#tiny dark deeds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aemondsbabe · 9 months ago

Text

From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

420 notes · View notes

catghoststories · 4 months ago

Text

Frank, Eddie, and the Tell-Tale Heart

So, I know the main focus of this update was Poppy, which I was happy to see (though I'm not happy to see what happened to her). I do have a theory cooking about her, Sally, and the Commedia Dell'arte, but Frank n' Eddie are my favorite pair, and I've been stewing over this particular theory since the July '23 update. This tiny line from the Looky-Loo storybook is what cinched it for me.

Source: Merchandise Page, Looky-Loo Storybook

This line isn't read out loud, but we can see it at around the 9 minute in the video, above Eddie, looking so polite. It reads,

"Villains!" I shrieked, "I can deny it no longer! I admit the deed!—tear up my flower bed!—here, here!—it is the ticking of my beloved alarm clock!"

This isn't the actual line from The Tell-Tale Heart. The original line reads "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Source: The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is about someone murdering their roommate, cutting him into pieces, and hiding the evidence under the floorboards of their house.

And I think this is what Frank is going to do to Eddie, in an attempt to protect him in a perverse, misguided way.

This rewritten lines seems very specific to Frank and Eddie. We know Frank loves his garden. And who's the only character in the Neighborhood who owns a clock? Eddie.

At the end of the Homewarming video, Frank sees how distressed Eddie is. As many have theorized, Frank seems to be somewhat aware of what's happening, although we don't know to what extent. But he sees that Eddie is now in the line of fire of The Powers That Be, and he becomes worried for him.

I think Frank will dismantle Eddie and hide him in his garden until he deems it 'safe' for Eddie to come back, once the 'eyes' are off him. (Kind of reminds me of the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings). An unintentional—or perhaps intentional—side effect of being dismantled and put back together, with new parts, is that Eddie doesn't remember things well.

Including, possibly, his and Frank's relationship.

This goes along with the theme we've seen several times in WH now, including this new Halloween update. The puppets unintentionally—yet seriously—harm their loved ones in order to protect them from something they deem far worse—whatever that may be.

As these posts by kykudos, oniongrass, and nikkiiiscute discuss, there is an image from one of the hidden bug clips of Frank's garden with 9 clothespins—one buried in the dirt.

Source: Welcome Home Hidden Audio ('til it's back on the official site :3)

And there's the references to burial in Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight, too. This post by the-nosy-neighbor goes quite a lot into this song very well, especially how it might indicate Frank could put Eddie into a suspended state!

Source: Transcript Page, Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

Now I have been thinking about this dismantling/reassembling thing for a long time, especially since the last Halloween update. Eddie is one of the puppets with a new costume, and he is Frank(enstein)'s monster. And he has a big yellow band-aid on the back—Frank's color. If Eddie is taken apart, Frank will patch him up again.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(Also, I'm curious about the blue hand and face in Eddie's costume design. That's Barnaby's color. Does Frank use Barnaby's spare parts to put Eddie back together?! 😳 Especially since I feel like Barnaby's time on Mister Bone's Wild Ride is fast approaching—but that's yet another post 😅)

But based on the Tell-Tale Heart line, Frank may have been the one to do the dismantling in the first place, which is quite dark. Based on the below picture from the former staff member page—clearer image here from Clown's Tumblr—Frank may be aware they're puppets and made up of various parts.

Source: Welcome Home Wiki until it's back on the official site :3

There is also an intense piece on Clown's Ko-Fi here (please support Clown if you can!) that shows butterflies doing SOMETHING to Eddie. Are they putting him together? Or taking him apart to join them in their hibernation? 🤔

Frank also likes gelatin. As he tells Poppy in their hidden audio, 'it holds perfectly sliced fruit beautifully'. Perfectly sliced, cut up fruit, eh? Gelatin is a preservative that we also see in the cookbook recipe, and we all know Eddie has an unholy encounter with his single pea. So yet another symbol of suspended animation that is related to Frank and Eddie.

Source: Merchandise Page, Cookbook

So it seems like Frank has some experience in preservation, hibernation, etc. and knows how to use it, if it comes to it.

