#the sun swallows sparrows

[witchvvolf]

haven't posted my writing on the internet in a while. hi! i still write lol, stand alone prequel to the first one 🌞 The Sun Swallows Sparrows

[novaursa]

Legacy (of dragons and gods)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Canon events have been altered to compliment the plot for this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: the march

- Next part: dragonfire

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The Lannister procession had stopped for the night along the banks of a winding river, its waters sluggish under the pale light of the waning sun. The camp spread out like a sea of crimson and gold, with soldiers pitching tents and stoking fires, the metallic clink of armor and the murmur of voices filling the evening air. At the center of it all, beneath the largest tent adorned with a golden lion on a blood-red field, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of a table, his mood as cold and unyielding as the steel dagger he turned between his fingers.

The air within the tent was stifling, thick with the heat of the gathered torches and the heavy silence that followed the latest report. Kevan Lannister sat to Tywin’s right, his face pale and set in a stern frown. Jaime stood near the tent flap, his armor dull beneath the flickering light, his expression impassive. Between them, the messenger—a frail man in dusty robes—shifted uneasily on his feet, his gaze flicking nervously between the powerful men before him.

Tywin’s voice, when it came, was low and dangerous, like the first rumble of thunder before a storm. “Repeat what you just said.”

The messenger swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming at his brow. “M-my lord, the High Sparrow… the Faith has taken hold of the city. King’s Landing is no longer under full control of the crown. The Sept has been fortified, and the Faith Militant patrols the streets.”

Tywin’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the dagger. “And my daughter?”

The man visibly flinched at the icy edge in Tywin’s voice. “Queen Mother Cersei… she was arrested, my lord. The High Sparrow accused her of sin and impropriety, and…” He faltered, choosing his next words carefully. “She has been made to atone. Her… walk has already taken place.”

There was a beat of silence so heavy it felt as though the air itself froze. Kevan let out a soft breath, his face etched with disbelief and anger, while Jaime remained silent, his jaw tense as he looked away, refusing to meet his father’s gaze.

Tywin’s expression, however, was unreadable, his green eyes fixed unblinkingly on the trembling messenger. “You will tell me every detail,” he said coldly.

The messenger hesitated, but there was no escaping Tywin’s command. “The queen was stripped of her clothing and marched from the Great Sept to the Red Keep, barefoot and unarmed. The people were… merciless, my lord. They hurled insults, food, stones. The walk lasted hours.”

Tywin’s grip on the dagger finally stilled, his eyes narrowing. “And you allowed this to happen?” His voice barely rose, but the fury in it was enough to make Kevan stiffen.

“The Faith controls the city, my lord,” the messenger stammered. “The crown has lost its power.”

Tywin’s silence was thunderous. He turned his gaze to Kevan, whose face was carved in stone. “This is the result of my daughter’s arrogance. Her foolish decisions have not only humiliated herself but sullied the name of House Lannister. She has given our enemies something they will not soon forget.”

Kevan nodded curtly. “The Faith must be dealt with. This cannot stand.”

“And it will not,” Tywin replied, his voice as sharp as a blade. His gaze snapped to Jaime, who still stood motionless by the tent flap. “You have nothing to say, Jaime?”

Jaime finally turned to look at his father, his face unreadable. “What would you have me say? That it should never have come to this? That I warned her?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly in disgust. “Your warnings fell on deaf ears because you failed to command her respect.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Before another word could be exchanged, a deep, thunderous roar echoed across the camp, cutting through the murmurs of men and the crackling of fires. The ground beneath them trembled faintly, and every man within the tent turned sharply toward the sound. Outside, voices rose in alarm, and the shadow of something vast passed briefly over the canvas walls of the tent.

Kevan shot Tywin a concerned look. “The dragon.”

Tywin straightened, setting the dagger on the table with deliberate care. “Dismiss the men,” he commanded curtly.

Kevan opened his mouth to object but thought better of it, rising swiftly to usher the remaining guards and the messenger out of the tent. Jaime lingered for a moment, glancing toward his father, but Tywin waved him off with a sharp flick of his hand. “Go.”

Once the tent had emptied and silence returned, Tywin rose from his seat and strode to the entrance of the tent. He stepped outside into the fading light, the faint chill of evening brushing against his face as he looked up toward the source of the disturbance.

Viserion descended from the darkening sky, her great wings beating the air with an almost deafening rhythm. The fires of the camp guttered and danced wildly in her wake as she landed with a massive thud just beyond the edge of the tents. Her cream and gold scales gleamed in the twilight, and her neck curved as her golden eyes fixed on the men who scattered in fear at her arrival. Smoke curled lazily from her nostrils, and her chest rumbled with a sound so deep it made the earth itself shiver.

And then you appeared, sliding smoothly from the dragon’s back, your dark riding cloak billowing around you as you landed with practiced ease. You placed a steadying hand on Viserion’s snout, murmuring something softly to her before turning to face Tywin.

Tywin stood his ground, unflinching even as Viserion’s great eyes fixed on him. The anxiety in the camp was felt, men watching from the shadows as the Lord of Casterly Rock and the dragon stared one another down. For a moment, it seemed as though Viserion might let out another roar, but at your touch, she stilled, the smoke in her breath dissipating as she settled.

“Tywin,” you greeted coolly, pulling back your hood to reveal the silver cascade of your hair. The wind carried faint embers and the scent of smoke, as though the dragon’s fire lingered on your skin.

Tywin’s gaze did not waver as he took in the sight of you and the creature at your side. “Your arrival was… dramatic.”

“Viserion does not know subtlety,” you replied smoothly, stroking the dragon’s warm scales. “Neither do the Lannisters, from what I’ve learned.”

Tywin’s lip twitched faintly, though it was impossible to tell if it was amusement or irritation. He stepped forward, stopping just a few paces away from you, though his gaze remained locked on Viserion. “Is she so wild that you cannot control her?”

“She is not wild,” you countered sharply. “She is mine. She answers to me.”

“And yet her presence unnerves my men,” Tywin said, his voice cold. “You do not need to remind them of their place.”

“Then perhaps they should find their courage,” you replied pointedly. “The dragon will be with us in King’s Landing. They had best learn to accept it.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered briefly to you, something sharp and considering in his expression. “We’ll see about that.”

You stepped closer, your violet eyes steady as you looked up at him. “What is it you summoned me for, Tywin?”

He studied you for a long moment, as though weighing his words. “The city is no longer what it was,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped. “The Faith has seized power, and my daughter—has humiliated this house through her recklessness.”

You frowned slightly, sensing the anger simmering beneath his carefully measured tone. “What has happened to her?”

Tywin’s expression darkened. “She was paraded through the streets, stripped and shamed for all to see. It was a spectacle. A disgrace.”

You exhaled softly, a flicker of pity passing through you despite everything. “And you blame her for this.”

“I blame her for giving our enemies the means to harm us,” Tywin snapped. “Power demands discipline. She has forgotten that.”

You tilted your head slightly, your tone measured. “And what of the Faith, then? What do you plan to do about them?”

Tywin’s gaze was hard, unrelenting. “I will deal with the Faith as I have dealt with every other threat to my house.”

“And me?” you asked softly, your voice almost a challenge. “What do you plan for me and Viserion in the capital?”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly. “You will stand where I tell you to stand, Y/N. And your dragon will serve as a reminder to those who would oppose us.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “I hope you know what you’re inviting into that city, Tywin. Fire does not play by the rules of men.”

Tywin stared at you for a long moment before his voice dropped to a soft, dangerous murmur. “Then we will ensure the fire serves our cause.”

Viserion shifted behind you, her chest rumbling faintly as if echoing your thoughts. You turned back to the dragon, running a hand along her warm scales. “Be careful, Tywin,” you said quietly. “Fire is not so easily tamed.”

Tywin watched you for another moment, then turned sharply away.

The soft light of candles flickered inside the tent as Tywin Lannister ducked through the heavy flap, the air still tinged with the chill of the evening. Outside, the camp buzzed faintly with the sounds of men settling in for the night—boots on dirt, the crackle of fires, distant voices murmuring—but inside, there was nothing but quiet. A welcome reprieve.

The tent was a well-ordered sanctuary. Rich crimson fabrics lined the walls, the Lannister sigil subtly embroidered into their folds. The centerpiece was a sturdy bed with a carved wooden frame, draped in thick furs and silken sheets. Across the room, Damon slept soundly in his crib, his soft breathing barely audible beneath the gentle hum of the wind outside. The sight of his son—safe, warm, untroubled—brought the faintest softening to Tywin’s otherwise stern features.

You sat by the small table, clad in a loose gown of black and silver that cascaded around you like a midnight cloud. Your hair tumbled over your shoulders, illuminated faintly by the golden glow of the lantern. At the sound of his arrival, you glanced up, your violet eyes catching the light and shining with that unspoken challenge you always seemed to carry.

“Your men are watching Viserion like she might swoop down and devour them whole,” you remarked quietly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you sat back in your chair. “Is she making them nervous, or are you?”

Tywin snorted softly, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he began to remove his crimson cloak, hanging it on a nearby hook. “The dragon unnerves them, as does her rider. It is a good lesson in fear.”

“And what of you, Lord Tywin?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do I unnerve you?”

He shot you a look that could have flayed lesser men, but there was no true sharpness in it. “Not nearly as much as you would like to believe.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood, walking toward him with deliberate grace. “It’s been a long day. You must be exhausted.”

“Exhaustion is a luxury,” Tywin replied simply, though there was no denying the faint relief in the way he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. His gaze flicked briefly to Damon, still asleep in the crib. “He is well?”

“Fast asleep,” you replied, glancing toward your son with a softness that did not often appear in your voice. “It seems he takes after you. He barely stirs, even with the roar of a dragon.”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, as if considering a retort, but he let it pass. Instead, he stepped toward the table and poured himself a goblet of wine, the liquid dark as blood beneath the candlelight. “Tomorrow will be a day history records,” he said finally, the weight of his words deliberate. “Our arrival in King’s Landing, with a dragon at our side—it will not be forgotten.”

You folded your arms across your chest, the playful edge fading from your expression. “That depends, doesn’t it?”

Tywin turned toward you, brow arching faintly. “On what?”

“On how it goes,” you replied smoothly, stepping closer until only a breath of space separated you. “If the city welcomes us with open arms, it will be a moment of strength. If they resist, if they see us as a threat…” Your voice trailed off, your gaze steady. “The histories could tell a very different story.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. “Then I will ensure they see it the way I intend them to.”

You reached out, your hand brushing lightly against the front of his tunic. “You always did believe you could shape the world to your will.”

Tywin’s green eyes locked onto yours, the flicker of heat behind them unmistakable. “Because I can.”

“And what will you do with me?” you murmured, your voice softening into something huskier. “Am I to be part of this vision of yours? A Targaryen astride her dragon, or something far less… mythic?”

He set his goblet down with deliberate care, his hands coming to rest on your waist, pulling you just slightly closer. “You are my wife,” he said, his voice low but firm, as though that truth alone carried all the weight in the world. “And you are more than myth. You are fire made flesh.”

The words sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as you looked up into his face. Tywin Lannister, cold and unyielding to the world, was a man of stone to everyone but you. With you, there was something deeper—something raw, something burning just beneath the surface. And in moments like this, when the world outside fell away, you saw it in him.

“Then claim me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His gaze darkened with desire, and in an instant, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips descended on yours, firm and demanding, sending sparks across your skin as you melted into the kiss. Tywin was not a man prone to tenderness; he kissed with purpose, with possession, and yet there was something almost reverent in the way his hand came up to cradle your jaw.

You responded in kind, your arms winding around his neck as you pressed closer, your body molding to his. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss, feeling his breath catch ever so slightly. When you pulled back, lips swollen and breath shallow, you looked up at him with a wicked smile.

“Undress me,” you whispered, your voice a challenge and a plea all at once.

Tywin’s gaze roamed over you, his eyes dark with hunger as his hands moved to the laces of your gown. He was deliberate, each tug of fabric exposing more of your skin, his fingers lingering where they brushed against you. He lowered the gown slowly, letting it pool at your feet until you stood before him, bare but for the faint glow of firelight against your skin.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need.

You stepped forward, your fingers moving to the buckles of his leather doublet, loosening each one until you could push the heavy garment from his shoulders. You tugged at his tunic next, your touch lingering against the hard planes of his chest and the scarred strength of his body. When he stood before you, equally bare, the fire between you seemed to burn hotter.

Tywin’s hands slid to your hips, his grip firm as he guided you toward the bed. You stepped back with him, the furs cool against your calves as he eased you onto the mattress. He followed, his body pressing over yours, the weight of him grounding you as he braced himself above you.

You reached for him, your legs parting as you drew him closer, the anticipation thick between you. “Tywin,” you whispered, your voice soft and wanting.

His gaze met yours, his green eyes locking with your violet ones as he lowered himself. You felt him press against you, the sensation sending a thrill through you as your body arched instinctively beneath him. He entered you slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate, as though savoring every inch of you. Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely.

For a moment, he stilled, his face hovering just above yours as you both adjusted to the intimacy of the moment. You reached up, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Tywin’s control began to fray as he started to move, his thrusts steady and powerful, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from you. You met him with equal fervor, your hips rising to meet his rhythm, your nails dragging lightly down his back as the pleasure built between you. His mouth found the hollow of your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there before trailing up to claim your lips again.

“Mine,” he murmured against your mouth, the word rough and possessive.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as you clung to him, the world outside fading to nothing but the two of you.

