous/Next~ ~Start~

~~~~ Story Segment Under Cut ~~~~

"Una, you have done well," Narinder boomed from above. Finally, freedom was so close. Pride and triumph filled him, victory barely within his grasp. "You are freed from my service. Return the crown to me, so that I may be free! Finally... I will be FREE!" An electric energy filled his arms, the shackles binding him gone, now only one final chain to be broken. Una looked up at the god, eyes filled with awe but still pleading. "Narinder, I have one final request of you," she asked, nervousness filling her entire core and seeping into her words. She felt ready to implode. "Let me join you, fighting by your side as your most trusted follower!" Narinder's smile faded, looking guarded, but still neutral. "I have spent my entire life in your service, and hold you above all else. Let me stay by your side and continue my duties as your loyal servant, please!" Narinder's smile faded, and for a pause he looked at her, conflicted. "Your growing divinity has given you courage above all else... I will at least give you some closure." His jaw tightened, his demeanor turning dour as shadow covered his face. It had to be this way. "You ask far beyond what can be done. I cannot save you from your ending." He looked down at her, eyes narrow. "I arrived in much the same manner you did; by dying. My vile siblings struck me down, but death is my domain. The power within the crown would have allowed me to escape. It is only with their binding chains that I was trapped here." Una felt the floor vanish from under her, clutching the crown with fear. The implication of his words began to sink in. "No! There must be a way!" She stammered, desperation taking hold. "T-The ritual of resurrection?!" "The mortal soul is but a candle, simple to relight, but the raging power of a god cannot simply be rekindled with mere bones and chanting." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the vast expanse around them. Suddenly the still air felt thick, oppressive, binding. "Their chains may be gone, but we are still both bound to this place, and have been since we died. Death is as inevitable as the sand in an hourglass running empty. It is only through the crown's power that a god can escape it." He looked at her again, and only for a moment she saw the faint glimmer regret in his eyes. But determination snuffs it instantly. "This includes you... Una," the name is oozing with remorse, far more sympathy than the god has ever granted anyone. "Your musings of emergent divinity are true. Even if you returned the crown, I cannot undo the divinity that now fills your soul." He stretched his arm out again, hand right in front of her. His eyes smoldered with command. There is no other way. "Return it. Now." Una did not obey. Her trembling hands steeled themselves around a jet black sword, glaring up at him with furious refusal in her eyes. Tears of betrayal ran down her face, but did not sway her hand. There had to be another way. The electricity in her body surged, divine energy rising up around her as she prepared to defy destiny. The space around them crackled with the whirlwind of power, a furious storm summoned by one who defies all odds and opposes fate itself. One becomes nothing, and the universe trembled in change.

[alextydaisuda123]

Pizza Tower AU- Cloud Tower

"WARNING!": A LOT OF TEXT

A new AU that didn't take long to wait. To be honest, this idea came up spontaneously and additionally for several reasons, one of which is my childhood dream of having wings (and over the years my dream hasn't faded, which is surprising, usually my dreams fade after 5 years or a little more). Before I start talking about this world, a couple of additional words. A huge thank you to Emily (@creat0rstudi0) for helping me with this AU: she helped with the design of Peppino and Gustavo, from whom I pushed off and created images for others, painting everyone choosing a good palette for them (don't worry, I also painted the characters myself, Emily just gave a clearer palette than me, so I will show you 2 versions of painted characters), and also helped a little with information about the bosses. Well, now let's go.

Cloud Tower is an AU where instead of the earth there are small floating islands, platforms, and the space around is an endless sky, which is both a home and a grave. If you break your wings and fall, there is only a small chance that your body will fall on some island or platform, or if someone notices you falling, and if this is not the case, then consider that you will fall endlessly for the rest of your life (or until your corpse is cut by the air). And also (almost) everyone has wings. There are those who were born without them, or with them, but because of their problems (they grew together incorrectly or broke unsuccessfully) are disabled, roughly speaking. Also, someone may have additional plumage (in their hair, on their body, etc.) in addition to their wings. And yes, since the climate in their world is not so simple, many fly in warm clothes. There is also magic here, but it is hidden either in artifacts or in some creatures, since the world itself is also magical in its own way (after all, the food here is alive, lol). A few words about the tower. There is a certain atmosphere there similar to the Rainbow Factory from MLP Creepypasta.

Peppino and Gustavo are both cooks, but in their own separate directions. Peppino is an Italian cook, while Gustavo works as a baker of bakery sweets. One day, Pizzaface arrives on a flying platform and reports that Peppino's pizzeria will be destroyed by a cloud tower, but if he does not want this, then let him fly to the tower, and flew away, leaving behind an evil laugh. What actually did not like this, and they both decided to fly there and destroy the tower with its "owner".

Additional facts: Peppino, despite the fact that he does not particularly like to fly, although he has to, his flight speed is clearly faster than Gustavo's, while he flies slower; Gustavo has his own separate bakery, where he makes pastries, he would like to work with Peppino, but he cannot leave the place where his family once baked their first bread; Peppino participated in the heavenly war, from which he still has an injury, but thanks to work and his faithful friend Gustavo, he tries to live an ordinary life and not think about it.

Pepperman and Vigilante are two of the main bosses of the cloud tower who clearly didn't get there of their own free will. They were kidnapped a long time ago and forced to work for Pizzahead, having been threatened in a special way. Pepperman is a restorer (like in steampunk, yes) and a decorator. Vigilante is an ordinary security guard, and also watches the precipitation.

Additional facts: Pepperman has really white pupils, which is why his eyesight is worse than usual (he is not completely blind), and the reason for his poor eyesight is that he refuses to wear glasses for flying (but be that as it may, for work he still wears them under his beret along with additional tools); before getting into the tower, these two were ALREADY a couple; Vigilante's grandfather, who has long been retired, is still alive; as PH himself "promised", so that the bosses would be freed from their tower duties, they need to "rip off Peppino's wings" at any cost, even if they weren't aimed at fighting him.

Noise and Noisette are another couple who ended up in the tower in the same way as Pepperman and Vigilante. Noise hosts the news and weather forecast, and a small show similar to "Truth or Dare". Meanwhile, Noisette is still the same cafe owner.

Additional facts: Noise has a broken right wing, it was broken by Pizzahead when he tried to fly out of the tower for the first time, he broke it so much that now Noise can't fly at all, the wing has grown together crookedly and he is unable to straighten it and move it, so he flies with the help of a backpack on his back, which he can change to either a jet or a simple propeller; Noisette sometimes helps Noise with flying and how Noise injured his wing, she does not know to this day; I lied to you a little, Pizzahead kidnapped only Noise, and Noisette herself flew to PH when she was looking for him, and when she found him, so that PH would not harm her, he lies to her and offers to join Pizzahead, as he himself wanted.

Bruno is an unsuccessful clone, mixed with a regular bird and Peppino's DNA, created by PH. He can fly, but very ineptly because his arms replace his wings, which is why he falls and crashes into all sorts of possible objects, which is why he flaps his wings hard and pieces fly off from them, he can of course grow them, but this whole process takes a lot of his strength.

Additional facts: in addition to his speech, he makes a distorted bird sound; despite his inability to fly, the bosses (Pepperman, Vigilante and Noisette) still teach him to fly normally, they also additionally look after Bruno himself, feed him and teach him to speak, since PH himself does not do this; because of such care, Bruno accepts his friends more as parents, calling them accordingly (in the future, he will also call Peppino this way 😂)

Pizzahead is the main boss, a sadist and a psycho. He built a tower, around which a barrier in the form of clouds with a powerful lightning discharge is built, and in order to turn it off, you need to turn off the generators.

Additional facts: Pizzahead and Pizzaface in this AU are brothers, Pizzahead is younger; after one incident, his psyche was shaken, he was inspired to recreate the tower for his whims and "fun"; he cut off Pizzaface's wings and as a great and first trophy keeps them in his office along with John's wings and one wing of Jerome; those wings that Pizzahead himself is wearing are also "trophies", cut off from other creatures, but he tells everyone that they are fake and it's just a cape, he also participated in the war, but in secret from his brother, so that he "wouldn't worry" about him.

Pizzaface is Pizzahead's brother and ... a good guy? Yes! In this AU, he is not a bad character, but rather a good one. So in that encounter with Peppino, he just played the role of a bad guy. He is quiet (but he tries to be sociable) and traumatized. He does not often show himself to the other inhabitants of the tower, which is why few people know about him. Most of the time, he spends either in the secret room where Pizzahead keeps him, or with Jerome, helping him clean the tower.

Additional facts: because of the cut off wings, he feels weak and exhausted; he still does not know why Pizzahead acted so cruelly and what happened to his psyche, but he blames himself for this, that he was not caring enough and simply did not keep an eye on him; Pizzahead watches almost his every move so that he does not do stupid things and does not ruin his plans, and for the sake of PH he has to play the same role of a bad guy.

Jerome is a small pillar with one wing and memory loss due to a strong blow from Pizzahead. He is a simple cleaner. He does not remember anything about his brother or his past, although memories still pop up in his head. In the past, he had magic, but due to the loss of a wing and memory, he does not remember and cannot use it normally, over time, the skills were simply lost.

Additional facts: he is Pizzaface's best friend, and he sometimes helps him remember things, but he cannot (PF hopes that he will remember something); he has seen John many times as an ordinary part of the tower, but he cannot remember him or at least his name; initially, he was not supposed to be in the tower and Pizzahead wanted to throw him on a long flight, but Pizzaface somehow convinced him to leave him and just make him an ordinary cleaner.

Well, I hope you like this AU. Enjoy and have a nice flight!