The next big update will likely be spring-themed. A long time ago, Clown posted that Frank has a holiday in spring. Of course this isn't canon until it's on the website, but either way, I think Frank will have an important role in the spring update, which I believe will also focus on Julie. We may see him wake up Julie from hibernation...and Eddie from his dirt nap.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(I've been so curious about that shadow behind the flower. At first I thought 'OMG, it's Eddie's hand!', but I don't think so. 😅 I dunno what it is, but it doesn't quite seem flower like to me...🤔)

This Ko-Fi post (again, please support Clown if you have the means!) was posted around Easter this year and had a bunny/Easter theme. Clown says "What is there to say though... Well! We know what the next holiday is in our Home Sweet Home, I'd say." A huge theme of Easter/Spring are Rebirth and Resurrection.

As this post by serene-hatterene so beautifully details, Frank may feel pressured to kiss Julie to wake her up to prove his heteronormativity. Maybe to further protect Eddie, too, to prove they aren't a thing. Seems like Julie's family may show up this update, too, and we know family can cause a lot of pressure for couples during holidays. 😬

My last item isn't that strong, but I have been thinking of since the July '23 update. In Eddie's Big Lift, Frank says the following line:

Source: Transcript Page, Eddie's Big Lift

The tense of "You always did work too hard" always bothered me. Why doesn't Frank just say, "You always work too hard!" And Eddie doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. Frank sounds almost wistful here. It's like he's talking about his ex—a former version of Eddie, pre-dismantling, perhaps?

(Also, 'Enjoy the ground, Mr. Dear'? Dude, if this theory is right, that line is even more screwed up than it already was. 😳)

Here is my order of how I feel these events actually happened:

Secret Bug Audios (Eddie and Frank flirting) -> 1st Halloween Audio (Eddie still seems like his chipper, knowledgeable self) -> Homewarming -> Springtime (and Eddie's Resurrection)? -> Eddie's Big Lift

Not quite sure where this last Halloween update lands, but I feel like it's later. Eddie seems ignorant of the potential adverse effects The Brickening (TM) could have on Poppy. I feel like he's been more sensitive to Poppy and others in the past (but maybe I'm wrong, I'm biased towards him, heh). Perhaps after his Reconstruction, his memory has now been reset, and he has "fallen into line" with the other Neighbors and their weird, pile-onto-one-person ways.

Anyway, what do you all think? 😬😬 I do hope I'm wrong, since Frank is my favorite, and this would make me feel very differently about him. 😬😬😬 Please tell me your own WH theories, too! I find them so interesting!

233 notes · View notes

saturnmosaic · 5 months ago

Text

succulent berries nestled in the yard.

pairing : ellie williams x female reader

synopsis : ellie, your wife, gives your cat away, out of envy or circumstance, you can't tell. leaving behind the past, you and your wife move into a new home. but with a relationship on the brink of ravage, the house seems to harbor sinister forces. and with the insatiable hunger for berries you discovered in the yard, things crumble rather fast.

warnings : pussy eating, mentions of miscarriage, animal deaths, blood, cannibalistic yearning, figures/ creatures sorta?? haunted house.

wc : 1.8k

a/n : um yeah...it's kinda bad and not executed well but i wrote this during the week of my exams, can you blame me? also i got kinda lazy during sum bits sooo

betrayal lingers in the car, stirring amidst the crisp air of the AC. the tapping of the rain against the mist covered windows, like the rhythmic pumping of your ruptured heart, does no good to the gnawing feeling inside you. how could she have given away your blythe. the tiny creature always so nimble on her feet at the call of her name, so fond of seeking slumber on your lap.

you’d found her on a similar day like this— grey hues enveloping the sky, water droplets crashing the tender and moist earth with all their might, and the rumbling of thunder in the distance. amidst all that chaos, her meek meow had stood out. her black fur was sleek with the heavy rain, and her belly was smeared plum dark.

you’d taken her home on an impulse. time and medical care healed her. and she had healed you. a lovely year spent with her, reminiscent of a lilac bloom in the summer. but now she was gone, taken away from you by your own wife. your own wife! a blasphemy.

"are you still mad at me? we had no other choice." aventurine eyes dart away from the distorted road to get a glimpse of you. your eyes still bleary and bloodshot, hair ever so tousled, and the silk of your dress embracing your petal-like skin. a bittersweet sight.

"don't say we." not even a glance spared her way, the face you’d seek for in every room you entered, now a face foreign and surreal.

"oh come on, she was sick anyway. it was only a matter of days before she died!" her temper, planted in her like a tempting hydrangea, speaks before her rationale can articulate words, knuckles gripping the charcoal leather of the driving wheel.