The pace quickened, the tension coiling tighter with each movement, the fire between you consuming everything. You cried out softly as the pleasure crested, your body trembling beneath his as he followed moments later, his breath ragged as he buried himself fully within you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still entwined as you caught your breath. Tywin finally shifted, rolling onto his side but keeping you close, his arm draped possessively over your waist. The quiet of the tent wrapped around you like a blanket, the faint sounds of the camp distant and unimportant.

You turned your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Do you still think you can control fire?”

Tywin’s lips twitched faintly, though he did not open his eyes. “I control what matters.”

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple as you whispered, “We shall see, my lord. We shall see.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, the weight of the day finally giving way to the warmth of sleep, Tywin’s steady breathing a comforting presence beside you. Outside, the fires burned low, and the dragon watched, her golden eyes glowing in the dark.

The air in Cersei’s chambers felt stifling, heavy with the scent of lavender oil that did nothing to soothe the throbbing ache in her body or the sharp sting of her pride. She sat on the edge of a cushioned divan, draped in a simple gown of muted black. A far cry from the golden silks and rich velvets she had once worn as queen. Her golden hair—shorn during her walk of atonement—barely grazed her shoulders, and her face, though still beautiful, was pale and hollowed with weariness.

Tommen sat nervously beside her, perched like a boy who no longer knew how to comfort his mother. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he glanced toward Qyburn, who stood silently near the hearth. The man had been her most trusted ally since her fall, but even he could not erase what had been done to her.

“Mother,” Tommen spoke softly, his voice tentative. “You shouldn’t stay cooped up in here. The maesters say you should—”

“I know what they say, Tommen,” Cersei cut him off sharply, her tone brittle. Her green eyes turned to him, and her expression softened—just barely. She reached for his hand, her grip weak but insistent. “I am not hiding. I will not cower before them again.”

Tommen nodded faintly, though his youthful face betrayed his unease. “We still have Margaery,” he offered quietly. “She’s in the Sept. You told me the Tyrells were weak. If Tywin—” He faltered, unsure if the word still applied. “If Grandsire returns, he’ll make things right, won’t he?”

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow. “Your grandsire will see what I’ve done and scorn me for it. He’ll act as though it’s his house they mocked, not mine.” Her voice turned cold, a faint tremor of fury beneath it. “He’ll set the world right as he always does—through fear, not shame.”

Qyburn cleared his throat softly, stepping forward. “My queen, if I may. Tywin Lannister’s return could provide you with a path to redemption. There is still strength in your name.”

Before Cersei could answer, a loud blare of horns echoed from outside the Red Keep. The sound was sharp and jarring, splitting the quiet of the morning like a blade. Tommen jumped slightly, his head snapping toward the window, where the banners of the capital fluttered lazily in the breeze.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice high with worry.

Cersei straightened, her back stiff despite the lingering pain. “Horns,” she murmured, a shadow crossing her face. “A summons.”

The door burst open before another word could be spoken, and Varys stepped inside with his usual calm grace, though his expression was far from serene. His eyes darted briefly to Tommen before settling on Cersei. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice low and urgent. “Lord Tywin has returned.”

Cersei’s face remained still, though her nails dug faintly into the cushion beneath her hand. “So soon,” she said coldly. “And what has brought such a spectacle with him that the horns must scream about it?”

Varys inclined his head, his tone careful. “Your father does not travel lightly, as you know. His banners march through the gates as we speak. But…” He hesitated.

Cersei’s gaze snapped to him. “But what?”

Before Varys could reply, a sound pierced the air—high, unearthly, a shriek so terrible that it seemed to silence everything else in the world. It echoed through the walls of the Red Keep, reverberating like a distant wail of doom. Tommen clutched his ears with a cry, and even Qyburn startled visibly.

“What in the name of—” Cersei began, but another shriek cut her off, louder this time. Outside, chaos erupted. Horns blared anew, more frantically now, and distant screams carried on the wind. The sound of boots thundering across the courtyard and the cries of panicked soldiers filled the air like a rising tide.

Cersei stood quickly, ignoring the ache in her limbs as she crossed the room to the window. When she looked out, her breath caught in her throat.

The streets of King’s Landing swarmed like an anthill kicked apart. People scattered in every direction, pointing toward the sky. Guards yelled orders that fell on deaf ears, their swords raised uselessly. In the distance, high above the city, a vast shadow passed across the sun.

And then she saw it.

A dragon.

Viserion’s cream and gold scales gleamed like molten fire in the morning light, her massive wings stretched wide as she soared high above the capital. Her shadow swept over the streets and rooftops, darkening everything it touched, and for a moment, it seemed as though the very air stilled in her wake. She circled the city, her movements graceful and deliberate, her shrieks echoing as though announcing the end of all things.

“She’s circling,” Varys said softly, his gaze fixed on the sky with something akin to awe. “Three times.”

Cersei’s fingers gripped the edge of the window frame tightly, her knuckles white. “Is this Tywin’s doing?” she asked, her voice trembling with fury. “Did he bring this to my city?”

Varys’s gaze remained calm, though his words were clipped. “Yes. And it appears he means to make a statement.”

As Viserion completed her second circuit, the shrieks grew louder, almost deafening. The city below had descended into chaos—citizens dropping to their knees in prayer, others fleeing into doorways and alleyways. Mothers clutched their children, and soldiers, pale-faced, stared upward as though witnessing the stuff of nightmares made flesh.

The dragon dipped lower, her wings sending gusts of wind across the streets, rattling shutters and banners. And then, as she began her third circle, she turned sharply toward the Sept of Baelor.

The Sept loomed in the center of the city, its grand dome a beacon of the Faith—and a fitting perch for a creature of fire and fury. Viserion beat her wings powerfully, rising higher before descending with deliberate grace. Her talons curled as she landed atop the dome, the metal groaning under her weight. Her body coiled, tail curling down one side of the structure while her wings folded tightly against her back. From the streets below, she appeared like a living statue of destruction.

The city watched in stunned silence, awe and terror mingling as one.

Cersei took a step back from the window, her breath shallow as she turned to Varys. “Where is she? Where is the Targaryen whore who rides that beast?”

Varys did not flinch at the venom in her tone. “Your Grace, it is Lady Y/N. She has returned with your father. On his orders, I presume.”

Cersei’s face twisted with fury, though it was undercut by something far more dangerous: fear. She turned back to the window, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watched the dragon remain perched atop the Sept, her eyes scanning the city as though she owned it.

“She circles us like prey,” Cersei murmured darkly, her voice trembling with rage. “And my father allows it.”

Tommen crept closer to the window, his wide blue eyes fixed on the dragon with awe. “It's… beautiful,” he whispered.

Cersei spun on him, her voice sharp. “It's a weapon, Tommen. And don’t you forget it.”

Outside, the horns continued to blare, but the panic had begun to ebb as soldiers recognized the banners of House Lannister streaming through the city gates. The gold lions marched in disciplined formation, banners unfurling like rivers of blood and gold. The Lannister host had returned—but with a dragon at its back, the city would never see it the same way again.

Cersei turned away from the window, her face pale and taut with anger. “Summon the council,” she snapped at Qyburn. “And find out where my father is. I want answers.”

Qyburn bowed quickly and exited the chamber, leaving Varys standing in silence beside the window.

“This changes everything,” Varys murmured softly, half to himself as he looked out at the dragon. “Fire has returned to the capital.”

Cersei sank heavily onto the divan, her hands trembling faintly as she curled them into fists. “And so has my father.”

She stared blankly ahead, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “I will not let him take everything from me.”

But even as she spoke, the faint shrieks of the dragon echoed again in the distance, a sound that promised power, chaos, and a future that no one—not even Tywin Lannister—could fully control.

The streets of King’s Landing trembled under the boots of marching soldiers. The sound was thunderous, echoing off the stone walls of buildings and the cobbled streets as Tywin Lannister’s procession carved its path toward the Sept of Baelor. The golden lions of House Lannister gleamed in the sunlight, their banners streaming like rivers of fire and blood, punctuated only by the green-and-gold sigils of House Tyrell fluttering in time with the wind. Lord Mace Tyrell, stout and beaming, rode at Tywin’s side with all the self-importance of a man convinced of his own worth.

The city had quieted. Fear still lingered thick in the air—fear of the dragon that perched atop the Sept like an ancient god made flesh—but there was also the growing hum of curiosity. Windows cracked open, and desperate eyes peered down from rooftops as the procession approached the grand square before the Sept. The people were quiet, hushed, too afraid to jeer, too in awe to cheer.

At the head of it all rode Tywin Lannister, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind, his golden armor polished to a mirror’s sheen. His face was cold, composed as always, though his green eyes carried the weight of expectation, the certainty of a man who did not come to parley but to rule. Beside him, Mace Tyrell bounced slightly in his saddle, his bearded face twitching nervously as he glanced toward the looming form of Viserion still perched atop the Sept.

“Your dragon is a fine deterrent, Lord Tywin,” Mace muttered, tugging nervously at his green doublet. “The Faith will surely see reason now.”

Tywin did not look at him as he replied, his voice clipped and firm. “They will see what I tell them to see.”

The Sept loomed before them, its massive steps already filling with robed figures. The Faith Militant gathered like a black tide, armed with spiked cudgels, spears, and shields marked with the seven-pointed star. The sun gleamed off their crude armor, their faces hidden beneath thick hoods, yet the fervor in their posture was unmistakable. At the head of them, emerging from the shadowed entrance to the Sept, came the High Sparrow.

The man was as Tywin remembered him—frail, weathered, his simple robes of grey and beige hanging loosely from his thin frame. But it was his eyes that held a strange power, the unwavering gaze of a man who believed himself unshakable. He moved slowly, his hands clasped in front of him as he descended the steps. The Faith Militant parted for him like water, their presence unyielding but silent as the grave.

Above them, Viserion moved. The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath their feet. With the practiced grace of a creature far more agile than her size would suggest, Viserion began to climb down from her perch. Her talons dug into the sides of the Sept, causing great plumes of dust to rise as bits of stone crumbled under her weight. She slithered to the square below, wings furling close to her body as her long tail swept the ground with ominous finality.

Atop her back, you sat tall in your saddle, silver hair gleaming like molten silk in the light. The dragon’s motion was fluid beneath you, and when Viserion’s massive body finally came to rest upon the square, her wings curled neatly, and she let out a low, ominous hiss. You were a vision of power—your black riding leathers embroidered with Valyrian sigils in silver thread, the saddle a masterpiece of black and gold.

The High Sparrow stopped mid-step, his gaze fixed not on Tywin Lannister, but on you and the beast at your command. For the first time, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossed his otherwise serene expression.

Tywin reined his horse in at the foot of the Sept steps, dismounting with practiced efficiency. His polished boots struck the stone square as he turned sharply to face the High Sparrow. Mace Tyrell followed clumsily, huffing as he struggled to dismount with his dignity intact. Behind them, the Lannister and Tyrell men fanned out in disciplined ranks, swords at their sides, their banners snapping in the wind.

The High Sparrow inclined his head faintly, his weathered face calm. “Lord Tywin,” he said, his voice soft yet clear enough to carry across the square. “It has been some time since you last darkened the steps of the Sept. What brings you to this holy place with such… pageantry?”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly, the expression cold and humorless. “The Faith has overstepped its bounds, as foolish men often do. I have come to see that order is restored.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze did not falter. “Order, my lord? Or obedience? There is a difference.”

“Semantics do not concern me,” Tywin replied curtly. “You will surrender Queen Margaery back into the custody of her family. You will dissolve your hold over this city and the throne. Do this, and you may yet live to see another sunrise.”

The gathered Faith Militant bristled at the words, their grips tightening on weapons, but the High Sparrow raised a hand, calming them. He turned his attention to you now, his gaze lingering as though assessing something far older, far more dangerous than the man standing before him.

“And you,” he said softly, addressing you for the first time. “A child of fire and blood, astride a creature of chaos. Tell me, do you serve the lions of House Lannister willingly? Or have they chained you as men have always sought to chain beasts?”

You smiled faintly, unbuckling yourself from the saddle and sliding gracefully down Viserion’s side. The dragon shifted slightly at your absence, but remained still, her golden eyes locked on the gathered men before her. You stepped forward, your boots striking the stone square as you came to stand at Tywin’s side.

“I am not chained,” you replied coolly, your voice carrying easily. “And I am no beast. I stand here because I choose to.”

The High Sparrow tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “Then you choose to stand with those who corrupt and defile. With those who believe power grants them the right to rule without faith, without penance.”

Tywin’s voice cut through like a blade. “Save your sermons for the fearful and the weak. I am neither.”

The High Sparrow turned back to him, his expression calm once more. “And yet you come here demanding surrender. Why? Because you hold swords? Because you bring a dragon?” He gestured toward the Sept, the great dome behind him rising high and holy above their heads. “This is the house of the gods. No beast, no army, no man is greater than the Seven.”

Tywin stepped forward, his presence looming like a shadow cast across the square. “The gods cannot save you from what comes next, Sparrow. Nor will your Faith Militant hold against my men.”

The High Sparrow held his ground, though his followers shifted uneasily behind him. “You are a man of numbers and gold, Lord Tywin, but you do not understand faith. Faith cannot be cut with swords. It cannot be burned with fire.”

A sound interrupted him then—a low, guttural rumble that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Viserion shifted her great head, her golden eyes narrowing as she bared her fangs, smoke curling lazily from her nostrils. The sound of her growl carried across the square like a warning, sending chills down the spines of those gathered.

The High Sparrow turned slightly to look at the beast behind you. For the first time, his voice faltered. “Dragons do not belong here anymore.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but edged with steel. “They belong wherever we will them to be.”

Tywin glanced at you, the faintest flicker of approval in his gaze before he turned back to the High Sparrow. “You have until sunset to decide, High Sparrow. Surrender Queen Margaery, dissolve your militant farce, and relinquish control of this city. Defy me, and the Faith will burn.”

