#testaments of the green sea

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Rewrite tag

Thanks @mk-writes-stuff here and @somethingclevermahogony here!

MK's line: [+ provided picrew]

“Lord Narcissus,” she said with a curtsy as she got close to him. “You’re looking lovely tonight.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did look lovely. He had an elaborate red flowery hairpiece made out of real flowers, and he was wearing a tight red cocktail dress that, while definitely scandalous, did admittedly draw attention to his figure. Narcissus was a good-looking man – it was a shame that was his only virtue.

My rewrite:

She curtsied as she got close to him, taking the time to think of something to say. "Lord Narcissus," she said, "you look lovely tonight."

What irritated her was that she wasn't lying: he did look lovely. His dark hair was a stark contrast to the red flowery headpiece--which she was certain was real--that accentuated his eyes. His wavy hair framed his face well, and the choker emphasized his long neck. The scandalously tight cocktail dress matched the headpiece, and the fact that it did well for his figure irritated her to no end. It was a shame his looks were his only good virtue--the loveliness of his appearance couldn't help but be tainted by his repulsive personality.

C's line:

The blood dripped into the awaiting bowl and painted its alabaster walls crimson. Narul watched it trickled down his arm, skirting past the hairs, rolling veins, and moles. Despite these twenty years of blood lettings, he could not shake a creeping feeling of unease as his eyes followed its creeping path down his arm. He gazed back at himself from the scarlet pool, he could not meet his own eye, could not stand to look that creature in the face. He turned away.

My rewrite:

Narul watched as the blood dripped into the alabaster bowl. With each drop, the sides became more and more stained with the sickening yet almost satisfyingly familiar crimson. The blood slowly fell down his arms like rain against glass, past his hairs, moles, veins. Twenty years of bloodlettings could not quench his repulsion, but still he could not look away from it. His eyes followed each drop's path, until he accidentally caught his reflection in the carmine pool growing in the bowl. He looked away as quickly as he could, more disgusted at the creature in his face than the blood.

My line: (shaking it up and doing it from SOTL!!!)

Jack scrutinized the castle before him. It stretched up, up, up into the sky--and as they were already in the clouds, Jack didn’t want to know how high the tallest tower was above the ground--how he wouldn’t like to be the poor bloke who was defenestrated from it. The castle was made of some sort of dark stone, giving it the unsettling feel of a haunted house. There was the cobblestone path, yes, but on either side of it, Jack realized that yes, they were still on clouds, though where the castle was, the clouds were dark and gray, and when Jack listened closely enough, he realized that there was a booming irregular pulse of thunder that shook the ground ever-so-slightly, enough to cause the stone beneath his shoes to rattle.

I'll tag @gracehosborn @illarian-rambling @finchwrites @little-peril-stories @i-can-even-burn-salad @televisionjester @thepeculiarbird @willtheweaver @the-stray-storyteller @space-writes @leahnardo-da-veggie @elsie-writes @sleepywriter00 @sleepy-night-child @writingsfromspace @badluck990 + anyone else!

[flaneurarbiter]

Not me being fancy about my mutuals' WIP

@somethingclevermahogony

[soulofapatrick]

Kiss Me Tired - Percy Jackson x Female Reader

Summary: you can't sleep so go to find your best friend - Percy

Words: 1.9k

warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

I find myself tossing and turning, the sheets tangling around my restless limbs, as elusive sleep evades me once again. The Apollo cabin is quiet, the soft hum of night almost suffocating in its stillness. Moonbeams trickle through the window, casting gentle patterns of the wooden floors. 

Grateful for being on the bottom bunk tonight, I slide from under the covers with practiced ease. The gentle thud as my feet meet the floor barely makes a sound, but each step feels amplified in the silence of the sleeping cabin. Slipping on a pair of shoes without lacing them up, I make my way to the door, my heart pounding louder than the muted thuds of my footsteps. The door creaks slightly as I ease it open, wincing at the noise before exhaling a relieved breath as it swings shut behind me. 

Staying close to the comforting cover of shadows, I weave my way through the lingering clusters of campers, their hushed conversations mixing with the rustling of leaves in the night breeze. The children of Nemesis and Nyx, silhouetted against the faint glow of the campfire, seem engrossed in their own whispered discussions, oblivious to my presence as I navigate the edges of their gathering.

I skirt the edges of the Poseidon Cabin, a refuge I’ve often visited, and slip inside, grateful for the cover of darkness. The familiar scent of saltwater and adventure lingers in the air. The cabin is eerily quiet, echoing with the absence of Percy—the solitary presence that usually defines it. 

My steps echo softly against the wooden floor as I venture further in. The moonlight filters through the windows, causing elongated shadows that dance across the cabin’s interior. Percy’s empty bed confirms his absence, leaving the cabin strangely deserted. 

Curiosity propels me deeper into the cabin, my gaze landing on the backdoor open, leading to the pontoons. The moon’s silvery trail illuminates the pathway to the water’s edge, inviting and ethereal. The realisation settles in—Percy, the sole child of Poseidon, often seeks solace by the lake, where the water sings the tales of his father’s realm. 

The sight before me steal a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. Percy sits there, silhouetted against the shimmering reflection of the moon on the water, a portrait of quiet strength and contemplation. His unruly hair catches glimmers of moonlight, creating an otherworldly halo around him. 

As I draw nearer, the tranquility that envelopes him seems almost tangible. The lake mirrors the night sky, stars dancing on its surface, and Percy, the living embodiment of that serene beauty, captures my attention entirely. 

He turns at the faint rustle of my approach, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his pretty lips. His sea-green eyes, illuminated by the moon’s gentle glow, hold a depth that echoes the mysteries of the ocean. It’s mesmerising, the way he seems both a part of the night and a beacon within it. 

Percy’s messy black hair catches the moonlight in a way that makes it seem like constellations have woven themselves into the strands, each unruly wave a testament to the untamed spirit he embodies. His lightly tanned skin, kissed by the sun’s rays and caressed by the gentle breeze, holds a warmth that feels inviting even in the cool night air. 

As I settle next to him, a comfortable ease settles between us. Percy shifts slightly, adjusting his position, and I follow suit, instinctively resting my head on his shoulder. It feels oddly natural, as if this silent language of unspoken understanding has been written int he stars all along. The coolness of the night dissipates against the warmth of his presence. His shoulder, solid and reassuring beneath my head, carries the weigh of both the wards burdens and its beauty. 

His sea-green eyes, s deep and enigmatic, gaze out into the horizon, the mysteries of the universe reflecting in their depths. The seven expression on his face speaks volumes, as if he’s a silent guardian, watching over the secrets of the night.  The gentle breeze whispers secrets to the night, and I feels Percy’s arm, strong and comforting, wrap around my waist, pulling me a fraction closer to him. It’s a gesture of silent understanding, an unspoken invitation to share the weight of ur silent night-time musings. 

“Why can’t you sleep, Mouse?” Percy’s voice, soft and inquisitive, breaks the tranquil silence with my stupid nickname he made for me. His concern is palpable, yet I hesitate to divulge the true reason behind my sexlessness, my heart pounding against the confession I’m afraid to voice. 

I shift slightly, trying to evade the truth, the words catching in my throat as I struggle to articulate the turmoil within, “Just… thoughts, I guess. You know how it is.” 

But it’s a hollow response, a mere veil covering the truth that simmers beneath the surface. The mere thought of Percy and Annabeth together as a couple, a union so celebrated and cherished among demigods, twists a knot in my stomach, a painful reminder of my unspoken feelings for him. 

The fear of vulnerability and the ache of unrequited affection hold me captive in a silence that feels suffocating. I can’t bring myself to admit the ache his closeness evokes, the ache that surges every time I see them together, facing the world as a pair that everyone wants to see. The perfect couple. 

A grumble of protest escapes my lips, as I know he sees through my lie as he stays silent, a frustrated sound that I can’t seem to contain. I turn my face, burying it in the comforting crook of his neck, hoping to hide the turmoil that threatens to spill over. His chest rumbles with a soft laughter, a sound that’s both comforting and teasing, pulling me out of my momentary retreat. 

Before I realise it, his finger hooks gently under my chin, lifting my face to meet to gaze. The concern etched into his expression melts away any remaining resistance, coaxing me to open up even as my heart clenches with the vulnerability of it all. 

“Hey,” He murmurs softly, his sea-green eyes searching mine, an unspoken invitation tp share whatever weighs on my mind. 

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat refusing to dissipate. The urge to confess tugs at my heartstrings, a silent plea to unburden the ache that gnaws at me. But the words romain elusive, trapped behind a barrier of fear and insecurity. 

My heart hammers against my chest as his thumb traces a gentle path across my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that seeps into the cracks of my guarded emotions. I meet his gaze, sea-green eyes holding mine in a silent conversation that speaks volumes. 

I feel myself drawn to him, my eyes inadvertently tracing the curve of his lips. The soft moonlight casts an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting the contours of his face in a way that feels almost surreal. 

As my gaze lingers on his lips, a surge of emotions—longing, fear, and a yearning for something more—swirl within me. Self-control wavers as my heart takes over, propelled by an undeniable urge to bridge the gap between us. 

Without warning, without calculation, I lean forward, closing the space between us. My lips meet his in a moment that feels both suspended in time and yet over too soon. It’s a soft, tentative touch, a leap of faith and vulnerability woven into the tender connection.

 For a heartbeat, the world stills around us, the air crackling with the unspoken truth of our shared emotions. The warmth of his lips against mine like a revelation, a stolen moment that lingers as a testament to the unspoken desires I’ve kept hidden. But, just as quickly as it happens, the weight of the moment hits me, the reality crashing down like a tidal wave. I pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, my heart thundering in my chest, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. 

“Perce… Fuck, I’m sorry, I-“ 

Before I can finish my stammered apology, the words tumbling out in a jumble of regret and confusion, Percy’s gentle touch silences my anxious ramblings. He leans in, cutting off my faltering speech with a soft yet determined press of his lips against mine. It’s a kiss that carries a subtle urgency, a reassurance woven into the tender connection that leaves me breathless and wide-eyed. 

His lips, warm and inviting, mould against mine in a way that feels both familiar and utterly new. There’s a tenderness to his touch, a silent promise of understanding and acceptance that sends a shiver down my spine. His kiss tastes like the promise of untold stories, of shared secrets whispered in the stillness of the night. 

My heart leaps in my chest, responding to his gentle yet confident touch. I reciprocate, tentatively at first, before letting myself be swept away by the overwhelming rush of emotions. My hands, initially hovering uncertainly in the space between us, find their place, one resting against his chest and the other timidly finds its way to his cheek, relishing the warmth and softness of his skin. 

His hands, strong yet tender, find their place at the small of my back, pulling me closer in an embrace that feels both reassuring and exhilarating. The closeness of our bodies, the shared warmth between us, creates a cocoon of intimacy that blurs the boundaries of friendship and something more. 

The moment lingers, suspended in a haze of shared emotions, before Percy breaks the kiss, his breath mingling with mine as he gently pulls me onto his lap. My knees rest on either side of his hips, a sudden rush of adrenaline mingling with the warmth of our closeness. Then, he guides me down, our bodies molding together in a dance of longing and unspoken desires. His hands, firm yet gentle, cup my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he leans in for another kiss.

This time, there's a hunger in his touch, a raw passion that ignites between us. Our lips meet again in a union fuelled by the unspoken confessions of our hearts. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a dance of lips and tongues that express the emotions we've kept buried for so long. His fervour is matched by mine as I respond eagerly, the longing I've harboured finally finding an outlet in this shared intimacy. The taste of his kiss is electrifying, a rush of emotions that consumes every inch of my being.

My hands find their place on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer in a silent plea for more. Our bodies meld together, the heat of our closeness building an unspoken intensity that blurs the lines between friendship and an uncharted territory of passion.

In the soft moonlight, our embrace becomes a symphony of desire and longing, each movement a testament to the unspoken connection we've discovered. And as we lose ourselves in this intoxicating moment, the boundaries of what we were and what we might become blur in the heat of our shared passion.

“Come on sweetheart,” Percy finally pulls away, “You can sleep here tonight.” 

Riordanverse Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[seriiousgiirl]

𝑀𝓎 𝒜𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓉𝓋𝒶!𝓁𝑜𝓀𝒾 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁ You had always tried to avoid Loki since his arrival at the TVA. His presence seemed to bring chaos and unpredictability into your carefully organised world, and you preferred to keep your distance. But one day, as fate would have it, you found yourself colliding with him. The impact sent papers flying and your heart racing as you stumbled back, flustered and embarrassed. Loki, ever the picture of confidence, caught your eye with a smirk, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

At that moment, the tension between you crackled with electricity, and you realised that perhaps avoiding Loki wasn't as easy as you had thought... . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. slice of life, TVA Loki, canon divergent, no mention of Sylvie, pure fluff and smut, tension, mutual pining and office romance. NSFW, clothed sex, semi-public sex.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 11K words.

The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above was a comforting constant as you sat at your desk, meticulously sorting through the day's paperwork. Rows of neatly organised files surrounded you, each one a testament to the precise and orderly world you had come to love at the Time Variance Authority. 

In fact, you had always liked working at the TVA. 

The structure and predictability of your job were a balm to your mind. Every morning you arrived at the same time, greeted by the same faces, and slipped into the same rhythm of work. It was calm, peaceful even, as your duties revolved around filling papers and ensuring everything was in order. The sense of security it provided was unparalleled. You had never known anything else, and you didn't need to. 

You weren't a field agent, tasked with the dangerous job of apprehending Variants. No, you were just a simple, normal, office employee. The closest you had ever come to the excitement and peril of the outside world were the stories shared by Mobius. His tales of daring chases and complex cases were fascinating, yet they felt like tales from another realm.

You preferred the stability of your office, far removed from the unpredictability of the timelines.

But everything changed the moment Mobius walked into the office with his new favourite companion in tow: Loki. The God of Mischief himself had entered your realm, and with him, he brought chaos and  mischief.

Loki's presence was impossible to ignore. He moved through the office with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his every step commanding attention. Conversations halted mid-sentence as heads turned to follow his steps. Whispers spread like wildfire, each tale more elaborate than the last, painting Loki as both a dangerous renegade and an irresistibly charming man.

Loki had a way of making everyone feel like they were the centre of his universe, if only for a moment. His mischievous smile, the glint in his green eyes, and the smooth cadence of his voice seemed to enchant everyone he encountered. The effect was especially noticeable among your female colleagues. They flocked to him, their laughter ringing louder, their smiles brighter, each one hoping to catch his attention.

You tried to remain detached, to focus on your work as you always had. After all, you prided yourself on your professionalism and your ability to maintain order in the midst of distraction. But it would be a lie to say you were unaffected. His charm was like a siren's call, drawing you in despite your best efforts to resist.

Not that Loki noticed you. In fact, you two had never even spoken.

You preferred to stay hidden behind your desk, your head down, your fingers flying over the paperwork. The uniform you wore, identical to everyone else's, served as a kind of camouflage, blending you into the sea of TVA employees. It was easy to be invisible, and that was exactly what you wanted—right?

While others seemed to bask in the glow of his attention, you observed from afar, your heart a quiet drum in your chest whenever he was near. You couldn't deny his charm or the way he seemed to draw everyone in, but you weren't eager to be caught in his orbit. 

The idea of his sharp eyes turning your way was both thrilling and terrifying. You told yourself it was better this way. Better to remain unnoticed. Yet, you couldn't help but watch him, stealing glances whenever you were sure he wouldn't see. His interactions with Mobius were particularly endearing. They seemed to share a friendship that was both unexpected and intriguing, that you could only admire from a distance.

One afternoon, while filing away another stack of reports, you overheard snippets of conversation from across the room. Loki's voice, rich and mocking, drifted over to you. "Mobius, you really think these people can keep the timelines in check? They can't even keep their desks tidy."

You glanced up just in time to see Mobius chuckle, shaking his head. "Don't underestimate the people here, Loki. They're the backbone of the TVA."

Loki's gaze swept across the office, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed to linger in your direction. You quickly ducked your head, focusing intently on the papers in front of you, praying he hadn't noticed your stare.

"Did you see that? Loki looked right over here!" one of your coworkers working right behind you exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her friend, a usually reserved archivist, blushed and nodded.  "He did, didn't he? I thought I was imagining it."

"Imagine, the God of Mischief himself glancing our way. Do you think he noticed us?"

She shrugged, but her smile betrayed her delight. "Maybe he did. He's so... mesmerising and handsome..."

You tried to ignore their chatter, burying your attention deeper into your work. Yet, it was impossible not to feel a pang of something—envy, curiosity, or perhaps… a mix of both. 

As their excited whispers continued, you risked another glance in Loki's direction, as if to confirm whether he was looking at you or not. This time, you noticed that his eyes were not focused on you but the girls behind you. 

With a quiet sigh of relief, you realised that you hadn't been the target of his piercing gaze in the first place. 

Thankfully, after that little distraction, the rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork and muted conversations. The excitement caused by Loki's presence gradually subsided, leaving a buzz of residual energy that lingered in the office. 

When the clock finally signalled the end of your shift, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. It was time to bring your finished reports to the archives and be done with your day. You gathered your files, neatly stacking them into a folder, and stood up, stretching your stiff muscles. 

The office had started to empty out, your colleagues drifting away to their own routines and lives. With a last quick glance around, you made your way to the archives, the path familiar and comforting—The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only sound. 

As you approached the archive room, you pushed open the door to the archives, the cool air and musty scent of old paper welcoming you. The room was dimly lit, rows of shelves stretching into the distance, each one filled with the meticulously organised records of the TVA. 

You made your way to the designated section, classifying your report with practised ease.