"she was not sick."

she sighs, the guilt of her deed looming over her like a sickly, withered willow. “baby, we both know she was and i’m really sorry but we can’t do anything about it. we’re moving to a new town, a new house. bringing her with us would be..a burden. besides i’d rather you not witness her death, i don’t wanna see you suffer like that.”

“i’m already suffering, aren’t i?”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh? i’m just trying to do what’s right. a-and it’s like i’m always second to that cat!”

the confession, lays bare like an ornate scroll, and makes you ponder if envy was the cause of it. but was what she said entirely fallacious? maybe you had been giving blythe more attention that she’d felt frivolous in your eyes.

“just- i’m sorry, okay? but i promise jesse will take good care of her.”

silence ensues, and soon the quaint house surfaces into your eyesight. the rain and dusk obscured it's intricacy but from what you could make out, it was painted in warm whites and browns, with ivy weaving up the sides and windows curtained in white lace.

…

a house is a body, your mom used to tell you. a haven meant to be worshipped in return for solace and warmth. this house became your body. its walls were alive in the daylight, screeching and beckoning for something while ellie was at work. it fed on your sorrow and resentment like a famished beast, stripping them away to procure life. your heart was indented in these walls.

the house would foist bad omens on whoever visited. aunt daphne had a miscarriage, the frail thing of a baby was bled out on the black and white tiles of your bathroom. it stirred memories of your own miscarriage, and ellie thought that was the reason you leaned so heavily on blythe, loving her as though she were your own child. when uncle luke visited, his golden retriever was found dead in the yard, leaves sitting idly on its fur like an atonement.

ellie wasn't one to believe in curses or anything remotely superficial, but she'd felt something innately sinister residing in the hollow of the house. she wanted to move, but moving away meant leaving behind your body, so you stayed, which compelled her to stay rooted to the house too.

…

on a sunny morning, beads of sweat kissing your skin, damp hair heavy under the sun’s gaze, you’d been lead to the brambles in the yard by the house itself. the raspberries were glistening and plump with saccharine juice.

they might’ve been tainted with fox piss, so you gather them in a dainty basket and slip back into the confines of your home to wash them. the water from the tap cascades down onto the fruits in your hand, ridding them of the insect debris and other dirt.

a tatted arm snakes its way around your waist and a head heavy with sleep rests on your shoulder. it had almost slipped out of your mind that it was a weekend.

ellie's other arm reaches out to turn the tap off and put the dampened raspberries away from your hand. without warning, pearly whites bite down on your neck and her tongue flicks out to languidly soothe the bruised splotch.

a carnal desire courses through your veins. ever since you moved here, and ever since blythe was no longer in your gentle arms, words barely existed anymore. and sometimes silence felt like a human presence, mocking the insubstantial souls around it. without words, sex was your salvation.

she turns you around to hoist you up on the counter, shadows smudged under her eyes. she'd come back from work late last night, you figure.

her calloused hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart with a fervor. a similar fervor that'd paint itself on her whenever you showed her a hint of normalcy. your hands still in her tousled hair, as the velvety pads of her fingertips tug your underwear off.

her knees hit the marble tiles, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows, as she lifts the fabric of your dress up, a gentle rustle against the morning ambience, revealing your slick folds.

her tongue teases your weeping cunt, one hand clutching the dress up and the other resting on your thigh. you whimper in desperation, pushing her head further.

“ellie..”

she pats your thigh in response, fucking you with her warm muscle, feeling your insides devour it with a hanker. noises flow out of your mouth as smoothly as the tranquil descent of a waterfall, as your fingers dig into her scalp.

a sultry moan muffles into your hole, and she pulls back, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“what the fuck? why’d you-” your whine is silenced by the solace of her lips. her tongue slides into your mouth and presses against your own, slick and insistent. your own taste dissolves into your mouth, mending with your saliva.

you bite the soft pillow of her lower lip, drawing crimson liquid and earning a throaty noise from her. somewhere between a moan and a grunt.

“babe..” she lowers her gaze in an attempt to catch sight of the fresh blood. before she can wipe it away with the pad of her thumb, you lick the red off her pillowy cushion of flesh.

the taste is seraphic as it sits on your taste buds, a pure bliss, like thyme on a wound. the sensation of her tongue back inside your clenching walls heightened this feeling, if not subdued it wholly. but the taste still lingered.

her fingers soothe your swollen clit, circling around it as if afraid it’ll be seized from her grasp someday.

she laps at every drop of juice that manifests, like she’d done to your tears, as a fatuous inside joke, a long while ago. so long, she can’t remember if it was a hazy dream.