The High Sparrow’s gaze lingered on both of you, his expression unreadable. “The gods will decide,” he said softly. “Not men, and not dragons.”

Tywin did not reply. He turned sharply, motioning for his men to hold their positions as he stepped back toward his horse. You lingered a moment longer, your gaze meeting the High Sparrow’s. For a moment, it seemed as though he would speak again, but he did not. Instead, he turned and ascended the steps of the Sept, the Faith Militant closing ranks behind him.

You glanced at Tywin as you rejoined him, your tone low. “Do you think he’ll surrender?”

Tywin’s expression was hard as stone. “Men like him never surrender willingly.”

“Then what happens next?” you asked, your voice calm.

Tywin glanced back toward the Sept, his gaze lingering on Viserion as she loomed like a living weapon in the center of the square. “Negotiation,” he said quietly. “And if that fails, fire.”

You said nothing, but as you looked back at the great dome of the Sept, you could not shake the feeling that the High Sparrow’s defiance would be his

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a cavernous expanse of cold stone and flickering torchlight, its gilded edges dulled by years of neglect and turmoil. The Iron Throne loomed at its far end, a jagged monstrosity of twisted steel, a reminder of power as cruel as it was absolute. Today, the room buzzed with quiet tension, courtiers and guards lingering in uncertain clusters as the sound of heavy Lannister boots echoed through the long hall.

Tywin Lannister entered first, flanked by rows of his crimson-cloaked guards, each step measured and deliberate. His polished armor glinted in the light, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a mantle of blood. At his side, you strode with equal confidence, your black riding leathers and silver-threaded cloak still dusted with the residue of dragon flight. Every eye in the room turned to you—whispers rising like a storm—but none dared to linger too long on the sight of the dragon bride of the Lion of Lannister.

A distant, haunting roar shattered the murmurs, sending a ripple of fear through the gathered crowd. The sound echoed over the castle walls, reverberating through the Red Keep with primal force. Viserion’s massive shadow swept across the narrow windows of the hall as she circled above, her shriek a declaration that fire and power had returned to the capital.

Tommen sat on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by the immense seat of swords. His face lit up with joy and relief at the sight of his grandsire, the golden curls of his hair catching the dim light as he rose to his feet. “Grandsire!” he called, his young voice breaking the silence as he all but ran down the steps of the dais to meet him.

Tywin’s expression softened—slightly—as he stopped to face his grandson. Tommen’s small hands reached for him, clutching his grandsire’s armored forearm as though anchoring himself. “I knew you’d come,” Tommen said breathlessly, his blue eyes wide. “They said you were still marching, but I knew you’d come.”

“You are a king,” Tywin said, his voice steady and calm as he studied the boy. “A king should never doubt the strength of his house.”

Tommen nodded fervently, smiling. “It’s stronger now. You’re here. And… and the dragon is real, isn’t it?”

Before Tywin could reply, another voice cut through the air—sharp and biting.

“So it *is true,” Cersei said, her tone dripping with venom as she descended the steps of the dais. She wore a gown of dark gold that hung loosely on her diminished frame, her face pale, her hair shorn and harsh against the sharp lines of her features. But despite her weakened state, her green eyes burned with resentment as they landed on you. “The Targaryen whore and her beast have come to King’s Landing under your banners, Father.”

The room fell silent at her words, the tension thick enough to choke. Even Tommen flinched, turning to look at his mother in confusion. You said nothing, though your expression remained cold, your violet gaze meeting hers without so much as a blink.

Tywin did not look at her immediately. Instead, he turned to one of his men and gestured curtly. “Take the king to his chambers. He does not need to be here for this.”

“Grandsire—” Tommen began, but Tywin’s gaze flicked sharply toward him, brooking no argument.

“Go, Tommen,” he commanded softly, though there was steel behind the words. Tommen hesitated, glancing between his mother and his grandsire before reluctantly following the guards who ushered him out of the hall.

As the doors closed behind him, Tywin turned fully to face Cersei. His presence seemed to darken the hall itself, his expression one of pure, cold fury.

“Watch your tongue, Cersei,” he said, his voice low and even, yet it carried through the hall like a physical blow. “I will not have my return marred by your pettiness.”

Cersei’s lip curled, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Pettiness? You bring dragons and Targaryens into my city, and you call me petty?”

“Your city?” Tywin’s voice turned sharper, his words slicing through her like a knife. “Is this the city you claimed as your own when you were paraded naked through its streets? The city you surrendered to the Faith Militant through your arrogance and your utter lack of discipline?”

Cersei recoiled as though struck, her pale face flushing crimson. “I did what I had to do to protect our family!”

Tywin advanced toward her, and for all her bravado, she stepped back, her eyes wide. “Your recklessness has humiliated this house. You invited the Faith into power, thinking you could wield them as a tool. Now, they rule your city while you cling to scraps of pride and wounded vanity.” His voice grew colder still. “And in your folly, you lost the respect of every lord who might have stood by you.”

Cersei’s mouth opened as though to retort, but Tywin cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Do not speak.”

She faltered, her teeth snapping shut as she seethed in silence, her fists clenched at her sides.

Tywin turned slightly, his gaze shifting to you where you stood calm and unbothered. “Lady Y/N is here because I brought her. She is my wife and the mother of my heir, and her dragon now stands as a symbol of our strength.” He turned back to Cersei, his words a final blow. “You will accept that, or you will leave this city entirely. I will not tolerate your undermining of what must be done.”

Cersei’s chest heaved with barely contained fury, her face pinched and red, but she said nothing.

Viserion’s roar split the air once more, louder this time as she flew low over the Red Keep, her wings casting vast shadows across the throne room. The distant cries of startled courtiers carried faintly through the heavy windows.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on his daughter for a long moment before he turned away dismissively. “Return to your chambers. You are no use to me here.”

Cersei froze, her face twisting with indignation. “Father—”

“Go,” Tywin said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Cersei’s hands trembled at her sides, her mouth opening and closing as though searching for words that would not come. Finally, she turned on her heel, her movements stiff with humiliation as she strode toward the doors, her shorn hair catching the light like a tarnished crown.

The room remained deathly silent as Tywin turned back toward you. His expression had softened—slightly—as he regarded you with a measured calm. “We have work to do,” he said quietly.

You nodded faintly, stepping toward him. “The Faith Militant will not yield easily.”

“No,” Tywin agreed, his voice like steel. “But they will yield.”

The doors to the throne room closed behind Cersei with a heavy thud, and Tywin’s presence seemed to fill the hall once more. The Lion of Lannister had returned to King’s Landing, and with him came the fire and fury of the dragon at his command.

[lavandulawrites]

Our Little Haven

Yandere Fyodor x reader

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Fyodor is my absolute favourite character. He is so interesting and there are endless possibilities with him.

Masterlist

Synopsis: Life with Fyodor is peaceful and absolutely perfect, but something is missing…

Warnings: NSFW, brainwashing, subtle manipulation, reader has small flashbacks, female reader

Word count: 1474

The sun shinned through the white lace curtains. The wind that swept through the opening in the window making the curtains dance. The sun beam on the wooden floor warm to the touch as you stood with bare feet glancing out the window. The grass in the garden tall and green. The wild flowers making the landscape fairytale like.

A lone sparrow landed on the branch by the window. It’s little beak picked on the apple hanging above it. It made eye contact with you and chirped. You could feel your hand reaching towards it.

Longing.

You snapped out of your trance at the sound of the door to kitchen opening. The old door creaked. In stepped the master of the house. A black haired man with boundless purple eyes that quickly found yours. His lips pulled back into a smile. His black eye lashes fluttered, as his eyes crinkled.

“I see you have gotten a new friend” his melodic voice so very pleasant. He nodded towards the little sparrow as it was happily eating away on the apple.

You smiled slightly as you gazed at the little bird. “Yeah… I suppose I have.”

He hummed as he stepped closer. Cold hands wrapped around your waist as his head rested on your shoulder. His nose nuzzled against your neck. His soft raven hair tickled you. “You haven’t eaten anything. Where you waiting for me my dear?” he raised his head and kissed your cheek.

You nodded.

He spun you around and cupped your face and kissed your lips tenderly. “I appreciate you waiting for me love. It makes me happy” his face soft as he kissed you.

The library in the manor was quite and filled to the brim with books. Some were new and some were as ancient as time. The air filled with a homely smell which were soothing. The tall windows overlooking the garden, making the room lit. You could see the little pound and the ducks swimming among the waterlilies.

You let your hand run over the many books as you decided on what to read. Your hand stopped at a leather bound tome. On its spine it read World History. You removed the book from the shelf, its weight downing your hands. You blew off the dust and took a seat on the velvety rococo couch. You opened it carefully and flipped through the pages.

Multiple of the pages were elegantly annotated. Some of the notes were in Russian and some in Latin. The annotations were many and they were sometimes random. As you flipped through the tome your mind wandered to Fyodor.

You knew of his age and the nature of his ability. When he first had told you, you did not believe him. You found it peculiar that he had trusted you with his secret. After you confronted him, he had only laughed and said “One does not hide anything from one’s loved ones, don’t you agree?”.

His answer had stunned you at first, but you had to agree with him.

You often wondered about what he had seen and what he had experienced. He had told you some details about his past, but not enough. You always craved more. You sighed and placed the tome onto the mahogany table. You leans you head back against the back rest. The ceiling was high and your eyes wandered towards the ceiling rose surrounding the chandelier. Fyodor’s tastes were really exquisite.

“I see you have taken an interest in history, my dear” a deep voice woke you up. You blinked confused and your eyes wandered to the tall man who was examining the tome.

You sat up. “I didn’t mean to go thr-”

“It’s okay” he patted your head. “Lovers should not have any secrets. Do you not agree?” he smiled gently.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.. That’s true”

Fyodor glanced out the window, taking in the beautiful view. “Are you not glad you moved her with me? Away from all the noise… and distractions” he hummed. You could see him glancing at you in out of the corner of his eyes.

“It’s really peaceful here” you smiled.

He turned his head to face you. He hummed in agreement, his voice like butter. “This is our safe haven. Our own little heaven” he leaned down and gently stroked your cheek.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his hand. The coldness of his skin welcoming in the summer heat. His other hand intertwined in your soft hair. Your eyes fluttered open and were met with a playful smile.

The black haired man leaned in and gently kissed your lips. His lips softer than velvet and you wanted more. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips together in a fierce kiss. He chuckled against your lips before he licked them. His tongue pushed against them, asking for permission. You gladly accepted. His tongue exploring your mouth and you moaned out in pleasure.

He crawled on top of you and deepened the kiss. His lips hungry and it felt like he devoured you. The gentle Fyodor was completely gone and replaced by a man lost to desperation. You gently pulled his hair and he groaned against your lips.

He parted from your lips and kissed his way to your neck. He sucked and licked on the skin causing you to see stars. His hand lifted up your dress and pulled your lace panties down. You had no idea where he had thrown your panties, but you couldn’t care less.

His long fingers quickly found your cunt and prodded your lips apart. His fingers moved with such skill you thought that this was what he was born to do. Your slick quickly soaking his fingers and he grinned at the sight. “God you are so beautiful like this my love” he sighed softly.

He pulled his fingers out of your cunt and liked them clean. You was disappointed by the emptiness only to become completely in awe by the sight of him licking his fingers clean.

He grinned at your reaction and leaned over you again and pulled your dress over your head. Your white lace bra catching his attention. He smirked as he toyed with the bow in the middle of the bra. “I’m glad you like my gifts.”

Fyodor snaked his arms underneath your back and clasped your bra open. The bra fell on the floor as he quickly dived down to capture your lips. As he kissed you his hands quickly pulled down his fly. He separated from your lips and took both his pants and boxers off. His cock hard and made your mouth water. He quickly slipped his shirt over his head.

He lined himself against your entrance and showed himself in without warning. You moaned loudly at the heavenly sensation. His movements fast and his dick hitting just right.

He looked down at you with suck lovingly eyes you felt a tug at your heart. His hair had fallen down from his shoulder and softly framed his face. The sun rays catching his hair making it shin like the feathers of the ravens that resided in your garden. Your gaze fell down to his lips and to the red stains of your lipstick. The colour was deep and beautiful. Images of that very colour filled your mind accompanied with screams of terrors.

Your eyes widened and you blinked furiously to get rid of the images.

Fyodor slowed down his movements. His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright darling?” his voice filled with worry. His movements had completely stopped.

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Please continue” you smiled up at him.

He nodded and continued trusting into you. You pulled him down into an embrace. The ceiling was filled with various colours from the sunset. Reds, yellows and pinks filled your vision.

The familiar feeling in the bottom of your stomach made you moan. You kissed him deeply as you climaxed. He followed soon after and pulled out and painted your stomach white.

As you both laid together on the couch your mind wandered. You couldn’t stop the many images of what seemed like your past flicker across your eyes. The sound of people laughing soon turned into screams and your vision turned to red. You turned to face the sleeping man besides you. His long lashes shadowed over his high cheekbones. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had something to do with your sudden images.

You laid there awake lost in thoughts for what felt like forever. Maybe it was the best not to think about it. It would only cause you distress and as your lover said , it was not good for you. Listen to Fyodor and all will turn well you said to yourself as you drifted asleep.

[caramelt4me]

Secret. - Part II

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

𝕋he sound of chirping sparrows woke you up, as your eyes fluttered open. The rays of the late morning sun had illuminated the bedroom as you blinked lazily - watching the bickering feathery duo outside the window. You groggily let out a small sigh as you shifted under the covers, inhaling his lingering, comforting scent—until you realized something was wrong.