As you slid the last folder into place, a sense of accomplishment settled over you. The day's work was done, and you could finally retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your quarters. You turned to leave, your thoughts already drifting to the comfort of your routine, when you suddenly collided with someone.

More precisely, your face collided with a solid, well-muscled chest, the impact sending papers scattering wildly to the floor around you. The chaos of fluttering documents mirrored the frenzy in your chest as your heart plummeted, preparing for the inevitable apology. 

The warmth of his body enveloped you, the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of musk and spice, filling your nostrils. His hand, rough and calloused, gripped your wrist, anchoring you to his chest to steady you. 

"I’m so sorry, I didn’t—" you began, looking up to meet the gaze of the person you had so clumsily bumped into. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized him. "Loki," you whispered, the realisation stealing your voice. The God of Mischief himself, tall, dark, and disarmingly handsome, gazed down at you with an arched eyebrow. His thin lips curled into a smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

"What have we here? The diligent office worker, causing quite the mess. How… unexpected."  Loki's throaty chuckle filled the air, sending shivers down your spine. "No harm done, little one. It’s ok."

In a flurry of nervous energy, you dropped to your knees, gathering the scattered parchment with frantic hands, desperate to regain some semblance of control. Loki joined you, his movements graceful and deliberate as he shared in your task. The closeness of his body sent your heart into a frenzied race, each brush of his fingers against yours leaving you reeling from the lightning bolts of sensation.

As you offered the final document, you dared to lift your gaze to meet his. His expression remained amused, but you swore you caught a glint of something more—a glimmer of curiosity or perhaps longing—hidden within the depths of his emerald eyes.

"Thank you, Loki," you breathed, attempting to steady your trembling hands. "I didn't mean to—"

"No need for apologies, Y/n," he interrupted gently, his voice deep and rich, a melodious rumble that seemed to echo through your very soul. Standing, he extended a hand to help you rise, his touch possessing an otherworldly warmth that seemed to seep into your very bones—he was perhaps a lot of things, but a gentleman and a prince, for sure.

You could feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne—spicy and forbidden—wrapping around you like a seductive fog. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in this private sanctuary until—his words registered fully in your mind, and you blinked in surprise.

"Wait, how do you know my name?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and curiosity.

Loki's smirk widened, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, Mobius often talks about you and your amazing work. He speaks quite highly of you, actually."

Your eyes widened further, a mix of disbelief and a strange, fluttering sensation in your chest. "Mobius talks about me?"

"Indeed, I mean he is your boss," Loki said casually, as if discussing the weather. "He says you're the best at what you do, always meticulous and efficient. It seems you've made quite an impression on him."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and pride. Mobius had always been kind, but you had no idea he thought so highly of you. And the fact that Loki, of all people, knew about it was both flattering and daunting. "I... I had no idea," you stammered, trying to process this new information.

Loki chuckled softly, the sound rich and surprisingly comforting. "Well, now you do."

You met his gaze, your heart racing at the intensity of his eyes. For a moment, you felt something, a bridge between your orderly world and the chaos he represented. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Thank you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot."

Loki's expression softened, and he gave a nod of courtesy. "You're welcome, Y/n. Keep up the good work."

With that, he turned and went his way to classify his own files, leaving you standing in the dimly lit archive room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. The encounter had been brief, but it had left an indelible mark, shaking the foundations of your carefully constructed world.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day at the TVA started just like any other. You slipped into your routine with the ease of long practice, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you processed reports and organised files. The office buzzed with its usual hum of activity, a comforting backdrop to your meticulous work. 

Despite your best efforts to maintain your focus, your mind kept drifting back to yesterday. The memory of his intense gaze, the way he had spoken your name—it all lingered in your thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

You watched Loki from afar, just as you had done before. He moved through the office with his characteristic blend of grace and mischief, drawing attention wherever he went. He conversed with Mobius and other agents, his laughter echoing through the grand office. You told yourself that nothing had changed. 

You were still just a diligent office worker, content with your quiet, orderly life. 

But now, knowing the weight of Loki's gaze, something inside you had shifted. It left you feeling unsatisfied, hungry for more. And that morning, you found yourself stealing glances at him more often, your heart skipping whenever he was near. But despite your best effort to catch his attention, nothing changed… What were you expecting? Perhaps you hoped Loki would greet you, a playful smile on his lips, and make a comment about how amusing it was when you had bumped into him the day before. 

Maybe you wanted him to acknowledge your presence for once?

No, you had to be content with what you had. You reminded yourself of this as you filed another report, trying to quell the restless desire that had taken root inside you since yesterday. Your job, your routine—they have always been enough. They had to be enough.

When it was finally time for lunch, you gathered your things with a heavy heart and made your way to the cafeteria. The anticipation from the morning had left you drained, a quiet disappointment settling in as you went through the motions of selecting your usual meal. The familiar tray of food did little to lift your spirits…

You navigated the crowded cafeteria, scanning for an empty table. As you unwrapped your sandwich and took a bite, your thoughts wandered back to Loki—Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the figure approaching your table until a shadow fell over you. 

You looked up, startled, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was.

"Do you mind if I take this seat?" Loki asked, his voice smooth and confident.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The cafeteria noise seemed to fade into the background, and all you could focus on was the intensity of his gaze. "Um, no, I don't mind," you managed to say, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

Loki smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and sat down gracefully. "Thank you. It's rather crowded today, isn't it?"

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heart. "Yeah, it usually is around this time."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You took another bite of your sandwich, your mind racing with questions. Why was Loki sitting with you? What did he want?  Loki seemed to sense your unease. "I hope I'm not disturbing your lunch," he said, his tone casual. "I simply thought it might be nice to have some company—Mobius, unfortunately, is entangled in an important meeting." He said, in a dramatic tone.

You blinked in surprise, not quite believing your ears. "No, it's fine. I... I usually eat alone, or with my colleagues when they are free..." The last part was a lie, and he seems to pick up on that based on his smirk. 

"Well, then I'm glad I could change that today," Loki replied, his smile charming.

As you took another bite, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was the moment you had hoped for all morning. Yet, now that it was happening, you felt unsure of what to say or how to act.

Loki's gaze lingered on your face, a hint of curiosity glinting within his deep green eyes. He picked up his sandwich, taking a bite as he observed you with an air of calculated interest. The silence lingered for a moment more, heavy with the unspoken thoughts that coursed through your minds.

You, feeling the weight of his scrutiny, attempted to break the tension. "So, uh, how did you end up working here with Mobius anyway?" You asked, feigning nonchalance as you tore off a piece of your sandwich, your cheeks flushing at the question's clumsiness. “I only heard part of the story…”

Loki chewed, swallowed, and then replied with a playful grin, "Oh, a lucky encounter really—or perhaps, a misfortune for Mobius. He needs my help and expertise on variants, as I am one myself. Now, here I am, tapping away at a keyboard when they force me to behave and avoiding the wrath of the All-Father when I’m on the missions outside."

You chuckled, relieved by the ease in his response. "Well, it's a good thing for us then, right? A Loki by our side is quite unexpected." You smiled shyly, feeling a strange warmth bloom within your chest.

Loki's eyes sparkled, a mischievous glint dancing within them. "Indeed, and the office would be a far duller place without my charm and wit." He playfully winked, his confidence intoxicating.

You laughed, feeling a giddy thrill coursing through you. But, you weren't going to admit he was right. 

Loki leaned back in his chair, his arms resting casually on the table, a picture of unbridled leisure. "Enough about me, Y/n, tell me, what brings you joy in your daily office life?" His eyes held a glint of curiosity, a genuine interest in your life that made your heart swell with warmth.

You hesitated, taken aback by the earnestness in his question. "Well, I enjoy helping people. Organising meetings, coordinating schedules, ensuring everything runs smoothly, filling my reports in time," you admitted, your eyes flickering downwards in a display of coy modesty. “Nothing interesting…”

Loki's lips curved into a grin, the corners crinkling as he nodded. "Ah, the unsung heroine of bureaucracy. I can see why Mobius values your efforts so highly."

You smiled at the compliment, the praise melting away some of the insecurities that had plagued you throughout the day. "Mobius is an excellent leader. I'm glad to be part of his cause." Loki's teasing tone, combined with his genuine admiration, made you feel as if you were basking in the sun. His praise shone like gold, a moment of validation that left you beaming with pleasure. The teasing, though playful, was underpinned by respect and appreciation, a rare and heart-warming combination that left you feeling cherished and seen.

Loki chuckled at your response, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took another sip of his coffee. "His cause? I can see why Mobius's empire would crumble without your guiding hand."

Waving your hand, you brushed off his words with a blush, "Please, I'm hardly that important." You smiled sheepishly, genuinely flattered by his praise.

"On that note," Loki began, his tone teasing and playful, "I'm curious, Y/n. How was your morning? Mine has been so busy, I didn’t have the time to stop by your desk. I hope you’ll excuse my terrible manners."

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, realising how childish you had been to think Loki was avoiding you this morning. Clearly, he had been working hard, and here you were, cursing yourself for jumping to conclusions. You paused, before speaking. "Well, it was... hectic. A few reports due, a meeting cancelled at the last minute, and a printer malfunction to top it off."

Loki's eyebrows rose, feigning shock. "A printer malfunction? Oh, the horror!" His teasing tone was laced with an amused sincerity that put you at ease, a respite from the chaos of your workday.

You couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the tension dissipating as you found solace in his company. "I know, right? But, I'm glad it's almost over. Tomorrow's a fresh start."

"Speaking of tomorrow, Y/n," Loki leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I'll be in the office again, of course. But, perhaps we can repeat today's pleasant interlude for lunch?" He winked, his charm as powerful as the sweetest nectar.

Your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body at the suggestion. "I... I'd like that." You managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. "Excellent. I look forward to more delightful conversations with you, my dear Y/n. I’m glad we finally have the chance to talk."

With a nod, Loki stood, his hand brushing against yours once more as he gathered his things. Another shiver raced up your spine, the electrifying sensation leaving you breathless. "Until tomorrow, Y/n."

"Until tomorrow," you whispered back. Loki's eyes twinkled with mischief as he offered you a dazzling smile. He then turned and left the break room, his teasing words echoing in your mind.

As you watched him go, you felt breathless, your heart thudding in your chest. A dreamy smile tugged at your lips, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring. With a contented sigh, you finally left the break room a few moments later, the encounter replaying in your thoughts.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It seemed like fate liked to put you back in your place, reminding you of the reality of your daily life. A last-minute meeting left you no choice but to skip your lunch and forgo your usual break time—and in the process, the beginning of your lunch routine with Loki. With no time to leave a note on Loki's desk to excuse yourself, you were hurriedly ushered into the meeting room.

The meeting was a whirlwind of instructions and assignments, each one piling onto your already considerable workload. You barely had a moment to catch your breath as tasks were handed out one after another. By the time the meeting finally concluded, you felt drained and overwhelmed, a far cry from the excitement and anticipation you had felt earlier in the day at the prospect of spending time with him. 

You wondered what Loki might think. 

Would he understand, be angry, or would he see it as a sign of disinterest?

You could rack your brains and think of all the possible scenarios, at that moment you had no other choices than standing in the grand archives room, searching for a useful file related to a new variant case. The quiet, dusty atmosphere of the archives was a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the office. You moved between the towering shelves, your fingers trailing along the spines of countless folders and documents.

As you pulled out one of the files you needed, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Your encounter with Loki had felt like a brief escape from the monotony of your routine, a tantalising glimpse of something more. Yet, here you were, back in the grind of your daily duties.

And at that moment, you knew, why in the first place you didn’t want to have business with him. 

Sighing, you hugged the file to your chest and headed towards the next row of documents. Now, on your tip-toes, you stretched, trying to reach the file that seemed to taunt you from its lofty perch. Suddenly, a familiar masculine scent hung in the air, a perfume that left no guess to who it was as you felt a body press against your back. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected contact, and you closed your eyes, savouring the warmth.

A warm shiver ran down your spine as his breath ghosted over your ear, whispering, "Need help, Y/n?" The vibration of his voice was enough to steal your breath, and yet, it was his hands—strong yet gentle—that did the real work, lifting you to stand on the tips of his feet.

The file was within your grasp, and as you brought it down, Loki's arms slid around your waist, giving you a momentary squeeze before releasing you. His palms lingered for a moment, leaving tingles in their wake, before dropping away. As you turned around, trapped between the shelves and Loki's towering figure, you met his gaze, his green eyes flickering with a mix of temper and concern. His presence, looming and overpowering, made your heart race, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"I see you're avoiding me," he said, his voice a low growl, thick with displeasure, as if you'd wronged him deeply. "That's not a good idea, Y/n. I don't like to be fooled around, or left waiting." Your eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze as he added, "I thought it was over," a sharp bite to his words. "I thought you were finally not avoiding me anymore."

A wave of heat flooded your cheeks, and you felt yourself shrink back under his unrelenting scrutiny. "Loki, I—" You struggled for words, the guilt you'd managed to suppress threatening to bubble over. "I-I'm sorry. The meeting at the last minute left me no choice," you whispered shakily.

Loki's gaze was unyielding as he questioned, "You could have found a way. If you wanted to."

You swallowed, your voice wavering. "I promise, I wasn't avoiding you. It's just... things have been hectic."

His eyes narrowed, the anger in them a slow burning fuse. "You've been avoiding me since I arrived, Y/n. Don't try to deny it.” Your heart leapt into your throat, and you found yourself at a loss for words, utterly speechless. 

Loki stepped closer, crowding the space between you, his heat a palpable presence, as he continued, "If you've changed your mind, if you don't want me anymore, then say it. Don't leave me guessing and waiting for something that might never come." His voice was a demanding rumble, laced with frustration and hints of something more, a need that twisted through you like a thorn. 

In that tense, intimate space, you felt the weight of his words, a heavy burden that left you unable to move, unable to deny the truth of what he said. As the seconds stretched on, your breath hitched, and you couldn't seem to break free from his captivating gaze.

Loki's voice, a low, menacing growl, filled the space between you, his words heavy with unspoken threats. "I'm not used to being ignored, Y/n. In the beginning, I thought maybe you hated me, but then..."

His hand, large and commanding, began to move, trailing alongside your thigh, the contact upon your skin only separated by the thin fabric of your tights, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft gasp, your breath hitching as he continued, "I caught you staring at me more than once. Why, Y/n, if you didn't want me, would you spend so much time looking at me?"

The intimate touch, coupled with Loki's intense scrutiny, left you breathless, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the right words. "I-I..."

He leaned in, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "Tell me, Y/n. Tell me what's really going on, and why you never seemed to be happy to see me."

The heat from his hand radiated through you, the pressure of his fingers making you needy. Your heart raced, and you licked your lips, the truth, so long denied, bubbling to the surface. The weight of his unyielding gaze forced you to confront the desires you'd been suppressing. It was a moment where you could no longer hide.

"What game do you play, Y/n?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Do you enjoy the chase? Or are you afraid of what you'd find if you let me in?"

As Loki's hand lifted your shirt and the other slipped beneath your skirt, you felt a surge of heat flood your body, mingling with the fear of discovery. His fingers grazed the warm, soft skin of your inner thigh, inching closer to the forbidden territory between your legs.

"No, Loki, we're at work," you stammered, your voice shaking as you tried to push his hand away, but you weren’t truly convincing in your actions. "Someone might find us."

But Loki's grip on your thigh was firm, unyielding, as he continued his relentless pursuit. His eyes held a burning intensity, the lust and need there impossible to ignore. "I won't stop, Y/n, until you tell me the truth," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

You squirmed beneath his touch, a whirlwind of emotions crashing within you. Loki's fingers traced the delicate skin, daring to graze the damp fabric that hid your most intimate secrets.

"I've tried the kinder method, Y/n. Coaxing, seduction, but I can't stand it any longer," he said, the frustration in his voice giving way to raw need. "I need to know what's at the heart of this game you play."

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as his hand slipped beneath your panties, his long fingers teasing the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb brushed against your clit, sending shudders through your body, as he pressed on with a single-minded determination.

Loki's fingers delved deeper into your moist folds, his thumb continuing to circle your clit in a slow, tantalising rhythm. Your body arched into his touch, the pleasure building within you like an inferno, threatening to consume you whole.

His hand moved with an unhurried, almost languid pace, as if savouring the moment, and you couldn't help the moans that escaped your lips. Your nipples hardened against your shirt, straining towards his touch, as the heat between your legs intensified, your arousal slick and voracious.

You clung to his TVA jacket, your legs trembling, as Loki continued his relentless pursuit of your pleasure. The room around you seemed to shrink, narrowing to a single point of focus, the hand that teased you mercilessly.

His other hand gripped your jaw, forcing your head back and to meet his gaze, exposing your throat to his hungry gaze. "Tell me, now. Why do you push me away when you so clearly desire me and my attention?" he growled, his voice heavy with need, as his thumb continued to tease your swollen bud.

The room seemed to spin, the world outside the archives fading away, leaving nothing but the two of you, trapped in a web of lust and deceit. You bit your lip, the truth threatening to spill from your lips, as the line between pleasure and defiance blurred. The God of Mischief's touch, once a source of tension, now threatens to unravel the very core of your being.

You tried to deny his claim, to insist that you never wanted his attention, but the words caught in your throat, because they were lies. The pleasure he'd wrought, the vulnerability he'd exposed, left your denial hollow and meaningless.

But before the moment could resolve, Mobius' voice echoed through the archives, shattering the intimate spell. "Loki! Y/n! We've got a situation," he called out, his voice urgent.

Loki's hand stilled, his eyes never straying from yours for a moment. Then, with a wicked smirk, he pulled his hand away, bringing it up to his lips. Your breath hitched as you watched, wide-eyed, as he licked and tasted your juices, a sinful act that only served to heighten your arousal.