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 18.*

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 5.6k Summary: flashback eight - also known as your first time with levi ackerman Warnings: NSFW!! MINORS DNI - first time, oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), fingering, body worship, pinning, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it, friends), smut w/feelings

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 18 - FLASHBACK: EIGHT*

He doesn’t stop kissing you.

Not when you both stand up in the empty supply room. Not when you stumble blindly into the hallway, cutting corners and trusting his guidance.

Two pairs of boots scramble as quietly as they can down a long, dark corridor, rushing to disappear from plain sight.

Gently Levi presses you into something sturdy and cold, lips still locked with yours. The captain's hands fumble from your waist to his pockets, digging to search for a key that will unlock his bedroom door.

All that remains in the silence are soft pants, controlled with the worry that someone — several someones —  can ruin this moment.

His kisses are open-mouthed and messy as he travels from your mouth, to your jaw, to your neck. You bend your head back with the utmost care, pressing your own lips together to avoid the noises of pleasure bubbling in your throat.

He presses a final peck at the center of your neck, as if to thank you for being so quiet once the key is freed from his pocket — and the door clicks.

Quickly Levi shoves the door open and circles his free arm around the small of your back, keeping you flush against his body. You comply, dancing through the threshold of his bedroom, and cradle his face into your palms to bring his lips back to yours.

Nothing has to be said.

Nothing has to be asked.

It’s just instinct — your feet drag backwards while his push forward into the bedroom, bringing you both safely out of the wandering eyes of the Survey Corps.

His boot swivels, causing you both to turn at his will. Your back hits a door once again, and you can’t help but laugh into the kiss. 

“Shhh,” he urges as he backs away to catch his breath. "Can you stay quiet for me?"

Click.

You grin the second the door locks behind you and whisper back. “Haven’t I always?”

His eyes open. Those brilliant gray eyes with specs of blue, intense and so focused; his pupils are blown — caught somewhere in the dark and the fierce arousal you both feel.

“Don’t get smart,” he tells you, but you know it’s about as much of a joke as he can make in the moment.

You don’t even realize until he dips his head that he’s worked on unbuttoning nearly half of your Scout uniform shirt, exposing your chest band and torso to the cool night air.

“Levi—”

His teeth nip at your collarbone. “Silent.”

The order does something to you — a vacant authority that comes with little punishment. He won’t stop unless he’s forced to or unless you ask, and there’s no circumstance in Hell where you would.

You press your lips together again, willing your eyes to stay open, to see Levi work his way to kiss every inch of your neck, your collarbone, your sternum.

You want him to cover every inch of you, leaving no patch of skin untouched. You want every part of your body to be his.

Dropping your hands from his face, you begin to push the small brown uniform skirt from your hips to drop to the floor. The fabric gives easily. It's the damn leather ODM straps that become your greatest enemy, refusing to release when you struggle with the fastens.

At first you think Levi doesn’t notice the struggle. He’s so busy running his hands along your sides, slipping the tips of his fingers past your button-down to finally touch skin.

But then his hands leave you.

You almost speak up to protest, but—

“Let me.”

He looks you in the eye for permission.

You stare back, wide-eyed and confused.

“What?”

“I said,” he slowly repeats, moving closer, “let me.”

Inch by inch, Levi disappears from your line of sight and down your chest, your stomach, until he’s eye-level with the elaborate belts looping your thighs.

Oh.

Your breath exhales in a sharp twist at the sight of his slender fingers running along the brown leather, feeling for where the buckle begins and the straps meet.

For a moment he stays right here, dragging his fingertips back and forth. 

Contemplating. Savoring.

Your face flushes when he leans in to press a ghostly kiss to the meat of your thigh between the straps. His pink lips are a stark contrast to the white fabric.

It's much too erotic to bear.

“I might fall,” you warn him softly.

“I’d catch you,” he promises right back.

You believe him.

(You’ll always believe him.)

Expertly he unravels the first group of leather straps, relieving your thighs of the pressure from such elaborate crossings. Levi makes it a point to drag the straps down your leg himself, not allowing the straps to hit the floor on their own to eliminate any potential noise.

Eager fingertips seek fast work on the other.

“Hold onto me if you feel unsteady,” he murmurs, briefly looking up to you as he starts on your right thigh.

Then you realize all too late — he has no intentions to return from his knees.

He's staying right there on the floor.

You know what he plans to do once he rids you of your trousers, and it shoots an otherworldly feeling to your lower belly.

“Levi?” you whisper sharply.

He doesn’t answer. Instead he works faster to remove the straps, tugging them down your leg to meet the left set.

“Levi—”

He only glances up once he's through with dismantling the strap belt. You press a hand to his when it moves towards the button of your ivory trousers, forcing him to stop.

“Something wrong?” he asks reluctantly, fingers still pinched against the button — subconsciously begging to get rid of his godforsaken clothing.

You swallow to coat your throat, looking down at him.

“No, it’s just… You don’t have to—”

Do that, you want to say.

Yet you pause as soon as Levi flashes a warning glare to you, like you’ve insulted him. 

“Three."

Your brows knit. “...what?”

He purposefully pops the buttons of your trousers to challenge your insecurity. 

“I once told you when we had our own place, I always said I’d give you three. This is about as good as we’ll ever get while we’re alive.”

You blink in a flurry but relent with the sway of your hips when his fingertips tap at your outer thigh: move.

Slowly but surely, your white trousers glide down your thighs, your knees, until they rest at the soles of your boots.

You kick one off then the other, never breaking eye contact.

“My fingers have been inside you more times than I can count,” he murmurs, kissing the bare skin of your thigh with a relaxed inhale through his nose, drinking in the scent of you. You press a hand against the doorframe for stability. “But I have to know what you taste like.”

The words shoot arousal like a bolt of lightning through your body.

“But you’ve already—”

“On my fingers, yeah, but not on my tongue,” he argues breathlessly, shaking his head. “Not the same.”

Another bolt, sliced straight to your core.

“Levi—”

“And once I memorize that,” he continues, not paying attention to you as he presses gentle yet urgent kisses to the east, closing in on your inner thigh. He coaxes your leg with the soft push of his free hand, spreading your thighs just for him. “And only once I memorize that, I’ll…”

He trails off, deciding against his words as he realizes that, when his back is straightened, he is eye-level at your underwear.

The black-haired man reaches for your hip, drawing a semicircle with his thumb at your hip bone.

Stalling — not for himself, but for you, in case there is a sliver of a doubt about this.

You answer by shifting your weight on your other leg, spreading your thighs further for him. The dark-haired man lets out an exhale like you’ve punched him square in the gut, gaze flickering to yours — message received.

Levi leans forward, nuzzling your inner thigh with his cheek. You tense, forcing yourself to watch his head turn inwards to kiss the softness. His eyes flutter close like he’s found his paradise, like the very venture of traveling up your thigh with every kiss gives him relief.

The tip of his tongue sensually flicks at the edge of your underwear, and your hand grips his hair with quick surprise. 

One tug and he’s smirking, open-mouthed and simply intoxicated, with hot breath gliding across the thin fabric.

He kisses the center of your mound over your underwear, and you both make a noise of want.

His tongue darts back out, catching the wetness that has dampened the fabric. In one fell swoop he yanks your underwear down, like one taste is enough to relinquish all doubt.

You barely remember your own name when he parts your folds with his thumbs and dives in like a starving man possessed, collecting the wetness against his nose as his tongue slides through your folds to find the one spot he knows will have you buckling at the knees.

For someone who has never done this before, Levi is thorough. He notes every which way you drag your nails through his hair, scratching at his scalp; how you make a small gasp if he hits a spot that jolts pure pleasure through your system; when your thighs tremble, so he does not relent.

You have to practically break your own vocal chords to avoid shouting when his tongue flicks your clit. Your hand tightens painfully in his hair, but he grunts and keeps going.

Levi swirls his tongue with a relentless determination. Like he’s been waiting for this moment, like he’s dreamed of tasting and teasing you — and you have to do everything in your power not to falter in your stance.

The frame of his bedroom door only has so much support.

Your head drops back against the wooden slab as he licks, sucks, and worships you while kneeling in front of you. His attention focuses on your clit, tongue flicking at an obscene rhythm. 

If you look down, you’ll come. 

If you watch him, you’ll fall.

So instead your jaw drops in a wordless plea, and he sucks against the sensitive nub in response. You hear the leather beneath you shuffle and his hands leave your core, running along your thighs, to hold your hips flush to the door.

He knows — know you’re getting there, from the way you’re squirming.

You didn’t even notice. You were too lost in the sensation.

Your eyes slide open, heavy-lidded and dark with lust, to see Levi lost in eating you out, his mouth buried against you, eyes closed in serene desire.

That’s all it takes.

“Levi—” you breathe, higher pitched than usual. “Levi, Levi, Le—”

You can’t finish the next syllable before your knees buckle, and he shoves you hard against the door to keep you steady — to make you ride this out on his tongue. The surface rattles only just a little from impact.

Your climax hits like a ton of bricks, and you force yourself to wordlessly cry out from the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your system.

His gray eyes glance up from your core, tongue still attacking your clit before he drags lower, catching your essence with his mouth.

Drinking you down to the very last drop.

When it becomes too much, you thrash a little against his hold.

He pulls away to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen from his work. He looks…

Satisfied. Eager.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, and he chuckles under his breath.

Slowly he gets off the floor, uniform creaking in the silence of the night. When you start to dip lower, to return the favor, he pushes you back into the door by the shoulder and shakes his head.