Your eyes shot open, and your hand instinctively reached for the other side of the bed – it was cold, neatly tucked in.

He was gone.

A pang of disappointment and confusion gripped you.

Had he really been here?

You threw off the blanket, your hair tangled and pyjamas askew, as you rushed to the bathroom.

But the shower was dry, untouched.

You swallowed hard, the ache of loneliness resurfacing as you wondered if you had imagined him – that your desperation had conjured him from memory.

Really?

Just two weeks without him.

Is that all it took for you to lose your mind?

When you were about to give up and sink back into the bed, the smell of fresh pancakes drifted into the room.

You froze, the delicious scent pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts.

You followed it, cautiously hopeful, as the soft clinking of cutlery led you to the kitchen – unsure, if your mind was at it again or perhaps, this time it was real.

And then you saw him—standing at the counter, his broad back to you, focused on plating fluffy pancakes. His dark bangs fell over his forehead as he sprinkles powdered sugar over the golden stack, arranging frozen berries with care. There was a small, satisfied smile on his lips as he admired his work, a sight so genuine it made your heart swell.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, your hold tight as relief flooded over you.

So you weren’t going insane after all, you sighed – burying your face against his back, as you breathed him in. He let out a surprised but happy sound, gently taking one of your hands and guiding it to rest over his heart, letting you feel and hear his pounding heart – that was beating just for you.

A minute passed in comfortable silence before you finally released him, letting out a ragged exhale to murmur in spite. “I hate you.”

Thump.

You could almost hear his heart skip a beat as he turned around to face you in a heartbeat – your eyes fixated on a flour stain on his apron, as you waited for him to react; hopefully upset.

A part of you was puzzled by your own behaviour. Why were you so intent on pushing his buttons?

Yet, a deeper, more wounded part of you demanded that he suffer, even if only a little – the torment he had brought upon you.

But instead, you felt his warm big hands cup your face.

His soft lips captured yours tenderly.

You could taste the lingering flavour of the frozen berries, perhaps he had tasted some while making breakfast for you. You felt a sense of warmth bloom inside your chest, as his one hand pulled you into an embrace – the other one caressing your flushed cheek, before he deepened the kiss.

Your eyes momentarily met his intoxicating blue ones, peering through his dark bangs- as they begged to be the one to melt away all your pain and frustration.

A dark sense of pleasure washed over you as you accepted his desperate, lovesick plea. In that moment, you basked in the warmth of his fervent devotion – utterly consumed by the addictive taste of his lips.

Then suddenly, a silly thought interrupted the moment.

You hadn’t brushed your teeth yet.

Embarrassed, you quickly pulled away from the kiss to confess.

“I-I haven’t brushed yet,” You stammered, pursing your lips in, as you refused to look him in the eye.

You wanted to disappear or atleast rewind time.

You hadn't even brushed your teeth, let alone showered, while he was all spruced up, making your favourite breakfast.

How could you not keep up with the personal hygiene? you thought. You were meeting each other after a fortnight for God’s sake!

But instead of mutually going along with the dealbreaker, Asher seemed to have a different opinion on that matter.

“So?” He chuckled, unfazed. His blue eyes gazing at you with a playful smirk, his thumb tracing the curve of your withdrawn lip. “Is that supposed to be a problem, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s just… I’m, um, filthy right now. I haven’t even showered or brushed, so how can I –”

“So am I.” He gave a little grin, gesturing to his apron covered in flour and powdered sugar. “Don’t worry, we can take a shower together after breakfast if you want.” He chuckled, licking a bit of sugar from his finger.

“N-No, you don’t understand. I…” You struggled to continue, flushed red as you did not want to admit that you hadn’t showered in a while.

You hardly remembered what day it was.

You couldn’t help but realize how matted your hair must have gotten in that joke of a messy bun that was probably not washed for days and your pyjamas were…well, wrinkled and indecent to say the least.

The more you noticed, the more were you disgusted by the self-neglect. So, you took a step back from him. “We can’t do this right now. I’m too dirty for it. I’m sorry.”

But your apology was brushed aside as he stepped forward, gently pulling you into his arms again as his azure eyes studied your face like a true Siren. “Why not? I said I’m dirty too, didn’t I?”

“I-It’s not the same—”

“Says who,” His low voice whispered into your ear as his hot breath fanned your neck – his dark bangs brushing against your skin – sending shivers down your spine as you exhaled sharply.

You heard him chuckle to your cute reaction, but then your eyes widened as you felt him begin to smooch down your neck.

“Asher!—S-Stop it—I’m serious, I haven’t showered in days--”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed politely in between his wet kisses, as his one hand possessively locked you in place by your waist while the other had its tantalizing thumb on your parted lips – consciously trying to lull you to silence.

Utterly flustered, you are barely able to protest any longer as his lips worked magic on your skin—igniting and extinguishing the flame in a vicious cycle that kept you wanting more of him.

Shame seemed unable to linger too long in the way, when you both were together. He had made sure it had become so, as you feverishly bit his thumb when you had enough of his teasing.

Almost immediately, his lips stopped serving your flustered wet neck.

Finally, you had the upper hand.

…Or did you?

He leaned back, His blue eyes looked deep and lustful as his face came into your view. A soft blush spread across his cheeks to match yours, as he smiled – his lips lusciously swollen from all that hardwork. He leaned in to kiss you again, this time with a hungry, unrestrained passion, as though he couldn’t bear another moment without you.

His mouth moved with yours, tongues intertwining in a rhythm as natural as breathing – before his organ begged to be dominated by yours, gently poking the roof of your mouth as a sign.  You fulfilled his request – wrapping your tongue around his, in a constricting embrace that you had come to learn from your lover himself.

He moaned—shamelessly, giving you the butterflies in your stomach in an instant. You were basically choking him, but it only seemed to further arouse him– his azure eyes hazy with lustful ecstasy as they reflected only you in them.  

You weren’t out of breath yet, but you could see that his face had grown pale from the lack of oxygen – still, he showed no signs of pulling away. His arms wrapped around your waist seem to lose their strength, but refused let go.

You were quite literally sucking the lifeforce out of him, yet he was completely, utterly bewitched by you.

It was dangerous yet thrilling to know the power you held over this man. 

You knew he wouldn’t even hesitate to rip out his own heart for you if you asked.

And so, before it was too late, you cupped his pale face and pulled away – blood rushing to his head in an instant.

He gasped, his azure eyes dizzy from the impact before they focused back on you as he continued to pant to catch his breath – his chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked at you in daze. Your eyes flickered to his wet luscious lips as your hand reached up to wipe the drool off its corner.

He nuzzled his face into your palm, letting you know how touch-starved he still was for you – his Siren eyes trying to draw you in for another round. Clearly, the two weeks apart had been difficult for him too.

However, as you felt your stomach rumble – although not an embarrassingly loud growl, it did successfully kill the mood.

“We should eat. The pancakes must be cold by now. I’ll go freshen up and come.”

The sound of clinking silverware cut through the silence as you finished the last few bites of your pancakes. You absently tugged a stray strand of your freshly shampooed hair behind your ear, your eyes drifting over to Asher from time to time.

Much to his reluctance, your lover had excused himself to take a call. You could tell it was important, the way he had hurriedly stepped away, knowing that he would usually ignore any call or silence his phone if it weren’t pressing.

He paced on the balcony, his voice muffled as he spoke, and even from a distance, you could see the tension in his posture. His shoulders were tight, his brow furrowed in concentration, and he made an effort to avoid showing how upset he was. But when his icy blue eyes flickered to meet yours – they softened, and he rolled his eyes playfully before pointing at the phone as if to say, Can you believe this?

You smiled back at him, the small gesture briefly distracting you from the quiet discomfort that you couldn’t quite place. You glanced down at his plate—empty except for a few dull remnants of sweet potato and chicken breast, unseasoned and uninspiring. It was in moments like these that you were reminded of the stark contrast between your life and his.

Despite you being the anomaly in his world, Asher’s life was one of precision, order, and discipline. Even on his days off, his routine was regimented. He stuck to his strict diet, his multi-step skincare regimen, and hours in the gym—an unyielding schedule that was hard for anyone to follow, let alone someone who had never been in the same kind of shape.

Your own routine couldn’t have been more different. You spent most of your days tucked in bed, listening to podcasts, snacking on junk food, and occasionally picking up new hobbies, like art or crocheting, though you were already beginning to grow bored of them.

Were you born this useless? Surely, you would have done something redeeming or noteworthy in the past, you huffed in self-annoyance – but didn’t try to pry through your dense mental fog for any answers.

It was hard not to feel inferior next to him. After all, he was a K-pop idol—handsome, admired, constantly managing his weight and appearance. Yet, Asher never pressured you to adopt his extreme habits.

In fact, when you’d expressed curiosity about his meals, he refused to let you try them, even though his meals were a far cry from the comfort food you enjoyed. Instead, he would stock the pantry with a variety of fresh, tasty meals for you to choose from every day.

You did skip meals sometimes, and Asher had intervened in the beginning – but he soon realized it wasn’t a pattern. Some days you ate more than others, sometimes you ate late, and it made sense to skip a meal the next time. Your lifestyle was more sedentary, with the only exercise being short walks around the cabin, so once he realized that, he stopped worrying about your food intake.

As for skincare, he had offered to walk you through his meticulous routine, but he never pushed it beyond simple steps—just a cleanser and moisturizer for you. Though, whenever he was around, he was always eager to pamper you, practically jumping at the opportunity to give you the “princess treatment” and carry out the full regimen himself.

He really just wanted an excuse to be handsy, didn’t he? You chuckled to yourself.

But as the sound of the balcony door sliding closed snapped you out of your thoughts, you looked up to see Asher walking back inside. His smile was warm as he made his way to the table, sitting next to you.

“Did you like the pancakes, baby?” he asked, his voice casual, though there was a hint of eagerness beneath. “I used a new maple syrup—imported from Canada. One of my fans recommended it. If you like it, I’ll keep using it.”

You couldn’t help but watch as he picked at the leftover berries on your plate. Normally, he wouldn’t touch something so sweet, but when it was your leftovers, he couldn’t resist. It was a little game between the two of you—leaving just enough so he could indulge that secret sweet tooth of his.

But this time, your mind wasn’t entirely present. The mention of his fans triggered something in you, a strange feeling that made you pause.

Right. The fans.

You hadn’t thought about that part of his life in a while—how thousands of people admired him, constantly vying for his attention, hoping for a chance to be close to him. Had you ever been one of his Moonbeams? Was that how you met him? Through a fan-meet, maybe?

No… You had never been his fan.

In fact, it felt like you had come into his life from a different place, one you couldn’t quite remember. A vague sense of something long lost pushed at the edges of your consciousness – something buried deep, but it slipped away as quickly as it appeared.

The pressure in your head mounted, memories teetering on the brink of surfacing, but they couldn’t quite reach you. A sharp pain sliced through your thoughts, and you clutched your temples, vision blurring as sudden darkness took over.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself lying in bed, cradled in Asher’s arms. His face was buried against your shoulder, his body trembling with the weight of an unspoken fear. You could feel the dampness on his skin from the silent tears he had shed while you were unconscious.

For how long though?

You glanced at the digital clock on the wall and realized it was the next day – evening to be precise.

As you stirred further, he woke, his blue eyes wide with concern as he cupped your face gently. “Are you feeling okay, baby? Does your head still hurt?”

You nodded, your voice quiet as you reassured him. The puffiness under his eyes and the redness hinted at the sleepless night he must have had.

And of course, you had made him cry again.

You hated that.

Hated making him worry like this.

It made you want to surrender completely to the comfort of his presence, to forget about everything that didn’t matter anymore. After all, you were his—and he was yours. That was all that should matter, right?

But there was that gnawing feeling, the white noise buzzing in the background, refusing to settle.

“Did you forget to take your weekly medicine?” he asked, his expression turning serious. “The last time was over two weeks ago, wasn’t it?”

The mention of the medicine made you falter. It was the one thing that helped keep the fog in your mind at bay, the one thing that calmed the racing, fragmented thoughts.

But you hadn’t taken it recently, had you?

It wasn’t intentional, but it made sense why you were feeling more scattered, more lost in your thoughts.

His voice was soft, but insistent. “Baby?”

You nodded hesitantly, watching as he left your side to fetch the medicine box. But instead of the usual tablet strips, he returned with a small vial and a sealed syringe.

A chill ran down your spine.

Needles.

You didn’t like them—though you couldn’t remember why, there was something about them that unsettled you. The memory of that unease, however faint, lingered just out of reach.

Before you could protest, Asher had already prepared the syringe, his hands steady and precise as he slid the needle into your vein.

The warmth of the liquid spread quickly, a dizzying sensation settling over you as the drug took effect. The familiar fog rolled in, dulling your mind, erasing the sharp edges of your memories.

Asher carefully disposed of the syringe, his eyes never leaving you as he returned to your side. He tucked the blanket around you, his fingers brushing gently through your hair, a tender touch that spoke of his love and concern.

“You’ll feel better soon,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing, a lullaby to your drugged mind. He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if to ground you in his presence.

“Just relax, baby. I’m here.”

His words, like the medicine, blanketed your mind, pushing away all doubts and lingering questions. You closed your eyes, feeling the overwhelming calm wash over you.

All that mattered was him.

All that mattered was now.

And as the dizziness deepened and your thoughts faded, you felt yourself slipping back into unconsciousness – wrapped in his warmth and the hazy, comforting fog that took over.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty: Seeing the Dead

Summary: Truths and conflicts emerge as they make their way out of the Locker.

            “Trim that sail! Slack windward brace and sheet!” ordered Barbossa as the Black Pearl prepared to sail (where, they weren’t sure).

            “Haul the pennant line,” said Barbossa and Jack at the same time.

