#they weave flowers into each other's fur
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which-qsmp-egg-would · 30 days ago
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IS MISS LION TRANS
Yes! Mr. Wolf is too :D
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themotherofhorses · 2 years ago
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Hiiii wanted to request Dark Aemond x Mermaid reader.
Reader is from house Manderly [ their flag had a merman in it ] and Aemond finds our her secret so he blackmails her father into marrying her.
Also some smut too maybe breeding kink of sorts.
even the whales fall prey to men.
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pairing: dark!aemond targaryen x fem!mermaid!reader
warnings: very much nsfw. explicit language. blackmailing on aemond's part. forced marriage. dubcon. breeding kink. allusions to violence and death. mentions of pregnancy.
notes: dark & obsessive!aemond targaryen makes my head go brrr. also this smut will totally suck and i take full responsibility for it.
masterlist
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The sea is much colder than usual, and across the winter sky hangs a thick blanket of clouds, dark as smoke.
It will snow soon, your mother had said at breakfast, bundled up in all her warm furs while you broke fast together. Today may be the last day we are able to swim for a while, so do make your peace and say all your goodbyes to your grandfather.
You sit on the jagged rocks that stand strong in the waters, watching as your mother and sisters finish with their own wreaths. Yours lays draped across your lap, weaved from rosemary and sea kale and the pretty blackthorn that bloomed on the nearby cliffs. The whales were making one final visit to White Harbor before leaving for warmer waters, and it was tradition to see them goodbye, and to flower them with the newly made wreathes and long garlands. It would not be until the early summer months that they would return.
“Little fish,” your mother calls out for you, already knee-high deep in the bitter sea waters. Your sisters did not wait for neither you nor her, deciding on a small race between each other. “Lost in thought, my little love?” Her face is soft and sweet, with two dimples on both cheeks, “Come or we’ll miss them!”
You were born a Manderly, under the cold moon, on the White Knife. On your first nameday, a great storm wailed outside the New Castle, crushing your lord father’s fleet to kindle and drowning the port city. Some said it was the Stranger waging war against the Father and the Warrior, high in the heavens, while others claimed the old sea god Caraxes was celebrating the birth of a new granddaughter.
Your father claimed direct descendance from the First Men, while your mother was of the true goldenblood of Old Valyria, a daughter of Caraxes himself. His mermaids, women with silver crowns and dark violet eyes and a fish’s tail for legs. The seamen swore you existed, but the rest of Westeros refused to believe.
Perhaps that was why you never strayed far from the White Knife, and from your mother’s side too.
Then again, your lady mother never faltered in warning you and your elder sisters of the myriad of dangers that came with your blood, and of people finding out the truth of such. She was a protective woman, prideful and beautiful, and a great warrior too. The magic she practiced since girlhood allowed for her to shift her appearances, and when you grew of age, she taught you the different spells and rituals, the small incantations to mumble under your breath, and the ways of honoring your grandfather.  
“Be smart about it,” she cautioned, though not sternly. With a gentle palm resting over your cheekbone, she kissed the tip of your nose, smiling down at you, “always be mindful of one’s eyes and ears, my little one. The whales know no true safety, not even in their own home.”
Oh, how you wish to go back and believe her words a little more
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It came as a great surprise that, while you were gone, your lord father had welcomed in a guest.
You had not been made aware of such, and neither was your mother, who took it as quite the insult. She immediately sent you and your sisters to your personal chambers, to wash up from the heavy sea salt that clung to your skin and hair, and to dress nicely. “The blue velvet, please,” she said, with a smile that did not reach her purple eyes. “We must look our best.” You had not the slightest clue of who the guest might be, and you ask your eldest sister if she caught a whisper. But she just shrugs. “A Stark, maybe? Or perhaps a Baratheon.”
“But what would they want with us?”
“Maybe a marriage pact is finally being proposed between our houses,” she replies with a sigh, a stupid lovesick grin twisting on her pink lips. She is a maiden of twenty and two, tall and slender and beautiful like your mother, and beyond ready to become a lord’s wife. You make a face at that but say nothing more. Would your mother even allow for that to happen? Perhaps for your sisters, but not for you.
You were still too young, a pretty daylily not yet ready for plucking.
In the Merman’s Court, you find your mother pacing by the castle’s throne, biting at her nails. She looks nervous, with eyes darting between the doors and the households that stood around the hall, cloaked in wools of blue and green. When she finally takes notice of your presence, she drops her hand and draws you into a hug. “Little fish,” and she studies you over, at how you brushed out your silver hair till it shone, and wore your nicest silks. “Very pretty, my little one. Very pretty, indeed.”
You remain by her side, clutching tightly her hand as your sisters soon step inside the hall, all clad in their prettiest gowns, in bright colors of green and navy and white, and giggling amongst themselves. Then come the court ladies and lords, the few maesters that lived in the New Castle, and your father, the Lord Manderly, followed by-
“Prince Aemond of the House Targaryen, son of King Viserys II and the Queen Alicent.”
Your eyes grow wide at the sight of Aemond One Eye, and you subtly shift closer to your mother. He was terribly handsome, you think, shrouded in black riding leather and a long cape that pooled around his dark boots. At his waist hangs a sheathed long-sword. Both his hands are tucked behind his back, shoulders straight and proud, and he wears a smirk. And his hair, every bit the same silver as yours, long and straight and neatly combed.
“Ah, Prince Aemond,” your mother greets. She curtsies, low and graceful to her knees, and you do the same. “Your visit is quite the unexpected one, but we welcome you into our home. Is White Harbor to your liking, my prince?”
He hums. “There are many seamen that dock themselves at King’s Landing, and almost all of them have spoken of the White Harbor, and the beauty that it possesses, particularly during these winter months.” His voice is deep, almost a purr, with a crownlands accent. “Although, my lady, now I cannot help but wonder if your daughters are the reason for that.”
Your mother clicks her tongue, and ever so slightly her eyes narrow. “You honor me, my prince,” she said, “and my daughters.”
Prince Aemond grins at that.
It was your father who spoke next. “My love, the Prince Aemond has arrived with a most equitable offer from the King and Queen themselves.” He sounds quite proud, and incredibly happy at whatever that offer might be. “They are asking for an alliance to be made between our house and House Targaryen,” but he pauses, holding his gaze on your mother, “-through marriage. Prince Aemond is here to choose one of our daughters to wed.”
Your face snaps to your mother, who stood speechless.
“Our eldest is twenty and two, and a fine lady,” your father adds, nodding to your sisters that stood to your left, “and our second-born daughter just celebrated her twentieth nameday. She has no current betrothed, though she is not without suitors, of course.” Your mother holds her tongue, it seemed, choosing to keep you tucked by her side.
But Prince Aemond shakes his head. “Your two daughters are very beautiful, Lord Manderly, I speak nothing but the truth with that, but I have no interest in having their hands,” he says, before focusing his one eye on you. “It is your youngest I wish to have.”
Your mind goes blank.
“My youngest?” Your father sputters. “Forgive me for my words, my prince, but we have not planned to wed her off yet.”
Aemond shrugs. “I do not care about that; it is she who I desire the most.” He looks at your father, tilting his head, sounding curious, “Did you not promise to me any choice of your daughters, for an alliance with my family?” Lord Manderly appears nervous now, and embarrassed as well, with cheeks and a forehead flushing a bright pink. “Well…I suppose so…”
“Mama?” you whisper, tucking yourself behind her. Your fingers tremble greatly, and it soon feels too difficult to breathe. You could feel your sisters’ eyes on you, along with your father’s and the eyes of the many court lords and ladies, and the household guards too. They all feel too judgemental, pitiful and sympathetic. But your mother, she fought back. “No,” she says, loudly. “No, you shall not have her.”
“You deny your own prince?” Aemond asks, incredulous. “Such boldness, my Lady Manderly. But alas, I came to retrieve my bride, and I shall leave with her, make no mistake in believing that.”
“No,” your mother repeats, much louder than the first. Her voice, strong and willful, echoes across the Merman’s Court, sounding every much a crack of thunder, or perhaps even a roar of a she-dragon. “She is still too young, my prince, you must understand that. I will not be separated from my youngest, she is not ready to become a wife-”
“She has celebrated her eighteenth nameday, has she not?” Your mother stays silent, and Aemond grins. “She is well old enough to be my wife.”  
Your mother shakes her head. “Please, you can have my two other daughters, but not her. I refuse it! I refuse it!” She turns to your father, “My love, see with reason! She is not ready! The ocean still needs her, I still need her! Refuse it! I will not allow it! No, I will not-” But Prince Aemond cuts her off, “Refuse it?” He laughs, and you flinch at it.
“You have no power to do such a thing, least you wish to die of treason, a bloody traitor to your crown. To your King and Queen!”
He takes a step forwards, to you and your mother. “I know you, Lady Manderly,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild forest beast, “I know the sort of mother you are. It is very honorable, very admirable, and I thank you, from the bottom of my own heart, for raising my new bride well. But I also know you are very protective of them, and I understand.” Prince Aemond then leans his face close, until his lips linger over your mother’s ear, “-after all, dangers do tend to follow the daughters of Caraxes, do they not? And his granddaughters too. His pretty mermaids.”
He pulls back, a dark grin curling on his lips, his tone seeping in false concern. “What might happen if the world found out the truth of you? And your daughters? How you are not just liars, but neither full humans as well. The creatures the seamen lust after, alive and flourishing on the White Knife…”
Prince Aemond then peers at you from where you stood, his face softening. You timidly meet his eye. “Come, my lady, allow me a better look at you.” You swallow but do as he asked, moving to stand in front of him. “Look at you, a vision of pure beauty. You are so much lovelier than what I imagined when coming here,” and you could not figure out what hurts more: his grip on your upper arm, or the way your mother did nothing.
When you turn to glance back at your lady mother, she looks more a stranger than the woman you knew- weak and humiliated and defeated, almost in tears. It reminds you of something she told you, so many moons ago, back on the beachside. There was a dead whale carcass, fat and bloated, drifting back and forth in the harbor. In its side was buried a harpoon. Your mother shook her head at the sight.
“Even the whales fall prey to men.”
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Five days later, Aemond One Eye claims you as his wife.
He allows the wedding to partake on the beach, alongside the ocean where you grew up and loved so dearly. Your mother had pleaded with him to agree on his part to wed you in the customs of Old Valyria, and he could not say no.
I, too, am of the blood of Old Valyria, he said, quite proudly. It will be an honor to both our ancestors, may they bear down on us as we continue our bloodline.
But afterward, he was quick to whisk you away to King’s Landing, to the Red Keep where he swore you rightfully belonged. You only caught a short glimpse of the Queen Alicent Hightower and her father, the Hand, before you were locked you in his royal chambers. And now, you lay across his bed, a flood of whimpers and moans spilling from your pink lips as he squashes his face only deeper between your thighs. “You have the sweetest cunt,” he groans, sucking on your clit as your head thrashes around, and your hips buck against his mouth.
“I knew I had to have you,” he says, while running his tongue along your wet folds. Your taste, it is like no other, and he swears himself a new and addicted man. He will spend the rest of his days worshipping you if the gods allow it. “The moment I saw you, you were mine. The gods could not even deny me of you. Your lips, my sweet girl, they looked so sweet, and I wondered if your cunt would be the same.”
Both your breasts sit in his hands, and he palms at them, sliding his face up to yours, peppering kiss after kiss across your hipbones and stomach. You are so beautiful, he thinks, while pressing his face against your belly. It should be a sin that you are not with child. “I cannot wait till our firstborn sleeps here,” he mumbles, kissing it, “I will make you the most beautiful mother known to the world, and men will envy me for the rest of their damned days.”