As Loki stood, the air around you thick with unsated desire, he said, "If you really don't want me, I won't press you any further." His tone was teasing. You felt hot and bothered, the lingering touch of the God of Mischief leaving you reeling. Loki's gaze held a challenge, a promise of what might have been. 

The aftermath of Loki's touch lingered, a burning ember that refused to be quenched. The cat and mouse game had intensified, and the passion between you was more volatile than ever before.

Mobius appeared at the scene, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of the two of you, standing so close, the air between you thick with unspoken desire. "Y/n, Loki. What are you doing here? We have so much to do," he said, arching an eyebrow in disapproval.

He scolded you both, his voice laced with frustration. "You need to focus on the task at hand. There are countless Time anomalies to fix. Geez!"

The remnants of your heated encounter, the lingering scent of your arousal, and the smirk on Loki's face, escaped Mobius' notice. He seemed unaware of the tension that had just passed between you, his focus solely on the work at hand.

"Right. Sorry, Mobius," you mumbled, your cheeks flushed, as you tried to compose yourself, discreetly fixing your skirt. Loki, however, gave a nonchalant shrug, his eyes never leaving yours.

Mobius sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Alright. Let's get to work then. We'll need to prioritise the most urgent cases first."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

If you really don't want me, I won't press you any further.

How dare he?! Of course you wanted him. 

You had always prided yourself on being wise, diligent, and organised. Your life at the TVA was meticulously structured, each task carefully planned and executed with precision. Yet, after your last encounter with Loki—heated and intense in the archives room—everything you prided yourself on seemed to be slipping away. 

The conversation replayed in your mind endlessly. His words, his piercing gaze, the way he had called out your supposed avoidance. You had tried to explain, to justify your actions, but it seemed nothing was enough for him (and you had to admit that you didn’t explain yourself clearly...). But, in any case, how dare he insinuate that you were avoiding him? When he had never talked to you before, it wasn’t avoidance, right? 

How dare he tease you with such intensity and then claim he wouldn’t press you further?

All day, you found yourself restless and unfocused, a stark contrast to your usual composed self. The neat stacks of paperwork on your desk seemed to mock you, a reminder of the order you once maintained but now struggled to uphold. Your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of Loki. Loki, Loki, Loki—it seems like he was the only one in your mind since he had arrived, and now you couldn’t deny yourself. 

You were relentless, hungry, and angry. Angry at Loki for his reckless actions and accusations, but also angry at yourself for letting him affect you so deeply. It didn’t sit right with you that he would provoke such a reaction, then leave you to deal with the aftermath alone.

As you worked through another stack of reports, you couldn't shake the feeling of injustice. You had been busy with one meeting—just one—and yet, it felt like your entire world had been turned upside down because of it. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. The rational part of you knew you needed to regain your composure, to return to the calm and collected person you had always been. But the emotional part of you, refused to be silenced.

Maybe it was time to confront him, to make him understand your side of things. Maybe it was time to stop letting him control the narrative and to reclaim the order and stability you had always cherished. The thought of facing him again sent a thrill of both fear and lust through you, but you knew it was something you had to do. 

After all, you had always prided yourself on being wise, diligent, and organised. 

And you would be those things again—no matter what Loki might throw your way.

Suddenly, you stood up, files in hand, and took a deep breath, trying to gather the small part of your bravery that you never thought you had. With what you hoped was a confident stride, you made your way to Loki's desk. He seemed to be doing everything but working, lazily twirling a pen between his fingers.

You didn't hesitate. Approaching his desk, you firmly placed the files down and, in one smooth motion, sat on the edge of his desk crossing your legs as you did so. The fabric of your skirt lifted, revealing a tantalising glimpse of your thighs, a deliberate tease that left you exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes locked with Loki's, daring him to look, to invade your space, to claim what he coveted.

Loki's gaze flickered to your thighs, his eyes lingering on the tender flesh before snapping back to meet yours. The spark of curiosity and amusement in his gaze flared into a fire, the heat of desire stoked by the brazen invitation you'd issued. 

"Not working, I see," you called out, your voice sharper than you intended. "While the rest of us are buried under mountains of paperwork and last-minute meetings, you're here playing with a pen."

Loki's eyes sparkled with interest, and a slow smile spread across his lips. "Ah, Y/n. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" His tone was smooth, almost mocking.

You straighten your posture, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to talk to you about our last conversation. You accused me of avoiding you, and I need you to understand that I wasn't. I had responsibilities, a meeting I couldn't skip."

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Responsibilities, yes. But I wonder if you were using them as an excuse."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Excuse? No, Loki, I take my work seriously. Just because I have duties doesn't mean I'm avoiding you." You whispered, trying not to bring too much attention to the two of you. 

He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving the pen as it continued its slow, sensual rotation. "But why were you avoiding me before all this, Y/n?" Your gaze lingered on Loki's fingers, now keenly aware of the pleasure they could bring. The memory of his touch between your legs, the way he sent shivers down your spine, made you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress a shudder of desire.

You felt a surge of arousal, your thoughts racing as you struggled to form a response. "We never talked before, Loki. We weren't acquainted, so I didn't see a reason to approach you."

He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and probing. "That may be true, but it doesn't explain the way you stared at me. The way your eyes would linger, watching me from afar."

A flush crept up your cheeks at his words, and you felt a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. "I... I wasn't staring," you stammered, trying to downplay the truth. "I was just... observing."

Loki's lips curved into a sly smile. "Observing, were you? Interesting choice of words."

You felt your face heat up even more, and you quickly hushed him, not wanting to delve deeper into your own feelings. "Loki, please. This isn't the time or place."

Loki's eyes gleamed with mischief as he teased you further. "Perhaps, Y/n, but what if I'm not done with our little conversation? Presenting yourself with so much boldness I never thought you could have in you."

As he spoke, his hand crept upward, the movement so subtle that only the sharpest observer would notice. It ghosted up the inside of your thigh, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but tremble at the sensation, your body betraying your feeble attempts to resist his advances. "Loki..." you breathed out, your voice a mix of desire and caution.

"Do you want me to stop?" Loki asked, his voice a velvety growl. His hand paused, hovering just above your knee, waiting for your reply like a predator eyeing its prey. “I assume that if you are here, after all, it’s because you actually want me—at least, more than you care to admit.”

You hesitated, your heart racing as his finger lingered tantalisingly close to the forbidden territory. Loki's gaze was intense, piercing right into your soul, leaving you both exposed and vulnerable.

"No, but…" you whispered, the word escaping your lips before you could fully process its implications. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, a testament to the turmoil raging within.

Loki's lips curved into a sly smile as his hand resumed its journey, inching higher up your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, the sensation of his touch sending shivers through your body. Just as you felt yourself falling deeper into the enchanting vortex of desire, your pragmatism reasserted itself. 

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, the skirt falling back into place, concealing the trail Loki's hand had just traced. "I'm sorry, Loki," you said, your voice steady, "but I'm here to give you these reports, and nothing more." Your eyes met his, a challenge in their depths, daring him to contest your words. "You've got work to do, after all."

Loki's gaze didn't waver, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you wondered if he would defy you, but then he nodded. "Very well… Y/n. I'll get to work." He talked through his teeth, and you knew he wasn’t pleased. As you stepped back, you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable bulge pressing against the seam of Loki's tight pants. The hard outline, clearly visible beneath the fabric, left no doubt as to the reason behind his frustration.

Your eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze as you felt a flush of heat spread across your cheeks. The knowledge that simply being in your presence had triggered such a strong response in Loki was both intoxicating and surprising.

You gave him a brief, reassuring smile before turning on your heel. "I'll leave you to your work now, Loki," you said, your voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions coursing through you. You placed the files on his desk, your fingers brushing against his momentarily. There was no way things were going to be the same after that.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ 

After your little break at Loki's desk, the rest of the day took a nosedive. Meetings piled up, deadlines loomed larger, and the usual hum of the office became an overwhelming cacophony. Every time you glanced at the clock, the hands seemed to have barely moved, and your workload only grew.

Paperwork seemed to multiply, each new task more urgent than the last. Your usual efficiency was tested to its limits, and you found yourself making more trips to the archives room, fetching files and data for reports that never seemed to end. 

The frustration you had felt earlier in the day transformed into a relentless drive to get through your tasks, fueled partly by your need to prove to Loki—and to yourself—that you were as dedicated and capable as you'd claimed. Yet, despite your best efforts, the mountain of work refused to shrink.

Before you knew it, the office had emptied out. The usual chatter and activity died down, replaced by an eerie silence. You glanced at the clock and realised with a start that it was well past the end of the workday. 

You sighed deeply, rubbing your tired eyes. Your desk was still covered in unfinished paperwork, and the dim lighting of the office made the stacks of files look even more daunting. As you leaned back in your chair, you felt the weight of the day's events pressing down on you.

A part of you considered calling it a night and leaving the rest for tomorrow, but another part—pushed you to keep going. You had made a promise to yourself, and you intended to keep it, even if it meant staying late.

Just as you were about to dive back into your work, you heard a soft knock on your desk. Looking up, you were surprised to see Loki standing there, his usual air of confidence softened by a hint of concern.

"Still working, Y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle. "You should know when to take a break."

You managed a tired smile. "I lost track of time. There’s just so much to do with this new case."

Loki's gaze softened, and he took a step closer. "Even the most diligent need rest. Let me help."

You blinked, taken aback by his offer. "Help? You?"

He chuckled softly. "Don't sound so surprised. I may be a god of mischief, but even I can lend a hand when needed."

Despite your exhaustion, you felt a warm flutter in your chest. "Alright," you said, scooting over to make room for him. "But no tricks."

Loki grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. "No tricks, I promise. Just a bit of assistance."

As he settled beside you and began sorting through the paperwork, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and gratitude. Maybe, just maybe, the rest of the night wouldn’t be so bad after all. The two of you started to work in silence, an oddly comfortable atmosphere settling between you. The rhythmic shuffling of papers and the occasional scribble of a pen filled the air.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at your limbs, you found solace in his quiet companionship.

Loki worked beside you with surprising efficiency, his long fingers deftly sorting through documents and making notes. You stole a few glances at him, still finding it hard to reconcile the image of the mischievous god with the diligent assistant now by your side. Minutes stretched into hours, and the initial tension gradually eased. It was almost easy to forget the tumultuous events that had brought you to this moment.

But then, breaking the silence, Loki suddenly spoke up. "Y/n, about yesterday in the archives room..."

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a rare seriousness in his eyes, a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

"I need to apologise for my behaviour," he continued, his voice low and sincere. "I should have asked for your consent before touching you. It was inappropriate and disrespectful."

You were taken aback by his apology. Loki, the God of Mischief, admitting fault so openly? It was a side of him you hadn’t expected. "It’s... okay," you managed to say, though the memory of his touch still lingered, both exhilarating and thrilling. "I appreciate your apology, Loki."

He nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. "Thank you for understanding. I’ve spent so long using charm and manipulation that I sometimes forget the importance of boundaries."

Feigning offence, you raised an eyebrow and asked, "So, have you been manipulating me all this time?"

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shook his head. "No, not at all. It’s not like that. I haven't been able to control myself around you because... well, I’ve actually been looking forward to spending time with you and learning more about you."

Your feigned offence melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity. "Really?”

Loki let out a sigh, his voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Yes. You intrigue me, Y/n. You're like a puzzle I can't solve. I'll admit, yesterday, I was eager for our lunch, and when it didn't happen, it was my own temper that frustrated me, not you."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Well, you certainly know how to leave an impression, Loki."

Loki hesitated for a moment, then shyly took your hand in his. The unexpected warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine. His fingers were cool and smooth, contrasting with the warmth of your own. He looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I have a confession to make," he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. "I’ve watched you from afar too. I tried to catch your attention so many times, but it seemed like whatever I did, you never noticed me."

You looked at him, taken aback by his admission. "You were trying to catch my attention?"

He nodded, his gaze earnest and open, a rare vulnerability shining through. "Yes. It frustrated me to no end. You were always so absorbed in your work, so dedicated. I admired that about you, but I also felt... invisible."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had never imagined that Loki, with all his charisma and presence, could feel invisible. You squeezed his hand gently, the simple touch conveying more than words ever could. "I noticed you, Loki. More than you might think."

Loki's eyes softened, his guarded expression melting away to reveal a tentative smile. "I’m glad to hear that. I suppose we were both watching each other from a distance, too afraid to make the first move."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and connection wash over you. "Maybe it's time we stopped watching from afar and started getting to know each other."

Loki's chuckle was soft, and his thumb brushed across your knuckles sensually. "I believe that's an invitation I would be more than happy to accept, Y/n." For a moment, you both sat there, hands intertwined, the weight of unspoken words and past misunderstandings lifting. 

After a moment, Loki's eyes gleamed with a newfound confidence as he held your hand, his smile playful and inviting. "Y/n, I take it that means you're open to the idea of us getting to know each other better, hmmm?"

The atmosphere between you grew thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of unspoken desires and the lingering heat from the moments before. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you, the undeniable longing to explore the depths of what could be. You returned Loki's smile with a shy one of yours, a knowing look in your eyes. "I would like that, Loki. Very much so."

At your words, Loki smirked, a dangerous light in his eyes as he led you through the halls, his grip on your hand tightening. He could feel your heart racing, and it was a thrill. The office was empty, the staff long gone, and the only light was from the halls, casting shadows that danced along the walls.

As you neared the elevator, Loki pressed you against it, his other hand tangling in your hair as he captured your lips in a needy and impatient kiss. His tongue danced with yours, a masterful display of dominance, and you found yourself moaning into the kiss. It was raw, primal, and everything you never knew you needed.

Amidst the heated passion, you managed to gasp out, "Loki, what are we doing?"

He pulled back from the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with sinister hunger. "Exactly what we've both been craving, my dear Y/n," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire.

The sound of the elevator ding broke through the haze of desire, and the doors opened. Loki wasted no time, pushing you inside and pinning you against the wall with a hunger that matched the intensity of his gaze. His hands moved with practised skill, swiftly removing your blazer as his lips sought out the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Then, Loki's hand gripped your hips, as he tore at your blouse as he unveiled your pert breasts. His lips crashed onto your neck, his teeth grazing your skin marking you, and you couldn't help but arch into him.

He kneeled before you, his hands sliding your skirt up, revealing your lace panties. With a smirk, he lowered his head, his tongue snaking out to lick at the lace. Your hands clutched his dark hair, your body trembling as he tasted you through the fabric.

"Please, Loki," you begged, your voice shaking. Loki's eyes flashed up to yours, and he smiled wickedly before standing, pulling your panties and underwear down, leaving you completely naked. He admired your body for a moment, his eyes lingering on your wet pussy, “Mine, little one.”

"Oh, Loki," you moaned, your head falling back as pleasure coursed through you. The sensation of his tongue sent shivers down your spine.

Loki laughed darkly, his tongue continuing to tease you, "Patience, Y/n. We're still in public, after all."

He stood, pulling you against his still fully clothed body, "But that doesn't mean I can't tease you." He trailed kisses up your neck, his hands moving to your breasts, his thumb brushing against your hardened nipples.

You whimpered, your head falling back as you begged for more. "Loki, I need you. I want you to take me, to have me."

Loki's eyes brightened, his hunger for you palpable. "You'll have me soon enough, Y/n. But first, I need to confess something."

You looked at him curiously, your hands moving to cup his face. "Anything, Loki."

He leaned in, whispering into your ear, "I've wanted to do this to you for so long. To claim you, to make you mine, to fill you with my seed and watch as you scream my name. It's been a burning desire that has consumed me— ever since I arrived here."

A shiver ran down your spine as his words washed over you. "And now?" you breathed, your voice trembling with want.

Loki smirked, "Now, it's finally happening, Y/n. Tonight, you're mine, and I'm going to pleasure you in ways you've never even dreamed of."

His lips captured yours in a scorching kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, demanding your surrender. You gave it willingly, your hands tangling in his hair, your bodies pressed tightly together.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. "Come, Y/n. Let's find a more private place where I can truly show you the depths of my desires." Loki scooped you into his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping yours as you looked into his eyes. A knowing smile played on his lips, his eyes dark with lust, promise, and affection.

As the elevator dinged, signalling its final destination, Loki stepped outside, cradling you like a precious treasure and in one smooth motion, he retrieved your discarded clothes from the floor and tucked them under one arm, ensuring that your modesty remained intact.

As the elevator doors opened, Loki strode out confidently, his steps sure and purposeful. Once in his room, he carried you over to his bed. Loki set you down gently, your legs dangling off the edge as he moved to stand in front of you.

You could feel the heat coming off him in waves, the lust in his eyes driving you wild. "Loki," you breathed, your hands reaching up to grip his shirt. "Please, don't make me wait any longer."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours before he whispered, "Then wait no longer, Y/n. Tonight, all your desires will be met." He leaned down, his kiss was desperate, hungry, and consumed with the need to have more of you. Loki's strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. His massive erection pressed against your stomach, a hard, insistent reminder of his desire for you.

Your nipples hardened against the fabric of his shirt, aching for his touch. You arched into him, your tongue eagerly meeting his as he explored your mouth with the same lust he had in his eyes. 

Loki growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he trailed kisses along your jawline. You shivered, your breathing ragged as he cupped one of your breasts, squeezing it firmly. He pinched your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and arch even more into his grip.

He kissed down your chest, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking it hard while his fingers played with the other. You moaned, your hands fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it as he switched to the other nipple. Your fingers found the hard length of him through his pants, stroking through the fabric. He groaned, releasing your breast to yank his pants and boxers down, springing his cock free.