            “What are you doing?” demanded Barbossa.

            “What are you doing?” retorted Jack.

            “No, what are you doing?” Barbossa threw it back at him.

            “What are you? Captain gives orders on this ship,” said Jack.

            “The captain of this ship is giving the orders,” said Barbossa.

            “My ship, makes me captain,” argued Jack.

            “They be my charts,” replied Barbossa.

            “That makes you ‘chartman,’ ” said Jack.

            (Y/N) groaned as they argued and turned to face the sea.

            “(Y/N).”

            They stiffened. “Elizabeth.”

            She swallowed. Not Lizzie. Elizabeth. “(Y/N), you have to know that I did it for—”

            “I don’t care who you did it for,” snapped (Y/N). They whirled on her. “You left Jack to the kraken. You left him to die.”

            “We wouldn’t have survived with Jack. Will—you—wouldn’t have made it. And he’s here now. We’ve rescued him,” said Elizabeth, trying to justify herself and stop (Y/N)’s gaze from being one of such disappointment.

            “You still did it,” said (Y/N). Their hands were balled in fists, and the waves rose and fell with their breaths. “He came back for us to the right thing, and you repaid him with death.”

            They brushed past Elizabeth, unwilling to speak any longer. Elizabeth was left standing on her own.

            She had broken a part of her bond with (Y/N). It would take more than a discussion to fix it.

l

            (Y/N) didn’t leave the side of the ship for the rest of the day. While the sun lowered in the sky and the clouds darkened, (Y/N) just stared at the murky grey waters below them.

            Appropriate, thought (Y/N). That’s how I feel.

            They were startled once they saw bodies in white floating by beneath in the waves. Souls, whispered the sea air, and (Y/N) believed their instinct. They leaned out over the bodies, and their brow creased. They seemed lost, the poor spirits, no afterlife to wash up on.

            “They should be in the care of Davy Jones.” Tia Dalma drifted up next to (Y/N). They barely glanced at her, used to the way she moved like water, light and graceful.

            “I thought he ruled the Locker,” said (Y/N).

            “He does,” said Tia Dalma. “But this is the true duty he was charged with by the goddess, Calypso.”

            Calypso. The very name held power, and (Y/N) could have sworn the waters rushed around the Pearl faster in response.

            “To ferry those who die at sea to the other side,” continue Tia Dalma. “And every ten years him could come ashore to be with her who love him truly.” The history in her words spoke volumes, but (Y/N) felt the heaviness and knew not to ask for more than what she gave. “But the man has become a monster.”

            “So he didn’t fulfill his duty, and the cost was his humanity,” said (Y/N).

            Tia Dalma smiled slightly. “You understand magic well.”

            (Y/N) lowered their gaze to the souls drifting by. “It just made sense.”

            “Perhaps.” Tia Dalma looked at them, and (Y/N) could feel her gaze burning into them. “But you have a talent for magic.”

            (Y/N) felt an itch beneath their skin and ran their hand over their arm to sooth it. “I don’t know what that means.”

            “It means tis in your blood,” said Tia Dalma. “I ‘ave heard from William Turner and Elizabeth Swann that you mights have summon’d a wave against the kraken.”

            “I—I don’t know what that was,” admitted (Y/N). “I just felt a lot, and then the sea was there. It was just…strange.”

            Tia Dalma hummed. “Give me your hand.” She extended her palm, and (Y/N) stared at her. “Go on. I mean no harm to you, child.”

            (Y/N) nodded shortly and put their hand in hers. Tia Dalma turned over their hand and ran a finger down their vein. (Y/N) stared as a slight pearlescent shine followed her finger, disappearing in the darkness.

            Tia Dalma hummed. “As I thought. Magic is in these veins—magic of the sea.”

            (Y/N) pulled their hand away and stared at it. “What does that mean?”

            “It means you’re a Child of the Sea.” Tia Dalma looked at them with that all-knowing glint in her eyes once more. “You escape to the sea. You yearn for it. It is freedom, life. Your heart.”

            “How do you know that?” whispered (Y/N).

            “The sea is my heart. In a different way, but my heart, too,” said Tia Dalma, gazing out at the sea mysteriously.

            (Y/N) frowned. “What does that me—”

            “Boats!” cried Ragetti, clutching onto Pintel.

            The shout broke all focus on tasks. (Y/N) and Tia Dalma turned to see what the others on deck were looking at. In the distance, hundreds of tiny rowboats floated towards them. They bobbed over the spirits suspended beneath the surface of the water. Lanterns sat at the head of each boat and lit their way.

            Gibbs grabbed a rifle, and Tia Dalma stormed towards him. Will lowered its muzzle and shook his head.

            “They’re not a threat to us.” He looked at Tia Dalma. “Am I right?”

            “We’re nothing but ghosts to them,” said Tia Dalma.

            “It’s best just let them be,” said Barbossa.

            (Y/N) gazed sorrowfully at the dead who had no guide to a proper resting place. Children, elderly, men, women—none reacted as they drifted by.

            “It’s my father!”

            Everyone followed Elizabeth’s gaze to a man sitting in one longboat. (Y/N)’s heart broke. Swann was dead. He would never be with them again once they returned to the land of the living.

            “We’ve made it back,” said Elizabeth in relief. “Father, Father, here! Look here!”

            “Elizabeth.” Jack shook his head. “We’re not back.”

            Terrible realization dawned, and she faced him again. “Father!”

            Swann turned his head dreamily. “Elizabeth. Are you dead?”

            Elizabeth shook her head in panic. “No. No.”

            “I think I am,” said Swann hesitantly.

            “No, you can’t be!” cried Elizabeth.

            (Y/N) covered their mouth as the man who helped raise them drifted by towards the Land of the Dead—but he would never find it. Jack steadied them by the shoulders as they watched with horror.

            “There was this chest, you see,” said Swann. “It’s odd. At the time it seemed so important.”

            “Come board!” shouted Elizabeth.

            “And a heart,” continued Swann. “I learned that if you stab the heart, yours must take its place. And you will sail the seas for eternity. The Dutchman must have a captain.”

            If someone killed the heart and Jones, they would take his role. The realization washed over the crew and each person who had considered doing just that.

            “Silly thing to die for,” said Swann.

            “Someone, cast a line!” said Elizabeth desperately. “Come back with us!” She grabbed a rope herself and threw it out. “Take the line!”

            Swann looked up at Elizabeth and smiled. “I’m so proud of you and (Y/N), Elizabeth.”

            “Father, take the line! Take the line!” begged Elizabeth.

            But Swann just smiled as he floated away.

            “Father!”

            (Y/N) ran and hugged their sister tightly as she cried out for Swann.

            “I’ll give love to your mother,” said Swann as he disappeared into the darkness.

            “Please!” cried Elizabeth.

            (Y/N) just held her tighter as Elizabeth broke down and hugged them back. “I’m sorry,” they whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

            Elizabeth just sobbed harder and held (Y/N) tighter. Her last bit of family was in her arms.

l

            Everyone was silent as Elizabeth returned to the deck after (Y/N) had brought her down to rest after seeing her father pass into the afterlife.

            “How are you?” said Will softly.

            She gazed at him with red eyes, evidence of how much she cried for Swann. Will’s eyes softened, and he hugged her.

            “How is (Y/N)?” said Jack. Swann had taken them in as a ward, so although they were not father and child, it was clear he also meant quite a bit to them.

            “We both took a rest,” said Elizabeth. “They’re still sleeping, so I left them as they were.”

            Will nodded. “They deserve it. You do, too.”

            “I want to make sure we can get back to defeat Beckett,” said Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes. She would channel her grief into determination. Beckett would pay for what he’d done.

            “Good,” said Tia Dalma. “He has the power of the seas. We must fight with all we have.” Her gaze darkened. “And we have something that may help.”

            All eyes went to her.

            “What do you mean?” said Will. “If we have a way to fight him, why have you been holding it back?”

            “Because Beckett will want to use it to his advantage,” said Tia Dalma.

            “We’ll make sure that won’t happen.” Barbossa patted his sword handle. “Beckett isn’t getting any more power now that a proper pirate is on the seas.” Jack rolled his eyes.

            “Good. They will need support,” said Tia Dalma.

            “They?” said Elizabeth.

            “(Y/N).”

            Silence.

            “What?” said Will.

            “(Y/N) isn’t a weapon!” said Elizabeth.

            “The lad is a good pirate, but Beckett is formidable,” said Barbossa.

            “This is about what you warned me of, aye?” said Jack.

            Tia Dalma smirked and nodded. “You noticed it?”

            Jack nodded.

            “What is she talking about?” said Will.

            “I told him (Y/N) is a Child of the Sea,” said Tia Dalma. “They have something wild within them. And now it’s free.” She looked at each adult—Will, Elizabeth, Barbossa, and Jack—in turn. “The magic of the sea is theirs.”

            “The wave and the kraken…that was them?” said Elizabeth. She had seen it and thought it significant, but all that had occurred overshadowed the moment.

            Tia Dalma nodded. “They can control the waters.”

            “I thought Jones did,” said Will.

            “He does,” said Tia Dalma. “But so does (Y/N). They are both parts of the ocean.”

            “How? What is a child of the sea? What type of magic can (Y/N) have? They’re just a child,” said Elizabeth.

            “You found them in the sea,” said Tia Dalma.

            “Yes,” said Elizabeth.

            “They were alive, yet they had nothing to keep the above water,” said Tia Dalma.

            “How do you—”

            “I know the sea,” said Tia Dalma, and Barbossa narrowed his eyes. She looked at the adults—(Y/N)’s family. “And I know what (Y/N) is.”

            “A child of the sea, you’ve said it a million times now,” said Jack, waving a hand.

            “They are a nereid,” said Tia Dalma.

            “That sounds Greek,” said Elizabeth, remembering her mythology.

            “All myths are based in truth,” said Tia Dalma. “Nereids are sea spirits, incarnations of the sea. (Y/N) is made of the sea and its magic.”

            “So their magic could help against Jones’s,” said Will.

            “If they can use it, yes,” said Tia Dalma.

            “What if they can’t control it?” said Elizabeth.

            “The sea isn’t about control,” said Tia Dalma, raising her chin. “It is about freedom.”

            “But will the magic hurt them?” said Elizabeth. She wouldn’t let (Y/N) be hurt.

            “No. It wants to be free,” said Tia Dalma. “They will be themself once they let it go.”

            “But you’re worried about them because of Beckett,” said Jack, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn’t let that Lord hurt (Y/N), not after all that he had already done, not to his kid.

            “He wishes to tame the seas. If he knows of what they are, he will see them as a threat,” said Tia Dalma. “He cannot stand what he cannot control, so he will seek to tame them or destroy them.” She smirked. “And (Y/N) is as untamable as the sea.”

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

@roo024

[endochika]

an incomplete list of yamato endo's tattoos

for anyone who needs for art reference/fic reference/fun! so far i've counted 19 total, but he very likely has more. list of what i think they are under the cut.

infinity

anchor

compass inside a sun

noroshi?

roman numerals i, ii, iv, v , right middle finger = star.

crossed arrows

swallow / sparrow / duck / starling holding a broken? arrow

triangles? all seeing eyes? alchemy symbols? chemistry?

north star present in compasses

illuminati/all seeing eye?

flames

chains?

flames

(on leg) ?

chest flames? phoenix?

flames

arrow through?

flames + pattern

penrose triangle

[sweetestlittledarling]

Warmth In The Storm

Rating: PG

Pairing: Julian/Sparrow (Apprentice She/Her)

Word Count: 431

Part of the Songbird AU and written for @vesuviaweekly's prompt 'Snuggle Weather'

Inspired by this song:

Julian cursed as he tried his best to focus. The storm had rolled in far too quickly and he was unable to avoid it. His first instinct was to panic as the rain and wind threatened to drown him, but he bit his lip and tried to focus. He just had to make it home. The streets were dark and cold but if he could make it home and not be swallowed up, he would be fine. Just had to make it home and-

              He blinked as he suddenly found himself near blinded by a bright light. At first he thought it might have been the sun but as his eyes adjusted he realized that it was a orb of light. A magical orb of light, followed by the damp shadowy form of-

              “Sparrow!” Julian gasped, panic growing, “Darling, you shouldn’t be out here! It isn’t-“

              “It might not be,” Sparrow said, determination in her eyes as she took his hand, “but I am not leaving you to face this alone. Come on, let’s go home.”

              And he followed her. As they walked, his hand held tightly in hers, he could see her face illuminated by the ball of light she held. She seemed unafraid, though she held his hand just as tightly. Strangely though the storm still raged, Julian felt his anxiety lessen. He knew they weren’t out of it yet but still there was hope.

              Suddenly the storm was gone, the clouds opening up to a clear night sky. The stars were bright, forming many a familiar constellation. Julian could feel the sand under his boots and hear the gentle sound of the waves. In the distance there was a swirling light. A light house perhaps? Julian felt Sparrow squeeze his hand. He looked at her as she smiled. “We’re okay,” she said as she hugged him. He felt her warmth even through the cold. He wrapped his arms around her.

              Then he woke up. Julian’s mind eased back into reality as he came to realize that he was at home in the clinic, in his own bedroom no less. The room was dark, the fire having died down ages ago, though his eyes had no trouble seeing. He could hear the sounds of the storm outside, though they were muffled by the walls and windows. Beside him, Sparrow stirred only a little under their blankets. She shifted closer to him, arms wrapped around him, warming his cold body. Julian smiled as he snuggled in, resting his head atop her hair, breathing in and letting out a happy sigh.