His words make you whimper, chewing on your bottom lip as his mouth soon hovers over yours. “Tell me you want my seed,” he demands in a whisper, gripping your chin between his fingers. “Tell me how bad you need it…and I promise you, my love, you will have it.”
“Please…”
His eyebrow raises, and he chuckles. “Please, what?”
He wishes for you to beg for him- for his seed and his love and soul, to plead with him for everything, to come undone and submit yourself- as his woman and wife and the mother of his children.
But you shy away, choosing to hide your face within the pillows, a bit too embarrassed to answer him properly. It is cute until Aemond grows too impatient. His craving for you spanned over too many moons, ever since he took first sight of you swimming in the waters of the White Knife. He toasts to both the Mother and the Maiden, perhaps even the Crone, that you never saw Vhagar flying in the sky above.
“It does not matter,” he says, kissing your forehead softly before moving to your lips. The kiss leaves you breathless, trembling and hungry for more. He flings your legs over his waist, pulling you down to where you lay completely underneath him, “I do not need your permission to seed my wife, and to make her a mother,” and against your lips, he mumbles, “you belong to me, do you understand? You are mine, from this day till the end.” And within a minute, his cock is stuffed deep inside you.
“It is too big…!” you cry, grasping onto his shoulders as he fucks you hard and deep, his thrusts seeming too unforgiving.
Perhaps he is punishing you, though you had not the smallest idea as to why.
“Please! Please, husband- please, slow down!” You bounce beneath him, fingers finding your own nipples as you twist and tweak them. It felt right in the moment, having remembered him doing it only several minutes ago.
“I do not give a shit,” he grunts, his hands resting on your hips, “you were fucking made for me. This body was made for my seed, for my children, now you will take it.” Sweat beads along his forehead as he moans and grunts some more and whines, feeling the way your cunt tightens around his cock. It is perfection, a feeling that was made just for him. “You have evaded my hands for too fucking long, now you suffer the consequences.”
You feel as if your eyes might roll to the back of your skull. Your pants are heavy and hot, and you cannot help the shriek when his fingers pinch your clit, before rubbing his thumb over it. He laughs, quickening his thrusts. “And to think, your mother would have kept this from me, kept you away from me. Ah, should I speak to you the truth, my love?” It is a cruel taunt, as you cannot answer, too overtaken by this pleasure. “I would have burned the White Harbor to the ground if I was denied you. Burned your entire fucking family to ashes if they dared keep you from me. House Strong has gone extinct because of me, maybe they will come up with a new nickname for that. Aemond Targaryen, kinslayer. Aemond Targaryen, house-destroyer.”
He shakes his head, snickering, “No, those are too silly, are they not, my love?”
Your face twists up, all in utter pleasure, and your body tightens too as you cream all over his cock. Soon after, he fills you with his cum, so much it trickles down from your cunt, staining the bedsheets along with your blood. But Aemond is quick to gather it with his fingertip, though, and shove it back in you. “Every bit of it matters, my lady, especially if we wish for you be with child by the next moon.” You try to smile, but you are so exhausted and ruined and all you yearn for is sleep.
“Did…did I do good?” you breathe.
Aemond smiles, and kisses your lips, soft and sweet and loving. He strokes your hair, twirling a silver strand around his finger. You are gorgeous, his beautiful wife, this sweet granddaughter of Caraxes. All his. You and the babe that you will carry soon.
“You did perfect, my little fish.”
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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago
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🖤 vena cava🖤
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xx Pairing: soft dom!hongjoong x sub!chubby!fem!reader xx
xx Genre: smut but like make it sweet xx
xx Summary: A nice relaxing rope session with your darling boyfriend and dom Hongjoong xx
xx Word Count: 1.5k xx
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xx Warnings: soft dom/sub dynamic, oral sex (f receiving), rope play, pet names (little bird, good girl), & though I'm sure that's all let me know if i missed anything at all, darlings xx
xx A/N: I was asked to do this many moons ago by a friend and I'm finally getting back to writing so I wanted to make sure I finished it so this is for her and anyone else who needs some soft dom Joong in their life 🖤 xx
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In this bedroom cloaked in red, there are no mirrors. The only way to see your reflection is in Hongjoong’s eyes. Under the crimson light, they seem darker with a depth impossible to estimate. In their darkness lies an insatiable hunger for the girl who kneels before him, her gorgeous face staring up from between his legs. “Beautiful” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face and gathering into a ponytail with his fist.
Pinched between your teeth is a thin black hair tie. You don’t hesitate to release it to him when he tugs at the other end. He takes his time looping it around the base of your hair, his fingertips grazing the back of your neck to gather any flyaways. You gasp, his touch giving you goosebumps. He smirks, never tired of seeing how easily he can get your body to react to him.
“Do you like it when I do that, little bird?” he asks, easing to the edge of the soft velvet chair he’s seated in. He brings both hands around your throat. Not gripping it. Just cradling it. Massaging it. Your eyes fall closed, the transference of the heat from his body to yours enough to make you breathless. Bringing a thumb up to stroke your bottom lip, he leans in closer to admire every subconscious display of pleasure on your face.
He slips his thumb between your lips, allowing you a second or two to suckle at it as his other hand pets the back of your neck. “I asked you a question, little bird” he whispers, a gentle but firm reminder, “Answer me.” His thumb swirls around your tongue, dodging any attempt at contact until you're obedient. Drooling and desperate not to be deprived of his taste you let out a weak, “Yes.”
Charting a path down your spine, his hands come in contact with the cotton rope corset he spent nearly an hour weaving around your plush figure. The spine of it is made of two dozen beautiful knots that run along yours like an ornate arrangement of flowers. Every few inches new lines of rope sprawl out like vines, hugging your curves in ways that make your naked body look good enough to eat.
Each time you move the rope is electric against your skin, awakening you to sensations no one besides Joong could ever unlock. Your arms are secured behind your back, your wrists tied together right above where the plumpness of your ass rises from between the ropes. His fingers intertwine with yours as he removes his thumb from your mouth, replacing it with his tongue before you dare whine at the loss.
Joong knows it’s his responsibility to maintain control but, with your kiss more intoxicating than any drink could wish to be, he loses himself in a delicate dance with your tongue. One of lust and love and need that he’s performed with you, only you, a thousand times and, somehow, still not enough. Breaking free of your spell, loosens the rope on your wrists and he rises to his feet. “Lay down for me” he instructs, tilting your face up to look at him, “On your back.”
“Yes, Joongie. Anything for you” you nod, kissing the palm of his hand before stretching your newly freed arms and crawling into position. Some of the rope remains knotted around your wrists like designer bracelets but they're far more precious to you than that. Joong watches as the long tails of rope drag behind you, slithering through the smooth fur carpet.
The softness of the fur tickles your back as you lay flat on the floor. It’s as cozy as any bed you’ve ever laid in, Joong spent every dollar necessary to see to it. You bend your knees, spreading your legs without him even needing to ask. Joong approaches you, stopping right between your legs. He’s close enough to see your pussy shimmering and wet between thighs laced in the same rope that adorns the upper half of your body. “Mmm,” he hums, refusing to hide how much he admires the view, “Your pussy’s always so pretty, little bird, and so wet.”
Pulling his shirt over his head, he drops to his knees, his toned chest stealing your attention for more than a moment or two. Joong grabs one of the loose ends of the rope on your wrist and begins securing it to your ankle. As he does so, he kisses the inside of your knee, careful not to let his gaze drift away from you. Joong tightens the rope around your ankle, making the area around it tingle. “Tighter” you beg, craving the feeling once more.
He tightens it again and that tingling sensation radiates out even further. Up the back of your leg, gliding along your thigh, and into the heaven that lies between your legs. The peaks of your breasts stiffen as he ties one last knot, moving onto the other ankle. Joong notices and pulls the rope to brush your inner arm across the tender bud. You whimper and it’s pretty enough to break him.
“Are you ready to sing for me, little bird?” he asks, strumming the ropes along your inner thigh like the strings of a guitar. “Always” you pant, your back arching as his tongue slowly licks the arousal from your slit. It works its way between your folds, slipping effortlessly between one and the other. At the center your clit twitches, begging for his attention. Looping his fingers around the ropes that pass over your hips, he increases the friction of the cotton against your skin and takes your clit between his lips.
You watch each other, his desire mirroring yours and yours mirroring his, and it's perfection. He works his jaw up and down, dipping his tongue into you to slurp down your juices before spreading them back across your clit. Joong alternates speeds, pulling the rope tighter to go slower and releasing it when he picks up the pace. The unpredictable combination of the two has you freezing and sweating all at once. Nothing on this planet, in this entire universe, feels as euphoric as this.
“Joong, baby, it’s so good. So...” you squeal at the introduction of two fingers to your core, “I love it. Love you. Mmm.” Joong lifts up and kisses you on the stomach, his fingers tapping every spot that makes you weakest, “I love you too but you’re holding back and if you keep doing that I’ll have to stop. You don’t want me to stop, do you, little bird?” “No! No! Please don’t stop” you pout, “I won’t hold back. I promise, Joongie.” Joong clicks his tongue, “Good girl.” How can he say no to a face like yours?
You made a promise to him and you deliver, holding back nothing as he dips back between your legs, making love to you with every flick of his wrist and flexing of his tongue. Your honeyed moans grow louder and louder above the audible wetness of your core as he consumes it until the experience of having you dominates his senses. Suddenly you hear whooshing, the sound of a seashell pressed to your ear. You hear the sea. You’re in it. Sinking and floating. Delicate and powerful.
The room falls away and there's nothing. Only the two of you, riding the waves as they get rougher, building in intensity at an unreal rate. You’re drowning now and somehow you find yourself longing to be kept here. There’s peace in losing control. Serenity in letting the storm that is your lover sweep you away, barreling down onto you until your body gives into him. “Joong!” you cry out, your orgasm hitting you as one technicolor implosion.
You’re too out of it to notice but he’s begun to undo the bindings on your ankles, alternating hands dripping with your juices to work you through your orgasm. The unraveling of each rope is a tiny form of release. An orgasm that goes on and on long after his hands have begun to explore the rest of your body, his tongue skimming your love handles, your breasts, your neck.
“You did so well, little bird” he praises, kissing your trembling lips. Reaching up, he takes your ponytail out, comfortable now that your hair’s not at risk of being tangled in anything. “What can I do for you? You want a bath? Blanket? You hungry?” Your body might be here but your mind’s floating all over the place, he can tell. Joong just laughs, “Take your time. I’ll get you into bed and make you a snack and we’ll go from there, okay?” “Yes, thank you” you smile, practically glowing.
Joong takes you into his arms and carries you to bed, tucking you under the blanket. You close your eyes, listening as he raids the kitchen cabinets for your favorite late night snack, and bathe in the lingering essence of the rope and Joong on your skin. How wonderful it is, you think, to have someone be your escape and the home that you come back to.
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dawneternal · 9 months ago
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I Have Loved You For the Last Time
Sad Eris ✅
Gay Eris ✅
Soft boy Eris ✅
Based on the theory that Mor and Eris had secretly agreed to a lavender marriage. Forgot Eris's hounds are supposed to be big don't roast me
TW: angst, homophobia, loss of a loved one, inner circle critical (from Eris' perspective)
Word Count: 1.4k
Eris pulled his scarf up to cover his nose and nuzzled into it. The autumn wind was bitingly cold today, as if it was also restless with grief. It pressed against him as he walked, as if to say
we know we know we know
The sun cast golden light along the path, illuminating each fallen leaf with tender care. Bare tree branches twisted into a sparse canopy, fracturing the sunshine as it fell. The bittersweet smell of decaying leaves mingled with the scent of distant swaying wheat fields. All carried on that fluttering wind.