Hot breath ghosted over your now-hard nipple as Loki looked up at you, his eyes burning with lust. "Touch me, Y/n. Make me feel how much you want me."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around his thick shaft, squeezing it firmly. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him. The tip of his cock glistened heavily with precum, and you smeared it across your sensitive nipple, making you gasp and arch into him.

Loki's hand slid between your legs, his fingers making contact with your swollen clit. You cried out, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more. Loki's other hand moved to your hair, gripping it tightly as he leaned you back against the soft fabric of his mattress. He kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth as he rubbed your clit and stroked your entrance. You could feel the slick heat building between your legs, your desire for him growing with every touch.

He broke the kiss, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "Beg for me, Y/n. Tell me how much you want my cock in your tight little pussy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, the desire to please him and experience the pleasure he promised overwhelming. "Please, Loki," you panted, your voice hoarse. "I need your cock inside me. I want you to fill me up, to make me yours." Your gaze locked onto his as you reached for the hem of his shirt, your fingers trembling with anticipation. With a gentle tug, you pulled the fabric upwards, revealing his chiselled chest, his body a testament to the Gods.

Loki smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "Then spread your legs, Y/n, and let me claim what I want." He shifted his position, his muscles rippling as he moved, the sight of him sending a shiver down your spine. Your fingers trailed over his sweat-slick skin, feeling the heat radiating from his body. You leaned in, brushing your lips against his chest, your senses alive with the scent of his masculine aroma.

Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, filled with desire. "You're handsome," you whispered, your voice soft and breathless. Then, you did as he commanded, spreading your legs and lifting your hips as he slipped two fingers into your slick depths. You moaned, your back arching as he began to fuck you roughly. The sensation of his fingers inside you, coupled with the feeling of his cock in your hand, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Loki smirked, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, his thumb brushing against your jawline. "And you, Y/n, are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on." Loki's fingers trailed down to your core, parting your folds and teasing your clit. His touch was electrifying, your body arching into him.

"Faster," you whimpered, your body aching for more. "Please, Loki, fuck me faster."

Just as you were about to climax, Loki pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping and panting. He positioned his cock at your entrance, rubbing the head against your swollen lips. "Now, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Come for me."

You nodded obediently, your eyes wide with need. Loki thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful motion. You screamed, the sensation of his girth filling you pushing you over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you as you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you.

Loki began to thrust, each stroke filling you completely, his cock slick with your juices. You met his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him as the heat between your legs intensified. Loki grunted, his pace increasing as he neared his own climax.

"Cum for me, Y/n," he panted, his voice strained. "Make me feel like a god when I fill you up."

You moaned, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "I-I'm close, Loki, I'm so close."

Loki's eyes glimmered as he watched you, his hands roaming your body, leaving a trail of fire as his fingers glided over your skin. "If only the others knew how filthy their diligent coworkers were," he whispered, his voice dripping with mischief. "How you crave the touch of a god, longing for your chains to be broken and your true desires to be unleashed." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands continued to worship your body. His fingers trailed over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples once again.

"You're a goddess in my eyes, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with reverence and desire. "A divine being, deserving of nothing less than the deepest worship and most carnal of pleasures."

Loki's thrusts became more forceful, his hips slamming into yours as he reached his peak. He roared your name, his cock jerking as he filled you with his hot seed. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as you experienced another, more intense orgasm, the two of you lost in each other's arms.

Finally, as the aftershocks subsided, Loki pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. He leaned in to kiss you deeply, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur against your skin, his breath warm and enticing as he nestled beside you, his arm draped possessively around your waist, "Was only the beginning, my dear Y/n. The beginning of us getting to know each other, of us exploring each other's desires."

You smiled, your chest still rising and falling with the lingering intensity of your shared passion. Pressed against him, you basked in the warmth that enveloped you, the aftermath of your lovemaking leaving you both fulfilled and content. Loki's grin widened, a glimmer of promise dancing in his eyes as he bestowed a final, tender kiss upon your lips. Holding you close, his presence a comforting anchor, he nuzzled against your neck, his touch gentle and reassuring.

In the quiet of the moment, the stillness punctuated only by the rhythm of your breaths and the soft rustle of sheets, you suddenly became acutely aware of the depth of your feelings for him.

"Loki," you murmured, your voice a mere whisper, "I..." Nerves fluttered in your stomach, but the love swelling within you eclipsed any apprehension. "I love you."

Loki's embrace tightened around you, his gaze locking onto yours, his emotions laid bare in his eyes. A soft, tender smile graced his lips as he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. "Plot twist, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against your skin, "I love you too."

The words hung in the air, a tangible declaration of the bond that had formed between you, binding you together in a web of love and desire. And as you lay entwined with Loki, you couldn't help but wonder that each moment had led you here, to this bed, with Loki's arms around you and his heart beating in sync with yours.

You traced lazy patterns against his chest, savouring the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. The rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of your own, a soothing melody that filled the room with a sense of peace.

As the minutes stretched into hours, you lost track of time, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Words became unnecessary, replaced by the silent language of touch and gaze, of shared breaths and lingering kisses.

And in that suspended moment, surrounded by the warmth of Loki's embrace, you knew that this was just the beginning of a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day at the TVA seemed like any other, with paperwork piled high and the hum of activity filling the air. You tried your best to act as though nothing had changed between you and Loki, but the memory of your shared confession lingered in the back of your mind, adding an extra layer of tension to your interactions.

As you made your way through the office, Loki fell into step beside you, his demeanour relaxed and nonchalant. "Good morning, love," he greeted you casually, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You froze mid-step, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as Loki's endearment hung in the air. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Mobius raising an eyebrow in surprise, his gaze flickering between you and Loki with keen interest.

"Love?" Mobius echoed, his tone laced with amusement. "Since when did you two become so... affectionate?"

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to regain your composure. "Uh, it's nothing, Mobius," you stammered, shooting Loki a warning glance. "Just a... figure of speech."

But Loki merely smirked, undeterred by Mobius' scrutiny. "Oh, it's much more than that, Mobius," he replied, his voice dripping with mischief. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

You groaned inwardly, realising that Loki had no intention of letting you off the hook. With a resigned sigh, you shot Mobius an apologetic look before turning back to Loki. "Fine," you conceded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But let's keep the pet names to a minimum, okay?"

Loki chuckled, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "As you wish, honey." And with that, he sauntered off, leaving you to face Mobius' raised eyebrow and knowing smirk alone.

As you returned to your work, you couldn't help but shake your head at the unpredictable chaos that seemed to follow Loki wherever he went. But despite the embarrassment of the moment, you couldn't deny the warmth that blossomed in your chest at the thought of being called "love" by the God of Mischief himself.

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Anything for Toto Wolff with wife reader including their son, Jack!!! Fluff. Thanks!! :))

Hii I hope you enjoy my first request as a one-shot about Toto :)

The time you've been waiting for has arrived—summer break. Jack doesn't have school, and Toto can finally relax even though he always says his work never ends. Your family is together, and you couldn't be happier.

This year, you've decided to return to the Maldives, the paradise where you and Toto celebrated your honeymoon five years ago. Time has flown by so quickly. At first, people judged your relationship with Toto because of the age gap, but with time and Jack's presence, you've learned to ignore others' opinions and cherish every second of your love.

The gentle hum of the seaplane filled the air as it glided over the crystal-clear waters of the Indian Ocean, the endless expanse of blue dotted with the green jewels of the Maldives' islands. You glanced over at Jack, his eyes wide with wonder as he pressed his face against the window, marveling at the view below. Toto, sitting beside you, reached over and squeezed your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. The excitement was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness.

As the seaplane descended toward the private island resort where you had spent your honeymoon, memories flooded back. The island had been a sanctuary for you and Toto, a place where you could escape the world and revel in your love. Now, returning with Jack made the experience even more special, a testament to the life you had built together.

The moment you stepped off the seaplane, the familiar scent of saltwater and tropical flowers enveloped you. Jack let out a delighted laugh as he ran ahead, his feet kicking up sand. You and Toto followed hand in hand, savoring the warm sand beneath your toes.

The villa was just as you remembered, with its open-air design allowing the ocean breeze to flow through. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of the infinity pool merging with the sea beyond. "Can we go swimming, Mommy? Please?" he begged, his excitement infectious.

"Of course, sweetheart," you replied, ruffling his hair. "But let's unpack first and get settled in."

As you and Toto unpacked, you couldn't help but steal glances at him. He looked as handsome as ever, his hair slightly tousled from the journey, a relaxed smile on his lips that seemed reserved just for you. He caught you staring and raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "What are you thinking about, mein Liebchen?"

"Just how lucky I am," you replied, stepping closer to wrap your arms around his waist. "To be here with you and Jack. To have this life."

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm the lucky one," he murmured. "You've given me everything I could ever want."

Later that evening, after a long swim and a delicious dinner, the three of you settled on the beach to watch the sunset. Jack built sandcastles nearby, his laughter filling the air as the waves lapped at the shore. You leaned against Toto, his arm around your shoulders, drawing you close.

"Do you remember our first night here?" you asked, looking up at him.

He chuckled softly. "How could I forget? We danced under the stars, and later made love under them."

A blush covered your cheeks as you remembered that magical night and the years you've shared. "Through everything, you've been my rock."

"And you, mine," he replied, his gaze intense. "I love you more each day."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, you felt a profound sense of contentment. Jack ran over, plopping down between you and Toto, a tired but happy smile on his face.

"This is the best day ever," he declared, snuggling against you.

You exchanged a look with Toto, your hearts swelling with love for this beautiful, perfect moment. The future stretched out before you, full of promise and joy. No matter what came your way, you knew you would face it together, as a family.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Do NOT Repost

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Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐔𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

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"Long ago, in the timeless realm of Liyue, there was a story of love and envy, a tale that has been passed down through the ages. It speaks of Morax, our Geo Archon; Guizhong, the gentle and wise goddess; and a woman of unparalleled beauty and mystery, known to all as the Unknown Beautiful Lady.

The Beautiful Lady was a vision of grace and charm, her presence as enchanting as a moonlit night. Her beauty and elegance captivated even the gods. Morax, our protector, and Guizhong, the embodiment of wisdom, both adored her deeply. Their love formed a harmonious bond, unbreakable and pure.

Yet, this divine trio's tranquility was threatened by Osial, the formidable sea lord. Osial, consumed by envy, coveted the love and devotion that Morax received from his two beloveds. His heart twisted by jealousy, he sought to disrupt their happiness and claim their affections for himself.

Osial's envy grew into a dark cloud of deceit. He whispered malicious lies, hoping to fracture the trust and love between Morax, Guizhong, and the Beautiful Lady. But their bond was resilient, withstanding his insidious attempts to sow discord.

Frustrated by his failure, Osial confronted Morax directly. The confrontation was a cataclysmic clash of divine forces, their battle shaking the very heavens and earth. Osial, driven by his green-eyed fury, accused Morax of hoarding the love of the Unknown Lady and Guizhong, proclaiming that such affection should belong to him.

Morax, steadfast and noble, stood his ground. He fought not only with the strength of a god but with the fierce love he held for the Beautiful Lady and Guizhong. The battle raged on, a testament to the destructive power of jealousy and the indomitable strength of true love. Ultimately, Morax sealed Osial away, imprisoning him in the depths of the ocean to safeguard Liyue and his cherished ones.

And so, dear listeners, this legend became a poignant reminder of the enduring power of love and the perils of envy. The Beautiful Lady's ethereal beauty and mystery, Guizhong's enduring loyalty and wisdom, and Morax's unwavering strength and love form the heart of this timeless tale.

As we gather here tonight, let us remember the lessons of this story. Love is a powerful force, capable of withstanding the darkest storms, while envy and deceit can lead to ruin and despair."

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Striking amber-colored eyes with yellow, diamond-shaped pupils intently listened to the old tale spun by the Storyteller. Despite the early morning rain, the hustle and bustle were nothing extraordinary for the residents of Liyue. 

The storyteller's corner was fully packed, with people eager to hear the old legend. His smooth lips touched the rim of a heated cup, and as he took a sip, the flavorful liquid danced on his tongue. A relaxed hum escaped his lips, expressing his delight at the tea's rich taste.

"Woah, the story was awesome!" Paimon exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. "What did you think, Aether?"

Aether nodded thoughtfully, "Interesting, at least," he said, taking a sip from his own cup. He then turned his gaze to the handsome gentleman known as Zhongli. "But did it really happen, or is it just a tale?" Aether asked.

Zhongli only smiled and continued to drink his tea peacefully, the steam rising in delicate tendrils around his face.

"Hmpf, Zhongli! Please tell us!" Paimon demanded, her feet kicking the air in impatience. "At least the name of the beautiful woman!" She flew closer to Zhongli and whispered eagerly.

"Oh, are you truly so eager to hear?" Zhongli responded with a smile. "I thought you might find the old tale boring, considering you both seemed to daze off from time to time."

The rain continued to patter softly against the cobblestones, mingling with the distant sounds of morning vendors setting up their stalls. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the subtle aroma of tea leaves.

Paimon pouted, "We were just... uhh... absorbing the atmosphere!"

Zhongli chuckled softly. "Very well. The tale, as with many old stories, contains elements of truth and myth. The beautiful woman in the story... well, she was indeed real."

"Can you tell us more about her?" Paimon asked, her curiosity beaming.

Zhongli's gaze wandered to the rain, and a genuine yet bittersweet smile appeared on his lips. "She liked the rain a lot. Her voice, soft yet light as silk, would always say..."

- "As the raindrops tumble, their pitter-patter on my umbrella whispers gently to me. I somehow find brief serenity in these moments." -

He recalled her standing in the rain, holding her crimson red paper umbrella.

The raindrops danced on its surface as she extended her hand towards the falling droplets. She slightly turned around to face Zhongli, her peachy lips painted the same color as her umbrella. Her face was half obscured by the umbrella, yet her words resonated clearly.

The memory of her was vivid in his mind, a moment untouched by the erosion that slowly devoured his old memories.

"Y/N... That is her name," Zhongli mumbled, rolling her name off his tongue as his gaze remained fixed on the rain and the passing people.

Paimon and Aether exchanged glances, their faces reflecting a shared sadness as they saw their friend's distant expression.

The early morning rain continued to fall, creating a soft, soothing melody against the cobblestones. Lanterns hanging from shop eaves and street corners swayed gently in the breeze, casting warm, golden light that danced with the raindrops.

The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the subtle fragrance of tea leaves from the nearby stalls. The crowd had thinned, yet the lingering presence of Zhongli's story created a bubble of quiet reflection.

Aether took a sip of his tea, savoring the warmth that contrasted with the cool, damp air. "She sounds like she was very special to you," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of understanding.

"She was," Zhongli replied, his voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow. "Her presence brought a sense of tranquility that I have rarely found elsewhere. Even now, the rain reminds me of her."

Paimon hovered closer, her usually energetic demeanor softened by the weight of the moment. "Do you think we might ever meet her?" she asked, her voice hopeful yet gentle.

Zhongli's smile returned, though it was tinged with melancholy. "Perhaps. The world is vast, and fate has a curious way of weaving our paths together. Until then, let us cherish the memories and stories that keep her spirit alive."

The rain began to lighten, a delicate mist rising from the ground as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds.

In this serene moment, a crimson red paper umbrella appeared amidst the bustling crowd. Its vibrant red hue pierced through the throng of people, a color deeply etched in Zhongli's memories.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his cup slipped from his hand, shattering into tiny pieces on the cobblestones. Yet, the sound was lost to him. Everything became muted, his vision blurring as he saw that unmistakable red on her lips, her face.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

Was he hallucinating? Was the after-rain playing tricks on his mind? Was he daydreaming?

As the red paper umbrella grew smaller in the distance, Zhongli's heart pounded in his chest. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet, the wooden table toppling over in his haste. He didn't care. He moved forward, pushing through the crowd, chasing the umbrella as if his life depended on it.

The streets were alive with activity, the early morning hustle blending with the gentle patter of lingering raindrops. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, casting soft, golden hues on the wet cobblestones. The scent of rain mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and street food, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Yet, all of this was lost to Zhongli. His entire being focused solely on the crimson umbrella, a beacon in the sea of moving figures.

People turned, startled by his sudden urgency, but he paid them no mind. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, his vision narrowing on the retreating figure. The vibrant red color seemed to taunt him, slipping further away with every passing second. His heart raced, a mixture of hope and desperation driving him forward.

Was it really her? Could it be? The questions swirled in his mind, but he had no time for answers. He needed to see her, to confirm what his heart yearned for. The crowd thickened, but he pushed on, weaving through the throng with a determination that bordered on madness.

Finally, as he reached the edge of the crowd, he saw the umbrella come to a stop. The figure holding it turned, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, their eyes met.

The world around him seemed to freeze, the sounds fading into a distant murmur. It was her. The woman from his memories, the one he thought he had lost forever.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his breath hitched. He had found her. Or perhaps, she had found him. Either way, in that magical moment under the after-rain sky, surrounded by the vibrant life of the city, Zhongli felt a spark of hope reignite within him.

He had been given a second chance, and he wasn't going to let it slip away.

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You turned around to find out who was following you, and your eyes landed on a tall man with brown hair and striking amber-colored eyes. He seemed out of breath, as if he had been chasing you through the crowded streets.

You waited for a response from the stranger, but he kept staring at you, his gaze intense and unyielding. The crowd continued to pass by, casting curious glances in your direction.

"I'd be embarrassed too, getting stared at like that," you said, your voice breaking the trance he seemed to be in. Somehow, your words pulled him back to reality.

He skipped a beat as he heard your voice and stepped forward as if he were dreaming. "Y/N..." he muttered your name, and your eyes widened in shock.

Instinctively, you stepped back, your right hand drifting closer to your sheathed Divine Key.

"How do you know my name?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes.