Author Notes:

So, I am writing this at the final hour on Christmas Eve, after having written several different versions over the past week or so (lol). I wasn't sure I wanted Sparrow and Julian to be so dramatic but frankly they are my dramatic couple. Anyways, i hope you enjoyed and are having a good holiday.

[skyward-floored]

IAU prompt- Sky and Aryll (and Sun, if you like) need some fluff I think 🥺

They do indeed, I agree. I’ll admit it actually took me a bit to think of some fluff for them— I’m too used to angst for Sky lol. But I think I managed some fluff, I hope you enjoy!

Requests are closed right now, I’m just finishing up old ones!

————————————————————

Sky adjusted his daughter on his lap, her hands grabbing excitedly at the pages of the book he was trying to read to her. Aryll wasn’t sitting still long enough for him to get any of the story out though, so he was just looking at the pictures with her in their backyard, enjoying the warm afternoon.

“Okay, and what’s this one, Aryll?” Sky asked, and Aryll pointed excitedly at the page of the book.

“Bir! Bir!”

“That’s right, it’s a bird! This one is a chickadee,” Sky said, pointing at the picture. “They make sounds kind of like their name. Chick a dee dee dee.”

“Dee!”

“Exactly,” Sky chuckled, and Aryll tugged at the page, wanting to go on to the next one. Sky flipped it for her, and Aryll pointed at the next bird.

“E-ull!”

“Yep, that’s a seagull,” Sky said, and Aryll placed her hand on the picture of the bird’s outstretched wing.

She admired it for a minute, then tugged on the page, wanting her father to turn it. He did, and Aryll squealed at the sight of the red bird on the page.

“Papa!”

Sky laughed and shook his head, kissing Aryll’s head. “No pumpkin, that’s a cardinal. Our feathers are mostly the same color, but they don’t have any white or other colors on their wings, see? Just red.”

Aryll giggled, not really understanding the explanation, but that was okay. She looked at the picture for a minute, then up at Sky, a hopeful look on her face.

“Wi?”

“You want to see my wings?” Sky asked.

Aryll bounced in his lap. “Wi! Wi wi wi wi!”

Sky laughed. “Okay, okay! Here—”

Sky gave a cautious glance around the yard— the area was blocked fairly well with trees and bushes, but he still wasn’t going to just pop his wings out without making sure no one was around first. Nobody seemed to be out though, and satisfied they were alone, Sky pulled the back of his shirt up, since it wasn’t one of the ones he owned that had slits cut in the back.

He extended his wings out for Aryll, and she squealed, standing up on his lap and looking over his shoulder at his feathers. Her fingers ran along the edges, ruffling a few feathers, but Sky would fix them later.

“Pre-ey wi,” Aryll said more softly, and Sky smiled at the compliment.

“I can make them look more pretty too, look;” he said, and stretched a wing up, angling it so the tips would catch the light. The white and yellow and purple shimmered as the sunlight landed on them, brightening the colors and warming Sky’s feathers.

Aryll about had stars in her eyes, and Sky flapped a small gust of air at her, making her giggle.

“Pre! Pre!”

“Yeah, they’re something, aren’t they?” Sky said with a smile. Aryll admired them for a minute longer, then twisted her head around to look at her own back, a frown on her face.

“No wi?”

“No pumpkin, I’m sorry, you don’t have wings,” Sky said gently, but before Aryll could get too upset, Sky booped her nose. “But you have something just as cool. You can talk to birds all you want, which is pretty amazing.”

Aryll cocked her head to the side, not quite understanding what he was saying, and Sky whistled a birdsong he knew she especially liked, though he was pretty sure he was doing it wrong. Aryll’s eyes widened, and then she laughed at him.

“Papa a bir!”

Sky laughed in return as Aryll giggled, and then she let out a chirping sound, a whistle mixed with a few cheeps.

Sky blinked at the clear sound, and suddenly there was a chickadee sitting on her knee, joined shortly by a sparrow. Aryll chirped again, and three more birds came and sat with her, a swallow, a junco, and a goldfinch, fluffing their feathers and looking quite happy to be there.

“Aryll, what are you—”

Aryll let out a loud hoot, and suddenly a huge owl swept in, landing beside her and tilting its head curiously. Sky watched it in surprise, and Aryll let out a series of caws, several crows landing along the fence.

She kept up the noises, varying chirps and caws, and in no time at all their backyard was bustling with every kind of feathered friend that there was in the area, common birds, rare birds, birds Sky didn’t even recognize. There were even some seagulls by Sky’s knee, watching Aryll in rapt attention.

She was babbling nonsense mixed with an occasional chirp and whistle, and all the birds were listening, looking fascinated by whatever it was they were hearing. They were completely captivated, and though Sky was slightly bewildered, he had to admit that it was an amazing sight.

Aryll’s powers sure were something else.

Aryll eventually finished her speech with a soft coo, and a large portion of the birds took off, some giving her approving chirps before departing, others nuzzling at her cheek as they left. Soon enough the only birds left were the chickadee she’d originally called, a bluejay, and one of the seagulls.

Aryll chirped at the three of them, and they responded enthusiastically, the chickadee hopping up to sit on her finger while the other two moved to her shoulders. She beamed, and looked over at Sky, a bright smile on her face.

“Birs!”

Sky laughed. “No kidding. What did I tell you? Your powers are amazing, Aryll.”

“Birs a wi,” she said decisively, and leaned back against Sky, snuggling up to his chest. “Wi an bir a dee.”

Sky smiled, only having the vaguest idea of what she was saying, and leaned forward and kissed her head. “Absolutely, sweetie.”

[therewasatale]

just hold on

On Ao3.

"Just hold on, we're getting closer to my hideout."

His maker's voice sounded worried - he felt worried - and it made his skin crawl.

"Geoffrey?"

"Just get us somewhere dry." The ex-hunter snarled; his right hand trying to hold the piece of wood in his side stable, while he was holding onto the Ekon with his left. Each step felt like knives stabbing and pulling deeper in his body. His blood slowly seeping away.

His fingers dug deeper in the Ekon's coat and he ignored the crackling fire from behind them.

It has been raining non-stop for three days at least. The cold raindrops flowed through his hair, down his neck, and into the depths of his now ragged coat.

Narrow streams flowed past their feet, their shoes sometimes splashing into the dirty puddles.

For a couple of minutes, he was able to swallow his pride, and let the creature hold him up with one arm.

"All right. I got you." Reid, concentrated, and as carefully possible, tapped into his abilities.

They disappeared into to shadows.

And behind them the flames engulfed the warehouse building, along with the bodies of the dead Vulkods inside.

Dawn drew near, they both felt as they walked along the Dock Streets. The gray rain clouds began to fade as the sun crept higher and higher on the horizon.

Finally, they found the red door, and Reid easily opened it - leading to a quarantined room. He still didn't let go of McCullum, his arm was still under his and he took care to step at the same time as he was.

"This way."

They reached the worn-down bed and McCullum let himself be lowered down on the dirty mattress.

"For God's sake pull it out." Grunted the ex-hunter. The pain helped. It made his mind sharp. He knew that since he was turned, he was able to survive a lot and that piece of wood won't be enough to kill him.

"Then on three I --"

"Don't talk, just do it!" He barked back.

It probably impaled his liver - not like he was using it anymore. However, being in this mess was his own fault; or so he thought. "Fucking Vulkods, and their strength."

"All right then, one, two --"

The painful yelp filled the room, and it made a couple of sparrows to flew away from their hiding spots from under the near rafters.

Blood gushed out from the deep wound.

"Fuck! You said on three!" McCullum's fingers gripped into the metal of the bed frame, denting it. It wouldn't kill him, but he still needed to time to get used to the pain of the much deeper and uglier wounds that he could endure as a vampire.

"And you told me to do it."

"Fuck you!" But there wasn't really anger in his voice. He gritted his teeth and focused; the darkness flowed out from the deepest parts of his wound and knitted it close. With that, the pain faded away. "Shit!" McCullum sank back to the bed.

"Good job."

"Shut up." His pride was whole again as well.

"I will leave you soon, but first, can you tell me what happened in that building?"

"What do you think?" McCullum scoffed and tried to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes - the pain went away, his hunger remained. "I just followed the scent of rancid blood and found monsters."

"And you went against three Vulkod, all by yourself?" It was Reid's turn to let out a scoff. "If I wouldn't know you, I'd think that you want to get yourself killed."

"You don't know me." The ex-hunter pushed himself up to standing, his eyes gazing right into his maker's. "You do not know me! Just because you put this curse on me, you don't funking know anything about me!"

Reid waited for a couple of seconds. "Maybe it was true before," He was almost completely got used to arguments like these. "But I've turned you, and since then we have this connection, and while I can ignore it - I'd rather make sure to watch over you and the others instead."

And it was the truth, wasn't it? The truth that made McCullum swallow from its weight.

Even after everything the Ekon in front of him cared for him. Genuinely cared - hell, he was worried.

Over the days and weeks, he tried to not pay attention all those feelings that weren't his. And push down the urge to be next to his maker.

He wanted to hate this connection with every part of his being, but he couldn't. Knowing that someone was out there and cared for him, even after everything, it made his soul relax a little. This shook him up his core, and made him question all those answers he thought he knew about the vampires - about his enemies.

"Fuck off." McCullum turned his face away, and focused on the pitter-patter of raindrops against the dirty window. "I can handle myself; I've already told you, leech."

"Leech. Yes. You can call me Jonathan considering everything but --" Reid knew this blind stubbornness too well – he let out a tired sigh. "Very well, in that case I won't bother you from now on, Geoffrey." He took a step away from his progeny. "I better hurry back to Pembroke; morning will be here soon and I don't think the rain will last much longer to keep me safe either."

McCullum watched the Ekon's back as he walked to the door. His hand curled into a fist; his finger dug into his palm - he had to hold himself back from calling after his maker.

"Have some rest, and please, take care." Reid glanced back him, as always, he still had that friendly smile that tied a warmth knot in the ex-hunter's stomach.

The door closed, and McCullum waited, when he was sure his maker left, he let out a long sigh. "You too." His legs gave in, as he fell back, the bed creaking under his weight. "Jonathan."

[boltlightning]

“I want you to be happy.” and Norribeth? please and thank you!

request me a drabble!

James stands at the window of the Black Pearl’s stateroom, watching the waves surge in the wake. The last Elizabeth had seen him as such, it was in a kinder light, in a better place—on the Dauntless, returning from Isla de Muerta, an engaged man with but one weight on his conscience.

Elizabeth sits at the table and examines him in glances between fussing with Jack’s ever-spinning compass. James does not resemble himself these days: Jack is relentless, and keeps James working grueling shifts to which no other crew member is subject. Repeatedly scrubbing the deck of a pirate ship in the summer sun, with naught for protection but a tattered uniform, does not become a navy officer of many years, and he does not waste his energy bearing the indignity with anything resembling pride.

This afternoon, Elizabeth has stolen him a reprieve, and he, too, spends it thinking, staring at the water, utterly still but for the rise and fall of his breath.

Abruptly he breaks the quiet. “Why do you trust him?”

“Who?”

James turns his head so she sees him in profile. The light casts him in silhouette but for the suggestion of a gleam in his eye. “Our benevolent captain; who else?”

“He’s a good man, James,” Elizabeth says shortly.

James laughs, a low and reluctant sound from the belly. At her frown, he returns a sardonic smile, and presses, “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You cannot blame him for your own mistakes.”

“This is not about me. You should consider this—” he says, gesturing around the cabin, “—with more caution. Sparrow has more at stake in this deal with Davy Jones than you might realize.”

With careless ease, James pulls a chair from the table across her and drops into it. Elizabeth catches his eyes, and he holds her gaze, unwavering and with the clarity of a man long-since sober. Who is this creature before her? He is not the commodore from Port Royal, nor the drunk she scraped out of the pigpen in Tortuga.

“And you would know? Piracy alone does not make him suspect.” Elizabeth folds her arms over her chest in an absent gesture of defense. The flush across her face is from anger and embarrassment both — and something else, whatever keeps her eyes from holding his eyes any longer, keeps them flitting back to the compass.

“Yes, because we both know Jack Sparrow has never lied. Not once.”

Angrily, Elizabeth snaps, “He saved my life, you’ll recall. And Will’s. That is more I can say of you.”

“Oh, forgive me for following the law,” he says, voice dropping dangerously. “I lost everything letting them go. Everything.”

“Then what do you stand to gain here?”

“What did you stand to gain by bringing me here?”

“I could not leave you in the filth,” she says, still scowling. “You cannot think me so heartless.”

“No,” he agrees, “but I have not known you to be kind.”

Elizabeth stands so abruptly she nearly stumbles with the shifting of the ship. James does not flinch, either at the violence of her movement or to aid her balance. He stares up at her with stony intensity, his hands clenched into fists where they rest on the map table.

They stand at a stalemate. Slowly, James releases his tension. He allows his hands to relax, his shoulders to slacken. The needle of the  compass on the table wheels slowly, unceasingly.

“I do not want to be your enemy,” James says, when it is clear Elizabeth will not leave. He lifts his face, and there is something like his old, earnest compassion in his expression. “I have nothing to gain, Elizabeth, nor anything to lose. You do. Is it so unbelievable to think I want to see you survive this? That I want you to be happy?”

Something catches in her throat. She swallows hard to avoid choking on her next words. “After everything?” she asks in a small voice.

“After everything.”

He holds out his hand and rests it on the table palm up. This is not a concession—it is an offering of peace. Elizabeth hesitates, but after a moment, she steps forward, touching his palm with her fingers, feeling the familiar calluses and scars. He does not close his fingers around her hand until her palm is fully settled against his.

“Now, tell me. What’s wrong with his compass?” James asks. “Why must you navigate? Does anything on this forsaken ship work as intended?”