Eris looked down at the hound that walked by his side, donning a little plaid cloak to protect against the cold. So content to follow him wherever he went, looking up at her master every once in a while with only admiration and eagerness in her eyes. The most loyal creature he had ever met.
The path curved toward the edge of the woods and Eris pushed through the wards at the treeline. He entered the protection of the little clearing and let out a deep sigh. From the outside, the clearing was empty. If his father, or anyone else, ever tried to enter it they'd be struck with a sudden headache so fierce they'd forget what they were doing in the first place.
But Beron would never bother with this corner of the autumn court. A place where the High Lady used to play in her childhood. Inside it, hidden from prying eyes, sat the ruins of a beloved hand-made play house. And beside it, two gravestones.
There were no bodies buried here, only the stones for visiting and remembering. Away from cruel brothers and guards who would only ever be loyal to the High Lord. Away from that complex world of secrets and games, weaving as wide as the halls of the sprawling Forest House and wider all the time. Here, it could be simple for a moment.
Eris ran his hand across one of the gravestones and murmured a blessing. His fingertips brushed over the name carved into it.
Jesminda
He wondered about her sometimes. What her family had been told about her death. If they knew anything at all, if they blamed Lucien for it. Nevertheless, the flowers he had sent to Jesminda's family on her birthdays were always anonymous. It was something he did more for himself than anyone else. But he did it anyways, though it did little to lessen the deep well of guilt inside him. Neither did enchanting the flowers that grew on her grave to never wilt or die. Forever blooming, like Jesminda was supposed to be.
Eris knelt on the ground before the other gravestone. His hound sat next to him and leaned into his side, as if she remembered what it meant when they came here and knew he would need the support. Eris mindlessly stroked the little beast's fur and lost himself in his memories.
This second stone was not marked. He could not have anyone carve it. Some knew of Jesminda's story -- Lucien's young love and her untimely death. But no one would ever know of Sebastian, the one who held Eris's heart. No one but Beron. And Lucien, the nosy busybody.
It was Beron's doing that no one knew of Sebastian. Jesminda, he could turn into an example. But Sebastian's existence infuriated and shamed Beron so thoroughly that he had any evidence of his life wiped from the Autumn Court. Like mud scrubbed from the palace's polished floors.
Sometimes Eris wondered if his father had gone as far as to have Sebastian's family's memories erased. If Beron had known that his youngest son was in on the secret, Lucien would surely have been made to forget. But Beron would not make Eris forget. Eris's punishment was to remember.
Of course, it was Eris's fault. He thought he could juggle it all, keep it all secret and safe. But Beron had found the one loose thread and pulled until he had discovered the whole truth and Sebastian was lost to him forever. Perhaps part of him had hoped Beron would not react so terribly. After all, Sebastian was from a noble family. He was proper and polite and trained perfectly. An ideal match for a High Lord. Except, of course, that he was male.
A tear slipped down Eris's cheek. This was the reason for the impenetrable wards. So he could let his tears fall and not immediately be torn apart. He let out a bitter laugh as he remembered his reputation -- cold, petty, and unfeeling. And yet here he was, crying over the empty grave of his lost love and a lesser fae girl he had barely known.
It was Morrigan who had started that reputation, keeping his character in a chokehold with the stories she spread about him. Twisted and incomplete, painting him in such a cruel light.
Such dark bitterness filled him with the memory of the Night Court. He thought about them often, more than they deserved. More than he wanted to. Like it was a habit.
That infernal inner circle, drunk on happiness that he would never have. Even brooding Azriel had more tenderness in his life than Eris could ever hope for. Azriel, who had wrapped his hands around Eris's throat and kept squeezing, even as Eris laid still and did not fight back. He had not wanted to spit those venomous words. Had not wanted to taste them in his mouth. But Beron was always watching, and he must keep up the appearance of a grudge against Morrigan, his "ruined" bride. So Eris let himself be Azriel's punching bag just for the show, knowing that he deserved it anyways.
But then Azriel had the gall to act like a wounded animal, comforted and calmed by the High Lady. He had sat by her, been served by her. And none of their circle seemed to see how ridiculous it looked, watching them all play house together at a High Lord's meeting. It was a joke, all of it.
An inner circle that would die for him. A mate that would tear apart courts for him. A city of peace filled with lovely trivial things, plagued by only the smallest of worries.
And he wanted it. All of it.
"You're all I've got, Marigold," He whispered to his hound as she laid her head in his lap. "You're my inner circle."
Eris shook all thoughts of the Night Court from his head as he noticed a glint of Emerald green among the goldenrods planted over Sebastian's grave. He pulled a little velvet box from among the flowers and golden ring blinked back at him when he opened it.
He held it close to his eye to examine, and found that a word had been carved into the inside of the ring. Written in an old and mostly dead language. Memories came to him of he and Lucien learning that language to use as a code, one their father couldn't read.
Sebastian.
A smile tugged at his lips. When he slipped the ring on his finger, it vanished completely. It looked as if he wore nothing at all. He had no idea how long it had been there waiting for him, but the metal of the enchanted ring reminded him of a certain redhead's golden eye. The only other one who knew of this place and what Eris had lost. If it wasn't him, then the ring was not a gift at all but a threat from someone who had discovered his deepest secret.
He held the ring in his palm for Marigold to inspect. She gave it sniff and turned away disinterested. Golden light filled Eris's chest. It had been left by Lucien.
In the blink of an eye, the world became much less bleak. The air even felt a bit warmer. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the gravestone and then stood,  Marigold immediately at attention by his side. He said goodbye with his usual prayer and slipped the ring on his finger, practically skipping back to the forest path. And he clung tightly to that sunrise in his heart. The closest thing to hope he could allow.
Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil, feel no pain. Go and enter eternity.
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nekohime19 · 3 months ago
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Mini Mac # 35 : protective instinct
Monkey King is a protective dad
The moon was rising above the night sky, illuminating the somber surroundings. The pilgrims were sleeping peacefully, blanketed by the sea of stars. Sanzang was curled in his wool blanket like a caterpillar in its cocoon. Bajie was openly snoring, spread on the floor like a starfish. Wujing was sleeping on his back, arms resting on his chest like a dignified mummy. And Ao Lie slept in his horse form, nestled in the soft grass.
Wukong looked down at the lil guy sleeping near him. Macaque was curled around his bud, almost hiding it in his fur. Wukong found it really adorable. He was the only one not sleeping, he couldn't even if he wanted to really. Everytime he closed his eyes, he felt this inexplicable fear rise inside of him. It was like if he didn't watch over the bud, something terrible would happen to it.
It's not like he didn't trust Macaque. Even if the lil guy didn't fight that often, he wasn't weak by any means. Just the other day he kicked a demon ass to the moon and beyond only because they dared to glare the bud. Wukong didn't even have the time to fight the demon, for Macaque had already beaten it to a bloody pulp. It was admittedly the most attractive thing Wukong ever saw.
But even if he knew Macaque could kick asses, he was still worried. It wasn't something he could control. It was like a deep seated instinct which resurfaced despite him.
It's been a while since he slept because of this.
The great sage returned to his weaving. He was making a mini tiger skirt for the baby, or a tiger diaper really, so the infant could match Macaque and him. It was his pastime to make different things for the baby. He already made toys, clothes and he planned to make mini chiffon dolls of the pilgrims. Wukong had never thought he would be so good with needle work, but he found he quite liked it, it was soothing.
Wukong had to admit that since the bud was birthed, he didn't do much courting. It's not like he didn't want to. But he was so focused on making sure that the baby would be correctly welcomed and that Macaque had everything he wanted. Courting took a backseat.
“Wukong ?” The great sage flinched and turned towards Macaque. The lil guy rubbed his eyes and looked up at the golden-furred monkey with inquiry. “You're not asleep?”
“Huh, Noo? Someone needs to keep watch.” Awkwardly chuckled Wukong. Macaque raised a skeptical eyebrow and sighed fondly.
“Wanna, huh, shrink and sleep with me?” Wukong fluffed up at the proposition, he fiddled with his fingers before putting his needlework aside and shrunk down.
The lil Monkey King nervously approached Macaque. The lil guy patted the other side of the bud. Wukong laid down and curled there, circling the bud. The folded flower was warm. Wukong felt his heart thump in excitement.
“Thanks… You know for doing so much.” Mumbled Macaque, Wukong looked at him and was surprised to see a blush dust his cheeks.
“No problem.” Replied Wukong.
Both monkeys laid in silence, encircling the bud with warmth. Wukong loved the smell of the flower. The peach blossom had the sweetest scent. Then suddenly, they both heard a lil thump. They stared at the bud amazed, and felt lil kicks under the soft petals.
Wukong nuzzled against the bud, tears nipping at his eyes.
“They never did that before.” Mumbled Macaque. “Guess they like you.”
They spend the rest of the night whispering to each other, proposing names for the baby.
They fell asleep in the dead of the night, tails weaved together, both nuzzling the bud.
+ cut scenes
Sanzang *after waking up* : awww, they cuddle together 🥰
Bajie : they should get married already 🙄
 
Wukong *choosing name* : What about Sun Wukong Jr? ☺️
Macaque :..... No 😅
Ch1 / Previous / Next
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huramuna · 11 months ago
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selkie's song - chapter 3.
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night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.
this is wholly inspired by lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!
more worldbuilding and a deeper delve into aemond and euna's ever changing dynamic + a battle! i'm terrible at writing combat so i hope it isn't too egregious. one of the songs of this chapter is "skinwalker" by robbie robertson. i used to listen to this to fall asleep as a kid, hehe.
previous | next chapter
word count: 3.7k
content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it, graphic depictions of violence (this chapter)
(you're the) devil in disguise - elvis presley • skinwalker - robbie robertson
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A swim always did well to clear her mind, her fur slicked back against her skin. Her nostrils were plugged close, taut against her muzzle as she bobbed and weaved through the kelp forest. 
Breaching for air, the moon began to rise above the horizon, shifting the tides as it did every day. She needed to shake the exhaustion of the day by running herself even more ragged, testing her limits and gliding through the water like a falling star, the water swirling and flowing past her streamlined body. 
Euna tried to delve deeper into the animalistic part of her brain– the part always there, scratching and screaming to be let free for every moment she was in her human skin. The sea called to her even when she was only feet away from it, even when she was miles inland where she couldn’t smell the salt any longer. A skinchanger always teetered the line between animal and human, an unskilled skinchanger could be stuck in their animal skin forever. Euna had been warned about this so many times by her father, but she didn’t see the harm in it. She wouldn’t totally mind being a seal forever, eating fish and swimming the expanse of the sea.
Her mind wandered back to the purple-eyed crow. She quite liked his scent, it was warm and heady, musky. It reminded her of sitting close to the fire and mayhaps singing the skin of her fish a bit too much under the flame, but it was still delicious and comforting nonetheless. Euna had met other crows before– some of them even lived at her tribe– but none of them were like him. Aemond. He even had a peculiar name. Ae-mond. She spoke it under water, bubbles whizzing out of her mouth and traveling to the surface.
His scent was warm and comforting, but his eye told a different story. His scar paired with his sapphire eye was unusual to her and she wondered how he lost it. When they had stared each other down earlier in the day, she could see shadows dancing past his iris, his pupil dilating in turn as he observed her, as if he was measuring her worth. Euna had stared into countless eyes, living and dead, but none entranced her so like his, reminiscent of a beautiful lavender flower that she liked to put in her tea or braid into her hair during the warmer months. Just past his pupil, the very edge of pain could be seen and she wondered if he saw ghosts dance just beyond his vision, taunting and haunting him just as she did. Could he remember their faces or were they just smudged, out of focus and just out of sight like her family was? 