A strange feeling gnawed at you, a sense that something bad had happened between you and this man. Yet, your memories of this place were fragmented, coming and going in a chaotic, disjointed order that left you feeling more confused and hurt rather than providing any answers.

You could feel in your bones that this man had inflicted great pain on you. There was something about him that screamed betrayal, something tied to Osial.

This man... this man... You gripped your scabbard tighter, ready to draw your weapon if necessary.

The air around you felt charged with tension. The gentle murmur of the crowd faded into the background, the world around you shrinking to just the two of you. The man took another hesitant step forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret.

"Please," he began, his voice soft and laden with emotion. "It's me, Mo-"

"Step back," you commanded, your voice icy and cold. Zhongli halted, a shocked expression taking over his face. Different, hazy memories sprang into your mind wildly, flickering like a faulty lantern. The pieces of your past were still too fragmented, too muddled to make sense of.

"Zhongli!" A shrill voice called from behind, snapping you both out of the tense moment.

The tiny figure of Paimon floated closer, her curiosity evident. "Why were you running..." she trailed off as she felt the murderous and cold aura radiating from you. Aether, sensing the dangerous presence, quickly stepped in front of Paimon and Zhongli, his expression wary. Yet, you noticed how his legs were shaking with fear.

Neither you nor the group in front of you moved or made a sound. The bustling crowd around you seemed oblivious to the tension, continuing their day as if nothing were amiss.

You focused on Zhongli, the man whose name triggered such a whirlwind of emotions and memories within you. Your right hand still rested on your sheathed Divine Key, ready to strike at any moment.

"Zhongli," you repeated, tasting the name on your lips. "Why did you call me by that name?"

Zhongli took a cautious step forward, his gaze steady despite the coldness in your eyes. "Because that is your name, Y/N. We shared many moments together... drank tea with Guizhong... why can't you remember?"

Aether, still shielding Paimon, looked between you and Zhongli, clearly unsure of what to do. "Maybe we should all take a step back and talk this out," he suggested, his voice gentle but firm.

'Guizhong?' you questioned in your mind. The name felt familiar yet strange, as did Zhongli's face. It was as though you recognized him from a dream you could no longer fully remember.

The confusion was palpable, and your hand trembled slightly on the hilt of your sheathed Divine Key.

"I suggest you leave me be," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an undeniable force. Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked away.

Zhongli watched you go, his expression a mixture of sorrow and determination. He took a step forward, but Aether halted him, shaking his head. "Give her some space," Aether advised softly. "She needs time to sort through this."

Zhongli nodded reluctantly, his eyes never leaving your retreating figure.

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Many papers lay scattered across the metallic table. Dottore leaned over, his crimson eyes scanning document after document, his hand pressed to his forehead in deep concentration.

This was unexplainable.

It didn't make sense.

Yet, he was certain his eyes and mind weren't deceiving him about what he had witnessed after the funeral.

He quickly fetched another sheet of paper and a pen, determined to capture every detail of his experience once more.

The moment Innamorati turned toward the frozen church, the falling snow had stopped, as if time itself had halted. Could she possess the ability to stop time? But why would she use it then? For what purpose? He recalled her muttering, 'Meaningless...'

Then, he heard the sound of shattering glass, and he perceived everything and nothing simultaneously. In that instant, he felt worthless, reduced to nothingness.

...

Dottore threw the pen away in frustration.

In that moment, he had felt a presence. A divine and pure presence, untouched by filth, yet sorrowful and sad. It was unmistakably the presence of the Divine Creator. Dottore was certain of it.

The Divine Creator had finally arrived.

His crimson eyes rested on a metallic black box, sealed with a highly complex mechanism. Only he knew of its existence; neither Pierro nor Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, were aware of it.

Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger. She was the Divine Creator, Dottore was convinced. Nothing else could explain that unexplainable moment.

He walked towards the box and unlocked it. Inside, a glass tube filled with golden liquid sparkled under the lab lights.

This was the only solution to confirm his theory. One way or another, Dottore would get his answers. He could hardly wait for Innamorati to arrive at his lab.

As he gazed at the golden liquid, he felt a mixture of anticipation and reverence. This discovery could change everything. The Divine Creator, hidden in plain sight as the 0th Harbinger, was a revelation of immense proportions.

Dottore's mind raced with possibilities. If his theory was correct, the implications were staggering. Not only for the Fatui but for the entire world of Teyvat. The thought of unraveling such a profound mystery filled him with a thrill he hadn't felt in a long time.

He carefully placed the glass tube back in its secure position and sealed the box once more. His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The arrival of Innamorati would either confirm his greatest hypothesis or shatter it entirely.

Either way, he was ready. Dottore's eyes gleamed with determination. He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. The Divine Creator was within his grasp, and he would not let this opportunity slip away.

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Reblog if you like this story

[yazzzmints]

Duty and Sacrifice

[ Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Alys Rivers ]

[ Warnings: angsty af, bipanics, polyamorous, cuss words, death, blood, age gap, Aemond being a simp, future smut, (y/n) being done with everyone.

More will be added as the story progresses.]

Duty and Sacrifice

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

WC: 705

Driftmark 122 AC

Lord Corlys loved his granddaughter deeply, seeing in her the living embodiment of his bloodline and a testament to his influence over the realm. In the rigid hierarchy of Westeros, daughters traditionally held subordinate roles, expected to dutifully obey their fathers and prepare themselves solely for marriage and motherhood. Yet, such conventions held no sway over his (Y/N). She was destined for a  greater purpose, to wield authority, to express her convictions. Though she would inevitably fulfill her duties in the birthing chamber, she would also carry forth his legacy and that of his wife, the Queen who never was.

He looked onto the children hugging with his wife, the contrast between the princess and her younger brothers was starkly apparent. Despite this distinction, Laenor claimed them as his own, a fact that seemed unimportant when the heir boasted Valeryon blood. Lord Corlys found contentment in the unspoken understanding between his son and Princess Rhaenyra. There was no one who dared challenge their legitimacy, lest they risk losing their heads.

The children's trip to driftmark was brief, Laenor had expressed his desire to spend some time away from the court, an excuse to dalliance with his lover from prying eyes. The children spent a fortnight learning of their fathers heritage, hearing stories of the sea and such, today they will go back to King's Landing. Little (y/n) with her dragon eyes hugged her grandparents with her tiny arms, although sad to leave she was happy to return to her mother. And so there stood the Lord and Lady of Driftmark stood on shore, watching their legacy sail back home. 

.

.

.

Princess Rhaenyra awaited her children eagerly. Though they hadn't been gone long, her motherly instincts fueled her concern for their safety. Lucerys was the first to run to her, followed by (Y/N) trailing after her younger brother.

"Mama!" they all shouted in unison.

Rhaenyra gathered her children in her arms. "Oh, my loves, how I have missed you all."

"Even me?" Laenor joked as he joined his wife in hugging their children. The ever-watchful green eyes of the court were everywhere; they could not afford to give anyone a reason to doubt.

"The King has arranged a private dinner to welcome his grandchildren back," Rhaenyra said, smiling at Laenor. "I hope the break was sufficient."

A knight behind them coughed at the princess' words.

"Oh, it was," Laenor replied, a knowing smile in his eyes.

.

.

.

Back at the castle, Princess (Y/N) eagerly searched for her only friend, trailed by servants carrying an assortment of gifts. She finally found him in the library, engrossed in a book and unbothered by the world. She decided to disrupt his peace.

"Aemond," she smiled, "I got you gifts." She sat next to him, her excitement palpable.

"Look," she gestured, and the servants displayed the gifts brought back from Driftmark. "I got you plenty of books and this pretty seashell."

Prince Aemond smiled at his niece, sweet and innocent as she was, so different from her brothers. They chatted about her travels to Driftmark and his activities in her absence until it was time for dinner. The dining table was lavishly set, overflowing with food and wine, which Prince Aegon was quick to reach for. On the right side of the table sat Princess Rhaenyra's family, and on the left, Queen Alicent’s. The King presided at the head of the table. They began with a prayer to the Seven, led by the Queen. 

“Children, how was the trip?” The King asked after the prayer. Jacerys and Lucerys looked at their sister.

“It was wonderful grandfather, it was nice to see the place where my father grew up.” she smiled.

As she recounted their activities, the princess couldn't help but notice the Queen's subtle attempts to mask her distaste when Driftmark was mentioned. Princess (Y/N) felt a shift, sensing the delicate balance of power and loyalty that defined their lives. She held her grandfather's gaze, drawing strength from his presence. The tension simmering beneath the surface, the family continued their meal, each lost in their own thoughts. However, (y/n) stared at the queen, making her feel uneasy. After all, Queen Alicent was no fan of her dragon eyes.

taglist

@snh96 @dahlias-and-marigolds @galactict3a @mandiiblanche @heavenly1927 @watercolorskyy @toodlesxcuddles @ellieabby @oxymakestheworldgoround @laura-naruto-fan1998

[A/N: sorry for posting this late af. Spring semester kicked my ass but I am back. Chapters will start flowing.]

[perseabeth]

Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,” he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

Heartbreak part 2

WARNING: I DID NOT PROOF READ THIS, IF THERES ANY SPELLING MISTAKES OR GRAMMER MISTAKES JUST IGNORE IT I WROTE HALF OF IT DURING SCHOOL.

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John Dory burst from Branch's bunker, a whirl of emotions etched on the faces of those left inside. Floyd's expression was tinged with worry, Bruce wore a mask of confusion, and Clay seemed nothing short of irritated. Branch broke the tense silence with a blunt, "What the actual fuck just happened?

Seated on a beanbag, Floyd shifted, glancing at his brothers. "He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, not at all himself," he said, his concern palpable as he exchanged a meaningful look with Bruce. "I'm going to check on him. We can't let him wander off when he's this upset," Floyd declared.

Floyd grasped his wooden cane and painstakingly rose from the beanbag. He made his way to the bunker's elevator, pulled the lever, and ascended, leaving the bunker.

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John Dory burst through Rhonda's door, slamming it shut as he collapsed to the floor, his breaths coming in heavy gasps and sweat beading his forehead.

Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up using the countertop for support and staggered toward the loft. Once there, he climbed into his bed and reached under his pillow for something concealed there—a blue plushie. This wasn't just any toy; it was a Flopper Hopper, distinguished by its large green button eyes and long, fuzzy ears, though one ear was notably damaged, missing its latter half.

Clutching the plushie tightly, John curled into a fetal position and began to cry, his tears soaking into the soft fabric of the doll.

John's eyes wandered upwards, resting on the tapestry of memories plastered across his ceiling. Among the snapshots capturing his wild escapades on the Neverglade trail, one photo held his gaze longer than the others. It wasn't just any picture—it was a heartfelt reminder of a different kind of adventure.

Centered amidst the chaos of his thrilling journey memories, this particular photo was more personal, more intimate. It featured a woman with hair that flowed like a cascade of deep, reddish-pink sunset, her skin aglow with a yellow sparkle that seemed to light up the room. Cradled in her arms was a baby, a tiny mirror of her luminosity but with hair the color of the deepest sea green, tinged with teal.

This picture, unlike the others, spoke of a journey not across wild landscapes but through the

realms of love and connection. The striking visual contrast between the woman and the baby, with their shared glittery skin and uniquely colored hair, painted a vivid image of familial bonds and the beauty of heritage. It was a precious, frozen moment that John cherished, a beacon of warmth and love amidst his adventurous exploits.

This photo was John's sole keepsake of them together, the singular testament to their intertwined lives. Clutching the child's doll, he felt the weight of memories it carried. Beneath his glove, hidden from the world, lay his ring—a silent vow, a whisper of a life once promised. These items were more than mere objects; they were the guardians of his regrets, the symbols of the heartbreaking truth that he would never see them again.

As tears streamed down his face, soaking into the fabric of the doll, John's whispered apologies filled the quiet of the room. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't protect you, I failed you both," he repeated, his voice a broken melody of sorrow and guilt. Each word was a testament to his pain, a sorrowful lullaby that spoke of loss, love, and the unbearable weight of his remorse.

The persistent knocking at the door seemed to dissolve into the void of John Dory's grief, his ears deaf to anything beyond the echoes of his own sorrow. When Floyd received no response, driven by concern and impatience, he decided to take matters into his own hands. With a determined push, the door swung open, and he entered the armadillo bus, his presence unannounced

Navigating the stairs proved a challenge, his cane a necessary but cumbersome companion that made the ascent more difficult than usual. However, Floyd's resolve was unwavering. As he entered, he paused, scanning the space with a keen eye. It didn't take long for the muffled sounds of John's despair to guide him towards the loft.

Spotting John, Floyd hastened his pace, an urgency fueled by concern propelling him forward. The ladder to the loft posed another hurdle, but Floyd navigated it with a clumsy determination, mindful of the limited space. John's form occupied most of the loft, leaving Floyd to awkwardly balance on the ladder, his presence now impossible to ignore.

Floyd's heart ached as he witnessed the depth of John's sorrow. With every fiber of his being urging him to offer some solace, he carefully navigated the tight space of the loft, settling near John yet ensuring he respected his need for personal space. In the dim light, Floyd's presence was a silent beacon of empathy and understanding.

"John," Floyd's voice was a soft murmur, a gentle breeze in the stifling air of grief. "I'm here for you." His words floated in the space between them, an offer of support, laden with unspoken promises of companionship through the storm of sorrow.

The loft was cramped, but at that moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to this intimate setting of raw emotions. Floyd, sensitive to John's need for space yet eager to offer comfort, extended a tentative hand but paused, letting it hover in the air for a moment. He wanted to bridge the gap between them, to offer a touch that said everything words could not, but he also understood the sanctity of personal grief. He waited, allowing John to dictate the terms of their interaction.

As the silence stretched on, Floyd remained a steadfast presence, his heart silently breaking for his brother. "If you need anything—a glass of water, or someone to just sit with you—I'm here," he offered softly, his words laced with the warmth of genuine concern.

And so, Floyd waited, a quiet guardian in the night, ready to provide comfort or companionship, to listen or to share the silence. In the loft that night, amidst tears and whispered apologies, the foundation of their friendship deepened, grounded in the understanding that sometimes, just being present is the most profound support one can offer.

John continued to sob into the plushie, his emotions spilling over. Slowly, he rolled over to face Floyd, revealing eyes swollen and red from crying, with tear tracks marking his cheeks. As their gazes met, a fresh wave of tears surged, amplifying John's cries in a heart-wrenching crescendo of grief.

Floyd, moved by the sight of his brother's pain, reached out to pat John on the back, his expression etched with concern. "I couldn't save them. I couldn't protect them. I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry," John's voice broke with each word, a confession of his deepest regret.

Floyd, initially puzzled by John's words, followed his gaze to the collage of photos adorning the ceiling above the loft. His eyes settled on the photograph of the woman and the baby, a realization dawning on him. With a heavy heart, he whispered, "Oh... John, I'm so sorry," now understanding the depth of John's loss and the source of his profound sorrow.

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i hope you guys like it :D i have alot of ideas for this au! feel free to give feedback or ask questions

[satellitebroadcast]

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine: Telegram

To the people of Lebanon and its resistance, your blood is our blood. The occupation's crimes will backfire on them. The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine confirmed that the renewed, large-scale zionist attacks on Lebanon, which included a wave of bombings targeting innocent civilians and civilian property, will not succeed in breaking the will of the resistance, and will certainly turn against the occupier. The Front noted that this renewed aggression is a clear result of the US-zionist coordination, aimed at a failed attempt to change the rules of engagement on the Lebanese front, exhaust the resistance, and strike the popular support base that has demonstrated its resilience in Gaza, Lebanon, and other fronts over the past months. The Front viewed Hezbollah’s clear response, announcing the continuation of supporting the Gaza front, as evidence of the failure of these attempts. The Front renewed its full solidarity with the brotherly Lebanese people and its courageous resistance, led by the brother and great leader, symbol of resistance, Hassan Nasrallah. The Front addressed Hezbollah, saying: Your wounds are our wounds, your blood is our blood, mingled together on the battlefields against this terrorist enemy, cementing the unity of our stance and shared destiny, which will result in nothing but the defeat of this criminal entity and victory for the peoples of our nation. The Front highlighted that the history of the resistance, including Hezbollah’s great sacrifices, stands as a testament to its pioneering role in defending Palestine, Lebanon, and the Arab nation as a whole, making the party a symbol of steadfastness and resistance in the face of occupation. The Front stressed that the resistance, in all its factions, possesses the capability to confront, exhaust, and defeat the enemy, avenging the blood of the martyrs and the suffering of the wounded. The Front emphasized that all Palestinian resistance forces and the factions of the axis stand united alongside Hezbollah in this decisive battle, defending the rights of the Lebanese and Palestinian peoples, and the rights of the nation and all of humanity. The Front added that this large-scale aggression could not have been carried out without the American green light, international complicity, official Arab silence, and the clear conspiracy of some Arab regimes, whose active participation in this aggression is not limited to normalization but extends to logistical support for its war crimes. The Front, along with all the resistance factions, vowed to the martyrs to escalate the resistance, no matter the sacrifices or the extent of the aggression, affirming that the blood of the martyrs is the beacon lighting the path towards the liberation of Palestine from the river to the sea and the defeat of the zionist entity. The future belongs to the free peoples of the region, who seek freedom and dignity. The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Office September 19, 2024

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

OC interaction

Thanks to @somethingclevermahogony here and here, @illarian-rambling here, and @mk-writes-stuff here!

Rules: describe an OC, then describe how they would interact with the OC of the person who tagged you!