“I wasn’t done with you,” he says, voice a mere husk of itself.

You can smell the faint scent of yourself on his breath when he leans in, his hip pressing to yours. He’s hard as a rock.

“Levi,” you whimper when his hand returns to your inner thigh. “I wanna take care of you—”

“That can wait,” he interrupts, before placing his left hand over your mouth. Your eyes widen with confusion, but when his right hand disappears between your legs to collect more wetness, you understand why. 

You yelp into his palm when he circles your sensitive clit with his thumb.

“You can give me one more, can’t you?” he purrs in your ear, voice low. “I know you're sensitive, I know, but you can do it.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when his fingers glide through your wet folds to tease your entrance. Yet you open up to him like a flower, spreading your legs further to give him more room to work with. You feel his lips curl upward against your earlobe.

“C’mon, James.” 

A strangled, pathetic little whimper exits your mouth when his middle finger pushes into your, up to the knuckle, slowly massaging against your inner walls. 

“How’d you like it again? Two fingers? Three?”

You feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven with the filth coming out of his mouth. It isn’t even overtly lewd, but the sheer baritone of his voice in your ear is only making it that much easier to fight through the oversensitivity.

He adds his index finger and you whine.

“Right — you like two,” Levi remembers, “and you usually don’t last long if I—”

Your body goes limp, giving into his work when his fingers curl and tap the little spot that always gives him what he wants. He fingers you, shallow in his movements as he keeps curling the two, allowing the heel of his palm to rub against your aching clit.

“There she is,” he encourages. “There’s my girl.”

If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be mortified at how easily he works you to ruin.

“Does it feel good?”

You make a noise against his hand and nod eagerly, and he laughs gently in your ear. 

“Good.”

You let him play you like a well-loved instrument, his movements relentless and certain. The rhythm is one he’s perfected, and you know — you know he’ll get what he wants in a matter of minutes.

You’re already sensitive from the first orgasm. A second won’t take long.

He continues to murmur sweet nothings in your ear — praises laced with your first name, how much he loves watching you like this — and you know you’re no match for him.

Your walls clench around him and soon enough you tumble, dropping your forehead to his shoulder as you tremble through your second climax of the night. 

You feel weightless in the moment, a finite speck of dust in space, surrounded by the scent of your friend, your partner, your lover —

For a moment, the outside world doesn’t exist.

He finally removes his palm from your mouth to kiss you gently on the lips, and you’re awoken with the realization that you still taste yourself.

Your eyes open to find him watching you, making sure you’re okay.

You’re more than okay.

You let your body take over, wants over needs, and your hands push him roughly from you.

The captain stumbles in surprise. His gray eyes betray his shock, wide and confused, until he trips and falls back on the bed in the middle of the small room. The mattress gently creaks under his weight.

Before he can protest, you drop to your knees on the small rug at the edge of the bed.

“James—”

“Shut up,” you breathe, rising to grab his belt. 

Hastily, you rip it from the trouser loops. You're not as elegant at pulling off the leather straps as he is, but they come off all the same.

Levi sits up on the mattress, pushing wayward strands of hair from your face.

“James, wait, you don’t have to—”

“Ackerman.”

You stare up at him, only then realizing just how hard he is. He must hurt from the way the outline of his cock presses, strains, against the white fabric of his trousers.

“I’ve been dying to taste you, too, you know. And you’ve never let me before, so I'm asking now: let me.”

All of the air leaves his lungs, and a shell of Levi Ackerman remains above you.

His eyes are wide as saucers, trying to justify the sight of you on his knees in front of him.

He doesn’t stop you when you unbutton his uniform. He doesn’t move when you lean in to kiss the bare skin of his abdomen. 

“Shit. If you do this—” he starts, finding his breath, “—I’m sure as fuck not going to last.”

“Your confidence in me is guaranteed to inflate my ego,” you tease, pushing at his side. “C’mon. Lay back. Let me.”

Levi moves a fraction of muscle, but then he shakes his head. He lifts his hips, and to your delight he helps you remove his boxer briefs and trousers in one fell swoop. His cock springs free, achingly hard and twitching for attention.

“No,” he protests, “I want to watch.”

You brighten with delight, scooting closer. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathes. “Are you insane?”

You can’t help but giggle when your hand reaches to wrap around his length, careful not to hurt him. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his fists against his white sheets.

Truth be told, you’ve had your hands on Levi numerous times. You know what speed he likes. You know the pressure.

What you don’t know, however, is this: how to expertly get him off with your mouth, not in the way he so easily brought you to ruin.

Still, you stare up at him as you steady his cock and lick a stripe from bottom to top — flat against his shaft, traveling to the tip.

You’ve never seen Levi look so speechless by something so small.

“Oh, fu-uck,” he curses under his breath, a curtain of his hair hanging against his forehead as he forces himself to keep his eyes on your mouth.

His own goes slack, lips parted, and a flush peppers his pale cheeks.

It instill confidence, so you lick again, focusing your tongue on the tip of him. He tastes clean, like nothing really in particular, besides a tinge of saltiness.

But it isn’t until you close your mouth gently over the head of his cock that he loses himself. His bare thighs tremble as you work his length with your hand while your mouth gets used to a shallow bob, focusing primarily on his tip.

His voice disappears. His breaths are tighter and a little higher pitched than before. Cracked.

“Shit,” he croaks when you hollow your cheeks around him. “Fuck, James, shit—”

You feel powerful like this.

You get why he was so determined to put his mouth on you now.

You want to memorize this version of Levi Ackerman — so put together for the rest of the world, only to fall apart by every movement of your tongue.

“Stop.”

It’s barely a word, but you catch it within a few seconds.

You remove him from your mouth with a lewd pop, worried you might have used teeth or hurt him.

Levi has a hand on your shoulder to keep you from returning to his cock.

“I almost came,” he explains, embarrassed by his admission.

“What? But I didn’t—” You stop yourself, surprised. “I barely did anything.”

“Yeah, dipshit,” Levi under his breath, trying to catch it. “You think I need more than the image of your lips around my cock to do it for me?”

“Oh.” You wipe your lips, before smiling wickedly. “...I’m that good, huh?”

“Get the hell up here,” Levi demands, pulling you up from your armpits so he can toss you onto the mattress.

You laugh into the night air as he shifts, pressing his weight against you as he cradles his elbows around your head, caging you in.

Skin to skin.

The night's significance isn’t lost on you — lying in a king-sized bed, naked, with Levi Ackerman. To think you both used to squeeze on a twin mattress for the sake of falling asleep together. To think neither of you had ever witnessed each other’s bodies in full, clothes discarded all over the floor of his captain’s quarters.

He hovers over you, his hair framing his face in a darkened halo. You stare up at him, admiring the sweat pebbling across his forehead.

The faint glow of the moon is your only source of light; a familiar comfort.

For a few moments you both catch your breath, admiring one another like this. You want to ask. You’re sure he’s going to say no. It’s been the question on your minds for years, but now it’s—

“Do you want to?”

Levi asks first, but he doesn’t shy away from his own nervousness.

You take a moment to make sure he isn’t going to back out, before nodding.

“More than anything.”

An emotion flickers in his eyes as he regards you, before shifting your right thigh with his hand. You easily follow, widening your hips to him. He presses your inner leg to his hip, swallowing.

“I don’t…”

“What?”

Levi closes his eyes, exhaling his anxiety away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your hands reach between your bodies to cradle his face, and he relents immediately to lean his cheek to your palm. “When have you ever hurt me?”

“A couple of times.”

“Fighting doesn’t count.”

“James,” Levi pleads, before opening his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So we learn together,” you argue back, raising your chin to kiss the tip of his nose. “And I’ll let you if it hurts, I promise. It’s not like you can rail me with everyone downstairs anyw—”

Levi stops you from your joke with a searing kiss to your lips, pushing your other thigh to the side so he can settle between your legs.

“Don't give me ideas, you little shit," he mumbles against your lips. "Maybe next time."

You smile, running your hands down his neck to rest on his shoulders. "Definitely next time."

For a few minutes, that's all you do. Kiss — kiss him, be kissed, relish and memorize.

The longer he kisses you, the more this becomes real.

Neither of you have ever done this, yet you’ve never felt more ready in your life.

Your body screams to have him, to finally know him, and you hope it’ll be enough — that you will be enough.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” you whisper, and he sits up on his calves for a moment.

“An idea, yeah,” he jokes, reaching into the nearby nightstand. 

You blink, surprised to see him return with a small square packet in hand. The moment almost completely takes you out of your nervousness.

When he notices the way you stare up at him, he cautiously adds: “Regiment issued. Didn’t think I’d ever need to use it, but…”

“Oh,” you breathe, unable to hide the shock. “No, it’s just—”

“They don’t want accidents in the Scouts.”

“Right.”

“And it’s not like people aren’t fucking.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A beat passes. 

Unable to help yourself, you begin to smirk. “...so you only have one of those, or—?”

Levi rolls his eyes and breaks with you, letting out a huff of a laugh as he swats your knee wider. He rolls the protection down the length of him, careful in his application. 

“If you want to do this again, then I’ll steal a pack.”

“Wow, it really pays to have captain privileges,” you hum sagely, and he quickly crawls back over you to shut you up with a passionate kiss. You happily accept the eager press of his lips to distract you from the way he gently situates a pillow under your lower back, raising your hips to sit flush with his hips.