“At least one crew member, however reluctantly he may do so.” Elizabeth shoots a sideways glance at James, who snorts and rolls his eyes. “No, I must confess, I don’t understand it myself.”

She gathers the compass in her other hand, tilting it to catch the light. For a moment, just a moment, she swears the needle flickers towards the man across the table. Then it returns to its stuttering course towards Davy Jones’ heart.

[comfort-questing]

1. vocal chords

they were silent when the others found them. huddled in the corner of the cell where they'd lain for too long, musty with closeness and neglect. only their wide eyes spoke, hungry and fearful in hollow sockets, and then suddenly damp with tears as they recognized the faces looking down at them.

and after that it was nods, or head shakes, in slow lengths after a delay, the world seeming too sharp and bright and rapid for them to process yet. hands pressed to their ears, tugging their ragged hair over their eyes to shade from the sun, scrunching into corners and bundling up in dense clothes to shield themselves.

the others talked to them, of course. at first with long worried pauses, waiting for a response, and then more naturally, as the days went past, not making eye contact necessarily, not watching as they'd swallow awkwardly and flinch back.

give them time they all said, when they'd speak of it by night. they were gone for so long. they were - alone - for so long.

maybe not having someone watching them helped. maybe not seeing the expectation, in the end, made it easier. maybe all that it took was someone who didn't need their voice, to help them figure it out again, coughing through the stiffness in their long-unused throat. the sparrows in the back yard, coming to the feeder in the morning, were the first to hear their voice again, hoarse and fumbling, and then next a teammate's new dog, under the desk in the office, and everyone pretended not to pay attention or they'd fall silent again.

and the others waited, until the day they were ready to share their voice again.

[mousetoe-wc]

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

[narxcisse]

— This is basically all the info about Electricpuke that I have collected over time

– CW: EP himself is a warning, allegations of abuse, manipulation, faking a disorder, among other things, mention of gore, incest, weird fetishes, etc (more cw in the future. In case something from this cw is not mentioned now it is because I have not edited it yet).

Basic info

Riel, also known as ElectricPuke/EP, is a former artist, creator, and game developer who participated in the creation of BtD along with Darqx and Gatobob. He created the route for Sano for BtD and the routes for Cain and Vincent in BtD2. Not much is known about his private life, only that he lived in an apartment in California before moving to Texas (This was taken from a Russian page of dubious origin).

Aliases

Afterdark, arioddsandends, askparasitegods, cyanidesin, doctor-dollmaker, electricpuke, fuckbyknifepoint, nagakira, nurseharlot, rocklandgames, runawayoutlaw, scarletaegis, scarletmarionette, trentboyett

Characters

Abel, Adam, Adam Whesker, Akihiko Kojima, Akira Kojima, Alchemy Willow, Alice (EP), Alice Carroll, Amaterasu, Ami, Amy, Ana (Rockland), Ana (Viral), Annabelle Winter, Arcadian, Aria King, Ashley Kinley, Ashton Kinley, Athena Dianoia, Audrey, August Dixie, Avery Greyson, Axel.

Baal.

Cain Zeitgeist, Callum Willow, Cassiel, Charlie Willow, Chase Knox, Chase Valentine, Christopher “Chris” King, Circe.

Damien Morningstar, Dante Stryker, Dominick Torrero, Dylan.

Edison Tekker, Elise, Elizabeth Bathory, Enoch, Eve.

Faereighn, Farz Murphy (EP), Foal, Freya.

Gabriel, Gabriel Lily, Grace Quinn.

Hades, Hammerclaw, Hana, Heidi, Horus, Hunter.

Itsuki Mori.

Jack Buchanan, Jason Buchanan, Jason Carmine (Rook), Jiyun, John.

Kali, Karasu, Kaz Tyagi, Kenny, Kiku Kojima, Kiyoshi, Kurt.

Lachesis Chronis, Lady Yuzu, Leo Taylor, Lilith, Lily Taylor, Lincoln, Logan, Loki Marshall, Lucifer Morningstar.

Macey, Marco Jennings, Marcus De La Cruz, Max, Melanie, Meredith, Mia, Michael Fitzroy, Michael Volkov, Mio, Molly, Morgan, Morgan Le Fey, Munchie.

Naoki “Nathan” Donovan, Nicolas Flamel.

Olivia, Oswalt Morrison.

Peyton.

Quinton Willow.

Rai, Raizer, Raja, Ramiel, Raphael, Raphael Sivori, Reiko Nakamura, Ribbon, Richter (hotelPSYCHO), Rory Stryker, Rose Martinez, Rosey, Roy McNamara, Ruby Red Graves.

Sally, Samael Volkov, Sanae, Sano Kojima, Sejun, Seong-Mi Yeon (Emily), Sergio Marino, Sergio Morrison, Shane, Shiro Suzuki, Sparrow, Sun-Mi Yeon (Scarlet), Sydney Dixie.

Teagan Buchanan, The Engineer, Thor, Tobias Reeves, Trace, Trevor McLoughlin, Tsubaki, Tyler.

Uriel Metzger.

Valak, Vencil Cartier, Veni (EP), Verak, Vincent Castillo (EP), (The real) Vincent Metzger, Vincent Metzger, Vincent Metzger (Lesser Angel), Vlad.

Xander Rosario.

Zero (Dollmaker), Zero (Empire), Zeus.

Projects + their plot

— I don't remember the plot of all of them and some barely have any info. If you have any information about any of them, don't hesitate to tell me.

Arcane.

Boyfriend to Death: horrorporn visual novel where you (the protagonist) have to survive the characters.

Boyfriend to Death 2: Fresh Blood: x2

Crazy AU.

Dark Circus AU.

Devil's Night Carnival.

Dollmaker.

Empire.

Foxtail.

Huntress: basically how Akira became Vincent (A/N: This is so random cuz wdym he turned into a werewolf just by swallowing his eye with vomit? 💀)

Inferno.

Mark of Belial.

Nightclub.

Of Gods And Monsters.

Rockland.

Rockland: MOB.

Rockland: Most Wanted.

Rockland: The Hand of God.

Rockland: The Misfits

Route 66: how Vincent met Farz

The Artist.

The Carnival Game.

The Commander. The Doctor.

The Hunt.

The Puppetmaster.

The Serial Killer.

Till Death Do Us Part: Visual novel where you are married to some weirdo (except Chris... I guess)

Viral.

Welcome Home: Farmhouse

Welcome Home: Mansion

YanAki

Zeitgeist

(some) Allegations

— Some are confirmed and others are not, it's up to you to believe or not.

Abusive and manipulative behavior.

Pretending to have DID.

Art tracing without credit.

Incest and piss fetish (both on and off the internet).

Grooming.

Draw CP

Gatobob/EP Drama

— Info taken from 'ElectricPuke (+18)' on VK.

It started around 2018, when their personal relationship deteriorated drastically. According to Gatobob herself, she and Riel had a relationship: they were both married, but at the same time they were swingers. Over time, Riel began to act against Gatobob, both psychologically and sexually, which left a significant mark on Gatobob's psyche. EP used Gato to obtain various benefits, from raffles and communication, to financial aid, gifts and money transfers for fake needs such as fake disorder. Despite the nature of the relationship, Gato continued to maintain a relationship with Riel, hoping that he would change. At the same time, her marriage with Alan, who was EP's friend, was also difficult: Alan was abusive, kept Gato's earnings and was involved in manipulations against her (not to mention that he and EP spoke ill of her behind her back). Finally, after everything that happened, Gato decides to end her marriage and end all relationships with EP. This period was accompanied by an emotional crisis, which ended with an overdose. Recovery took a long time, including therapy and long-term treatment.

(mini) Gallery

— I'll add more in the future, right now I'm too lazy lol.

‐ Special thanks to my mom for giving me info on certain parts (I still hate her but whatever), I always knew that having parents who are visual novels enthusiasts would be useful to me at some point. 🚶

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @fallout-mars @strandnreyes @redshirt2 @sznofthesticks @heartstringsduet 🧡💛🧡💛

This is from Where All This Love Comes From Chapter 11: Lonely as a Sparrow In the Rain, which will be posted on Sunday. A little moment between TK 'Soothing' Strand and Carlos 'Blobfish Reyes:

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” TK yawns from the couch when Carlos enters. He’s still in his pajamas – still trying to reset his body clock after his final night shift for a while – and he appears to be eating red jello from a glass dish. “I made jello. Don’t know if you saw my note on the refrigerator. Cap had a clear out and asked if we’d want a jello mold shaped like a hippo, so obviously I said yes. It doesn’t really look like a hippo – it’s more like a blobfish. But it’s delicious and will be easy on your stomach. How’d your morning go? Baby?”

Carlos can’t speak. He swallows. His throat hurts. He wanders over and slumps down next to TK on the cushions.

“You’re puffy,” TK says, “Tell me why you’re puffy?” He places his jello dish onto a coaster on the coffee table so he can freely stroke Carlos’ hair. 

Usually, Carlos would sigh or hum with pleasure at the sensation of TK’s fingers working over him, but today he whimpers.

Staring mournfully at the jello, he thinks it wobbles like a struggling, living thing, but shines like cut rubies where the sun catches its nebulous edges. Grossly beautiful. TK made a hippo jello. Life goes on in this way.  

“Tell me why you look even worse now than you did earlier?" TK prompts softly. "Tell me why you look like a blobfish?”

“Gutiérrez texted.” Carlos’ voice hits the words and cracks. He hears himself, squeaky and weak. He hates it. “That lead we thought was sound…It was no good.”

“Baby.” TK snuggles up to him a little closer. "I'm so sorry." 

Carlos sleepily drops his arm over TK’s legs, tugging at the soft brushed cotton of the pajama pants patterned with blue diamonds. A surprise replacement gift for TK after the fire. He’d never bought TK pajamas before, and it felt so intimate in a new way.

TK hadn’t said anything about Gutiérrez’ lead when it first came through, but he’d thought it was one hell of a longshot even though Carlos became excited and determined. Now his husband is a crumpled heap on the couch. “Do you want me to rub your back?” TK asks.

“Head,” Carlos says.

“In bed?”

“Okay.”

Open tag and tags below!

@reyesstrand @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @louis-ii-reyes-strand @ladytessa74 @alrightbuckaroo @liminalmemories21 @carlos-tk @noxsoulmate @chaotictarlos @taralaurel @lightningboltreader @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @herefortarlos @eclectic-sassycoweyes @wandering-night19 @never-blooms @my-little-tilly @whatsintheboxmh @fitzherbertssmolder @inkweedandlizards @three-drink-amy @ambiguouspenny @chicgeekgirl89 @sugdenlovesdingle @theghostofashton @spaghett-onaplate @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @freneticfloetry @paperstorm @sanjuwrites @goodways - if you want to share/ haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[pink-eye-liner]

Hello, so I was just at Tumblr and someone was saying that there are not enough Dizzie fanifcs and I couldn't agree more. So I wrote one (will be more then one in the future) So let's all read this and act like Kitty's diary does not exist :)

The sun was going down meaning that it was time for Daring to go back to his room. For some reason he was feeling all soft and fuzzy inside. Was it because he had won the bet he made with Sparrow?

Yeah, probably, what other reason could it be?

Truth be told, he actually forgot about the bet while he was up on Legend's back with Lizzie.

Daring had to really think about what would make Lizzie swoon, he had never needed to work so hard for other girls, all he had to do was smile at them and they would fall to his feet. Lizzie wasn't like that, she was much more harsh and harder to impress, to the point where he felt the genuine need to 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 impress her, and it was worth it when he did. Because for the first time he heard her laugh, and the sound of it would put any melody the Pied Piper has ever produced to shame.

He carried this feeling as he practically skipped to his dorm room with a massive smile on his face. Daring stopped on his tracks when he heard the sound of an obnoxiously loud electric guitar paired with an equally obnoxiously loud voice that could only belong to one person.

Sparrow saw him in the distance and immediately ran towards him with Hopper following behind.

"SO?! HOW. IS . IT. GOING?!" Sparrow asked (sung)

Hopper noticed the happy go lucky vibe Daring was emitting and wrapped an arm around his shoulder "You seem happy, did you actually do it?"

Hopper and Sparrow looked at him with anticipation, Sparrow looking a bit more nervous as he noticed that Daring did in fact look very happy.

The smile on Daring's face slowly started to fade as he was reminded of their bet, and that if he lost, he would have to wash Sparrow's grimnastics uniform after swamp swimming. Just that though alone made him shiver. At the same time he was reminded that Lizzie wanted to keep what they had a secret.

Daring's silence made Sparrow think that Daring did not in fact succeed and yelled (sung) in his face "OH! I BET SHE TOTALLY REJECTED YOU!"

Daring brought his hand to his face and placed it on the spot that Lizzie kissed, then her smile flashed in his mind along with the reminder his promise to her that he wouldn't tell anyone.

So, swallowing his pride, Daring looked at Sparrow and Hopper and said "Yes, you're right. She did in fact reject me. I lost"

Sparrow shredded his guitar with happiness and jumped up in the air screaming "ALRIGHT!" surprising Daring for a second.

"You know what this means, Daring" Hopper said.

"Yeah yeah..."

The next day, after swamp swimming, Daring sat in front of their school with a large container full of soap and water, washing away at Sparrow's grimnastics uniform (including his socks, gross) as other students looked and laughed at him.

It was both humiliating and degrading to say the least. Sparrow sing-yelling jokes and taunts at him only added salt to the injury.

Then out of he corner of his eyes he saw Lizzie walking to school, she spotted him then gave him a wink before she continued to walk inside the school.

Daring sighed dreamily as the soft and fuzzy feeling returned to him for a bit as he remembered their 'date' yesterday.