She still thought of them– her family, even if she couldn’t exactly remember. When they lingered in her peripheral and she would whip around to see them, they would disappear, dawdling just behind her. Over the years, she had come adept at shutting them out. Her papa told her she was sensitive to the afterlife just like their shamans were, but her power was untrained and rampant. She could quiet and dim the specters by swimming and overwhelming her other senses. She never saw them underwater and was ever grateful to the Gods that she could skinchange and escape them. But, every so often, Euna would smell something on the wind, something long locked away that would spring them back to life, their voices whispering to her– those would be times she would sleep in the kelp forest, hugged against stalks of algae, curled into herself and forgetting everything, turning off the human part of her mind and just living as she felt the Gods truly intended her to be.
Bobbing to the surface and taking in another gulp of air, she saw movement on the hilltop near the crest of the camp, overlooking the entirety of the valley. She smelled the air, expecting to inhale the familiar scent of her own tribe– a mixture of sea air and musk– but a pungent smell filled her nostrils. It smelled of burned bones and pervasive cracked pepper, mingled with stinging pine nettle. This wasn’t of her tribe, someone else was on the hill, observing. She blinked her eyes profusely, grumbling at the way her seal eyes couldn’t focus well outside water, everything above the surface. Even with her poor eyesight in this form, she could see multiple figures.
Diving back down, she plunged towards home, towards the sea door. It was a cave connected to her and papa’s house which led directly to the sea. It was built by Atohi for Euna to constantly have a way to dip in and out of the water with ease. She bursted out of the opening that filtered to the sea in the cave, drenched with water. It pooled at her feet and squished against the rocky ground as she flung open the sea door.
Aemond and Atohi were sitting around the fire, turning towards her direction as she all but barreled into the home.
“Euna? You look spooked– you see a whale?”
“No, papa,” she murmured, pushing away some of the wet hair sticking to her forehead, “Saw people. Smelled them. Those Haunted Forest fuckers are here– they must’ve followed,” she took a breath, her hands shaking slightly. Usually after a swim, she needed to eat profusely to regenerate all the energy burned– but there wasn’t time for that. Looking to Aemond, who’s cheek was puffed, fish cake in hand, “Can I trust you, crow?”
He swallowed the piece of cake, putting the half-eaten food down. “Unsure. Can I trust you?”
Euna groaned, pacing towards him. The sea water dripped from her body onto his leather clothes. “I don’t know– probably! That whole… killing you business, I didn’t mean it– just wanted to…” she growled, taking the Catspaw dagger still stashed at her hip, offering it to him, hilt first. Her hand was quivering against the handle, “I trust you. I probably shouldn’t– but I don’t have time to whine and moan about it. Please,” her voice was a hushed whisper, her mismatched eyes wide, her pupils trembling slits. “Help us.”
Aemond regarded her carefully, looking to the offered blade, then back to her. In his eye, she must’ve looked quite pathetic. She was soaked from head to toe, hair plaited to her face, her coat sticking to her like a second skin, eyes wild. Cautiously, he lifted his gloved hand and took the blade from her. “Very well. I’ll offer my assistance– only because your father has been courteous to me and given me the best meal I’ve had in moons. You are still a hellion.”
Euna let out a puff, nodding slowly. She turned to her father, “Papa–”
“I got it under control, Euna,” he responded gruffly, his hand going to his cane and twisting the bottom half from the top, revealing a sharpened dragonglass core. He laid it across his lap, crossing his arms over his chest. “I ain’t helpless yet.”
Aemond had a glint of amusement in his eye at the old man’s resilience, offering a hand to Atohi. “Thank you for the meal.”
“You’ll be back for another, son. Go kill some of those fuckers n’ I’ll make you up some of that fried venison we talked about.”
“You told him about fried venison– with gravy and rice? That’s my favorite!” Euna whined, then snapped back, “Not the time– let’s go, Aemond. You know how to wield a blade?” she asked as they stepped out of the abode, propping a stone against the corner of it.
Aemond gave her an unamused look. “Of course I do– I trained with the finest of knights in the Red Keep. My mentor is… was Ser Criston Cole,” he twirled the dagger in his hand, furrowing his brow, “... those words mean nothing to you. In short, yes, I can wield a blade. Mayhaps better than… what, those ‘Haunted Forest fuckers’?” 
“Mmm, always encroaching. If you don’t know ‘bout us free folk, most are warmongering, always wanting what others have. We down here at the coast are pretty happy with what we’ve got– don’t want more than we need. All tribes aren’t the same, and many of ‘em are happy to kill and pillage and take and take and take…” her voice trailed off as she unsheathed her dragonglass dagger. Nodding her head to Aemond, they pressed down close to the cliff wall, making their way up to the hilltop overlook. “... not sure how many, be prepared, watch my back,” she whispered, “... please.”
Aemond gave her a stiff nod in return, wishing he had more than just the dagger to defend them– but he made do. Not only that, he had a small wish to show up the tiny wildling woman and show her that it was a fluke that she caught him in the first place. If she was only wielding a dagger, then so was he. 
Finally reaching the crest of the hill, Euna saw five figures ahead, their torches snuffed into coals. They were about four feet away, the closest one crouched with his back turned. She slunk over the incline and lunged at the closest one, sinking her dagger into the base of his neck. 
Aemond watched with a wide eye as she went feral, the tip of her weapon poking out of the front of the intruder’s throat– he made a sickly gurgling noise, falling to the ground before he could even grab his weapon. One of his companions looked over, hastily sparking flint to try and light their torches once more, but was met with a swift end by Aemond’s Valyrian steel, sliced vertically up his throat. 
One of them managed to light a torch, whooping and hollering– there were more than five, at least four more filtering out from the sparse forest twenty feet away. Aemond reached down to the bleeding out wildling, grabbing the glinting steel at his waist. It was castle-forged steel, a shortsword no doubt pilfered from a crow– no, fucking Night’s Watchman, why did he think to call them crows?
Twirling the blade, he stowed the small dagger at his waist and steadied his form, his right leg behind him as one of the other wildlings came towards him. Their weapons clashed, steel against bone spear. The sheer strength of the man caught Aemond off guard slightly and it’d definitely been some time since he actually properly fought. Staggered, he whipped backward and parried the next attack, sending the pommel of his shortsword into the man’s nose, hearing the bone and cartilage crunch. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his blood felt like it was on fire. He split the man down the middle, kicking him back to dislodge his weapon. He felt fucking good, he hadn’t felt like this since… since… 
His mind flashed back to Storm’s End and he lost his train of thought, not prepared for the next opponent to barrel at him, broad-axe raised high. Aemond held up the length of his sword horizontally to parry or stagger– it did more damage to himself than his attacker, his weapon skidding off to the side. Everything felt in slow motion as he reached for the Catspaw dagger once more, only having seconds to spare before the axe cleaved him in two–
A flash went past him. It was white, furry and huge. The light of the fallen enemies revealed one of the largest wolves he’s ever seen– no, the largest wolf. It was a fucking direwolf. He’d only read about them in the stories, how Northerners kept them as pets until they went extinct. He watched the direwolf tear into the man’s neck, ripping sinew from bone until his screams died down. Then, it turned towards Aemond, padding slowly to him. Was he really about to get mauled by a wolf? 
It sniffed him, a glint of recognition coming over its gaze. Aemond still had the dagger raised in a defensive position when he heard Euna yelling to him. His head swiveled to her– she was grappling the back of a wildling almost two times her size, drenched in blood and dirt.
“Ours, Aemond– wolf’s ours, n’ any other animals!” she shouted before sinking her teeth into the man’s shoulder, beating on his head with her fists.
Ours. Ours? What in the Seven hells did that even mean– 
The wolf stood on its hind legs, taking the shape of a woman. She was older, hair peppered with white. She offered a hand to Aemond, “Smelled Atohi’s fishcakes on you– knew I didn’t have to rip your throat out too, eh?” she was wearing the pelt of a wolf, no, the wolf that she just was.
Cautiously, he took her hand, his eye wide.
“Euna ain’t told ya? Shit– it’ll be real clear in a minute, crow,” she gave a laugh, howling and wild, reminiscent of a wolf. “Arms up, more are comin’.”
Aemond watched as more men filtered out from the forest– but for every man that came out of the forest, at least two animals descended on them. His heart was thrumming in his chest, blood screaming in his ears. He watched two bears cleave down four men at once, a bison gore a man from the abdomen up, an eagle swooping from the sky and gouging out the eyes of an enemy, a mountain lion descending from a tree onto the back of some poor fucker.
His head was swimming– he must be going mad, surely. That must be it, he must be in some sort of bad dream and he would wake up at Castle Black again and be served shit slop for breakfast. His vision became fuzzy as the battle came to a close– their side was victorious. 
“Aemond?” Euna called out to him, her voice sounding far away, “C’mon.” she interlooped her arm with his and pulled him up. “Ayita, will you tell papa everything’s alright? Crow’s moon-eyed, gonna get us cleaned up.”
“Sure thing, Euna.” the wolf woman from earlier nodded before shifting back into her wolf skin, dragging a lifeless corpse by the arm like a ragdoll.
Euna lead him up the cliffside to a rocky outcrop against a higher palisade, where there was a cave opening. Inside, it was lit up by some bioluminescent mushrooms, leading to a pool of water in the back. It was warm inside of the cave, like it had been at Euna and Atohi’s house– except there was no fire. Glancing at the pool, Aemond saw the steam rising from it. It was a hot spring of sorts, somewhat like the ones that supposedly were under Winterfell. 
She placed him down against the cool stone wall. “... so,” she hummed, placing her hands behind her back, “... what do you think?”
He ran a hand through his hair, sitting against the wall with one leg out and one propped up, his knee bouncing. “‘What do I think?’ About what, exactly? That your tribe is full of skinchangers? That skinchangers are real?” 
She shrugged her shoulders innocently. “Something like that.”
“... well. It is certainly a shock seeing a wolf turn into a woman and back again like its nothing– but… considering my family’s unique traits, it isn’t much of a stretch.”
“Unique traits?”
“We’re dragon riders. We have the blood of the dragon running through our veins and can bond with a dragon.”
“Dragon… riders,” Euna repeated, almost a little dumbfounded, “That’s weird.”
Aemond scoffed. “Your people turn into animals! That isn’t weird?”
“Nope.”
“Gods– okay, so do you turn into an animal, too? I didn’t see you tearing someone limb from limb as a… weasel.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not a fucking weasel,” she growled, crossing her arms over her chest, “You can quickly learn who in the tribe turns and what they turn into,” slowly, she peeled her cloak from her body– she was absolutely stained in blood– and showed it to him, exemplifying the webbed feet and small snout, “by the cloak they wear.”
Aemond stared at her for a long moment. Then, he burst into a fit of laughter– genuine, heartfelt laughter. His raucous chorting ricocheted off of the walls of the cave, booming around them. A tear formed at his eye. “Is that a… seal? A fucking seal– so, what do you do? Throw fish at your enemy? Splash water at them? Gods, that’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
Euna glared at him, placing her cloak aside gently, making sure it was safe before she descended upon him, pounding her fists against his chest, growling and screeching. “Don’t be rude! I’ll fucking scratch your other eye out too, Aemond!” she hissed, her face contorted into a rage, her teeth bared and gnashing near his face.