“fuck. i’m so close.”

her mouth pulls away when you reach your pleasant climax, her fingers still on your clit, helping you through your high. your hands go limp in her hair, and she languidly wipes the glistening slick from her mouth and chin with the back of the hand that releases your bunched dress.

...

the berries stay forgotten until the next morning, when it’s delicacy is withered and rotten away under the exposure to air and temperature. you throw the shrivelled fruits away and pick several more.

the new ripe ones sit snug in a ceramic bowl, alluring and tender. you feast on ten, eleven, twelve, and then the count numbs in your brain. the fluid so grossly alike to ellie’s blood, makes you delirious. it’s utterly enthralling, the juice dripping down your chin, its sticky residue settling on your skin. your teeth and lips and hands stained in a crimson hue, a crimson hue reminiscent of ellie’s blood. ellie’s blood. they chant themselves on the tip of your tongue.

spindled figures, engraved on the floors, long limbs and pulsing eyes, they seem to close in on you. the bowl is emptied, raspberries already in the pit of your stomach. the yearning grows in agony, an animalistic desire surging through the ivory of your bones.

you feel light like you’re meandering through the air, though you can feel the faces of the figures underneath your feet, something metallic making its home in your hand.

you blink and you're standing in your bedroom, ellie coddling her apatosaurus plushie, as her eyes stay fluttered. a vulnerability so immensely coating the room. the knife glides down her supple skin, the smell of meat stirring your senses. was her heart the sweetest part of her body?

"what the fuck are you doing?" her raspy voice cuts through your trance and suddenly the object in your hand feels foreign. with a sharp yank to your arm, the metal clanks on the marble floor.

"what is wrong with you?" ellie's gripping your arms, her face contorted with disbelief, shock and wrath.

"n-nothing." but something is. you both know. tears gush through your eyes, the salty pearls melding with the sweet smear of berries on your skin.

"god, it's this fucking house! we should've moved. fuck!" her grasp on your arms are gone, her hands fumbling for her phone. frustration envelopes her like a smothering blanket as she talks to demolition contractors.

your pleas fall on deaf ear, your mere presence as measly as a lamb. you let yourself be escorted out of the house, eyes sodden, red flickering in them, as you watch- watch the house your body collapse to the ground.

the berries come retching out of your mouth, along with a hideous flow of blood. the walls crumble and the world around you dances like an uncanny painting. sirens wail in the distance and layers of black pierce through your eyes, shutting them for slumber.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #ellie willams x reader

171 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Just One Reason: A Walk in the Park

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You push through the door of the lobby and hold it open for the elder woman hunched over her walker. You patiently let her through but she doesn’t even acknowledge your deed. It’s too bad that most times you help people, you don’t even seem to notice. That’s fine. You’d feel worse to see her struggle.

She heads for the outer door but before you can rush over to get that too, someone else does. You blanch as you recognise the man with the bristly mustache. It’s Lloyd. You haven’t seen or heard from him in the week since the sandwich shop encounter. You just assumed it was another random crossing of wires.

The woman mutters as she passes through the door and his cheek twitches as he waits until he’s through to let go. He shakes his head and turns to you, “there ya are. Didn’t know your unit so kinda just been hanging around.”

You blink, “you’ve been waiting on me?”

“That lady was a grouch, huh? Not even a thanks. Telling ya, tootsie roll, you’re too sweet,” he says. That pet name is cute but a bit much.

“Um, yeah, but she’s probably in a lot of pain. Maybe one day I’ll be in the same way and someone will hold the door for me,” you shrug. “But uh, why exactly are you waiting in my lobby?”

“Friends stop by to say hello, don’t they?” He grins.

“Sure, but uh...”

“You said we’re friends so... did I misread this? Were you just being nice? The way you do, huh? Because lying isn’t very nice, tootsie.”

You shake your head, “no, I just... I don’t know. I’m surprised. That’s all.”

“Good surprise?” He lifts a brow.

“Yeah, of course,” you squeak.

“Mm, and where are you off too, besides helping little old ladies?” He challenges.

“Just going for a walk. I like to walk through Garnet.”

“Garnet? You mean the sh—the path down there?” He points to the wall and you nod.

“They have pretty flowers.”

“It’s... almost winter,” he sniffs.