You both remain like this for a while, kissing your worries away, before something foreign presses up against your entrance. You gasp, breaking the kiss.

Levi stares down at you with kinetic lust.

“...are you sure about this, James?”

Are you?

It isn’t even a question. You've wanted this for years.

You shift your hips, nudging the tip of his cock at your entrance. He sucks in a sharp breath, calming his excitement.

“Never been so sure in my life,” you promise. “I want you.”

Levi pauses, nodding. “If it hurts at all—”

“I know.”

“—because we can stop at any time—”

“Levi Ackerman, please fuck me already.”

Six simple words make his pupils dilate.

His breath tickles your face when he exhales, lining himself up. Although one hand stays steady on his cock to guide himself into you, another reaches for your hand resting parallel to your head on the mattress. His fingers entwine with yours, squeezing with reassurance as he pins you down — I got you.

Then he pushes, and you both gasp in harmony at the sensation.

Slowly, inch by inch, Levi works himself deeper into you. It’s a stretch you’ve never felt in your entire life.

He distracts you once the tip of him is fully inside of you by circling your clit, making you choke on a breath. The pleasure burns, relaxing your body to take him deeper.

Then it happens all at once: he backs up, sliding deliciously against your walls, before pushing forward — bottoming out within you.

Levi’s entire body is so tense as he stills, waiting for you to get used to him. Maybe it’s for himself, too, but you stare up at the ceiling with an unbelievable feeling in your belly:

This is really happening. Levi’s really inside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, strained.

You wait a moment to adjust, then nod.

“Can I move?”

You nod again, more adamant this time.

The hand holding yours shakes as he rocks his hips, pulling out then pushing back in. There is a noise that bubbles in the back of his throat, like this is the most painfully pleasurable experience of his life, and you use your free hand to drag your nails down his back.

Levi hisses, pushing back into you. “Fuck, you feel so good—”

He continues slowly, getting used to the sensation, the motion, the sounds, the scents.

Not once does he let go of your hand, and you squeeze in return.

You raise your knees to press against his hips, bringing him deeper, and he drops his forehead to your chest. 

He kisses the tiny silver pendant at your sternum.

“More,” you beg.

“Are you sure—”

“Please,” you interrupt.

He swallows to prepare himself and nods against your shoulder.

"Anything you want." He grunts when his hips thrust once more. "Anything, it's yours."

Levi starts to fuck you, the room reverberating with the sound of his efforts and the mixture of gentle moans. He gains more confidence the more noises you make against his temple. Your body arches into the movement as the pain dissipates purely into pleasure.

You hold onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist in a way that drives him insane. You can tell solely by the way he praises you in sharp huffs, lost in the moment. 

He raises his head to capture your lips in a messy kiss, thrusting into you like his life depends on it.

You hold on, moving against him as you try to remember to breathe.

"Fuck—"

He pulls away to catch his breath with a curse, eyes still closed.

“—I love you.”

You momentarily freeze as Levi keeps going, the muscles of his arms and back tensing every time his hips snap up and into you.

Your eyes snap open, watching his face screw together in the faint glow of the moon.

You know you didn’t imagine that.

You know he just said those words.

Every fiber of your body burns brighter, hotter, at three little words.

You hold him closer to yourself, moving against him as he thrusts, realizing at that very moment the three words you’d been searching to say your entire life to him.

To the boy you shared bread with in the tavern.

To the teen who stole your first kiss on your birthday.

To the man who makes love to you now after you both defied all odds and survived the harshest winters and the searing summers and everything in-between without giving up.

He is your best friend. He is your partner in crime. 

(He is the other half of your moon, your stars, your life.)

“I love you, too,” you breathe in return.

Levi’s thrusts instantly slow.

Reality crashes down while he opens his gray eyes, the little blue specs around his irises staring down at you with a wordless fear — he realizes, then, what he's said.

And he realizes, too, what you've said back.

That fear melts to pure, unadulterated relief.

You can’t help but smile up at him when he runs a shaking hand over your cheek with such gentleness that you almost want to cry.

“Yeah?” Levi asks.

“Yeah,” you answer. “I do.”

He smiles before snapping his hips against yours. You squeak, and he repositions himself to hit that little spot inside of you that he always seems to catch with his fingers. 

“I love you," he repeats, purposefully this time.

You arch when his fingers reach to circle your clit, unrelenting, as he almost makes you shriek from his efforts. 

"Levi—"

“Fuck, James, I love — I’ve always loved you.”

Levi doesn’t slow down this time.

He watches you squirm and whimper his name as he tells you, over and over, the same three words.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

It’s overwhelming. It’s paradise. 

You feel yourself tightening around his cock, and he groans. 

You won’t be able to last much longer, and you reckon he isn’t far behind either.

His hips stutter, groans getting a fraction louder and more urgent, as he coaxes you through your third and most devastating orgasm yet.

He feels the punishing force that your body clenches around him as you near your release and topples over to keep fucking you to the edge. His fingers maintain the same speed at your clit, a deadly combination, and a deep throb spreads through your entire body when your climax hits.

It's otherworldly. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced in your entire life.

Levi presses a devastating kiss to your lips to drink down the way you cry out his name — and to keep himself from moaning too loud when he finally comes right after you.

His hips stutter, trying to give you everything he has until you fall limp in his arms.

Then you catch him when he slumps, exhausted and spent.

The room is quiet.

The crickets chirp outside the open window.

(It's a singular, precious moment of peace.)

Levi continues to tremble against you, breathing through his nose as he climbs down from the euphoria of what just happened. You want to cry. You want to laugh. You want to hold him and never let go.

His shaking hand reaches for yours blindly, and you meet him in the middle.

One by one, your fingers lace.

After a few minutes, you realize that he's still shaking like a leaf. You kiss his forehead when he gently pulls out of you, only to collapse against your side on the mattress.

"You alright?" you whisper. "You're trembling."

"Yeah," he whispers back, voice light. "Just... give me a minute."

"Okay."

While lying on your sides, Levi moves to pull you against him, forehead to forehead.

You close your eyes, willing the tremors to disappear. Eventually they do, and he relaxes.

"Was that alright?" he murmurs after some time, fingers softly stroking your naked side.

"I've had better," you tease, and it makes him huff out a laugh.

"Yeah? Damn."

You can't help but grin, nuzzling your nose against his. "We're definitely going to need that pack."

"Several," he agrees.

"The whole Scout ration."

"The whole Scout ration?" he repeats with drowsy surprise. "Are you trying to make an honest man out of me?"

"Contraceptives don't make honest men," you reply. "Rings do."

"It kind of looks like of a ring—"

You gasp at his crude joke. "Levi."

Both of you burst into exhausted laughter, intoxicated by what's transpired. You feel high in this afterglow only the poets have ever rightly captured.

The laughter dies, leaving you both to enjoy the time you have left before morning comes.

He runs a ghostly trail down the small of your back with his fingertips. You toy with a lock of his sweat-matted dark hair.

And then,

"Maybe one day," he murmurs.

Your eyes flicker open to watch him rest peacefully beside you.

"Maybe one day what?"

"We can do the real damn thing." He's dozing off. "All the shit everyone else does."

You continue to stare, your expression softening.

"...Ackerman's not the worst last name to have," you tell him.

A tired smile grows on his lips.

He pulls you closer, and you curl around him.

Eventually the two of you fall asleep to the sound of twin beating hearts.

.

author note: oh we are so back. How are we feeling, Levi Nation? (What is their ship name? Jevi? Levames? Jamevi?) I am so grateful for your extremely generous patience, your support, and everything in-between. The reblogs/comments are the fuel that keeps this engine going.

deleted scenes of s.u. // levi's pov #1 :: levi's pov in chapter one during his first conversation with james in the trost hospital.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore @ahxiaoshi @littlerequiem @raginginferno267 @sixpennydame @precious-ketchup @michaelaftussy34 @bananananab04 @littlerequiem @satorugojho3 @kawaiteacup

[bedoballoons]

Hii!! (First time I request on ur blog) Are ur requests open? If yes, could I pretty please with cherry on top get a yandere Aether, Xiao, Venti and Cyno x reader who is on hunger strike? (Bacically refuses to eat untill they get freed). Ty for reading my request!

Hello again! Requests currently are closed, but I got this when they were open! I hope you're doing well! Thank you for coming to my blog and I hope you enjoy <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~Let me go~༺}

CW: Yandere themes! Reader is trapped and character will not let them escape! Reader refuses to eat! Obsessive behaviour from the characters! Dark topics! Slightly suggestive as well..

(Includes: Xiao, Venti, Aether, and Cyno!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Xiao:

"Please...just eat it."

Xiao pulled the plate closer to you, sliding it across the floor till it was right next to your hand...you'd gotten so weak from lack of nutrients and now here he was, kneeling in front of you as you slumped against the wall...trying desperately to keep up with your threat. "I won't. I won't till you set me free. I don't care if I end up starving to death...I want my freedom."

He'd lean in closer, his hair tickling your cheek as his lips pressed against your ear, breath warm against your skin "I'll find a way to keep that from happening...you're my everything and I won't loose you. I won't."

𑁍༄Venti:

"Won't you just taste it, just for me?" Venti batted his eyes at you, snuggling up into your touch while he held out some freshly made desserts... tempting you to break your hunger strike and indulge a little. He only wanted the best for his favourite person, the only being that mattered to him anymore...