He was still laughing, finding her rage amusing. He let her pound her fists on his chest until she exhausted herself. He grabbed both of her wrists and stilled them, earning him an agitated growl from her. “Calm down, pipsqueak. It ‘twas only a jest. I’m sure that… seals even have their uses amongst direwolves and cave bears, hm? Like bringing back tasty fish for your father to cook up– like a dog.”
Euna slammed her forehead against his, dazing them both for a moment. “Maybe I will kill you– you’re fucking rude, Aemond!”
“No, I don’t think you will.”
“Let go and I’ll show you.”
“Hmm. No.”
“Aemond.”
“No.”
Their faces were inches apart and Euna was snapping her teeth at him like some kind of rabid animal– she would be better suited as a snapping turtle than a seal, mayhaps. Aemond encapsulated both of her wrists in one of his hands, his other one coming under her chin to still her head, staring at her. 
Her face was splattered with blood and dirt, her mismatched eyes staring daggers at him. Her chest heaved up and down from the exertion of her fit, the tension in her body relaxing as her breaths evened out. She sniffled slightly, pouting out her bottom lip. “I won’t kill you. Papa would be cross. He likes you.”
Aemond perked a brow. “He’s known me all for about four hours.”
“He is a good judge of character, I guess– I still don’t like you. But you can live.”
“Oh, I can? How gracious of you, little seal.”
“Don’t call me that. I will bite you.” 
“Hm,” he hummed, letting go of her chin, but not before giving it a little tug and rasping his thumb over her bottom lip. “So how does it work? The… skinchanging?”
“It’s inherited– the pelts,” she explained after giving a little bite to his thumb before shoving off of him, pulling the leather cord from her braid and undoing it, her fingers parting her locks, “Passed down from generations, leading all the way from the children of the forest, who gifted a pelt of each animal to our ancestors.” she thumbed the drawstring to her shirt, undoing it and promptly taking it off, tossing it aside, leaving her bare chested.
Aemond’s eye widened, the tips of his ears warming before he looked away. “Fucking hell– have you no shame?”
Euna looked at him, puzzled. “... shame? About what? Baring my body without clothes?” she snorted, kicking off her trousers and throwing them at Aemond– they landed with a wet slap on his chest. “You kneelers are something else. A naked body won’t kill you, Aemond. Come on,” she dipped her toes in the warm pool before slipping in. She hung at the edge, elbows over the side, “You’re dirty and you smell like shit. Wash.”
He didn’t move. 
“I won’t stare at your cock if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t matter if it's small or nothin’.” she giggled. 
“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” he growled, giving in to her goading— mostly because he was covered in blood and dirt and probably did smell like shit. He stripped out of his Night’s Watch garb, the cool air from the outside of the cave wafting in and chilling his skin. He was bare before her, and she kept her gaze above his abdomen, thankfully. As far as he saw anyway, she snuck a few glimpses between his legs out of sheer curiosity. 
He sunk into the water, feeling the warmth wash over him. It was cleansing and calming, the heat permeating through his skin and bones to his very core. Aemond let out a drawn out sigh, as if some great weight had been lifted. His thumb hooked under his eyepatch and he tossed it towards where she had her coat. His head thrummed slightly, the weight of the sapphire pressing against his skull. Throwing all proprietary to the wind, he pried the gem from his socket, rolling it in his palm for a moment before setting it aside. 
Euna watched him carefully, most of her body submerged in the water. Her nose and eyes were the only things above the surface, her hair floating out around her in flowing tendrils. 
They locked eyes for a moment and the world fell silent as she slowly waded towards him, her gaze wide. 
He looked back down at her, feeling an odd stirring of something within him— the same thing he felt when he first saw her. His hand floated towards her, pushing her head above the water, his thumb grazing over her bottom lip again. 
She bit it again, but not hard this time. It was soft, the pad of his thumb pressing onto the tip of her tongue as they came closer together. He smeared the wetness onto her lip before their breaths both hitched at the same time, lips melding together. They both didn’t know what sparked it, mayhaps the heat of battle, their blood cooling, but neither of them questioned it as their mouths moved against one another, the heat rising in both of them, the sound of the water swirling and the wet smacks of their lips and tongues dancing echoed in the cave.
Little did they know, lost in their sudden passions— they were being watched.
taglist: @heavenly1927
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violetduchess · 2 years ago
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A flower For Death
¤ Death x reader
Note: I'm sorry to the lovely a anon who requested this. Tumblr ate your ask and my writing.😞
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The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting a warm, golden glow over the peaceful meadow where Lobo and you sat. The soft grass tickled your legs as you both looked out at the endless expanse of greenery before them. Lobo, as always, was dressed in his usual black robes, his face hidden behind his hood. You, on the other hand, wore a simple white dress, your hair flowing in the gentle breeze.
For a moment, there was silence between you as you both took in the serene atmosphere. Then, you spoke up.
"I have something for you," you said, pulling a handful of colorful wildflowers from beside you. With deft fingers, you began to weave the stems together, creating a delicate flower crown.
Lobo watched you work, his clawed fingers resting on his knees. He had never seen someone make something like this for him before. Lobo was used to being feared and avoided, not cherished ( not that he minded it much.)
You finished your creation, and with a gentle smile, you reached up and placed the flower crown on Lobo's head.
"There," you said, admiring your handiwork. "You look beautiful."
Lobo was stunned. He had never been called beautiful before. He tentatively reached up and touched the flowers, feeling the soft petals between his fingers.
You noticed Lobo's hesitation and took his hand, guiding it to the crown. "You deserve something beautiful," you said softly. "Just because you're Death doesn't mean you can't enjoy the simple things in life."
Lobo looked at you, his hood falling back slightly to reveal his wolfish face. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
The two of you sat in silence once again, Lobo still wearing the flower crown. As the night grew darker, the stars began to twinkle above you. You pointed up at the sky, identifying constellations and telling stories of ancient myths.
Lobo listened intently, his usual stoic expression softening. He had never spent time with a human like this before. It was almost... nice.
As the night drew on, you grew tired. Lobo stood up and offered his furred hand to help you up. You accepted, and as you walked back to your home, Lobo kept the flower crown on, feeling a sense of peace he had never experienced before.
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The next day, you returned to the meadow, bringing with you a picnic basket filled with sandwiches and lemonade. Lobo was waiting for you, sitting cross-legged in the grass with his flower crown still on his head.
You spent the day talking and laughing, sharing stories and getting to know each other better. Lobo found himself enjoying your company more than he ever thought possible.
As the sun began to set once again, you pulled out a small camera and asked if you could take a picture of him wearing the flower crown. Lobo was hesitant, but eventually agreed.
You snapped a few pictures, the flash illuminating the darkening sky. Turning around the camera, you showed Lobo the pictures on the small screen, and he was surprised to see that he looked... happy. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.
Eventually, you had to leave, but before you did, you leaned in and gave Lobo a soft kiss on the cheek. Lobo was taken aback, but as you walked away, he found himself reaching up and touching the spot where your lips had met his cheek.
As Lobo sat alone in the meadow, his flower crown still on his head, he realized that he didn't want to be alone anymore. He wanted to spend more time with you, to feel the happiness and peace that came with your presence.
"See you soon, Y/N."
End~
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All rights reserved @violetduchess. All works of fanfiction belong to me, please do not copy, translate or repost any works without my express permission. Thank you.~☆
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Note
What hobbies do you think the cats would have? Since cats need a lot of enrichment, I feel like clan culture would become enriched in the arts(second to warrior things though) Like, For Example:
Playing w/ prey -> Competitions for who can drag it out the longest? (I know this sounds morbid but in olden times with less to do, there were more gruesome activities, look up bear-baiting)
Starclan as a religion -> Perhaps, despite being oral tradition, has a firm structure(like Bible?)
Cats wear different accessories for different occasions(vague but it could depend on symbolism)
Hobbies
Thanks for the ask anon! Here’s a list of things I think the cats would have:
Dirt Drawing
Cats will use the dirt patches in camp to draw things!
Sometimes this will turn into competitions or group drawings.
Flower Weaving
Cats will gather various flowers and weave them into each others fur. This time is often paired with Sharing Tongues.
The elders especially enjoy this activity, growing closer with their clanmates as they recall old stories.
Tree/Rock Decorating
Older cats will break down berries and flowers for their color, adding them with water to create a paint of sorts.
Younger cats, or artsy older cats, will use these paints to decorate rocks and trees around camp, or even use them to mark their borders.
Collecting and Nest Decorating
Each cat will often decorate their nest with their favorite things(prey is usually frowned upon, and bones are an oddity), and oftentimes other cats will look out for things others like to help decorate the nests.
Elders often have to most decorated nests, their decorations not only being a symbol of their clanmates love, but their age and time in the clan as well.
Sports and Competitions
Many clan cats partake in sporty activities to keep their bodies prime. This could include racing, climbing, hunting, sparring/wrestling, etc.
Elders who’s bones ache yet still need to move around will often go on walks together, with able bodied warriors standing as guards or help.
Singing
Mothers often sing to their kits to soothe them, and many times singing will continue on. Cats often sing around camp to keep it lively.
Some will even sing in celebration for a new leader or promotion in a cats life.
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theanoninyourinbox · 10 months ago
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New Longstar AU - Decorations and accessories
Clan Decorations and Traditions behind them
The Clans are wild and colorful, and their traditional decorations and accessories are the one facet of Clan Culture that can usually identify a cat’s Clan from a distance.  It can be worn as a personal statement, as a hunting aid, and as armor in some cases.
Origins
The first recorded cat to decorate their fur was Bumble, a molly who joined Proto-Thunderclan to escape her abusive mate.  She wove flowers around her collar to mask it and muffle the jingle of the bell.  Her friend Turtle Tail then put petals on her own fur in solidarity, and then Thunder himself wore petals on his tail, and it spiraled from there.  With the passing moons, each clan began to tailor their accessories to their tastes, environment, and Roles.  Bumble was also the first recorded Crafter of the Clans, and lived out the rest of her days in relative peace, teaching others how to weave and create.
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Placement
The common placements of decorations are behind the ears, on the neck and shoulders, the back and flanks, and the tail.  Feathers behind the ears are taboo, for reasons no one in the Clans can remember.  Less common are the legs, face, and underbelly, as these would interfere with duties, the senses, and resting.
Healers
Moth Flight was the first Seer to decorate her fur, but the moth’s wing behind her ear never withered, and the heather was always in bloom.  Ever since, Healers have had plants from their clan in their fur, that do not fade or fall.  Each cat chooses their own decoration, but there are some general similarities from each Clan.
Thunderclan Healers generally choose leaves on their head and shoulders, Windclan wears an insect wing behind the ear and flower buds on the back, Riverclan has reeds and river weeds on their flanks and tail, and Shadowclan healers always have deathberries with whatever thorny vines or leaves they choose. (Ancient Skyclan chose white flowers and the leaves of the tallest tree in their territory. Modern Skyclan wear Leaf-fall leaves and collars of moss and berries)
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Thunderclan
The most common accessories for everyday wear are leaves, full flower blossoms, and petals.  Berry paint is used specifically for Ceremonial purposes and Gatherings, to show the fertility and abundance of their territory.  Tree bark is applied to fighters when they go to war, as an added layer of protection.  Plucked fur is gathered as well, but only for Leaders and to line nests in Leafbare.  About half of the clan uses everyday accessories.