“Yeah, I know. I like it though. There’s still ducks around.”

He nods, his eyes narrowed discerningly, “you always see the silver linings, don’t ya?”

“I try,” you shrug.

“Well, can I crash your walk? Could stand to stretch my legs.”

You nod and hum, “that’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Lloyd,” you give him a look, “you’re more than welcome to walk with me.”

You tuck your earbud case away. The left one is broken anyhow. He pulls the door open again and waves you out.

He follows and catches up to you on the sidewalk. You walk down the pavement and breathe in the brisk air. You fix your beanie over your ears and slip your hands up your sleeves as you cross your arms.

“Damn cold, isn’t it?” He puffs a cloud of steam into the air.

“I can’t wait for the snow,” you say.

Your father always loved the wintertime. You would watch the flakes drift down and build a snowman, even a tiny one if there wasn’t very much, and you’d have hot chocolate on the porch in your mittens and pajamas. And Christmas...

You push away that thought.

“You’re quiet? You alright?” He nudges you with his elbow. You flinch. You forgot he was there for a second.

“I’m wonderful. How are you? How’s your ear?”

“My ear...” he echoes. “You remember?”

“Did you get it looked at? Does it still hurt?”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Still a bit fuzzy on that side,” he shrugs. “It’s whatever. I’m a big boy.”

“Right, but did a doctor say so or--”

“You worry about me that much, tootsie?” He scoffs.

“It’s important. You never know, could be worse than you think. And if it’s nothing at all, at least you know,” you say. You don’t want to nag him, even if you should have nagged your dad. Maybe...

“No, I didn’t. Really, it’s not the first time I got a good blast to the ear,” he says.

“Right,” you accept as you turn through the gate to the park. The arch is missing letters but it’s still beautiful.

He sighs again and rubs his hands together. “God, I hate the cold.”

“You should get gloves,” you uncross your arms and reach into your pocket, “I don’t know, mine might be too small.”

You offer him the woolly mittens. He clicks his tongue, “that’s cute, definitely too small.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and chatters. You look at his jacket. You try to see the inside above the collar. “What are you doing?” He glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“Is that lined?” You ask.

“What?”

“Your coat. Is there a lining in it? It looks thin.”

“I’m just fine, mom, thanks,” he snips sharply.

“Gosh, sorry, I just... I could sew a lining into it. I replaced the inserts in my boots too. It’s not that hard.”

He furrows his brow, “it’s whatever. I spend most of the winter south. Right by the equator where it’s nice and sunny.”

“Ooo, that sounds cool,” you say. “By the ocean?”

“Surrounded by it,” he says nonchalantly.

“Wow. I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“You haven’t... tootsie, what’re ya doin’ to me? You’re lying.”

“Nope,” you shake your head. “I’m sure one day I will. Is it pretty?”

He looks at you and his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, “yeah, it’s... beautiful,” he looks ahead thoughtfully. “Guess I should pay more attention, but yeah, real blue and big and sh—stuff.”

You bounce on your feet and stop suddenly. You hit his arm and point, “don’t scare him.”

He nearly trips as you gesture to the little chipmunk on the broken bench. You can’t help a squee as it skitters onto the seat and glances around nervously. You squeeze Lloyd’s sleeve without thinking.

“He’s so c-y-ute!” You say, “isn’t he?”

He doesn’t answer right away but you’re too enamoured with the tiny critter to care.

“Yea, super cute,” he agrees at last.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #just one reason #drabble #series

156 notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 9 months ago

Text

Speakeasy

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to Anonymous for letting me go ham with the mob boss brothers and making them absolutely dastardly! I love the scenario for this one and just how sinister but sweet Sun and Moon can be when they have their favorite little thing sitting in their laps. The boys just love to show off what's theirs.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You are anxious, to say the least. Two large hands escort you. One rests on your shoulder, the animatronic’s off-white and yellow thumb sliding slightly underneath the neckline of your dress to stroke the bare skin of your shoulder. The other is on your waist, dark blue and silver, keeping you close despite your urge to race straight out of the speakeasy.

The mob bosses smile down at you with the wicked, wide smiles of sharks. In no uncertain terms, they are keeping you with them.

Swallowing your visible nervousness becomes hazardous as you realize that the illegal venue is very much open for business. Instead of a nightlife of posh people prepared to spend exuberant amounts of money on smoking and drinks, then swing away on the dance floor open before a small stage for a band, there are gangsters everywhere. They line the bar stools, sit in the plush, rich leather couches and seats, and musicians play low, soft jazz as if to not disturb the entrance of the crime lords of the Celestial Gang.