"No Venti. I want my freedom. Just let me go and maybe I won't tell anyone about this please just-"

"Awe hush now~" He touched his finger to your soft lips and the hairs on your neck stood straight up...his dazzling eyes had a crazy look in them...like he almost wanted you to escape...just so he could find you all over again, "I won't let you die...you know I'm technically the embodiment of freedom...take me~"

𑁍༄Aether:

"Just a nibble.." Aether held the fork out for you, hoping that the delicious smell of your favourite food would entice you into eating, but you would brush his hand aside, refusing every time, "I already told you...I won't. I want you to let me go. You're a kidnapper Aether! I'm not just going to sit around and snack when I could be free..."

"I could let you go..."

Your eyes widened in shock, heart skipping with hope...maybe your strike was working, "You could...I'd appreciate it."

"I could...but it wouldn't last. I need you....I'd find you eventually and the cycle would start all over again...I can't be without you."

𑁍༄Cyno:

"I'll get you anything you want, tell me and whatever you're craving is yours." Cyno pulled you close to him, noticing how you no longer pushed him away because you'd gotten that malnourished....it broke his heart. Why couldn't you understand, all he wanted was to keep you to himself...make sure no one touched the most wonderful beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.

He wasn't bad...he just...was a little to good.

"No. No. Nothing you get me will make me eat. Nothing you do will make me want to be free less."

"If only you understood, I am not a kidnapper...I would let you free, but everyone else is a potential threat. You're mine...and I cannot say that what I'd do, if someone tried to touch you...would be seen as justified."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

[honeygrahambitch]

"My arm went numb. Move so I can turn on the other side." Will said to a very cuddly Hannibal who was in fact the reason the said hand was numb.

"I don't feel like moving." The response came quickly and then Hannibal made himself even more comfortable.

"I forgot that you are literally a human shaped anaconda."

"What do you mean?" Hannibal asks as he failed to find any romantic element in that.

"You become extremely cuddly after you have dinner. So cuddly that you refuse to move until your digestive system does its thing. And your killing style is absolutely the same. You don't hunt more than a few times a month."

Hannibal hid his grin in Will's shoulder, the mental image itself amusing him.

"The bodies of the pigs that I catch offer more than enough resources to last for a month. However, I won't deny the fact that I do prefer to lay low after having a nice meal. That is because glucose levels go high and-"

"It's okay, I can be our brains while yours is not working. When Jack asked you to consult on the Ripper case exactly the day after you literally disembodied and cooked someone, I could tell there was not much going on in here." Will explained as he used his free hand to poke Hannibal's forehead.

"The liver works hard when processing meat."

"And alcohol. Your liver must be a champ to survive the amount of wine you consume."

"Why are you so judgemental tonight, my dearest?"

"Forgive me, it's just that I can no longer feel my arm." Will replied bitterly.

"And by the way," Hannibal added while not moving an inch, "Your liver must be running on whiskey alone. Wine has better properties."

"When was the last time I had a glass of whiskey?"

"Although you count my glasses, I do not monitor your behavior."

"That is a huge lie."

"You called me a snake and an alcoholic and a liar all in one evening. I am terribly hurt by these accusations."

"Well then don't be any of those? And move."

"You called me a constrictor snake, darling, I genuinely cannot free my prey."

"Prey? You just had dinner. If I wanted to, I would kick you so hard you would fall off the bed."

"The best you can do is to accept your fate. Death by the constriction of my love."

"And here I thought you wanted to be a little spoon tonight."

Hannibal freed Will's arm in an instant and turned his back to him waiting to be embraced from behind.

Will sighed relieved and did as promised. He spooned Hannibal putting himself in a position where he could easily dominate him. "Funny how you called your mongoose your prey."

[mal3vol3nt]

Hi. You’re probably tired of seeing me dump stuff like this. (I’ll try to make this the last time). But I have to vent to someone. Because I see this one guy, claim to not hate Aang, only to villainize him to a ridiculous extent, acting like he’s unempathetic, forcing Katara to tend to his emotional needs and this user completely downplays Aang’s genocidal trauma. Not to be rude, but how much of a heartless prick do you have to be to invalidate genocide and the trauma it can cause. These fake fans should honestly keep their mouths shut about this show, they clearly don’t understand it.

the southern raiders episode needs to be freed from the zutara fandom i swear. i’m fully convinced they never actually watched that episode cause it literally ends with katara saying she still didn’t forgive yon rha and aang accepting that. he literally says “im proud of you”. it was never her anger at the man that aang disagreed with, it was the action she planned on doing—murder—that he wanted to talk her down from. not for yon rha’s sake, but for her’s. so even though she didn’t forgive him, aang respected that and was able to recognize the strength and validity in her decision. i’m so tired of repeating this rebuttal to this stupid as fuck argument

aang doesn’t force her to do anything in the entire series. katara has her own agency and free will to do as she pleases and not a single character has ever taken that away from her, and the one time where her freedom was threatened (by pakku), she fought for it and ensured she got her way. when yall say aang takes her agency away from her, you’re also ignoring the core traits of katara: her fierceness, her determination, her ability to recognize what’s right for herself, and her sense of justice

she never blindly follows or takes direction from anyone. when aang tried telling her and sokka to stay put while he made the trip to see roku in the fire nation, katara (and sokka) put her foot down and refused to listen. she demanded that they go with him, and he accepted them making that choice for themselves. when sokka tried convincing her to leave after she met up with haru and they had the chance to escape from the fire nation ship, she refused and said she wasn’t abandoning the rest of the earthbenders. her decision was respected by both aang and sokka. in fact, there are so many instances of her making her own decisions regardless of what anyone else says that it would be impossible for me to list them all. she never succumbs to what aang or anyone else wants, and she always makes her genuine thoughts on an important decision known. katara does not need anyone to tell her what to do nor does she allow anyone to tell her what to do. this is the same girl who single handedly changed the “no girls allowed” rule in the northern water tribe after having been told “you can’t do that”. yall think she would let aang walk all over her??? please put some respect on her name

now this may be a controversial take but i don’t care it’s the truth: comparing sokka and katara losing their mom to aang losing his entire culture and people is actually insane and insensitive but not for the reason zutaras think. its because absolutely nothing any other character went through can compare to what aang did, and to diminish his tragedy by saying katara’s trauma surrounding her mom’s death is somehow worse is actual insanity and i need yall to go to prison LMAO

katara did not witness her mom get murdered. that only happened in natla and i refuse to acknowledge that. she ran out of the tent to go tell her dad that a fire nation soldier was with their mom and when she came back, the man was gone and kya was dead. still insanely traumatic, but she was not literally standing there watching as kya burned to death

that’s literally what happened with aang. from his perspective, he had just seen gyatso only a few hours ago. gyatso was alive literally moments ago in his mind and then he was greeted with his decayed skeleton among the bodies of unwelcome fire nation soldiers. just like katara experienced insane whiplash from that heartbreaking change, to see someone alive only to come back to them gone, aang went through roughly the same thing

the only difference is aang didn’t just lose gyatso, he lost all his friends and mentors as well. and he didn’t just lose all his friends and mentors, he lost every single person who looked like him. and he didn’t just lose every single person who looked like him, he lost everyone he had grown close to and seen from the other nations. and he didn’t just lose everyone he had grown close to and seen from the other nations, he lost the animals native to the airbending temples. and he didn’t just lose the animals native to the airbending temples, he lost the native plants as well. and he didn’t just lose the native plants, he lost the structural beauty and integrity of the air temples. and he didn’t just lose the structural beauty and integrity of the air temples, he lost the ability to practice his cultural customs with others. and he didn’t just lose the ability to practice his cultural customs with others, he lost the ability to bend his native element with others. and he didn’t just lose the ability to bend his native element with others, he lost the time to mourn for all that he lost

i’m sorry to those of you who wanna believe your favs have suffered more than anyone else in the series, but none of their tragedies compare to aang’s. and i don’t believe in downplaying what the others went through to support a fandom narrative, but this is literally just me acknowledging the severity of aang’s story. to suggest any one else has gone through more is to be ignorant and nothing anyone can say will ever convince me otherwise

only reason yall think zuko or katara or sokka or toph or azula or whoever the fuck else is more tragic than aang is because all of their traumas are more relatable to the everyday person whereas aang’s is something that most people can’t even comprehend

[ane-doodles]

Hello! Love your multiple Lambs and your artstyle! You, me, @poppy-purpura, and @agnusloomis are the only ones I know of currently with multiple Lambs. Tell me of your Sorrow and Fondness Lamb, and also the Showman. How did those two come to be? Drink water plenty. May a kind week grace you.

Yayayaya! At first I tried to resist having so many AUs... but in the end it's something that makes me happy, even if I'm not able to write/draw a good story for everyone in the end.

Oh yes rambling time LETS GO!! (notice that a LONG post is coming)

Suemy (Fondness & Sorrows AU) This is born from a kind of "What if" from Chain for a promise, in which instead of Avana being the last lamb, the one who survives is her twin sister Suemy.

If you have had the opportunity to read my little ramblings previously you will have an idea of what this entails, if not I will tell you already: in CFP the tragedy occurs two days before Suemy's wedding, she and her partner being the first to die, followed by the parents of the family and finally Caleb (the older brother) who dies protecting Avana.

However, in F&S the formula changes: Caleb and Suemy's partner are the first to die in order to give the sheeps time to escape, but this does not last more than a couple of days since both are found easily and in an attempt desperate to protect her sister, Avana dies, leaving Suemy alone as the lamb of the prophecy.