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Shadowclan
With only a few cats currently feeling comfortable expressing themselves as Shadowclan cats after current events, this Clan has the fewest cats that decorate themselves.  Most décor is for hunting and Gatherings. Formerly, dry leaves and mushrooms were the norm, with glowing mushrooms being prized.  Mud is applied to Hunters, Trackers, and Brawlers before they leave the camp, and those headed to war will also paint themselves with berry juices to look more ferocious.  Items left on the territory or on the borders by Twolegs can be worn as trophies at Gatherings, but currently this is not done.  Blame Tiger”star” and Bloodclan for that.
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Riverclan
The bounties of the river and the shore are used by Riverclan.  Flowers found floating in the water, river weeds and cattail reeds, and rarely, shells and shining pebbles are worn woven into larger works. Reeds and river grasses are woven into fine decorations and armor for battle, and fish bones are attached to armor and Leader Gathering Garb only. As decorations easily get detached and float away, not many Riverclan cats wear everyday accessories.
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Windclan
A feather from the first catch is always worn by Windclan cats, for it is seen as lucky.  Cats that do not hunt (support roles and Healers) are bequeathed a feather either by their Leader, a family member, or a mate.  Woven grasses are common, both as everyday wear and armor.  Tunnelers wore moss on their backs to shield themselves from falling rocks, but that practice has slowly died out, with Elders and a few cats continuing it.  Nearly all cats in Windclan have everyday accessories.
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Ancient Skyclan
Historical Records show that Skyclan wore feathers on their tails and flanks most commonly, with leaves and flowers around the neck.  It is unclear from records if there was any significance to the placement or type of décor.
(Modern Skyclan keeps their collars, sometimes weaving mosses and flowers and berries into them to muffle them.  More traditional clan accessories are folded in, and scavenged items are very common as well)
(all the new cats are unidentified cats from the first arc! thanks @moths-wc-aus!)
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sol-consort · 10 months ago
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omg yes? Like I don't think I noticed this on my playthroughs of me3 (I just took him as being condescending to everyone equally), but now that you mention it, I can't remember a single instance of him expanding on humanity's primitiveness (is that even a word?). Like imagine him being shown the prothean equivalent of a picture of a human, in the middle of a war, and him going "aw, that's cute" the way we look at cat videos when our life is falling apart xd -blue anon
Mhm! The most he calls humans is "primitive" when he lumps us with other species.
Like the fact they made a whole base on mars just too adorable. Maybe even it became a bit of a tourist attraction besides being a scientific base, where protheons come and look at the caveman humans and holy shit one just discovered fire!
Debating between themselves and making betting pools on what the humans will discover next no matter how slow our progression is. Looking at the cave paintings and handprints with fondness, thinking it's so adorable how we hug and cuddle one another for affection.
Humans quickly becoming a fan favourite main stream media, meanwhile the asari are weaving silk and having their knights era while we are banging rocks together and somehow all eyes are on us instead.
A video of the human who spotted the spaceship and shook their fist at it angrily gets spread around like wildfire, and every protheon is reposting it on their equivalent of twitter.
Javik, the hardened commander of 10,000 soldiers who has known war since the moment he was born, has a cute picture of a human as his phone background equivalent that he coos at whenever he opens his device. It's a primitive human clothed in fluffy animal fur and making a flower crown to the wolf they somehow domesticated who's sniffing the flowers thinking they're food and hindering the human's progress. But the human just looks amused at their companion's interruption.
Did they look at our love? Basic and plain in an endearing way? Did they consider all the ways they'd convince us to join the protheons without the need for any bloodshed? They didn't want to fight the humans, they wanted to gently coax us into serving them instead.
When the reapers came and they had to abandon all progress, did some of them hope for our survival somehow. Prayed to whatever higher power they believed in that the dumb cave humans stayed dumb long enough for the reapers to deem us too primitve to harvest.
Imagine his reaction 50k years later when he is met with the same fleshy faces and hairy heads of the race he used to watch funny video compilations of before, but instead of our carefree smiles, our expressions are serious, shiny innocent eyes hardened and carrying weapons that resemble the prototypes of protheon early space technology.
Humans discovered the protheon ruins after all, didn't we? On mars, it is the only reason we learned space travel. Did he witness us model our ships and engines after protheon technology and felt a nostalgic sense of pride and longing.
Javik watching the humans clumsily copying the protheons, trying to walk in his footsteps while holding hands with the rest of the galaxy and each other, while keeping the same stubborn hope our race was known for. The way each of us was so different that a whole team of scientists had to be assigned to a single human just to get enough results since there never seems to be a pattern that we don't immediately break.
Maybe that's why he is so open to Shepard, so quick to indulge our requests despite being defensive towards Liara. Maybe that's why he wants to explore the human ship and feel the traces of every human who has ever walked on these iron plates.
He does immediately agree to Shepard's request and calls them commander when you first talk to him on the ship, while refusing to address the others with anything besides their race titles for a while.
He wonders if we still enjoy head scratches or someone playing with our hair like humans did in their primitive times. He wonders if we still hug to show affection, he wonders if still kiss and love for the sake of love rather than reproduction.
He wonders if our spines are still a major flaw and a failure in our skeleton designs, how a back massage will surely relief the pain and he isn't saying he is offering but if you happen to complain about back pain near him and pat your cute human eyelashes then maybe he can help.
Like how we can't resist petting a cat or giving a dog a treat, he probably can't resist cupping a human's face or playing with their hair. He wants to pick you up and watch the confused look on your face, he wants to have your round pupils focused on him as you ask him to put you down, nervously swallowing as your throat pops.
Simply too endearing, something like humans shouldn't have existed. Too soft, too adorable.
Not built for war like krogan.
Not built for survival like Turians.
Not built for attraction like the asari.
It's a mystery why the universe saw fit for humans to look the way they do. Maybe it was a little treat for the protheons to have an entire race fitted to their taste.
And the fact humans DNA is really versatile, we can survive so many things, we can eat so many different foods and we have a long history of evolution ancestry. Our immune systems are more decent making us a great companion since we adapt to whatever environment we are thrown into.
Quickly fill in whatever role we are needed in, so many different opinions that can contradict themselves. Javik and the protheons knew deep down that the humans held a special kind of potential, that they won't always be the coddled baby race of the galaxy with the perfect cradle planet of earth.
That with the right tools, they might even match the high protheons, and in a way they felt pride at the idea of finding the perfect protege to their grand design.
Or just imagine Javik squeezing Shepard's face because the way human's cheeks are so squishy and made their lips part always lightened his mood. Javik is handling waking up after 50k years so well because he is on a ship filled with humans, much like a person waking up from a coma and being moved to a room full of therapy dogs and kittens.
And thank you btw, I read the last ask. I appreciate it, really.
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mothpawbs · 2 years ago
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WINGS OF FIRE FASHION HEADCANONS
i've been working on lists of headcanons for how the different tribes approach accessorizing for quite a while, and I think my list is finally in a good place to post it! headcanons are sorted by tribe. These are free to use if you would like to implement them in art or writing! if you have any suggestions, inputs or questions, please comment, reblog, or send me an ask!
Mudwings
because of the mud they spend a lot of their time in, a lot of accessories aren't very feasible for them
like to use woven cords made of jute or other natural fibers. sib groups will often wear a cord around their neck with a coiled knot that has a ring representing each of their siblings.
higher classes wear jewelry made with gold and gems, and often inset gems into their scales so they're harder to lose in mud and water
textiles almost never used in accessories because of how hard they are to keep clean
love tattoos, like to get tattoos on their wings membranes and underbellies. clutches tend to get matching tattoos representing their group, and a first tattoo is considered a right of passage by mudwings
Sandwings
known for their opulent weavings and textiles, like to wear scarves, shawls, and capes for functionality as well as aesthetics. hoods, veils and masks are common to protect their faces from the sun and from flying sand
also wear a lot of gold, in the form of earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, septums, and tail rings
sandwings have very skilled glaziers, and often implement glass in their jewelry
occasionally wear gemstones, though not as common. onyx, topaz, sapphires, obsidian, and diamonds are popular
enjoy tattoos, often on the scales but especially on the wing membranes
dye their textiles and crests with natural materials, usually created from plants
motifs of desert animals, such as snakes, lizards, foxes, owls, and coyotes common in accessories
Seawings
prefer more organic materials, such as pearls, coral, seashells, pebbles, bone, and even seaweed
use very little metal, but usually gold (as it doesn't corrode in water)
love piercings, but don't often wear necklaces (or anything that has to go around the neck) as they tend to constrict both the gills and the back frills, which can be very uncomfortable.
gems are less commonly used in jewelry and are often restricted to upper classes. sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds are favored.
try not to wear anything that may conceal their glowscales, as this can make speaking aquatic difficult
motifs of fish (& their scales), shells, ocean waves and currents, and aquatic mammals popular
Skywings
LOOOVE treasure
wear lots of intricately wrought metal, usually gold but also silver and bronze. Skywings are famed for their metallurgy skills
during scarlet's reign/the war, accessories fashioned after armor (ex. scarlet's mail vest) became very popular
also very fond of gemstones, especially rubies, topaz, amber, and diamonds. the more, the better!
adopted gem insets in scales from the mudwings and consider them very attractive, in a "beauty is pain" kind of way, as it is a painful process to get them inset. as well as a symbol of wealth, it can also be considered a symbol of strength
sometimes wear capes or shawls, but prefer not to as they tend to restrict wing movement and can catch on fire if one is careless
Icewings
prefer elegant, minimalist fashion
wear a lot of furs, including seal, polar bear, caribou, lynx, and fox.
often wear silver or black metal, as it compliments their scale colors.
gems are less common, but diamonds, amethyst, opal, crystal and sapphires are favored. glass imported from the sand or sky kingdom are also popular, but became less common during the war.
upper classes commonly display their circle status in the form of pendants, rings, earrings, or bracelets
Rainwings
don't really understand the appeal of jewelry, as they can make their scales whatever color they want and don't need jewels to add vibrancy to their appearance
like wearing flowers, carve wooden tokens and pendants that are made into earrings or hung from necklaces, and sometimes wear cords woven from plants.
ultimately pretty minimal accessorising, but then again they're pretty naturally flamboyant in appearance anyways.
textiles are beginning to gain popularity as younger nightwing generations explore the continent and return with fashions from all over
Nightwings (pre-darkstalker era)
nightwings had lots of skilled crafters who made fabric, crystal, and metal items, which were common in the tribe
metal items, such as earrings, chains, bracelets, rings, and armor, were often made of silver or platinum to complement dark scales
crystal, diamond, moonstone, amethyst, and opal commonly used to accent jewelry or textile pieces
motifs of moons and stars were very common, with the three moons being sacred to the tribe
textiles were often diaphanous material in cool tones, with scarves, shawls, capes, and veils very popular. fur was also commonplace, especially in lower classes, and are either from prey animals or animals specifically raised for that purpose. some of these include foxes, wolves, bears,
nightwings had skilled glaziers (learned from the sandwings), and glass was very common in jewelry and spectacles as well as in architecture
Nightwings (post-darkstalker/island era)
many materials became scarce, and lots of skills were lost to time and lack
jewelry was simple and uncommon, and rarely made from metal (which had to be imported from the mainland)
most jewelry is carved from aluminosilicates (especially kyanite) and obsidian
textiles are practically nonexistent, and very ineffectual, as they get singed and stained with ash.