Under the cut, it got long:

C's OC #1

Narul is a 23 year-old slave at the Palace of Labisa, the Great City by the Lake. He is a forestfolk, a person or group of people who have been mutated or altered by the effects of wild or ambient magic. His birth mother was a priestess, his father is a mystery. He was adopted by an enslaved woman as an infant, thus how he ended up in the servitude of King Hutbari. He is a giant of a man, literally, at just a hair under nine feet tall. He is additionally quite bulky, much much larger than even the biggest human. He is so massive that the door into the slave quarters had to be reconstructed just to fit him as he grew up. Aside from his size he is also just a bit rough in appearance, hairy and broad, picture a DnD Dwarf, just sized way up. He is inhumanly strong, a fact that causes him a great deal of distress. Because of his size and strength, Narul has the potential to be quite dangerous to normal humans, as he has been repeatedly reminded of since his childhood. Narul has a great deal of anxiety around his body and his potential to accidently hurt others, as such he is quite timid and careful. He has a tendency to mumble when he talks, which unfortunately due to his low voice, often makes it sound like he is growling. He is a gentle person, he likes flowers and abhors violence. He cries relatively easily and gets easily anxious or overwhelmed.Despite all of this he is fiercely loyal and kind. He doesn’t talk much but loves to listen to others.  His fatal flaw is a healthy dose of self-doubt and self-loathing. Narul hates his body, it scares him, and he believes that it scares others. He is often self-deprecating, though not in a joking way. He feels an intense jealousy towards those around him that are able to live normal lives and pursue normal relationships.

C's OC #2

Mikrab is a spiritblood, half-human and half-spirit, a demigod. Mikrab is just over 1450 years old, his body is functionally immortal, though his mind is not. Time and loss has made him apathetic, and his memory has faded with the ages. He does not remember where he comes from, nor his family, he doesn't even remember his birth name, Mikrab is the Knoshic version of his original name (Like Juan vs. John), and his culture and language of origin have since gone extinct. While he does not relish in violence or destruction, he simply does not care if he causes it. He will kill and destroy for the sake of convenience. He wanders the world, not seeking death but also not avoiding it. He is lethargic and cold, save for moments of frustration, often with his predicament. As with all spiritbloods he is massive, though among spiritbloods he is on the short side, only about 7'8, and is a bit more lean in his build compared to the likes of Narul or Batricca. His supernatural strength and durability are what have allowed him to survive so long. Surprisingly, he is quite a skilled linguist and can speak in Kishite, Knoshic, Apunian, Korithian, Arkodian, Ikopeshi, and Namuti.

Katie's OC

Djek Kagura is a young man (19 in the first book, 23 in the second two) with a shifty appearance, red eyes, and a constant squint due to poor vision. He grew up on the streets after his parents tossed him out to cut down on mouths to feed, only to later join the brutal Tunnel Wasp smuggling gang, which he later split from due to his aversion to violence and need to do what's right. As a person, he's always quick with a joke or snide comment, loves sarcasm, and lies like a fish breathes water. His bad habit is that he loves to annoy people on purpose. At his core is a deep sense of self-loathing and abandonment issues, but he covers these with humor. He tends to try to find peaceful solutions to situations and has a bit of a bleeding heart, even if he pretends to be tough. His friends mean the world to him and he's loyal to the point getting himself hurt in fights he can't win. Also, he's surprisingly in touch with people's emotions and always trys to make them feel better, even he does it with a bad joke or by irritating them to action. He has a weak form of sorcery, specializes in shadow magic, and has incorrigibly sticky fingers.

MK's OC

My OC (created by my lovely gf): Nellie is a clone in her mid-twenties, although she’s only been out of the vat for about six months. She’s reasonably tall and pretty skinny, with pale skin, short black hair, and narrow red-and-gold eyes, which she usually hides behind sunglasses. Nellie is a sweet, kind, and empathetic woman who cares very deeply for others and wants to help, to the point where she sometimes struggles to put herself first. She also has a deeply traumatic history of abuse by her genetic donor that still troubles her deeply and gives her struggles with intimacy, as well as an addiction to mindsplit that she’s trying to shake. She longs for a simple, happy life - a good job, a nice place to live, good food, and the chance to live as her true self (Nellie is a trans woman) is all she’s really looking for (and maybe a partner one day if the opportunity arises - she’s met a friend who’s cute but he’s also a clone of Belladonna’s dad so she’s a bit uncertain). Nellie also has empathic magic, although she hasn’t trained it much, which she mostly uses to see how others are feeling and help them where she can.

My OC

Ash Hathaway is a thirteen year old (at the start of Pt1) girl with telepathic powers. She's ambitious to the point of self-destruction, where she wants to try new things just to see where her limits are. Part of it has to do with wanting to prove herself - that she can do it. If someone says she can't do something, she's likely going to go out of her way to do it. She lives in the moment with only some hindsight and no forward thinking. She seeks pleasure and thrill and risk, with no regard to how this could hurt herself or others. Not that she doesn't care about people, but more of she just doesn't recognize danger. She wants nothing more than to expand her powers just to see how far she can go. Despite being able to read minds and feel the emotions of others, she struggles to empathize or understand exactly what she's feeling, usually misinterpreting what others are thinking. Overstimulation and frustration can lead to her seeking ways to avoid her problems and more dangerous behavior. Ash needs to be kept busy - have her do something productive and hands-on, and she will be fine.

Ash and Narul

I think Ash would feel a little conflicted about approaching Narul, considering his size, and she doesn't like feeling physically helpless. However, I think she would, because she also likes risk and after a bit of debate would decide she could use her telepathy to her advantage. Being able to read his thoughts, I think Ash would figure out that he's not a threat, even if she doesn't understand being timid of himself just because he might hurt someone. She does get the fear on some level, since she has done so before herself, but she's always just reassessed how to go about testing her powers. Why limit herself? She may try to teach Narul that. You can't learn if you don't try. Narul I think would be scared that he might hurt her, a child, in the process, so probably wouldn't give in. I think Ash would get his frustration in his own skin, since she's felt that way many times. However, she will never understand not wanting to see what he's capable of. But I think that Narul will ultimately remind Ash of her best friend, Lexi. Jealous easily, cries easily, easily overwhelmed, hates violence...just a million times more reserved than she is. Narul may be jealous that Ash even has a friend group, even if Ash manages to admit most of her friend group was constructed by Lexi. I think they'd be able to connect on some level, but ultimately not understand each other quite well.

Ash and Mikrab

I think Ash and Mikrab could help each other. Ash is always eager to learn more, and through telepathy, could help Mikrab potentially regain some memories. She would love to absorb the knowledge he has, maybe experience what the long life was. However, if he's lost the ability to care, Ash may do this without consent, even if she believes it would ultimately help him. I'm sure she'd sit on it for a while, but in an intense situation, in an attempt to stop him, she'd easily rip into his mind to try and access what he once lost. She wouldn't do anything that deep without consent on impulse, I don't think. Unless we're talking about Ash toward the end of TSP, then I think she would, and in a way she becomes more and more apathetic like Mikrab. So depending on the circumstances, Ash could help Mikrab connect with memory and emotion again as she learns new things and tests her abilities, or Ash's drive to do that will get her severely hurt, killed, or just in a generally bad situation.

Ash and Djek

Djek may intrigue Ash a bit too much. She may be able to sense he's lying, sense him covering pain with humor, etc wonder why, and peak into his mind. May get a bit overwhelmed by the self-loathing thing. She has used humor before to defuse situations, so they have that in common, but she does not exactly covering up her own pain with it. She will try to understand Djek, but her curiosity may get the best of her, and I'm not sure he'll like her experiencing his own self-loathing and calling out every lie he makes. I think they would clash, at least at first. Djek being in touch with emotions naturally would be an interesting comparison. I feel like they'd call each other's feelings out, read each other and make the other one irritated as a result. However, I do think that if they were in A Situation in which they were forced to work together or bond, they could do it. Ash definitely would be interested in Djek's magic, weak or not, and may even encourage him to test his limits.

Ash and Nellie

Ash would probably accidentally sense Nellie is a clone, but she'd also sense she shouldn't reveal that to anyone. Her kind empathetic nature who puts herself last would remind Ash a lot of her friend Gwen. Hearing Nellie has empathetic magic would definitely cause Ash to be curious, and she'd ask her many questions about it. First, she may ask how she could learn to interpret emotions, but also may see if she can help Nellie expand her powers a bit more. Ash also has a bit of a developing addiction to telepathic probes that expand her mind and give her visions but start to take a toll on her - mentally, emotionally, physically. If Nellie is shaking off an addiction, I would hope she manages to convince Ash to stop using the probes. Cannot confirm if it would work or not - it may make Ash get irritated and want to use them more to prove she can do it. That last bit may cause a divide, but I think they'd mostly be interested in the other.

Well that was long.

Tagging @elsie-writes @winterandwords @sleepywriter00 @cherrybombfangirlwrites @duckingwriting @ceph-the-ghost-writer + anyone else who wants to play!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

[somethingclevermahogony]

An Introduction to Myself and My WIP!

Hello everyone! A confession, this is actually a re-introduction. I've been here on Tumblr for a little less than a year now, but I haven't been the best about being active, life just sort of got in the way. As such I would like to reintroduce myself and what I've been working on.

For the purposes of Tumblr and in the interest of privacy you can call me C. I am in my mid-twenties, I use he/him pronouns, and I am happily married to my partner, who is also a C. I am queer, as is my partner. I enjoy cooking, fishing, Dnd(ing?), reading, and of course writing.

We both originally come from the US but we are currently living on the east coast of Scotland as I pursue my Msc in Archaeology.

I am trying to be a bit more active on here and I am always open to things like tags and asks, even if it takes me a bit to respond.

I think that's about it for me, and so without further ado let me introduce or reintroduce you to my WIP.

Testaments of the Green Sea

Genre: Epic Fantasy

Themes and Tropes (Or more accurately a random assortment of words vaguely related to the plot): Found Family, immortality, loss, love, war, power, memory, magic, insanity, The passage of time, growing up, queerness in the ancient world, violence, spirits, fantasy outside of medieval europe

Summary: Book one of the Testaments of the Green Sea (The lands of the Green Sea are pictured above) follows the journeys of the giant slave Narul and the princess Ninma. After unexpected tragedy forces the two to flee from the Great city of Labisa, they find themselves on a journey which carries them across the ancient lands of Kishetal. Along the way they encounter spirits, demons, war, gods, pirates, and slavers. TW for death/grief, violence/blood/gore, mental illness, physical illness, abuse, and cannibalism, awkward queerness, secondhand embarrasment etc, etc.

Excerpt( First Paragraph of Chapter 1): The blood dripped into the awaiting bowl, painting its alabaster walls crimson. The slave watched the dark liquid trickle down his arm, skirting past the hairs, rolling veins, and moles. Even after these twenty years of weekly blood lettings, he could not shake a creeping feeling of unease as his eyes followed the sanguine river creeping its way across his arm. His own face gazed back at him from the scarlet pool. He could not meet his own eye, could not stand to look that creature. He turned away.

Draft Status: The second draft of the manuscript is currently being edited, I will be looking for my first round of Beta Readers likely before the end of the year.

This is just part one of a much larger series. My partner is currently working on the beginnings of their own series, set in the same world but 3,000 years in the future, roughly aligning with our own Great War Period. I'm so excited to share more with you, and I love answering questions!

Narul and Ninma courtesy of @faeporcelain

[kckt88]

Breath Of Doubt.

Summary:

Cerelle Lannister arrives at the Red Keep and immediately sets her sights on Aemond, determined to have him at all costs.

Vaeryna of course is having none of it and unleashes her inner dragon, determined to protect her treasure.

Warning(s): Language, Pranks, Violence, Threats, Kissing, Incest, Voyeurism, Smut - Lactation Kink, Daddy Kink, P in V Sex.

Word Count: - 4242

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

One Shot Take My Breath Away - Takes place six months after the birth of Aegar.

AEMOND X O.C

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @snh96, @immyowndefender,

“Gods this is boring” moaned Jaehaeryn.

“Boy, that’s enough” snapped Aemond as the golden horse drawn carriage came to a stop inside the yard.

“Sorry father” muttered Jaehaeryn, subtly moving closer to his mother.

“What’s she even coming here for anyway?” asked Rhaegar.

“Beats the shit out of me” said Vharla shrugging.

“Language” scolded Vaeryna.

“Oops” squeaked Vharla.

“He’s got a point you know-why is Cerelle Lannister coming here?” asked Aegon the Younger.

“Scouting for a husband” mused Jaehaera.

“Good luck, half of the single lords that frequent the Red Keep are wrinkly old cunts”.

“Daenerys” snapped Aemond.

“Apologise father” replied Daenerys her cheeks tinged pink.

“Oh, you have no idea how much this amuses me” breathed Aegon.

“Glad it amuses someone” snarked Aemond.

“Uncle Aegon is single, and he isn’t a wrinkly old cunt” exclaimed Saeryna.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you” said Aegon.

“Shouldn’t have favourites” mused Aerys.

“I don’t have favourites-but if I did it would absolutely be Saeryna” laughed Aegon.

“You are the King-stop acting like a buffoon” snapped Aemond.

“Oh, Aemond remove the stick from your arse and lighten up” replied Aegon.

“Uncle is brave-I’ve seen lesser men almost piss themselves in fear from the look that father is giving him right now” mused Rhaegar.

“All of you quieten down-“ urged Vaeryna,

As the door of the carriage opened, Aerys let out a little gasp as Cerelle emerged from the carriage, her jewelled hand extended to the attending squire.

Indeed, she was rather beautiful, her golden hair shining in the sun, her elegant slim figure swathed in rich red and gold fabric. Her blue eyes sparkling like the rarest of gems from Tarth.

“Lady Lannister welcome to Kings Landing, I hope your journey from Casterly Rock wasn’t too perilous” said Aegon politely as he held out his hand in greeting.

However, she bypassed greeting Aegon and made a beeline for Aemond.

“Rude” scoffed Vaeryna.

“Pleasure to meet you Prince Aemond, I’m Cerelle Lannister”.

“Errr, pleasure to meet you my lady” replied Aemond.

Cerelle Lannister's gaze swept across the crowded hall, where the flickering candlelight danced on polished armour and richly adorned gowns of other ladies in attendance.

The air buzzed with the murmurs of the guest courtiers as they revelled in the grandeur of the occasion, a feast held in celebration of some anniversary of the King.

Yet, amid the sea of faces, her eyes found him - Aemond, the enigmatic figure with flowing silver hair that cascaded down his shoulders like liquid moonlight.

Aemond moved with a graceful confidence, his every step commanding attention.

The scar over his face only heightened the allure, a testament to his bravery and resilience against the bastard strong boy who carved out his eye when they were children.

Cerelle's heart quickened as she took in the sharp features that radiated the ethereal beauty of old Valyria.

His presence was magnetic, drawing her towards him like a moth to flame.

Leather-clad and lithe, Aemond moved with the fluidity of a predator, his every movement deliberate and purposeful.

Cerelle couldn't help but be captivated by the way his attire accentuated the contours of his body, a display of strength and agility that hinted at a warrior's prowess.

Her breath caught as she observed the subtle play of muscles beneath the supple leather.

Cerelle's pulse quickened when she saw Aemond lean over and place a gentle kiss on the cheek of his wife.

Cerelle in her youth had heard of Vaeryna, the silver haired dragon who had sold herself to her enemies and married the man responsible for the deaths of her brother and father.

It often intrigued her, what sort of woman would do that, but then her reasons were made clear when it was revealed that her brother Aegon the Younger was still alive, despite the entirety of the realm believing he perished alongside his brothers in the gullet.

Cerelle actually admired Vaeryna for that, it showed her strength and determination, a true reflection of house Targaryen.

But upon seeing Aemond, Cerelle completely understood the unspoken reasons for Vaeryna’s motivations. She really couldn’t blame her for spreading her legs and birthing the prince’s many children.

His silver haired babes were a testament to Aemond’s virility and fertile seed and Cerelle couldn’t help but feel flustered at the thought of Aemond stuffing her with his cock and breeding her.

His wife should have been a deterrent, a signal to retreat from the allure of forbidden desire. However, Cerelle's determination burned brighter than ever.

Vaeryna, was a mere obstacle in Cerelle's pursuit. Their union did little to extinguish the flames of longing that now roared within her.

Cerelle's ambitions knew no bounds, and the thought of a marital bond meant nothing in the face of the irresistible connection she felt with Aemond.

Undeterred by the constraints of societal norms or the sanctity of marriage, Cerelle set her sights on Aemond with unwavering resolve.

The glint of determination in her eyes mirrored the gleam of silver that adorned Aemond's hair and no matter how much she admired Vaeryna her existence quickly became inconsequential in the grand tapestry of Cerelle's desires.

She planned to move through the courtly intrigues with a grace that masked her audacious intentions. Cerelle knew the art of subtlety, weaving a web of subtle glances and discreet encounters, all aimed at ensnaring Aemond's attention by any means necessary.

Cerelle Lannister observed silently as Aemond engaged in rigorous sword training session in the castle yard.

The sunbathed the training grounds in a warm glow, accentuating Aemond's silver hair and his lithe and powerful frame moving with a grace that only a seasoned warrior possessed, each motion deliberate and precise.

As Aemond practiced his swordplay with the oldest of his sons, beads of sweat formed on his brow, glistening like diamonds against his pale skin.

Cerelle's blue eyes followed the sinuous lines of his movements, appreciating the fluidity of his actions. The intensity of the training session accentuated the contours of his muscular physique, captivating Cerelle's attention with each powerful swing and deft manoeuvre.

Cerelle found herself entranced by the sight of Aemond's dedication to his craft.

 His focus was unwavering, and the sheen of sweat highlighted the exertion he poured into every strike.

Aemond's dedication to his training only heightened his allure in Cerelle's eyes, and an admiring smile played on her lips as she absorbed the captivating display.