Your throat becomes thick as you smell cigarettes and alcohol and sharp, overapplied cologne. Low lights burn yellow and cast thick, clogging shadows around the open room. Several animatronics already flank a center sitting room away from the bar and dance floor. Human men dressed in sleazy suits quickly move towards the mob bosses.

The small swarm settles when Sun and Moon escort you to a fine, black leather couch big enough for just the three of you. You bow your head under the scorching attention, all eyes seemingly upon the outsider their bosses brought along to the business meeting. Your hair falls into your face as a brief curtain to the overwhelming atmosphere.

How did you get here? One moment, you’re researching the famed Celestial Gang for a column in the newspaper which pays you well to find the best, most reliable information, and the next, you were ‘borrowed’ by none other than Sun and Moon. The crime lords have done dark and dirty deeds to keep themselves high in the underground. Why kidnap you for a few days just to put you in a red dress and take you into the heart of their illegal dealings?

“Take a seat, love.” Sun presses close to your ear, warming your face when his faceplate touches the corner of your cheekbone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Moon’s rough voice touches you. He lifts a hand and removes the shield of your hair and sweeps it behind your face, exposing your freckles and wide, green eyes. “What would you like? A drink, perhaps, my dear?”

You recoil, revealed by force once more to the many eyes, but the real danger is the ones with their hands on you, refusing to allow you to escape. A stutter begins in your throat. Swallowing it down, you force yourself to say in a tiny, demure voice, “No, thank you.”

“Later then.” Sun nods his sharp sun rays towards a man behind the bar. He moves swiftly, his hands flying out of sight.

Sun and Moon promptly set you down on the couch, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what a minnow feels when crowded by two sharks as they take their seats on either side of you. Caging you with their bodies, your eyes widen at how they press their legs against yours.

Sun leans forward in the slightest to take your hand between his own and unfurl the anxious fist you made. Moon leans deeper against the backrest and slides his arm behind you, cradling your waist. Stiffening, you hold as still as a doe deer in the sights of a hunter. All the while, every last goon stares down the three of you but not a word nor electric breath leaves those who await their bosses’ command.

The man behind the bar emerges carrying a silver tray with one lowball glass filled with a rich amber liquid. Close beside it is a dark blue pack of cigarettes.

You shift in your red dress as the bartender approaches. The fabric of your gown is rich and built to flare out when dancing. You didn’t want to put this on—no matter how lovely—but Sun and Moon cowed you with firm reminders. While they’re ‘borrowing’ you, they intend to dress you as they please.

The checkered shrug was all you could manage. It took much to convince them to allow you to wear it but you pleaded, and they seem to enjoy it, much to your embarrassment.

The bartender bows and offers the tray to Sun first. Strangely, the animatronic accepts the glass while containing your hand in his other grasp. The amber liquid swirls between his nimble fingers. The bartender crosses to the other side of the couch. Moon tilts his head. His red eyes glance at the offering in approval before plucking the pack and immediately opening it.

Your mind spins with how they might indulge in the very human vices, but to your amazement, it seems to be a sort of ritual. There’s something ceremonial about the presentation. The enjoyment of something refined and toxic without partaking.

You watch the liquor glimmer in the crystalline cup. Sun pale eyes, sharp and dagger-like, pierce you with a glance.

“It’s bourbon, dollface.” He tips the glass closer, offering it to your lips. “You couldn’t imagine how much blood and money went into acquiring this one small glass. Would you like a taste?”

You flick your gaze up. He leans over you, crowding you, dwarfing you until you’re almost sliding onto Moon’s lap. His brother eagerly keeps you in place as Sun studies you. His smile holds an edge while he squeezes your hand in the slightest.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur, but you shrink as you speak.

Sun’s eyes flash like the tip of a blade. He lowers the glass closer still to your mouth until a rich aroma spills upward and invades your senses.

“Oh, but I say you should.” His grin bears down upon you. “No one touches my bourbon but I do want to know if it’s as worthwhile as the bottle says. One sip, turtle dove.”

You hold his gaze, almost trembling. It won’t kill you, certainly, but this is more than the pressure of a drink.

“Okay,” you concede meekly.