Suemy is someone sweet, kind, I originally designed her based on the image of a princess with a heart of gold and a soft and melodious voice. So here she is now, heartbroken, alone, incapable of attachment, completely detached from the cult and fulfilling a mission assigned to her while grief suffocates her. She becomes an untouchable and perfect figure in the eyes of her followers, but inside so small with a wound that she herself refuses to let heal and that bleeds her heart every day.

But, "oh lucky one... A god has set his eyes on her.

In two lives immersed in the sadness of loss and betrayal, both meet to perhaps repair a little of the damage accumulated by the passage of time and repressed feelings.

Narinder was initially hardened by the pain and frustration of his siblings' betrayal, combined with the helplessness of being dependent on someone else to free himself. A whirlwind of strong and changing emotions within him that blind his vision, focusing only on a revenge calculated for more than a thousand years without rest...

But a hardened heart is capable of softening in the face of the purest tears, and with a delicate hand the wounds can be sutured..."

This AU is a kind of Post-Canon bad ending Hurt/Comfort. There is not much plot to tell, it focuses mainly on the thousand and one ways in which Narinder cares for and pampers the lamb in order to make her feel good, while at the same time the desire for revenge (the main reason for being freed) is replaced with the desire to protect such a delicate flower that bleeds in his hands.

.......

Now, about The Showman... Funny story

This lamb was supposed to be my Lambsona, something for personal use to scribble among my class notes... But little by little it evolved.

The Box AU is a sort of "bin of discarded ideas" (it basically has all the ideas, scenes, and dynamics that I decided to leave out or modify from CFP but still enjoy). The Box AU is totally self-indulgent and I'm still amazed today at how far I've come in thinking about this AU (I've even considered twisting it a bit and turning it into an original story).

Anyway, the story in a nutshell: In short the game was broken.

Einar is a black sheep, they was separated from the group due to superstitions, but they never took It the wrong way. They became a kind of traveler/storyteller when they abandoned their flock, thanks to this they was the last lamb to survive.

The lamb is strong... Too strong actually, but they lacks any battle skills which makes them die often (it's based on my save file, because despite playing on easy mode I'm terrible at combat). Frustrated with this, they decides to find another way to complete their mission of freeing The One Who Waits.

By chance, they discovers a book with ancient knowledge of the gods of the ancient faith, where there are multiple rituals forgotten by time. Thanks to this, they learn a way to invoke the god of death and free him from his punishment!! ...But with the price that he is now trapped in a mortal body with his powers reduced and a suppressed rage towards the lamb.

Even so, Einar considers it a victory and offers to help him rebuild, expand and please the cult, so that through devotion his powers return, but of course, the crown is missing.

It turns out that the crown is "stuck" to Einar's head, as they were designated as the perfect vessel, which is why the crown rejects the cat's attempts to retrieve it. On one occasion Narinder reviews the ancient book of the lamb and discovers a possible solution to his problem... A union ritual. Once he and the lamb unite the power of the crown will be divided, then it will be a matter of getting rid of the usurper.

Either way, this won't be so easy. Since in this AU Narinder and the lamb don't really know each other (the ritual happens before confronting Leshy). So there you see Narinder behind the lamb trying to convince him of a marriage while Einar rejects him a thousand and one times without the slightest interest and trying to discover a way to grow the cult.

I love the dynamic between these two in this AU. A combination of comedy, silliness, misunderstandings, adorableness, and a manhwa-style romance (because hey, the marriage of convenience trope has to come from somewhere).

I like to imagine that between Narinder's frustrated attempts to conquer/convince Einar, he gradually develops a special affection for them, while for his part the lamb sees the god as a companion, a friend and someone with whom maybe they wants to identify himself in some way (you know... A black sheep and a black cat)

And well! This is a kind of summary/introduction!!

I'm sorry for making such a LONG text, but I really like thinking about them and the idea of sharing a bit of my brainrot was too tempting to contain...

F&S doesn't have much material currently, but I'm drawing a couple of sketches from time to time (still figuring out how to do Narinder's post-imprisonment design).

On the contrary, Box AU has a considerable amount of material, scenes, ideas, sketches and even its own shitten with a sequel! So if you're interested in that let me know and I'll make a super post dedicated to this AU.

Have a wonderful day!!

[pettytiredandjewish]

Damn the genocidal warmonger who would benefit me more personally didn't win :(

Not quite sure if this is sarcasm or not (I’m too tired to figure it out) but let me explain some things to you and others.

- The majority of politicians (not all) are “warmongers”. This includes presidents. I have my own opinions about the US involving themselves in wars (but is another long discussion for another day).

- I am not a huge fan of Harris. I don’t fully agree with her views. BUT I still voted for her and Waltz (I also am not a big fan of him too but for different reasons).

- I voted for her because I know out of all of them, she was going to be the better choice for all of us. I know a lot of yall don’t like that way of thinking but let me give you some advice. Our country has 2 major parties (democrats and republicans) and we also have Green Party and independent. When it’s time to vote for your final choice- I don’t look at third party and that’s because I know there is a very low chance that they will get electoral votes. (I have my opinions ons on electoral votes). I focus on the democrat and republican candidates. I am not a republican. I do not agree with a lot of their views and policies. But I’m also not a democrat too. I’ve shifted from them due to the fact that the majority of them thinks that Jews/Israelis are monsters. I can’t stand by a party that supports that harmful and hateful view point. When it came time for me to vote I knew I had to pick the person that would be better for all of us. Harris was the better option. When voting don’t just think about yourself but think about the ones whose lives and rights are at stake.

- I remember Trumps first term. It was scary. Me and my family were making plans to leave the country (in case we had to). I was afraid for my and my loved ones safety.

- Trump winning this election is bad for all of us. This is why voting is fucking important y’all. If you are eligible to vote- then fucking VOTE. Stop telling people to not vote because “my vote won’t make a difference” (you don’t know that) or “I don’t like either of them so I’m not voting” (guess what I and many others don’t like them either but we still voted) or my new favorite “I hate that genocidal Harris so I’m not voting or I’ll vote for trump or third party to punish her”… well congratulations ass hats! Trump is the new president.

- say goodbye to your rights because a lot of us (including me) is gonna be screwed big time.

-There will be no more reproductive rights. If you need an abortion or have a miscarriage, you are screwed. You won’t be able to get the abortion and if someone finds out that you were looking into getting one, that person could report you and you might get arrested. If you are having a miscarriage, you still have to carry it to full term or you may get arrested (or you may also die)…

- LGBTQ rights, say goodbye to those. Same sex marriage will be back on debate and possibly will be banned. Want to adopt kids? Well you won’t be able to anymore because you’re not straight or cis. You want to start transitioning, well you won’t be able to because that’s illegal…

- I can keep going. That is how fucked we are. We are so fucked it’s not even funny. I knew trump was gonna get votes from his cult- i mean supporters. I also knew that Harris was gonna get her votes too. But those who refused to vote or voted third party to punish Harris, you guys played a factor in trump winning. You are ONE OF THE REASONS why he won. So congrats! Y’all didn’t want a “genocidal” woman to be president. You just wanted someone far worser than her.

- also just so you know, Harris supported and was pushing for a ceasefire. Y’all are just mad that she wanted the hostages to be freed and that she called you guys out (pro Palestine and anti zionist) for how y’all were behaving and acting. (I won’t even go there cuz that’s a whole ass story).

- so to the pro Palestine and anti zionist groups: did you free Palestine? Did electing a monster (who is a raging racist/sextist/islamophobic/Antitsemitic/homophobic/transphobic/the list goes on…) save Palestine? Is he gonna do it? The answer to that is NO. You fucked up.

- also remember that i/p conflict is not the only thing that is going to be affected when trump takes office. The Ukraine/Russian war? Ukraine is screwed. Remember that.

[marinettesaltprompts]

Cat in the Belfry (Part 3)

Adrien x Gotham City Sirens

Prompt by @somereaderinblue​ . Grammer edits by your’s truly.

Selina hates kicking kittens but sadly, she has to tell Chat Noir the bad news: that she’s figured out HM’s secret ID. To no one’s surprise, it’s Gabriel. 

S: …..he’s your dad, isn’t he?

CN: How-

S: Takes one to know one.

Chat doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He really is a criminal now, or at the very least, the son of one. Plagg tries to comfort him, then glares at Selina with the full force of destruction.

S: I won’t tell anyone. I have standards.

P: Good, because if you do, you won’t have a tangible presence in this mortal plane anymore.

... As far as father figures go, Selina supposes a chibi eldritch creature isn’t too bad.

Adrien can’t go back to the manor, so Selina lets him hide in the penthouse she rented. She, Ivy & Harley soothe him with cats, ice cream, movies, facial masks & offers of arson/murder. Eventually, they plan.

HM’s end goes out with….another whimper. Catwoman steals the brooch & drops evidence of Gabriel’s other crimes (i.e. violating child labour laws, child abuse, possessing literal military grade weapons) to the police. Adrien Agreste is written off as missing, likely having run away in fear of his father. CN shows the police the brooch & vouches for his innocence but as expected the seed of doubt has been planted.

Ladybug confronts him, once again enraged that he made such a heavy decision without her & secretly envious of how effective the Cat duo were in a month compared to her in an entire year. Paris was starting to talk about her incompetency & the distance between her and CN.

She tries to manipulate his old feelings for her & brings up revealing their secret IDs to one another. CN flat out refuses. So she orders him to hand over his miraculous. He also refuses because he doesn’t trust her or the Order with Plagg.