The distant clang of swords echoed through the yard as Aemond sparred with his son. Cerelle couldn't help but admire the way he effortlessly dominated the practice, his movements a dance of skill and strength. A subtle sense of longing crept into Cerelle's gaze, and she marvelled at the allure of the warrior before her.

Aemond's silver hair caught the sunlight, creating a mesmerizing halo around him as he continued to hone his swordsmanship.

Cerelle, hidden in the shadows, allowed herself a moment to appreciate the beauty of the scene.

The contrast between the fierce determination etched on Aemond's face and the grace with which he moved stirred a potent cocktail of emotions within Cerelle.

As the training session progressed, Cerelle remained captivated by Aemond's every motion, savouring the sight of his athleticism, strength, and the sheen of sweat that clung to his form.

A subtle smile played on her lips, aware that the next time they spoke, the image of Aemond in the midst of his training would linger in her thoughts, fuelling a newfound admiration and perhaps sparking something more.

Vaeryna felt the subtle tension in the air whenever Cerelle Lannister was near.

The sly glances, the lingering touches, and the carefully chosen words—all seemed orchestrated to seduce her husband, Aemond.

Vaeryna was not blind to the game being played, and it fuelled a storm of emotions within her.

In the quiet moments of the night, Vaeryna found herself reflecting on the delicate balance of power within the social web of the court.

Ever ravenous for the whispers of scandal and salacious behaviours they could use for their own amusement.

Cerelle’s visit to the Red Keep was only meant to last a few weeks, but the visit had been extended in the hopes that Cerelle would be successful in finding herself a husband.

Technically she had been successful and had indeed found herself enamoured with a man who was no doubt the fantasy of most women that caught a glimpse of him, but he was married, and his wife was no slouch.

She was not only a dragon, but the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, whom she embodied not only in mind but in soul and every time she saw Cerelle giggling at Aemond or batting her eyelashes at him, she found her fingers itching to swipe the dagger from Aegon’s belt and skewer the nasty little tart with the pointy end.

However, Vaeryna tried very hard to restrain herself and maintained a calm and dignified facade but beneath the elegant exterior, Vaeryna harboured a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, jealousy, and a determination to shield what was rightfully hers.

Her children however were another story.

Saeryna had spent hours searching for spiders in the gardens only to release them in Cerelle’s chambers, her screams of terror echoing around the Red Keep as Saeryna smiled innocently.

Aerys worked in tandem with Jaehaeryn to swap Cerelle’s fancy bathing oils with stinky pond water and Caelee even helped herself to Cerelle’s pretty powders and used them to paint pictures for her Kepa (Father).

Vharla unstitched the seams of Cerelle's dresses which resulted in a rather embarrassing incident in the gardens with Cerelle being left red faced after her dress all but fell apart leaving her in nothing but her underclothes.

As it turned out Aegon was behind the entire thing, as he was advising the children on what to do and he took great pleasure in the chaos they were causing.

He had taken an instant dislike to Cerelle and was determined to see her suffer for her rudeness and blatently obvious disregard for Vaeryna who Aegon was absolutly NOT in love with.

Vaeryna of course pretended to be scandalised when Saeryna was caught putting worms in Cerelle’s hair, but it was rather endearing that her children had made some unspoken agreement with their uncle Aegon and united against Cerelle, determined to punish her for what she was doing, and it was amusing to see their sweet little faces a picture of pure innocence as they were scolded by Alicent for their behaviour.

The one thing Vaeryna was sure of was Aemond, her husband, was a man of unwavering loyalty and moral integrity.

She knew him well enough to trust in the strength of their bond, convinced that no external charms or temptations could sway him from their shared commitment.

Despite this confidence, the mere fact that Cerelle Lannister sought to weave her subtle web around Aemond was an insult that stung.

The insults were not in the fear of Aemond succumbing to Cerelle's charms, but rather in the audacity of the attempt itself.

It was a slight to their marriage, a challenge to the sanctity of their love, and an affront to the trust they had painstakingly built over the years.

Vaeryna found herself grappling with a mix of emotions—anger at Cerelle's audacious advances, frustration at the need to defend what should be unassailable, and a deep-seated hurt that someone would dare to undermine the sacred connection she shared with Aemond.

Ultimately her thirst for retribution eventually prevailed and she made a vow to herself that when the opportunity presented itself, she would deal with that horse haired slattern if it was the thing she ever did.

The Red Keep was ablaze with light and merriment as the realm gathered to celebrate King Aegon's name day. Banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze, their green and gold scales catching the glow of countless torches that lined the courtyards and corridors.

The air was filled with the fragrant aroma of roasting meats, and the joyful sounds of laughter and music echoed through the throne room.

The throne room was adorned with elaborate tapestries depicting the storied history of House Targaryen. Long tables stretched across the room, groaning under the weight of lavish feasts prepared for the occasion. Golden chalices and plates adorned with dragon motifs sparkled under the soft candlelight, casting a warm and inviting glow.

Nobles from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms mingled with knights, lords, and ladies, all clad in their finest attire. The clinking of goblets and the melodic tunes of harps and lutes filled the air, creating an atmosphere of revelry befitting the celebration. Courtiers in richly coloured gowns and doublets danced gracefully to the music, adding a touch of elegance to the festivities.

In the centre of it all stood King Aegon, resplendent in regal attire befitting his station. His silver hair gleamed in the light, and the crown of the conqueror sat proudly atop his head.

Aegon received well-wishers and gifts with a gracious smile, acknowledging the love and loyalty of his subjects.

The people of the realm still buzzing from the spectacle of the jousting tournament that been held earlier in the day in honour of the king's name day, where knights in gleaming armour clashed with lances under the watchful eyes of the cheering crowd.

Of course, Aemond who claimed he didn’t give a shit about tourneys, entered and won.

Relishing in the cheers for his victory as he crowned his wife Vaeryna the queen of love and beauty. Her sweet smile as he placed the wreath of flowers upon her silver head and her gasp of surprise as he hauled her over the wooden fence and kissed her deeply in front of the realm was endearing for all too see.

Except for Cerelle of course who was seething with envy. Her attempts to tempt Aemond were proving fruitless, and his children with his silver haired bitch of a wife were monsters who needed hard lessons in discipline and the King was no better aiding those little shits in their pranks was truly poor form.

No, she needed to increase her efforts in tempting Aemond, she wanted him and by the gods she was determined to have him, so she donned her most daring dress and joined in the celebrations for the King’s name day.

“Are you really that dense brother-“ snarked Aegon as he took a large sip of wine.

“What are you bleating about now?” snapped Aemond.

“Cerelle Lannister-the lingering looks, the not so subtle touching of your arm when she's talking to you. Brother-your wife is seconds away from kicking the shit out of her and whilst I will shamelessly enjoy such a spectacle, I doubt her morbid cunt of a father would, so you might want to put a stop to whatever fascination Cerelle has with you before blood spills” replied Aegon.

“There is no-“

“You only lost one eye, surely you’re not that blind, the girl is desperate for your cock-“ muttered Aegon.

“Well, she can remain desperate-"

“Listen to your big brother-you’ve only bedded what two women?” said Aegon.

“Three actually”.

“Three? Who was-oh yeah Alys that old whore from Harrenhal, I forgot about her” said Aegon.

“Hm”

“Well, that’s beside the point-I’m more well versed in the ways of women than you are, and I can tell you now that there are some women who don’t take no for an answer and when they set their sights on something they will do whatever it takes to get it” replied Aegon.

“Are you saying that I’m in capable of defending myself against unwanted attention?” asked Aemond, feeling a little insulted over his brothers insinuation.

“In a word-yes I am. That Lannister bitch has had you in her sights since she first arrived here and whilst you remain blissfully unaware-your wife does not”.

“What has Vaeryna said?” questioned Aemond.

“It’s not what she’s said brother, it’s what she hasn’t. No woman ever wants to see another woman pawing at their husband” exclaimed Aegon.

“Do you think Vaeryna will do something?” mused Aemond as he looked over at his wife who was indeed glaring at Cerelle.

“You do know who your wife is right? Whilst Ryna might be a woman, she’s as fierce as any dragon that ever existed, and a dragon will protect what they consider to be theirs-if Cerelle continues playing with fire she’s going to get burned” warned Aegon.

"Oh, for the love of seven" uttered Aemond as he spotted Cerelle walking towards him.

“This isn’t going to end well” urged Aegon grimacing.

“Aemy-I had thought you would ask me to dance” giggled Cerelle.

“I’m not much of a dancer my lady” muttered Aemond.

“That’s not true-he dances often with Vaeryna-you know his wife” said Aegon through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Your Grace, a man may dance with others if he so wishes” said Cerelle her voice mockingly sweet, the underlaying meaning of her comment lingered in the air.

“Not this man” whispered Aemond as he tried to move away from Cerelle.

"Oh, just one dance my Prince" exclaimed Cerelle reaching for Aemond's hand.

"My lady I really must protest-" retorted Aemond moving his hand away from Cerelle's grasp.

"Just one dance-surely you won't begrudge a lady-"

"Oh shit-" muttered Aemond.

“-I bid you farewell Lady Lannister-it was nice knowing you” exclaimed Aegon raising his goblet in a mock toast as Vaeryna came up behind Cerelle and seized her by the hair, dragging her away from Aemond who couldn’t help the surge of arousal that shot through him at his wife’s possessive display.

The fierce determination in her amethyst eyes as she spun Cerelle around and slapped her hard across the face.

Her face twisted with fury as she stood over the shaking form of Cerelle.

“You even dare to approach my husband again and I’ll knock your teeth out-I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear-I’ll rip your fucking face off-AEMOND PUT ME DOWN“ screamed Vaeryna.

“Take it easy there Issa nēdenka zaldrīzes” Aemond as he wrapped his arms around Vaeryna and hauled her away from Cerelle (My fierce dragon).

"No-she laid hands on you; I won't have it-she dares to think that she can take what is MINE" snarled Vaeryna as she struggled against Aemond's grip.

"Nothing to see here-" urged Aegon waving his hands in the air, as he tried to stifle his laughter.

Aemond dragged a furious Vaeryna from the throne room and hauled her against the wall, his arms pinning her body against the cold stone wall.

"Calm down-" urged Aemond.

"Don't tell me to calm down-she's been pawing at you for weeks and I can't stand it any-"

Vaeryna gasped as Aemond surged forward and pressed his lips to hers in a brutal kiss.

“Do you trust me ābrazȳrys” asked Aemond (Wife).

“You know I do” replied Vaeryna breathlessly.

“In that case I may have an idea to stop Cerelle’s pursuit of me-so would you do me the honour of meeting me in the library in half an hour” said Aemond.

“Ok” muttered Vaeryna feeling a little uncertain.

“Don’t worry Issa gevie perzys. Just make sure to wear something less constricting” replied Aemond as he turned on his heel and walked away (My beautiful fire).

Cerelle stared down at the hastily scribbled note and smiled. Aemond had asked to see her, mayhaps he was going to apologise for his clearly deranged wife’s violent behaviour, or he had finally realised their connection and was ready to give in and reciprocate her affections.

Admittedly the library was an odd place to meet, but it didn’t matter.

The moment she had been waiting for was finally upon her and Cerelle was determined to enjoy every single second of it.

As she approached the ornate double wooden doors, Cerelle took a deep breath to steady her nerves before a guard wordlessly opened the doors for her.

The library was almost shrouded in complete darkness save for the few lit candles, giving it an almost eerie yet romantic glow.

“Aemond” called Cerelle.

But no answer came and after a few minutes, Cerelle’s attention was drawn to what sounded like a breathy moan coming from between the bookcases.

As she moved through the labyrinth of tall bookcases, the sounds of moaning grew louder.

Cerelle stood stunned as she spotted Aemond, half naked with his breeches sitting low on his hips, his head pressed into his wife’s neck as he pounded into her.

“N-Nothing and no one compares to you” growled Aemond bracing his hand on the bookshelf as he brutally snapped his against Vaeryna’s.

He was so deep inside her that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Aemond” gasped Vaeryna her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ābrazȳrys, take every fucking inch of me-let me fill your sweet cunt” (Wife).

“Oh, please Valzȳrys. I want it. I want all of you” moaned Vaeryna (Husband).

“FUCK” roared Aemond as he hauled Vaeryna away from the bookcase and placed her the edge of a desk.

“Yes-Yes Aemond, Oh gods” breathed Vaeryna.

“I fucking love you-I love you so much” growled Aemond his eye finding its way to Cerelle who shivered as he smirked at her, the sapphire nestled in his eye socket glinting in the candlelight.

Aemond continued to stare at Cerelle as he mercilessly fucked his wife, filling her over and over again with sharp penetrating thrusts.

The muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing as he moved with a brutality that Cerelle had never seen before.

“Aemond-yes, right there. Don’t stop-don’t stop” cried Vaeryna the tears running down her pale cheeks.

“That’s it Issa jorrāelagon. Come on daddy’s cock” rasped Aemond (My love).

Cerelle couldn’t help the flare of arousal that shot between her thighs when Aemond lurched forward and wrapped his lips around one of his wife’s erect nipples.

Suckling greedily and he reached down and began expertly circling her pearl with his long fingers.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaeryna her entire body seizing before going slack and pliant.

“FUCK-I’m going to come-“ groaned Aemond.

“I want it-fill me with your seed Issa dārys” gasped Vaeryna (My King).

“FUUUUUCK” roared Aemond, his head thrown back as his rope after rope of his seed spilled inside his wife’s cunny.

“Aemond” breathed Vaeryna as her husband collapsed on top of her.

“I love you so much-“ replied Aemond.

“-And I love you” whispered Vaeryna.

“I never want you to doubt my love, no one will ever compare to you-my soul mate”.

“Issa idañnykeā perzys” muttered Vaeryna (My twin flame).

“I see that our observer has fled” said Aemond staring at the vacant space that Cerelle had occupied mere moments ago.

“Husband” breathed Vaeryna as she slid her hands into his long silver hair and pulled his face towards hers.

“Wife” replied Aemond as he pressed a kiss to her soft lips.

Vaeryna gasped as felt her husbands cock hardening inside her.

“I think I need to have you again” moaned Aemond as he withdrew his cock from his wife’s cunny until only his tip remained and then thrust forward again.

“You may have me as many times as you desire my love” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“Hm-” sighed Aemond his tongue licking at the seam of Vaeryna’s lips.

His plan had worked perfectly, Cerelle wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She had seen for herself the passion and love that Aemond and Vaeryna had for one another, what a silly lion she was to even think that she could come between two dragons.

As they watched the golden carriage depart the Red Keep, Vaeryna couldn’t help but notice the sly smiles plastered across Aegon and Saeryna’s faces.

“-And what are you two so happy about?” asked Vaeryna.

“We may or may not have left a little going away present in the carriage for the Lady Lannister” said Aegon shrugging.

“Dare I ask-“ mused Vaeryna as a loud shriek echoed across the courtyard.

“I guess she found the slugs” laughed Aegon.

“Or the maggots” replied Saeryna.

“I thought we agreed on slugs-where did you get the maggots from?” asked Aegon as he lifted Saeryna into his arms.

“Found them in the Maester’s room and then I put some in a jug and poured them in a cushion in the carriage” replied Saeryna.

“A-A cushion” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“Don’t worry mama. I left the zippy part open” shrugged Saeryna.

“Gods I love this kid” laughed Aegon.

“I thought I was being nice leaving her presents, not my fault she doesn’t like them”.

“Spoilt bitch” muttered Aegon as Saeryna nodded quickly.

“I’m not going to get into trouble am I mama?”

“No, my sweet you’re not. In fact, I must insist that you receive a reward, how about a new doll or a new dress. Perhaps both?” said Vaeryna smiling.

Saeryna giggled sweetly and pressed her face into Aegon’s neck.

“You know I pity the fool who dares try to court this little one when she’s of age” said Aegon.

“You and me both”

“Is everything ok?” asked Aemond curiously.

“Everything is perfect my love” replied Vaeryna as she took her husband’s hand and headed back inside the Red Keep.

As Vaeryna gave one last fleeting towards the golden carriage moving rapidly away from the Red Keep, she couldn’t help but wonder if Cerelle would ever dare show her face again.

Probably not if her children had anything to with it. What treasures they were.

All eight of them, mayhaps even nine as the moontea Vaeryna had requested that morning had remained untouched in her chambers.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Well & Truly Married - Mal de Mer

Is this, Mel wonders, a milestone?

Mal de Mer

cw: peeing, and a conversation during. (I warned 'yall.)

Snippet:

In the aftermath, fatigue—the great equalizer—fells them both.

It's late noon when they stir again. The sun is higher now, the shadows longer.  Their spent bodies, caught in the liquid pull of gravity, are still fused.  She cradles him in the circle of her arms and legs; he is nearly boneless, as if she's drained him dry.  The soft rhythmic tickle of his breath, warm on her throat, is the only sign of life.  Even his heartbeat, usually a ruthlessly steady cadence, has slowed to a lullaby under her palm.

Mel pictures the child in her womb: a tiny, perfect gift, tucked in a bed of bliss.

She smiles.

"Silco," she whispers, and drops a kiss to his damp forehead. "Wake up."

A drowsy rumble. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, you'll go."

"We're in the middle of the sea, my love." The unaccustomed endearment slips off her tongue. "Where would I possibly go?"

"Back to the shore."

The simplicity of the statement steals her breath. She has to swallow twice before the words come. "And leave you, is that it?" His silence is a sullen confirmation. She seals another kiss to his temple, right above his bad eye. "Never, Schatz. Not unless you ask me to."

"Good." He burrows closer. "I've no intention of asking."

Mel hides her smile in the dark crown of his head. Her fingers, tracing the ridges of his spine, encounter a terrain of welts. Some have scabbed up. Others are rawly oozing. The memory of her own frenzy is a guilty sting.