Silkwings
used to wear lots of silk items, which they prized as an art form unique to their tribe
never really wore much in the form of metal or gems, basically had the same conclusion as rainwings that their scales were so naturally beautiful they didn't really need a lot of accessories
don't really have the option of owning much jewelry (if at all) under hivewing rule, the main exception being ornamental silkwings in the jewel hive
Hivewings
depends on the hive, but love jewelry and textiles.
wear gem-encrusted gold pieces and fine silk items woven by silkwings
jewel hive dragons are big show-offs when it comes to their outfits and accessories
multiple dragons seen to paint their claws, could also do this to their horns??
insect motifs common
Leafwings
almost never wear metal jewelry
often use organics for accessories, including carved wood, dried leaves, and woven cords
stones are sometimes used, with jade being prized for its color
amber very common as well
motifs of leaves, flowers, and fruits popular
non-useful accessories became uncommon post-tree wars, replaced by bags made from leaves and fibers (especially with the poisonwings)
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voices-in-dark-violets-head · 2 months ago
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A Tribute to the Rock Art of Valcamonica
Life has been so much better since they showed up...
The months of the sun-season are over, and the days are getting colder. Your tribe came down from the higher peaks to seek out the caves you return to each snow. And there, you found them again - the dogs.
Your tribe's and them - you've been running on hunts more and more, as the cooler northern winds blow over the white slopes. You started cautious, many seasons past, but each seems to have learned to trust the other. Two legs and four legs, spear and fang - such hunts have proven bountiful...
But that's not what's making life better for you, is it?
The scent of cooking meat drew them to your fires, to your camps even outside of the hunts. But your offerings kept them, and now they come and go as they please. Even now, to the tribe's celebration of the sun-season's end, to the indulgence of pleasure...
And what pleasure...
Kwōn-cwēn, they're calling you now; the hound-woman. It's a quaint name, even a friendly jab. Not many in the tribe share your tastes, and those that do don't tend to eschew their fellow tribesmen as you do. But they accept you, of course - they even dedicated a part of their wall-murals to you, an appreciation of your curious nature. And curious you may be - but you wear it all with happiness, with pride.
For how can you deny what you love? Their beauty, the earnestness of their gaze. Their eager, indulgent tongues... Your spirit yearns during the flowers-season, when the dogs are away tending to their cubs. And at the site of the packs dancing across the snows as the days lengthen, your soul dances in your chest. For soon your lovers will come again.
And so, the celebration continues, the fires burning under a gaze of the sky-spirits. Under their watch, you indulge in the world they weave, and everything in it. For the others, that means each other, olive-skinned bodies rolling in the firelight. For you...
The touch of fur on skin is like no other.
Oh, what a tribe you may make one day, two legs living with four! What a pack you'll live in, eat in, and sleep in. Maybe one day, every tribesman could have the chance to share in the love of such beautiful beasts. Man's greatest friend, be it on the mountain slopes, on the sun-blanched plains...
Or in the caves, echoing with gasps and moans, as the fire burns on-
Both without, and within.
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starryserenade · 1 year ago
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Mickey and Minnie: Firebird
Description: A short mice drabble based on a concept @thebigpalooka and I had discussed. She was largely responsible for the second set of dialogue after their meeting...and it broke my heart in the best way, so of course I had to use it here.
Setting is a Firebird sort of situation, inspired by both the ballet and the Fantasia segment, and whatever else we wanted to throw in. Minnie is the Firebird--the protector of the forest--and Mickey is a heroic prince who saved her once upon a time. This bit here occurs near the end of the story we'd set up <3
AO3
~~~~
He saw her in every precious gleam of nature. In the fiery sunsets of summer, the colors of autumn, the chill of winter, the rosebuds of spring. Her touch, her breath of beauty and passion lay upon it all. A kiss, gentle and sweet. Sometimes, he liked to imagine it was for him–when the wind would tousle his fur and leave him laughing, clinging to his cloak, or a star would streak across the sky and leave a trail so bright he was sure it was her weaving pathways he might one day be able to follow. 
It didn’t dull the ache, though, when such signs departed from view and he was left to return to his chambers alone. He left the window open each night, so that dreams of her might be carried along with the breeze. And he did dream of her, almost every time he closed his eyes. Sometimes those dreams were warm and loving, and she’d be there before him again, as radiant as ever, smiling and holding out her arms so he might sweep her away. Other nights he’d watch her as she left him, as he had all that time ago–when the color had returned to her body and the light to her eyes, blossoming as though she herself had been a flower all along. Mickey had carried her then, as she’d asked him to, and he had never been able to forget the breath she’d taken after those first few steps, when she’d seen the place where her tears had fallen. Where life was beginning to return to the scorched earth. 
Some days he regretted not having said a word. But he’d seen her whole spirit return to her then, and when she’d lifted her hands to the sky she had been filled with such vigor and strength, he knew he could never have held her back. Not even to say goodbye. 
He turned his hand over, recalling the feeling as she’d leapt from his fingertips with a step lighter than any bird could have managed. She had seemed an angel then, and that was his last memory of her. Of a girl like a faerie, rising into the clouds, showering all the earth with life and color. 
There had been a part of him…well, far more than a part of him...that had hoped she might have returned. That they might have… Ah, it was pointless to dream of those things. She was an ethereal being. She was the essence of hope and nature and rebirth itself, a creature of magic with a wild and fiery spirit that was never meant to be tamed. 
And…Mickey loved her. He always would, and he knew he’d never be able to claim otherwise, not now. Not having seen her smile, or felt her touch, or seen the kindness and fear in her eyes. Though he hoped the fear was gone now, as it had been when she left him. That was all he could ever wish for, that wherever she was, she was free, and she was happy. 
But he never did stop looking, with those cheerful eyes of his that seemed always touched with sadness. He was looking now, as he brought that hand to his lips and drew in a shaky breath, leaning out over the balcony. His crown and robes had long since been abandoned, tossed haphazardly on the bed with the setting of the sun. He’d put them away later, but for now he wanted to watch. It was a special night, after all, with the light of the full moon already clipped by shadow. Just like it had been on the night he’d first seen her, so very long ago.
He stretched out his arms, letting out a little squeak, and blinked sleepily, with no intention of retiring anytime soon. The night was cool, and stars twinkled brightly, and the forest felt like it was calling to him again, stretching out past the fields that flanked the castle. Mickey grinned. 
He left a note for Donald, just in case, though he doubted his friend would wonder where he’d gone. If you were close to Mickey, you knew he loved the forest. Knew that if he wasn’t here when you called, he was out among the rustling leaves and the river, traipsing through underbrush looking for something he never seemed able to find. But it brought him joy, and he’d always return with a bit more life in his eyes, so no one said a thing…though his closest friends could always see the longing in his gaze. It never did stop growing. 
His horse whinnied as he urged it onward, that wild feeling settling in his chest as those hooves trotted over the drawbridge, then burst into a gallop the moment they touched the grass.  He’d chosen a plain brown cloak, and it fluttered behind him now, catching the wind in dramatic fashion. Mickey hollered, cherishing these moments of freedom. They came so rarely now, with all there was to do as king. But this…it was like things used to be. Almost.
The forest grew nearer, dusted with moonlight that graced the autumn leaves. He could almost hear them now, as the wind picked up and swept through the branches, and he watched the trees with growing anticipation. His heart swelled. So many memories were held within their grasp, under their canopy. Even the border of the forest, where the fields met with a wilder expanse, held an essence of–
He blinked, as a flurry of leaves were tossed into the air and fluttered about, just outside the forest. They glittered and for a moment, just a moment, he could have sworn the moonlight that passed through them had settled on a familiar form.  
The world froze, and Mickey held his breath, his eyes growing wide. He hardly dared to believe it, and yet…
Hope is terribly convincing. 
When they settled on the ground, the form was gone. But Mickey didn’t care. It was exactly how it had happened before, exactly how he’d seen her that very first time. A very wild look came into his eyes and he cried out, urging his steed to go even faster than it was before. Years of pent up loneliness and heartache fueled him now, filled him with a desperation beyond compare. 
The moment his steed reared up as they reached the trees, Mickey leapt off and hit the ground running, stumbling over himself and gathering his footing just in time to keep pace. He could see a light blazing ahead, gleaming, darting from place to place and growing smaller with every moment that passed. He raced after it with all he had. Branches and thorns tore at his clothing, ripped through his tunic and bloodied his skin, but he hardly felt it.  He could only think of her, of any faint possibility that he might see her one last time, might even get to hold her in his arms.
The more he ran, the more his lungs burned and his vision blurred through the tears that lingered in his eyes. He needed her. He needed her. He needed her.  
He burst into a clearing flooded with the last threads of moonlight, and all at once, that fiery light vanished. Mickey stopped, gasping for air, his eyes darting wildly across every corner, to every branch and shadow.  His chest was heaving, his whole outfit tattered, and his fur matted with dirt and blood. Those breaths faltered then, hitched in his throat, left him trembling. 
He’d been so certain. So sure…so…
Foolish.
His legs gave out from under him, as he glanced at his surroundings. It was his memories that had led him here, he realized with a sharp jab of pain in his chest. The ground still held a faint layer of ash and soot, and the trees nearby were blackened by some past flame–a fire he remembered all too well. 
Right at the center of it all stood the reminder of what had happened here. A beautiful tree in everlasting bloom stood swaying in the gentle breeze of night. Its petals seemed to radiate with a glow of their own as the moonlight graced their surface. It was lovely. Enchanting. 
Mickey dug his fingers into the dirt at the sight of it all.
Up until now, he’d thought himself perfectly fine. Or something like it. Thought he’d been strong enough to move on without her here, or at least able to manage. And maybe, deep inside, he was. But in this moment, sitting face to face with evidence of their farewell, he felt for certain he’d been wrong. That loneliness and longing and heartache came crashing in all at once and though he didn’t cry–didn’t have the strength to–he drew in a shaky breath and buried his face in his hands.
“I miss you so much…” 
He sat like that for a while, shuddering with emotion, unable and unwilling to move, or even lift his head. The moonlight grew fainter, shadowed, and tinged with a fiery red that he didn’t see. But the whole forest thrummed in its wake, those autumn colors sparking to life like tongues of flame. And the tree before him–-those milky-white petals–-began to stir with the wind. 
It began gently, like a whisper, then began to grow into something greater. Soon, the blossoms were swept up in the whirlwind, now dyed with the same crimson that had flooded the rest of the forest–only brighter. As the wind rose and the sound grew and those petals released a blazing burst of light, Mickey finally lifted his eyes.
Before them, untouched by the howling wind, fluttered a single scarlet feather. Mickey’s lips parted breathlessly, and he stretched out his hand.
In the moment it graced his skin, the cyclone of petals blazed so bright that Mickey cried out and had to lift his hand to shield his eyes. But through the gaps in his fingers, he watched as he always had, though now there was something else in his stare. Tentative, cautious hope, and an ever-growing sense of disbelief.
The petals were no longer petals, but real tongues of fire. Those snaking flames came together like wings, formed the shape of a grand bird in their midst. It stretched above the mass of fire, arching over the tree with great, roaring feathers as it lifted its neck, craned its beak towards the sky. It beat its wings once, then lowered its gaze towards Mickey.
Their eyes met, and in the next second, the flames gathered again, spiraled upwards until the bird was gone. Mickey reached out, utterly terrified the flames would vanish entirely, and he’d be left alone all over again.
But as they shrank, they dimmed, and took shape, and ribboned around themselves. And when they had settled, they released a final flare of bright light.
Mickey drew in a breath. 
She was there, in a shower of sparks and lingering embers. Her body was wrapped in those ribbons of fire, only now pieces of them returned to their flowery state, formed a glittering bodice, even as the rest of the flames wound about her hips and fell to the ground, trailing behind her in beautiful ribbons of golden light. Her arms were arched over her head, as the Firebird’s wings had been only moments ago, and a curtain of sparks fell down from them like magic. As the wind died down, she swayed lightly, and brought her hands down, drawing in a shuddering breath as her eyes fluttered open. 