She tries to take it by force. Except Harley & Catwoman have taught CN how to fight dirtier, harder, sharper. He doesn’t hold back & this time, there’s no mind control akuma LB can target or temps to back her up. His new trick, Black Hole, keeps her on the ropes.

Eventually, Ivy arrives to bind LB & CN snatches the earrings. Because life’s full of disappointments, it’s Marinette. Ignoring her tantrum, Ivy gags her so he can undo all the commands Fu & Mari put Tikki under.

Once freed, Plagg teaches Adrien a spell he concocted. A spell he kept close to his chest because god forbid the Order/Fu find out he can think of something other than cheese & chaos. The spell ‘destroys’ Mari’s connection to everything Miraculous-related, meaning she can’t mention & will barely remember CN himself, both in and out of the mask.

While waiting for the spell to settle, Adrien snatches the Miracle Box & frees the other kwamis which opens cans of worms abt the Order’s corruption. One thing’s for sure: there’s no way in hell Adrien is letting them go back.

Adrien says his goodbyes to Alya & Nino and tells Marinette’s parents everything. They’re heartbroken at how far their daughter has sunk but swear that they’ll transfer her to another school & enroll her into therapy. The others also find out about her crimes (minus the LB part) but at this point, Mari made it clear she wants nothing to do with them so all anyone can do is move on.

Mari is forced to live with a gap in her memories & the sudden tension on her parents and ex-classmates. Why are her parents stricter? Why is the class shunning her? She just wanted to protect….someone! (but who?) And Lila’s to blame, not her! Why is no one fawning over (their everyday LB) her anymore?

Days later, he quietly gathers what little he has left from the penthouse.

A: I guess this is goodbye.

H: Where you heading?

A: Anywhere. Always wanted to travel the world.

S: Alone?

A: I have the power of mini gods & destruction on my side.

S: I don’t think they count as a chaperone, kit.

A: My aunt & cousin won’t want anything to do with me thanks to Gabriel and I can’t stay here. Not now.

S: …..interested in touring the rest of Europe?

A: I can’t-

S: No strings attached. Well, except your charming company.

H: It’ll be fun!

I: Someone has to teach you proper biology.

Adrien cries & group hugs ensue.

Sometimes, family is a teen hero, his mini god of destruction dad & his 3 gay criminal aunts. 

[aspynnwoofs]

Um. hi. your fanart of Marcy waking up from a nightmare is probably my favorite piece of Amphibia fanart ever. curious what was going through your head when you made it. also what are your headcannons/thoughts about The Core, Marcy, what she experienced while under its control, and its lasting effects on her?

holy shit dude, thanks? i don’t know what i did to deserve all this nice stuff you’re saying, but thanks. also the tags on the reblog were not aggressive or mean or anything, they actually made me super happy to see! i’m really glad you like it.

coming back after writing all the stuff, there’s a lot so i’m putting a ‘keep reading’ thing. seriously there’s so much

what was going through my head… hm. it’s like, i imagine Marcy having lots of nightmares about things that happened to her, or things that could have happened, stuff like that. i’ve read a lot of fanfic so now i really like the idea of her clutching her shirt when remembering being impaled. or even just for comfort, to know that her weakest point is covered in moments of terror. also she’s crying. sobbing. the only times she recovers quickly after bad nightmares is when she’s with the others.

i really like the idea of the Core not only sticking her in a box in her mind, but also showing her things. like to keep her from trying to get out. can’t resist if your mind is shattered and devoid of hope! anyway i mean like using the illusions to show her various things, situations, people. more peaceful ones where she’s with her girls, only to realize they aren’t there. terrifying ones where they make her live through her worst memories, her betrayal (of her and by her), her death, her torture and possession. twisted situations where Anne and Sasha proclaim that they can’t be seen with her, they can’t trust her, even hate her for what she’s done. sometimes the Core sticks her in unending darkness so they don’t have to think of anything, or if they’re focused on something else and need her out of the way (this is where the thing about being unable to sleep or feel safe in complete darkness is from). sometimes they’ll make a fake scene where it seems as though she is being shown what her body is doing, she can see through her eyes, and then she hurts people. kills people. sometimes it will be real, but she doesn’t know that, and she will still hurt people. when whoever in the Core in charge of her is feeling particularly cruel, they’ll do a simulation of her being saved. rescued. freed. forgiven. she’s finally with her girls. but. she isn’t. she’s still here. of course they didn’t save her, why would they? she’s a horrible person, and she did so much unforgivable stuff? why would they ever want to save someone like her? (shit this is long, yeesh. well i’m having fun soo-) sometimes Anne and Sasha kill her as she’s possessed, because she needs out of the way, and her life doesn’t matter anyway. sometimes they free her and then take their fury at her out on her by hurting her.

recovery from that is incredibly hard. when she’s rescued, she doesn’t believe it. firmly denies it, hides from them, tries to keep them from hurting her, curls into a ball and refuses to acknowledge them. because they aren’t real, they aren’t. hasn’t she been through this enough? it takes the others a while to convince her she’s in reality, and that yes, they do really forgive her. she’s actually completely free.

later in life she has trouble discerning reality from her nightmares. she has insane trust issues. she can’t walk, not by herself. she’s terrified of fire, because fire is what impaled her, killed her, and fire is the color of the eyes that haunt her. a small zap of static electricity is enough to send her into a flashback of her possession, of the chair, of fire and lightning and code flowing into her, burning burning burning. once someone tried to calm her by grabbing her wrists, which only sent her further. the cuffs. they chained her down. she can’t move she can’t move! the color orange makes her nervous, if there’s too much of it she half convinced they’ve taken over somehow and tinted her vision the color of her nightmares. (looking at this you’d really think i’d be able to write something. i should write something) sudden complete darkness, such as someone turning off a light without warning, has her half believing whatever just happened wasn’t real, that the Core got bored and stuck her in the darkness. sound and small lights can help her come back to reality. sound because the Core wouldn’t let sound into their void, that would defeat the point! and small lights because if it all comes back quickly it just means the simulation has been turned back on. better to show her something small but concrete. Anne and Sasha have gotten really good at realizing when she needs a reality check, and then knowing her to ground her. (btw she doesn’t move away because i need her to have a support system. she might actually go crazy if she’s separated from her friends) ( whAT THE FUCk-?? this is so long! i need to wrap up! holy shiiiit) Marcy likes to hold their hands to help her remember where she is. physical touch is very grounding. the Core could never get it right so it’s even more so. after some nightmares she flinches from touch, so other things are needed, but once she’s returned from the hell in her mind she needs touch. sometimes weighted blankets help to ground her when she feels as though she might almost float away, sometimes they chain her down and trap her beneath the weight of all her mistakes.

there’s probably more, but if i kept going i’ll just have written a whole ass fic in an ask answer. hope you liked it! if not idk what i can give you (you’ll like it, because it’s great)

i don’t think i’ve ever written things out like things before, i should do that more. it helped to have specific questions, so thanks man i guess? heh.

[princess-lvcifer]

te iubesc

eurodead • 2K • viking AU • fluff

"Dear friend," said the count rising from his seat at the long wooden table and raising his tankard, looking at his guest and the reason for the evening's banquet, "it has been a pleasure to meet you and learn from you. It fills me with sadness that you are leaving, it seems like only yesterday that you arrived and I assure you that you will be missed here. May your exploration in Vinland be prosperous and may the Gods assist you," he nodded with understanding and gratitude for his words. "To Øystein the Fortunate, son of Aarseth!" he shouted raising his mug even higher, and all present except the aforementioned mimicked him in saying the same. Then they all raised their mugs to their lips.

As he took a sip from his tankard Øystein looked straight ahead, where sat his good shaman friend, a Romanian once enslaved and freed by him, with blue eyes like his own and long blond hair. Realising that he was looking at him he looked at him too, connecting their eyes in a quick glance. They acted expressionless, but both understood each other: they were holding back laughter.

They had been at the court of Count Greifi Grishnakh for some time, at his request. And who were they to refuse an invitation from a count? He claimed to practice sorcery and divination and admitted to defeating his enemies by magic, which many considered an act of cowardice and dishonesty. The count was dishonest, not because he used magic to defeat his enemies but because it was obvious to someone like Pelle, the shaman of Øystein, that he didn't really have such powers. They quickly realised that he was a poser, in many ways. He imitated Øystein and Pelle alike, and it seems that the only one who didn't realise how ridiculous he was was himself. So insecure that he always wore his crown on his head to remind people of who he was, along with his long braids. He was a two-faced man with no clear ideas, bloodthirsty for no reason and eager for attention and approval, especially from Øystein, whom he admired because he wanted to be like him — a man who actually did something interesting and worthwhile with his life by exploring unknown lands, courageous and determined, loved and respected by all his servants for his intelligence and kindness. A good leader, a good man.

Unlike him, Øystein was no fool and even if he didn't think well of him, he knew that Greifi was a man best to have on his side. He would smile at him whenever he had to, and this was one of those times.

"Thank you very much Your Highness, you are very kind," he said raising his mug. "You move me with your words. We will miss you too," a tap on his foot caught his attention and he couldn't help but smile even wider, holding back his laughter as he tapped the man opposite him in return.

The next day he sailed back to his homeland, where the following day he would disembark with Aarseth, Pelle and a crew of 35 men he had assembled to sail on a ship he had bought. The voyage was to be an expedition to Vinland, a land his father had discovered long ago. In the end his father gave up the idea of accompanying him after he fell off his horse on the way to the harbour, an incident he interpreted as a bad omen.

"Everything will be fine," Pelle assured Øystein in a confident and reassuring tone when he asked if he should abandon the idea of going to Vinland. And while in a way Pelle made him lose his mind, he also helped him come to his senses when he needed it most.