With a small smile now on his face, he wonders if he could talk to her after this public show of humiliation. Hopefully she considered his invitation to go on another date with him cuz he knew 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 where to take her.

Some hours later, Daring was in his and Dexter's dorm room standing in front of one of his many full body mirrors now wearing his normal clothes again, checking every inch of himself to make sure that he was perfect before he went out to look for Lizzie.

Dexter was minding his own business doing his thronework (homework) but he couldn't help but notice that Daring was acting weird. Yeah he was starring at himself in the mirror which was completely normal, but- the way he was checking himself as if he's restless was what made Dexter worry a bit "Is something wrong, Daring?" He said "You seem... Stressed"

"Oh don't be ridiculous little bro" Daring said before letting out a nervous laugh "What would I, Daring Charming, have anything to worry about?" Daring then proceeded to aggressively brush his hair.

Dexter raised an eyebrow at his brother, who in return gave him a smile way too wide for it to be normal, before fixing himself in the mirror again.

Dexter just shrugged and returned to his thronework, giving himself a mental note to ask Daring's friends if anything had happened recently.

Turns out, Daring didn't need to look for Lizzie since they shared the next class together more specifically- kingdom Management.

He couldn't bring himself to focus on what their teacher- The white Queen- was talking about. I mean how could he when there was a gorgeous red and black haired ferocious wonderlandian princess sitting in his far far right four rows in front if him?

Daring ended up just starring at her from afar. He's never realy bothered to look at anyone besides himself before, but looking at Lizzie Hearts now, Daring found himself wanting too look at her instead of himself.

While Daring was starring at Lizzie, she suddenly looked over her shoulder and took a short glace at him, their eyes met for a mere second before they both turned their heads the other way in a panick, their blood rushing up their faces turning their cheeks red.

Lizzie caught Daring starring at her and Daring caught Lizzie stealing a glance at him.

Daring put his hand above his chest and tried to calm down his beating heart. He glanced at Lizzie Hearts again and saw her head burried in her notebook while writing profusely.

He realized that she was flustered too, that made him smile.

Then the realization that he had been flustered dawned on him. This was particularly strange for Daring. He was used to making damsels all shy and flustered, not the other way around. Although technically Lizzie was no damsel.

When Class was over Daring went to up Lizzie and tried to act casual about it.

"So... Lizzie... Hi" Daring said while pointing finger guns at her, he mentally slapped himself because what the actual hex was that?! If he had been Hopper then he would have turned into a frog just now

"Oh, hi Daring" Lizzie giggled before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear "Umm, what were you doing washing Sparrow's grimnastics uniform in front of the school today?" She asked.

Daring scratched the back of his neck while letting out an awkward laugh which made Lizzie raise a brow "Oh nothing just- guy stuff"

Lizzie put her hand in front of her mouth as she let out a laugh "Did you loose a bet or something?" She joked.

Daring stopped himself from physically recoiling that that, did she know? If she did then he can't imagine a world where she wouldn't get angry and never speaking to him again. That though alone was worse then living in a world without mirrors. But Lizzie wasn't currently angry meaning that she doesn't know. "Haha... Yeah, yeah I guess you could say I did"

Lizzie cleared her throat and stepped a bit closer to Daring which earned a blush from him "So... About that second date... I might take you up on that"

Daring burst with excitement and hastily grabbed her hands which made Lizzie's face equally as red as the heart on her left eye "Great! Meet me that the book ball field after school"

Lizzie heard him but was too starstruck and flustered looking at their intertwined hands to reply.

Daring noticed and immediately let go, putting his hands behind his back and looking away "Okay- alright so-... I'll see you later" Daring scurried away to prepare for their next date.

Meanwhile Lizzie had to stop herself from jumping up and down in happiness as she put her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Nine

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Nine: Hanging a Pirate

Summary: Jack is going to be punished for being a pirate, but his new friends(?) aren't going to let that happen.

            “It’s over,” said Will in relief.

            The next moment, he and Elizabeth ran towards (Y/N), and all three embraced. They were alive, and they were together once more. Jack looked at the three, and he shifted. He looked away until they had finished hugging.

            Elizabeth stepped back first and looked at Will. She cleared her throat and glanced away. That was her last moment of softness with him. “We should…return to the Dauntless.”

            Will swallowed and nodded. “Your fiancé will be wanting to know you’re safe.” His heart ached.

            Elizabeth nodded, teary-eyed. She turned and fled the scene.

            Jack approached from behind. “If you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it.”

            Will swallowed hard, and (Y/N) frowned.

            “You, laddie! Excellent work,” said Jack, shaking their hand exuberantly. “If you ever flee and turn to a life of piracy, you’d have so much fun!” He let go and looked at Will again. “Now, I’d be ever so obliged if you dropped me off on my ship.”

            Elizabeth cleared her throat as they approached the rowboat. “About that…”

            Jack paused as he looked at the bay, empty of any ship except the Dauntless.

            “I’m sorry, Jack. I—We—tried to get them to stay,” said (Y/N).

            Jack huffed and got into the boat. “They done what’s right by them. Can’t expect more than that.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze was cast downward at the sea. Once Jack arrived back at the Dauntless, Norrington would punish him for orchestrating more double-crossing. He’d be tried and hanged.

            (Y/N) wished he wouldn’t be.

l

            Jack stared listlessly out at the sky. The noose hung before him, and the sun shone high over Port Royal. He had no clever escape plan this time; he was going to die.

            Norrington and Swann stood side-by-side and watched him. Elizabeth had to stand by her fiancé’s side, and (Y/N) was beside her. They shifted, restless energy having returned as soon as they were stuck back into Port Royal and confined by societal expectations. (Y/N) had wanted to go and speak to Jack before the hanging, to apologize for getting him caught, to thank him for shooting Barbossa when he aimed to kill them, but they had been kept far away from the jail, and it only increased their restlessness.

            “Jack Sparrow, you have been charged—”

            “Captain Jack Sparrow,” interrupted Jack.

            “—tried and convicted for your willful commission of crime against the Crown, said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature, the most egregious of these to be cited herewith,” said the herald. “Piracy, smuggling—”

            “This is wrong,” murmured Elizabeth.

            “It is,” agreed (Y/N).

            “Commodore Norrington is bound by the law, as are we all,” said Swann.

            “—impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England,” on droned the herald. “Sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering—”

            Does this go forever? thought (Y/N), sort of impressed.

            “—depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness,” finished the list.

            Should ‘general lawlessness’ be a crime? It feels a bit vague, thought (Y/N).

            On top of a flag, a familiar parrot squawked. (Y/N) glanced at it. Ah-ha.

            “And for these crimes, you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead.” The sentence was delivered. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

            “Governor Swann.” Will stepped out of the crowd and addressed him. “Commodore. (Y/N).” His gaze softened. “Elizabeth.” She looked at him. “I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. I love you.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. He had done it. Finally. They smiled and looked at Elizabeth.

            Her mouth opened in shock, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks. Before she could respond, Will turned and returned to the crowd.

            Swann and Norrington looked at each other awkwardly.

            Drdrdrdrdrdr…

            The drumroll began, and the executioner looped the noose around Jack’s neck. The parrot cawed again and flew off. Elizabeth recognized it, and her eyes widened. She looked at (Y/N) and found them watching Will carefully. Whatever was happening, they were in on it.

            And so, she decided to provide a distraction. “I can’t breathe!” she gasped, and she “fainted.”

            “Elizabeth!” cried Swann, and he and Norrington ran to her side. After the last incident, they didn’t want her to get hurt.

            “Move!” shouted Will, pulling a sword.

            The crowd screamed and let him through. At that precise moment, the executioner pulled the lever, and the trapdoor opened beneath Jack. Will threw his sword, and it impaled the wood beneath Jack. He scrambled for purchase.

            Elizabeth sat up, perfectly fine, and watched. Her father stared at her in astonishment, and Norrington whirled.

            “Men!” he shouted.

            “Oh, no,” sighed Swann. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

            (Y/N) appeared from the crowd, a dagger—hidden in their skirts—in hand. The executioner was confused and hesitated as the teen ran at him. Will ran up behind them, and the executioner swung at him. He parried while (Y/N) sawed the rope holding Jack up. He landed on the ground.

            “Move!” shouted Norrington, shoving through the crowd with his soldiers.

            Will dodged the executioner, and (Y/N) slammed into him. The executioner fell forward onto several soldiers. Underneath the wooden stand, Jack cut his hands free on Will’s sword before running. Will and (Y/N) leapt down, and (Y/N) grabbed the other end of the rope. Together, Jack and (Y/N) ran into three soldiers, tripping them on the rope. Will pulled a sword from them and parried the next soldier who approached.

            Jack and (Y/N) looped another two soldiers and slammed them into the wall. Jack punched another soldier, and (Y/N) kicked another. Will slammed two others down. However, as they made it to the cliff, at least a dozen soldiers had arrived, and the three had to back up into one another. Nowhere to go.

            Norrington approached with his sword drawn and glared at Will. “I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt, but not from you.” He looked at (Y/N). “And you. Your father should really look into correcting this sudden behavior of yours.”

            “On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency, and this is how you thank me, Mr. Turner, by throwing in your lot with him?” said Swann. He turned to (Y/N). “(Y/N), you cannot be doing this. It’s uncivilized, and you will have to face proper consequences.” He took a deep breath. “You should not be helping this man. He’s a pirate.”

            “And a good man,” said (Y/N). Sometimes.

            “And if all we have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, then so be it,” said Will. He knew that (Y/N) was still being viewed as a misguided child due to Swann’s wardship and Norrington’s upcoming marriage to Elizabeth earning them clemency, but he was risking his life.

            “I won’t send someone who helped us save Lizzie to the gallows,” said (Y/N). “I won’t just watch it happen.”

            “My conscience is clear,” said Will.

            “You forget your places,” said Norrington, narrowing his eyes.

            “It’s right here. Between you and Jack,” said Will firmly.

            Elizabeth moved forward to (Y/N) and Will’s sides. “As is mine,” she said.

            “Elizabeth!” Swann was truly becoming worried from the attitude of his daughter and ward. It promised trouble in the future. He cleared his throat. “Lower your weapons. For goodness sake, put them down!”

            The bayonets were lowered, and the soldiers stepped back.

            “So this is where your heart truly lies, then?” said Norrington, staring, partially heartbroken, at Elizabeth.

            She nodded. “It is.”

            As the stare down continued, Jack glanced around and finally spotted the familiar parrot. He brightened. “Well, I’m actually feeling rather good about this! I think we’ve all arrived at a very special place. Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically—” He looked at Norrington and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. “I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that.”

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes in amusement. He was always trying to charm the people around him.

            “Elizabeth. Will.” Jack swaggered away. “(Y/N).” They looked back at him. “To freedom.”

            (Y/N) grinned as he said the words they had on the beach.

            “Friends!” Jack returned to his dramatics and headed to the edge of the cliff. Soldiers raised their weapons, and those out of the loop watched in shock. “This is the day you will always remember as the day that—”

            Jack tripped and fell.

            Will, (Y/N), and Elizabeth ran up to check on him. Norrington stormed up after them. Jack splashed down into the water, and Gillette laughed derisively.

            “Idiot. He’s nowhere to go but back to the noose,” said Gillette.

            “Sail ho!”

            A call grabbed everyone’s attention. The Black Pearl emerged from behind a cliff, sailing directly for Jack. (Y/N) grinned.

            “What’s your plan of action?” asked Gillette, staring in confusion at Norrington.

            He struggled to speak, unsure what to say.

            “Perhaps, on the rare occasion, pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?” remarked Swann. Elizabeth and (Y/N) looked at him, and he smiled. He was trying to understand.

            “Mr. Turner,” said Norrington sharply.

            Elizabeth gasped and held his hands, but he stepped forward bravely, ready to face the consequences of his actions. (Y/N) stood and watched him proudly. They had done the right thing, rules be damned.

            Norrington raised his sword, the gift for his promotion. “This is a beautiful sword. I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.” He had let go of Elizabeth and given Will his…blessing, of a sorts.

            “Thank you,” said Will, smiling.

            Norrington nodded and turned away.

            “Commodore, what about Sparrow?” said Gillette.

            “I think we can afford to give him one day’s head start,” said Norrington. He walked away. The matter was over.

            (Y/N) grinned.

            “So. This is the path you’ve chosen, is it?” said Swann, looking at Elizabeth. “After all, he is a blacksmith.”

            “No.” Elizabeth smiled. “He’s a pirate.”

            Swann suppressed a disapproving sentiment at the teasing, but he turned away and walked off to give Elizabeth and Will a moment.

            “Congratulations,” said (Y/N). “It was about time.”

            They looked at (Y/N) in surprise, not realizing how obvious they’d been, but (Y/N) just grinned and walked away.

            “Do not look so pleased with yourself,” said Swann. “You’re still in trouble for stealing a ship and running into danger.” However much he disapproved, though, he was glad they were back safe.

            “It appears I’m good at handling danger,” said (Y/N).

            “That is not something to be proud of,” said Swann. He sighed. “How can I convince you to…calm yourself after this excitement?”

            He, like everyone else, recognized the energy, the stormy restlessness, that had finally broken the surface of (Y/N)’s character. However, unlike the pirates, he still held onto polite society’s regulations and wanted them to find some decorum.

            “…Let me out of dresses,” said (Y/N). “And let me continue to learn to fence.”

            “Am I going to regret this decision?” said Swann.

            (Y/N) smirked and just walked on.

            “(Y/N)? (Y/N)?”

            To freedom.

            (Y/N) would stay by Will and Elizabeth’s side, even if it was in Port Royal. But they wouldn’t be tamed. They wouldn’t lose their freedom.

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