They landed on Mickey, and filled with tears.
Her lips formed his name, though no sound emerged. Before the last lingering petals had even fallen to the earth, Mickey had leapt up and stretched out his arms and she was there, flinging herself into them, wrapping her arms around him as he gathered her up and buried his face in her neck, nestling into her hair with shallow, shuddering breaths. She smelled like autumn–like every lovely part about it that had ever reminded him of her. Like crisp leaves and apples, all tinged with the lingering scent of fire–warm and full of comfort.
He squeezed her tighter, and she whimpered, nuzzling into him. Mickey was overcome. He dropped again to the ground, brought her in closer, and rocked her back and forth in his arms as she clung to him, and he to her, terrified that if he let his grip on her falter for even a moment, she would vanish again and be lost to him forever. 
“Oh, Mickey…” she gasped through tears at last, her face still buried in his chest. “I waited for you. I never stopped waiting. I missed you so, so much. And I know you couldn’t see me, but I just kept trying to tell you, trying to tell you how sorry I was that I had to leave and I–”
“Shh,” he hushed her then, and nuzzled against her cheek. “Ya came back…” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Ya came back to me…”
Minnie was silent for a moment, just drew in a shaky breath and clung to him, utterly helpless. Mickey drew away for only a moment, catching the look in her eyes. Then a faint gleam of fire sparked in his own, and he leaned down into her, slowly, gently, caressing her collar with his fingers before leaving a kiss where his hand had been. She shuddered, and he traveled up her neck, endlessly soft as his lips pressed against her skin. When they reached her mouth, he hovered there, and opened his eyes to look at her. There was love in that stare, desperate and pleading. It was Minnie who satisfied his unspoken request, leaned in and met his parted lips with her own. 
She flared, glowed, fire again swirling about her. Only this time, it leapt to Mickey too, though he felt nothing but the warmth of her mouth, and her heart beating against him. He hardly noticed how he himself glowed alongside her now, was caught up in the deep, pulsing magic that radiated from them both as they sat locked together, wholly unwilling to let go. 
When they parted, breathless and flushed, they leaned their heads against each other, nuzzled their noses as close as they could. Mickey was trembling even more than Minnie, and for once, she thought she saw tears falling from his eyes.
“How…” he breathed, and swallowed, as if he could hardly bring himself to ask. “How long can y’stay this time?”
Mickey couldn’t look at her, his heart pounding against his ribs as he waited for her answer. Would it be weeks, days…minutes? This gift was already more than he could have ever hoped for, ever asked of her. She’d come back to say goodbye…but…oh, he would cling to her as long as he could.
He felt her flinch and thought that confirmed his worst suspicions. She’d be gone soon, swept up in the wind to fulfill her role. To return to her life of freedom. It was a wonderful thing, he told himself, and yet he braced himself, trying not to think about what it would be like to journey back to the castle without her in his arms.
“Mickey…” she murmured, and seemed to shiver. “How..how long would you want me to stay…if…if you could choose?”
He tried not to laugh, but he did. It was a sad sound, choked and garbled with tears.  The answer was obvious, surely, though he almost felt guilty saying it out loud. If she had but minutes to give, wouldn’t it be cruel to suggest he wanted anything more? Wouldn’t it be selfish?
But she looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes–as deep and dark as the tallest redwood tree– and he knew he couldn’t lie to her. 
“Awe, Minnie,” he whimpered, and ran his hands through her hair, before burying his face in it once again, knowing he was wetting it with his tears. “I’d stay with ya forever if I could…I wish more than anythin’ you could stay…”
Minnie let out a tiny gasp, and then sniffed. Then she stroked the fur on his neck, as tenderly as she could manage. “Then…I will,” she breathed, a little break making its way into her voice too now. “I’ll stay with you, Mickey. I’ll stay with you, now and…and forever!”
It took Mickey a moment to hear her, having been so sure he was preparing to say goodbye. But when her words finally registered, he froze, and then drew in a deep, gasping breath, and pulled back to look at her. Tears were streaming down her face, but Mickey’s ceased suddenly, a final droplet lingering in the corner of his eye as his whole face filled with disbelief.
“Ya…ya will…I mean, forever?? Min, are you…can you…is that…”
She was nodding, just nodding over and over again, and taking in his growing happiness with every moment. His lips began to curl, a light filled his eyes, and before she knew it, he had pounced on her, rolling her over on top of him and beaming up at her with sheer love and relief. Minnie laughed endlessly, her giggles scattered with tears, but they were happy now. So, so happy, like nothing she’d ever felt in her whole life. 
“Aw, Minnie,” he breathed, still smiling, and lifted his fingers to her cheek, wiping away some of those tears with the back of his hand, then pressing his palm against her skin. He’d been about to say…something. But before he could finish, Minnie leaned in and had stifled his words once again, taking in the taste of his lips with every trembling moment.
When she pulled away, his eyes were clouded with bliss, but he licked his lips and managed to finish anyway, knowing even then that he had only seconds to speak. But it wasn’t for a farewell…it was for love, and that was all that mattered now. 
That’s all he needed to say. 
“Minnie…” She leaned in, lips hovering just a breath above his mouth, ready to meet him again the moment he’d finished.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
The moon shone down on them both and flowers sprouted where they lay, unfolded their blossoms across the whole of the forest. Minnie wondered if Mickey knew that this was his doing, that those simple words sparked such life in her soul. Prompted such gentle, blissful magic.
She laughed softly, and smiled. If he didn’t know, she would show him now. Would imprint her gratitude on every part of his being. And if he still needed convincing, then she’d do it all over again.
They had forever after all.
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hmshermitcraft · 2 years ago
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Ren and Doc tend to weave flowers into each other’s fur. Mostly roses and Dogwood, as they symbolize love,passion and peace.
When Ren became king,however, everything changed, him and Doc stopped talking, and after a while Ren began to notice that someone kept sending him dogwood blossoms, and he couldn’t figure out who,since he had almost forgotten about season eight.
Ren doesn't know what to do with the flowers. Something about throwing them away just feels wrong. So he'll often decorate his chambers with them, tucking them away or using them as a centerpiece. And then, once they wither away, he replaces them. There always seems to be more.
He's tried asking how court if they know who's sent them, but none will answer. They talk around it, or say they don't know with the same sad expression. Ren got angry at first, but now he's just confused, and a little sad himself.
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ahanarhorse · 20 days ago
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What are the Links in your au's hobbies? If you don't want to do ALL of them, choose a few you'd like to talk about!
Ooo, okay!! I'm going to do all of them, so this will be pretty long.
First- He likes calm relaxing repetitive things. Likes repairing chain mail after fights, the repetitive motion is soothing to him. Also likes to make flower crowns when there's nothing better for him to do. The only one who's any good at braiding so he brushes and braids the longer haired heroes during supper.
Sky- loves making little crafts, woodworking mostly. A pretty good whittler but he also makes reed flutes and other small things. Likes to take feathers he finds and make things out of it, either adding it to his woodworking or putting them into his hair or something.
Minish- Makes little gifts. Learned to whittle, weave, sew and other things to make little gifts to give to the minish. Also collects kinstones and tries to put them together.
Four- Any smith work that needs to be done. Will sharpen blades, re-wrap handles or anything that needs to be done after a fight. The colors all have their own personal things: Red likes to draw, Green writes, Vio whittles and Blue whistles.
Time- He likes playing his ocarina. Just some music after hard battles or when they're relaxing. Often likes to create his own songs or try and play songs he hears the others humming around camp.(gives Past a heart attack when he plays Marin's song on the ocarina, Past didn't realize he sung it around camp so much)
Mask- Organizes his stuff. Somehow it always gets messed up in his bag and he like to know where everything is. Takes out the masks and makes sure they're clean(and don't have any leftover evil in them) and organizes them in a specific way.
Warriors- likes to sew. Will repair any rips or tears when he has time. Has a great eye for patterns and can recreate torn embroidery with great accuracy. Also makes clothes for the heroes who don't have appropriate winter gear out of furs and skins.
Past- Weaving. He likes to make small baskets and bowls and things. Doesn't exactly have anything to do with them, but the repetitive and easy motions are something nice to do when there's down time.
Worlds- Reading. He has a few books and likes to read about history and stories from other Links Hyrules. He wants to know a lot about each Hyrule and if they also have a connection with Lorule or if it was just him. Very big historian.
Legend- Picked up a little of everything from the other members. Likes to make random doodles, learned to make arrows, helps repair chain mail or whittling depending on how he's feeling at the moment.
Wind- Makes little sail boats!! He loves taking bark and leaves and making the most complex and accurate boats he can out of things he finds. He has an entire stash of models he wants to show Tetra so they can make the fastest boat on the ocean.
Twilight- Twilight also likes to draw and write. He takes notes and draws pictures of any animals he hasn't seen before. He likes taking notes on how certain animal species are more common in some Hyrules than others.
Age- Likes to write and take notes about what he's seen. His Zelda is very intent on learning about the other heroes so he takes notes on the other Hyrules and things he things Zelda would find interesting. Also the main cook for the group so he jots down other recipes.
Wild- Makes arrows in his free time. He uses so many he decided it would be best if he learned to make his own. Pretty good at sharpening rocks and winding the feathers. Also hunts or forages if he's bored.
Thank you SO much for asking Faith!!!! It was really fun thinking about all of this!!!!❤️
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newtabfics · 1 year ago
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Glad we share the same opinion about Rauru's fur. Now, I'm that girl with that long thick hair that pretty much reaches her butt. I love when people braid my hair, so can I request the reader and Rauru braiding each other's hair? I imagine that they would put flowers in each other hair and just spending time with each other.
It just makes sense, doesn't it! But here is your fic!
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆   。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
The stem weaved in with the braid carefully as he studied her handiwork. Y/N was in the midst of a flower crown as they enjoyed the spring afternoon. Birds tittered away, the distant sound of a construct rolling to them with their tea and snacks to enjoy as they looked over Lake Kolomo. It was a bit further from the temple but the trip was well worth their time, he concluded.
"There," He said finally as he finished it. She crawled towards the water to eye her reflection, making the king laugh. "I'm sorry. You just looked like a crab like that."
"Imma pinch you," She joked, making crab claw pinching gestures before checking the braid. "You're getting really good at this!"
"Yes, well, yours is much more manageable than my own," He chuckled.
"Maybe because you could hide an owl in your hair," She snickered. At his flushed cheeks, Y/N sighed. "Rauru."
"He was comfortable," The king muttered childishly as he reached into his hair and pulled out the owl they'd seen in the Forest of Spirits a few weeks back. It blinked blearily up at him as if cursing him for pulling it out into the sunlight.
"And his comfort is your loss." At his blink, she smirked. "Why would I sleep with a man with an owl in his hair?"
Rauru looked at the owl before quietly adjusting to release it into the nearby woods. Y/N snickered as it flew to a nearby tree to get a few more minutes of sleep.
"I'm sorry," Rauru chuckled as she moved to begin braiding his own hair.
"Don't be. I know you love them too much," She hummed happily as she mapped out how she wanted to style his hair. "Thinking multiple braids then we braid those braids."
"Oooh. That would look interesting. Like the Lurelin style, I've been seeing."
"It's worth a shot! I'm sure there's a construct that could do it better," She sighed softly.
"The constructs don't have your enticing touch though," He said, turning to her. She smiled and kissed his closed third eye, making him sigh in relief. "I love you dearly, Y/N."
"I love you too...Now sit still already! I'm trying to do your hair!"
"Sorry," he laughed as the construct set down the tray for them.
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