And yet all she can think is: How lovely.

His body, like a canvas, holds the imprint of all her spent passions. A signature he'll carry under his clothes for days. She's claimed him, and she's proud.

And she needs a bath.

With effort, Mel extricates herself from the languid tangle of arms and legs. Silco, with a groggy growl, tries to drag her back. But Mel's will is a match for his—and the pressure in her bladder is verging on painful. She manages, with coaxing tugs, to persuade him that a shared soak is a more worthwhile pursuit than lazing in a bed full of stale fluids. 

Not bothering with dressing-gowns, they pad, naked and wobbly, across the tiles. In the brightness, Mel can see the full extent of the damage they've done. A constellation of contusions—red, purple, green, yellow, blue—stains their bodies in visceral record.

"You’re beautiful like this," Silco says, idling by the tub as it fills.

"I look like a bruised plum."

"You do." He comes up behind her, arms snaking about her waist. "A juicy, well-fucked plum."

"What an appalling metaphor."

"No less true."

She half-turns in his embrace. Her fingertips trace the mottled discoloration below his collarbone.

"And what does that make you?" she muses. "The apple of my eye?"

"Too poisonous."

"And yet the sweetest I've tasted."

He scoffs. But his arms tighten around her.  It's a discrepancy she's slowly becoming aware of. From irreproachably aloof for days, he is now disclosing a secret cache of neediness. His hands can't seem to stray from her body. If she's more than an arm's length away, his eyes follow as if magnetized.

At the toilet, she hopes he'll grant her privacy. Unfazed, he props a shoulder against the doorframe and watches. It's a testament to Mel's own wrung-out stupor that there is no self-consciousness. Only a strange new species of intimacy.

After last night, there are few secrets left to guard between them. 

Then Silco strolls over, and takes himself in hand. Reflexively, Mel scoots back as he aims squarely between her parted legs. There is the splash of water on water. Her first frisson of alarm mutes into a droll amusement.

The exchange is the most surreal, and surreally matter-of-fact, she's ever had with a man.

"Does this mean the honeymoon is well and truly over?" she muses, as he tugs the latch of the flush.

Leaning over, Silco drops a kiss on her hair. "It means we're well and truly married."

It is no love lyric. But a laugh bubbles out of her.

This, she decides, is a side of him well worth the wait.

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

chocolate flowers sneak peek

Chapter one – a hatful of dreams

As the sun struggled to break through the fog, a chilly morning greeted the passengers of a 1940s trawler boat. The rhythmic sound of ocean waves and the distant tolling of a ship's bell filled the air. Emerging from the thick mist, the boat approached the new city's dock, its passengers eagerly awaiting their arrival. Amidst the scene, a peculiar figure stood out - donning a vibrant green waistcoat and a scarf bursting with colours. With curly brown hair and eyes that matched the waistcoat’s hues, this enigmatic individual climbed the mast, their presence illuminated by the sun's rays piercing through the fog and ship smoke.

“After seven years of life upon the ocean, It is time to bid the seven seas farewell. And the city I’ve pinned seven years of hopes on Lies just over the horizon. I can hear the harbour bell!” Emerging from the icy mist, a magnificent ancient metropolis caught his eye. A grin spread across his face, for he knew that his days as a sailor were numbered and his new life as a proud shopkeeper was about to begin. “Land ahoy!!”

With a firm grip on the rope, Willy descended to the icy deck, while his fellow sailors readied the boat for docking. Navigating through the bustling engine room, he collected his worn-out plum-coloured tailcoat and weathered wooden suitcase. “Got a tattered overcoat and battered suitcase! Got a pair of leaky boots upon my feet. Got to drag myself up by my one good bootlace! Gotta work my rotten socks off if I wanna make ends meet!” With a daring leap, he landed on a supply crate just as it was lifted from the ship's hold. The crate soared high above the dock, swaying gracefully in the air. “I've poured everything I've got into my chocolate. Now it's time to show the world my recipes.” The brunette received a small bag of coins from the captain, the metal creating a clanging sound as it landed in his icy, pale hand. “good luck Willy!” he hollered waving off Willy with a supportive grin. “I’ve got twelve silver sovereigns in my pocket. And a hatful of dreams!”

Willy gracefully leapt off the crate and onto the back of a truck as it passed by, embarking on his exciting journey into the city of his dreams. The landscape he passed was blanketed in a thick layer of ice and slush, a messy combination of cobblestone debris and melting snow. With a burst of energy, the ghostly boy jumped down from the vehicle, his hands gripping a frozen lamp post adorned with tattered flyers and posters. With a graceful twirl, Willy descended the gleaming metal pole and found himself in the awe-inspiring town square. “There’s a famous restaurant on every street here. There's Brandino's and the Bar Parisienne”

The bustling square was adorned with a majestic cathedral, its towering presence casting a shadow over the surrounding area. The harmonious melodies of the choir echoed through the air, filling the square with a symphony of enchanting notes, reminiscent of the sweet songs of songbirds. In the centre of the square, a frozen fountain stood still, its waters suspended in time, a testament to the frigid weather that had gripped the city. On the opposite side, a grand dome building beckoned him with its grandeur, a destination he knew he would eventually reach. However, he couldn't resist the allure of exploration that lingered in the air, enticing him to wander through the square a little longer before embarking on his intended journey.

“Restaurant map, sir?” A cheerful attendant at a cosy booth offered a map of restaurants to the gentleman in a brown top hat, who graciously thanked him with a silver coin. “thank you!”

“Got a little map to tell me where to eat here...” As Willy unravelled his map, he suddenly spotted someone right by his side. To his surprise, it was a shoeshine boy, and the brunette had unknowingly placed his foot on the boy's box. The boy, with a mischievous grin, demanded a sovereign while wiggling his fingers, as if he had just completed a remarkable shine on the chocolate maker’s boot.

“Had a dozen silver sovereigns, now I'm somehow down to ten!”

With excitement in his eyes, Willy made his way towards a vibrant produce stall. As he reached out, his hands embraced an astonishingly enormous pumpkin, bursting with both delectable taste and vibrant hues. “Want the finest produce? This is where they stock it!” Willy narrowly avoided being hit by a streetcar that honked loudly, causing him to drop the pumpkin in shock. “That's three sovereigns, mate” The pumpkin splattered all over his boots, undoing all the work the boy had just completed moments before. “Though the prices are suspiciously extreme!”

“You break my pumpkin; you pay for it.”

“I've got five, six, seven-“

The dreamer strolled past the shops on the street, but his attention was immediately drawn to a charming green cottage-style shop. His eyes widened as he watched a woman inside, working cheerfully in her colourful attire, leaving Willy breathless with admiration. The vibrant hues of her clothing perfectly complemented the lush greenery that adorned her store, resembling ornaments on a festive Christmas tree. She was wearing an off-white blouse with puff sleeves that peeked through her green corduroy pinafore. The seams of the dress were decorated with different flower embroidery similar to his own waistcoat patterns. Her hands, covered in gardening gloves instead of winter ones, bore the marks of soil on each finger, a testament to her love for nurturing plants. The woman appeared to be around his age, her skin plump and her eyes sparkling like shiny coins. She captivated the poor adventurer with her beauty, snapping him out of his trance as she waved goodbye to a customer and the shop door chimed closed.

As he counted his coins, the chocolatier spotted the Shoeshine Boy cleaning his boots once again and reluctantly handed over yet another sovereign. At least the pumpkin was off his boot this time. “...six silver sovereigns in my pocket And a hatful of dreams”

[batrachised]

"I first read Anne of Green Gables to my grade 3 class in Vernon River. When we got to the chapter in which Matthew dies, we all sat still and quiet until one student said, “I didn’t know a teacher could cry.”'

-Deirdre Kessler, a former Poet Laureate of P.E.I. 

"I recall reading Montgomery at specific times and in particular places. I remember reading Anne of Avonlea with my best friend in her back yard after our grade 5 teacher had read Anne of Green Gables aloud to the class. We were hooked. I reread Anne of Green Gables and Anne’s House of Dreams in a residence room at Carleton University when I was preparing to go to Nigeria as a CUSO teacher. I read Volume I of The Selected Journals of L.M. Montgomery while watching my young daughter play at a park. In more recent years I have gone directly to those passages that sustain me. I marvel at how deeply the words on the page connect writer and reader."

-Margaret Steffler, Professor Emerita at Trent University

"I grew up 27 kilometres and 98 years from Lucy Maud Montgomery: nearer in space than in time to her life and her creations. Growing up a writer within that circumference, it was hard to say if Maud cast a shadow or a gleam across the literary landscape and Island imagination. In the shadow of saccharine oversimplifications and commercialization, the writer was tempted always to challenge, to write against her legacy. But on an August day by a brook or on a December evening meeting a sharp-tongued character with a sharp eye on Island cultural characteristics, the writer is required to recalibrate: to recognize that we write, here, in her gleam. Happy 150 years since that first glimmer."

-Jane Ledwell, PEI writer

"For the past ten years I have lived in a small town in central Pennsylvania. (You can’t buy twenty pounds of brown sugar at the hardware store, but it’s that kind of place.) It’s nice enough, but it isn’t home. As someone who grew up in Toronto – attended a girls’ school – and then went east, I was probably fated to identify with Jane Stuart, Jane of Lantern Hill. I wasn’t born on the Island; I can’t make jam; and I was born decades too late to take the train from Union Station across on the Tormentine ferry. But I thrill to mornings on the Island and long for its sea winds, and just like Jane, I live through being away by never really being away: “Because in a very real sense Jane was still living on the Island.” I may live here, but I am there.

I’m glad that L.M. Montgomery understood how that feels."

-Claire Campbell is a double expatriate, a Canadian living in the United States and an Upper Canadian-born who misses the Maritimes.

"To me, teaching Anne of Green Gables in Iran was an unexpected journey that brought profound inspiration and hope. Little did I know that this classic tale of Anne Shirley’s resilience and feisty spirit would become a beacon of empowerment for my predominantly female students. Their connection with Anne's unwavering determination and her strong character ignited a spark within them that eventually helped spark an uprising against a relentless dictatorship. Witnessing these remarkable young women, who had once found solace in Anne's story, rise up against four decades of draconian rule in Iran has been nothing short of awe-inspiring. The Iranian women have taken the lessons of Anne’s perseverance to heart and channeled that spirit into a courageous struggle for justice and freedom. This is a testament to the enduring power of literature and the indomitable spirit of those who dare to dream of a better world."

-Sam Roodi, professor of Global Citizenship at Fanshawe College in London, Ontario, Canada

"Recollections of childhood reading experiences tend to blur repetitively, but, for me, one memory is categorically singular. I was nine years old, home from school sick. My dad, on his way to work, stuck his head inside my bedroom door and said, “Here, try this.” He handed me a blue hardback of Anne of Green Gables. When he returned that night, I had finished it. For that whole day, I lived inside the skin of a different person. In a blur of astonishment and devastation, I learned that it was possible for a beloved fictional character to die. And I explicitly knew I was a different Margaret from the one who had woken up that morning. I remember my startled recognition, in so many words, that Thornton Burgess’s animal stories – hitherto completely satisfying – would never be quite the same again.  My life as a reader had suddenly and irrevocably expanded."

-Margaret Mackey is Professor Emerita in the School of Library and Information Studies at the University of Alberta

"You inspired my mother to be a writer, when she was a little girl in Texas; you inspired my father, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, to see beauty all around. My little sister is named for your Anne. Every day I think about or read your work and try to imagine who you were within and between the lines. Thank you, thank you for giving me so many reasons and ways to read, to write, to connect with others, and to be."

-Elizabeth Rollins Epperly

"Maud’s writing first spoke to me when my own world had gone very quiet. I dwelt in a small town in regional Australia and was rarely able to leave my home due to chronic illness. Instead, I lived vicariously through her tales of girls and young women on an equally small island, about as far away from my own as it was possible to be. She showed me that life lived on a domestic scale could be just as vivid as that on the wider horizon. Unable to travel elsewhere, I gained strength from Pat’s decision to remain in a home to which she was so powerfully attached. Later, as a young teacher in a rural boarding school, I found comfort in my isolated state from Emily’s example of writing through her difficult feelings. Later still, when I reached Oxford, it was Anne’s experiences at university and her rich relationships with the kindred spirits she found there that resonated with special force. Maud’s words have been inscribed on each stage of my life, a tapestry of experiences that I have shared with her remarkable heroines, and which I will continue to weave in the decades yet to come."

-Chelsea Wallis

"My Maud testimonial begins with Brenda K Weber's testimonial. At an LMMI conference decades ago, she recalled a stuffy academic party during which a graduate student had approached her to make small talk. The student had a shaved head and a well-known enthusiasm for science fiction, and he wore black sneakers to this department party. When she told him she was about to attend a conference on Montgomery, his eyes lit up. "I love Emily of New Moon!" he exclaimed, and went on to babble about it for the next ten minutes. I love Weber's story as a reminder that we will find kindred spirits in the most unexpected places. I also love it because the graduate student in that story...was me. I discovered Weber's paper years later, and I think it captures me perfectly: a little too extraverted, a little fashion-ignorant, and still completely in love with Emily."

-Joe Sutliff Sanders is a specialist in children’s media in the Faculty of Education at the University of Cambridge

"I open the cocoa-splattered, tatty book. Hand-written – hand-scrawled – memories of sensory pleasure: spicy, sugary, crunchy, hearty, homey. I open my mother’s falling-apart recipe book. In it are generations of recipes, passed on from great-grandmothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, friends, daughters, and daughters-in-law. A whole museum of feminine companionship.

You, too, held such a collection – a testimony to your own experiences of motherhood, of sisterhood, of friendship, of love. And when I open Anne of Green Gables, The Anne of Green Gables Cookbook, and then also Aunt Maud's Recipe Book, I share in these experiences. I find recipes to add to my own cocoa-splattered, tatty, hand-written recipe book. Liniment cake (with vanilla this time) made for birthdays, raspberry tarts for Sunday afternoon fun, ice cream that tastes of clouds … I open these books and I find comfort; I find love; I find motherhood."

-Daniella Dedekind is currently completing her MA at the University of Pretoria, South Africa

"On a recent spring day, I glanced out the window of my fourth-floor apartment and saw a flurry of white crab apple blossoms fluttering gracefully through the air, dancing upward on the wind. The whole urban landscape was transformed, and in that moment, I felt so thankful, not only for this glimpse of the wild nature of my city, but also for Montgomery and her nature-loving heroines, who taught me about Snow Queens and Wind Women and Flashes and how to live each day with eyes and heart and mind open to the beautiful surprises of the world around me. "

-Tara Parmiter is a Clinical Professor of Expository Writing at New York University.

"When I was in the third grade, my mother bought me Anne of Green Gables as a birthday present. I kept asking for sequels every year, and when I was in junior high, I learned that Prince Edward Island was a real place. During my university years, I visited the Island for the first time and stayed for three weeks. After several trips and working with a travel agency, I landed a job as a tour guide on PEI.

At first, I just liked to see the various seasons described in Montgomery’s books; then I wanted to feel the joy of spring after a long winter. Before I knew it, it had been 28 years in PEI.  Again, this spring, I'll go into the woods looking for mayflowers. Gilbert's love, expressed through gathering these small flowers for Anne, still touches my heart after all these years."

-Katsue Masuda 

"Like so many of us, my introduction to L.M. Montgomery came in childhood, at a time when I read voraciously, so hungry for departure. Back then, I had no clear sense of myself as a lesbian, but I knew intuitively that something about me was strange and “different” – or, as Montgomery herself might have put it, “queer.”

Because, at the time, there were so few novels for young readers with LGBTQ+ characters, I learned to find myself in other, less overt mirrors. It was in Montgomery’s books that I saw the clearest echoes of my own unarticulated desires. Emily Byrd Starr’s world is populated by older, unmarried female characters who show no interest in finding male partners. Valancy Stirling casts off the constraints of her disapproving family to pursue the existence she wants for herself. And Montgomery gave me Katherine Brooke in Anne of Windy Poplars, arguably her most overtly queer character.

I know, of course, that Montgomery wasn’t writing for readers who were gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender – and I know her opinions on lesbianism, expressed with such vehemence in her diaries – but she was writing for those of us who were “queer,” in the broader sense of the term. I’d like to think that she’d be able to understand my deep gratitude for the ways her work has always made me feel seen."

-Katharine Slater is an associate professor of children’s and young adult literature at Rowan University

"When my fifth-grade teacher read Anne of Green Gables to my class in the sixties, it was the comedic episodes of Anne dying her hair green and getting Diana drunk that made the book enticing. Throughout the decades since, as I aged and my interests changed, there was something new that appealed to me with each reading: a description of a beautiful garden as I planted one of my own, a reference to a special type of needlework as I learned to quilt, a humorous episode about Anne’s attempts in the kitchen as I also struggled in this regard, the love and bond between Anne and Marilla as I experienced those same emotions with my children and grandchild."

-Joanne Lebold

"L.M. Montgomery has not just inspired my family; she has shaped it. My great-grandma Cora first read the books aloud to her students in a one-room schoolhouse. Her daughter, my grandma Penny, and her daughter, my mother Christy, spent countless family vacations tracking down old copies of Montgomery’s books. It is pretty easy to figure out where my name and my sister’s came from (Emily and Anne, naturally). Montgomery has inspired our travel, showed us the joy in unraveling historical puzzles, supplied countless treasured memories, and connected us to friends all over the world. We have studied, collected, honoured, researched, discussed, savoured and loved Montgomery’s works. And we’ve done it all together. We have learned that Montgomery’s legacy is not just literary; it is intergenerational and personal."

-Emily Woster

#maud150 is a collection of tributes for Maud's 150th birthday. the above are a handful of my favorites.