At the port they said goodbye to their loved ones: parents, sisters, wives, children... Pelle couldn't say goodbye to anyone, not because he was far from his homeland but because all his loved ones were on the ship, accompanying him. He wasn't married and said he was quite sure that he didn't even have any bastard children. He was aware that in that society, a rural and agricultural culture, it was necessary to have offspring to secure his future, but that mattered little to him: now that he was free at last to live his life as he wished he would never be with someone he didn't love, he wanted no children, he didn't mind dying (which would make him a great viking if he had the right physique) and if he needed someone to look after him it would be someone from the community, probably a daughter of his beloved Øystein, or even himself.

Following his father's route, they docked first at a rocky and desolate place his father called Helluland. Then he docked a second time at a wooded place his father called Markland. After two more days at sea, he landed on an island to the north, and later they finally disembarked at their destination, in a green area with a mild climate and abundant salmon stocks.

They were completely alone, there were no other humans in the area and Pelle said there were no spirits either, and they found wheat that they planted themselves and maple trees with blood-red leaves, among other foods that mother nature had to offer. When they returned to Norway they would load their ship with samples of these newly found goods.

When the crew disembarked and explored the area, it didn't take them long to find the settlement his father had built years before with his men: damp, dusty huts. They tidied them up and cleaned them until they were habitable again.

Este din nou noapte

Noapte, tu frumoasă

Îmi satisfac foamea

Pe oamenii vii

Noapte de foame

Urmează-i chemarea

Urmează luna înghețată

It was a full moon night and Pelle was sitting cross-legged by the fireplace in the little hut he lived in with Øystein, singing in whispers in his native language while he watched the dancing flames with rapt attention and stroked Øystein's head, who was lying on the floor with his eyes closed and using his legs as a pillow. He couldn't be more relaxed, couldn't be better, couldn't be happier.

When he opened his eyes he leaned his neck a little to get a better look at his friend, who had fallen silent, probably tired of singing. Though upside down, he looked at his beautiful face illuminated by the flames and raised his dominant hand to caress his cheek, drawing his attention.

"You have bewitched me," Øystein said quietly. And he wasn't the only one in their circle who ever thought of it. Pelle might have done it to earn his freedom long ago, but what sense would it make to do such a thing to stay with his former master?

"I have done no such thing," he said confidently, smiling though a little confused at such a sudden comment, placing his hands on his cheeks and leaning back to get close to his face, brushing it with the tips of his golden hair, "why would I do that?" he asked as Øystein removed his hand from his cheek, placing it back on the ground.

"I don't know, but I don't care. I'm grateful, even," Pelle laughed and Øystein smiled even wider as he locked his eyes on the shaman's smiling lips.

He knew he could look as long as he didn't touch, but he wanted nothing more than to merge his body with his, even if it was just a short kiss. Even though he knew it was impossible because of the position they were in, he forced his forearms and leaned his back, shoulders and neck to get even closer to him, brushing the tips of their noses together.

"How do you say 'I love you' in your language?" asked the scout, now in a more serious tone that infected the shaman. "Tell me," he begged.

"...Te iubesc."

"Te iubesc," he repeated.

Pelle released his face and slid his legs back, getting up as he said they should go to sleep now. Øystein dropped to the floor, slumped but happy, savouring the moment as he brought one of his forearms to his forehead, staring at the ceiling. The shaman went to a small wooden table they had to get a vase of water and pour some on the fire, putting it out.

As winter was approaching, Øystein decided to camp there for a few months and sent out parties to explore the country. He divided his men into two parties, who took turns exploring the surrounding area. He warned that they should stick together and return when the sun went down to sleep in their settlement.

"Where is Pelle?" Øystein asked puzzled and worried, when half his men returned to the settlement after dark.

"He's not here?" Jørn asked him, just as surprised and worried.

"No," he answered, as cold and dry as the weather. There was no time to ask for explanations or look for culprits to be angry with, what he had to look for was his friend. "Grab some torches, we're going in search of him."

He knew it was unlikely in many ways, but the thought of Pelle running away from him terrified him. He could have done so long ago, when he had set him free; but he didn't, he stayed by his side.

With an Øystein deeply dismayed, twelve men divided into small groups of three went in search of him. He chose to be accompanied by Bård and Vegard. They split off in various directions in the direction they had scouted during the day, but not far from each other. With the torches they kept in visual contact.

They had not gone far when they came across the Romanian, who was heading towards the settlement very excited, gesticulating wildly, and evidently drunk.

When Øystein saw him he handed his torch to Bård and ran towards him, almost stumbling. He couldn't help but hug him, glad to find him. Bård and Vegard looked at each other in silence, with understanding at such a heartfelt reunion.

It was an open secret that Pelle wasn't normal in many ways. It was typical of his profession, which was mostly practised by women — and in the few male cases they were usually effeminate men, with mannerisms, little strength and little or no interest in women. Being like him wasn't considered a bad thing, although it wasn't considered a good thing either. Some people used ergi as an insult, but not to Pelle because he was respected and loved by all — he didn't use his magic to defeat his enemies, which made him in everyone's eyes brave, fair and honest. He was endowed with supernatural powers and they believed that by being close to him you'll get good luck, as he contained the two essences of the human being: both masculinity and femininity, with both roles in one being. He also helped them to be in touch with the Gods, he was a healer, and most important of all, Øystein clearly had a devotion to him. It was obvious the affection, respect and admiration they had for each other. And everyone knew that they slept together in the same bed when they went out to explore the world, but no one knew if they ever had sex, let alone what each other's role was in it.

Vegard alerted the others that they had found him, and they all went over to meet.

"Why, my friend," asked Øystein with his hands on his cheeks, scanning him up and down and down and up as he parted from him, "have you come so late? What made you leave your companions?!"

"Mă știți, îmi place să mă mă plimb singur și să caut animale și plante moarte" Pelle, in his state, answered unwittingly in Romanian. "Am dat peste un ciorchine de struguri, am început să mă mănânc și am pierdut noțiunea timpului, îmi pare rău."

His companions understood nothing and Øystein a little, for in the course of their friendship he had learned a few words in his language, but he didn't know enough to understand it fully, let alone being clearly intoxicated, stammering rapidly.

"Pelle, we don't understand you. Speak in our language, please," he said, clutching his hands tightly.

"Oh, right!" He laughed. "I have not gone far," he said in their language; "I have some news for you. I have discovered vines laden with grapes."

"Are you telling the truth, my friend?" Øystein exclaimed.

"I'm sure I'm telling the truth," answered Pelle, "for in my native land there were vineyards in abundance."

"All right, I believe you," he said letting go of him and wrapping one of the blond's languid arms around his shoulders, wanting to help him walk, "but now let's go home. You must rest. Fenriz, help me with him," he said, and he obeyed.

They were about to reach the settlement when Pelle threw up everything he had taken. He would be weaker than usual because of it, which Øystein was worried about, but he knew it was best to flush everything toxic out of his body.

"Let this be the last time you scare me like this, please," he said sitting down on the floor beside his bed after lighting the fireplace in his cabin. He had his right arm resting on the bed, resting his head on his fist, and with his other hand he grabbed Pelle's right hand, which was hanging down, brushing against the wooden floor.

"Sorry," he said laughing weakly, exhausted from being out all day and from the vomit he had thrown up earlier.

"I'm not laughing, you idiot," he said half jokingly, half seriously. The shock still lingered in his body, but he was glad to have found him and that he was well (as well as a thin man like him could be, after grape poisoning and a bout of vomiting).

Still holding his hand he lifted it to his lips, planting a sweet kiss on it. Pelle's smile didn't fade, and his cheeks were red though probably from the grapes.

"Come here," the shaman said as he rolled onto his side, and he obeyed lying down beside him. To his surprise Pelle curled up next to him, burying his face in his neck and using his arm as a pillow. He had his arms across their torsos, and with Øystein's free hand he decided to brush his hair away from his face and caress his cheek and chin.

"Te iubesc," Pelle whispered into his neck, almost tickling him. Øystein froze on hearing such Romanian words — he stopped caressing him, his eyes became as round as the moon and his heart raced even faster.

"Are you serious?" he asked astonished, pulling back to look at him to observe his facial expression.

"They are just words, carried away by the wind. They leave no mark."

"They leave a mark on my heart," he said taking his hand again and bringing it to his chest so that he could feel the quickening of his heartbeat.

The dark-haired man's eyes fell to his lips, and he began to move slowly towards them, but Pelle stopped him speaking and now he was the one moving backwards.

"That is no longer words Øystein, that is an act. We must not."

"No one will know. And I've done my duty anyway," he said referring to his children thousands of miles away. And he was right — homosexuality was best accepted after the men had formed a family, once the social obligation to contribute children to the community had been fulfilled.

"Once we start we can't stop," he said referring to penetration. It was thought that a man who submitted sexually to another man would do the same in other areas, that he would be a follower rather than a leader, or be on a lower social position than the other. He didn't want the status and honour of either to be tarnished.

"I do not wish to subjugate you, and I hope you do not wish to subjugate me. Even if you were still a slave, I would never force you into anything. Te iubesc."

"All right," Pelle said smiling.

"Then can I kiss you?" asked Øystein excitedly.

"You can," he answered, and as soon as he said that he brought his hand to his cheek and moved back to his lips, finally merging them after years of daydreaming and sleeping about it, proving and sealing their love once and for all.

"You were right, everything went well."

A/N: Crosspoted on my AO3.

Second part: 𖤐