Sun’s smile is lethal as he presents it to you. Gazing into the amber liquid, you lean forward, unable to even hold the glass as Sun carefully presses it to your mouth and gently tilts it. A sweet spiciness spills over your tongue, reminding you of the solar crime lord. You merely wet your lips before it smoothly slides down your throat before you turn your head away. Sun allows it, satisfied with a sharp electric click of his tongue.

“How does it taste?” he purrs, catching your chin and lifting it higher as he admires you. A flutter overtakes your middle.

“Expensive,” you manage, “and strong.”

Tilting his head, Sun’s grin widens as his voice enters a growl so sweet it matches the bourbon’s flavor, “Good. It’s earned all the blood and money I spent on it.”

A few bodies shift from foot to foot and animatronics blink a few optics. Mercifully, Sun releases your chin. Again, you duck your face to hide as the liquor cools your stomach. Only a few drops and you already feel strange and tiny like a trapped rat.

Moon flicks a lighter. The sharp spark of it catching causes you to jump, and Moon chuckles a dark, rolling sound deep within his chassis.

“Relax, baby.” His red eyes search through the curtain of your hair. “You’re in good hands.”

You take a long strand of hair hanging in your face and begin twirling it around your finger. Twisting and twisting the lock, you watch Moon methodically pick a cigarette from the pack using one hand. Slowly, he slides his arm out from behind you. A dark pulse to his gaze washes down you until he reaches for your face and sweeps back the hair dangling in front of you.

“Look me in the eyes. You’re too pretty to hide from me,” he says in both warning and affection, and it chills you to the bone. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” you breathe. Every function within you shrivels under the intensity of his red eyes holding you captive.

His fingertips slide over your cheekbones, lingering for a moment as if he might count every freckle dusting your skin. You tremble inwardly. Moon shifts the cigarette dexterously to his fingers. Holding it steady, he leans forward.

“Be a doll,” Moon rasps. He’s not asking.

“I—” you take a deep breath, your heart pumping hard. “I don’t smoke.”

“I know, my dear,” Moon chuckles sinisterly. You do not doubt that he does. “You’re going to help me light it, nothing more.”

A part of you writhes but you can do little but part your lips. Your fingers twitch as if you had a hope of taking it yourself, but Sun’s firm grasp on your hand is thick as shackles and Moon is as unyielding as a cold night.

He sets it softly on your lips. Unfamiliar with such a ritual, you freeze as Moon holds out the pale flame. He cups it, looming over you while he sets the end aglow with red-hot heat, and all the while, his eyes are devouring you whole.

“Hold still,” Moon commands.

He lights it, and on instinct, you inhale. A poor choice, considering the flood of smoke that quickly sets fire to your lungs with a singing flavor of anise. A fierce cough overtakes you. Moon takes the cigarette from your lips as Sun tuts his tongue.

“Naughty thing,” Moon chastises as he allows you to finish your fit, but he draws the cigarette away from you, holding it perfectly between his fingers while his other hand roams your back, hitting softly until you, at last, expel the last of the forsaking tobacco now staining you fiercely.

“You need to be good, love,” Sun reminds close to your ear. His digit plays with the dangling jewelry hanging from your earlobe. A shiny, silver sword. “What are we to do with you if you can’t behave?”

You choke but for a far different reason.

“I’ll be good,” you say, unable to get out anything else but whatever might please them.

“That’s all we ask, baby.” Moon’s hand slips under your chin to turn you towards him. Your lips part as he squeezes in the slightest, and you feel like a fish with your lips puffed into a pout. “Business will only take a moment, then we’ll get back to you.”

You bleed a fierce blush at how he holds you, his eyes commanding you without restraint. You utter a pathetic sound of agreement before the crime lords share a look.

They keep you firmly in place all the while they conduct the mafia meeting. Throughout, Sun’s and Moon’s hands are constantly upon you. Sun speaks of numbers, how well the handling of merchandise such as alcohol has transpired and Moon focuses on conflict, the safety of the gang and the casualties suffered, and how to strike back against those who crossed the line against them. You listen, feeling little more than a plaything in their palms. Moon rubs your side gently. Sun traces his thumb over your knuckles. You endure their forced closeness, unable to even hide behind the curtain of your hair as per their warning.

Then, at last, Sun and Moon lean back with a sort of finality. The goons relax in the slightest, able to ease off from their strict attentiveness before a slow murmur of talk stirs the air. The music picks up a touch louder. A slow, smooth sound of jazz that fills you to the brim. You can hardly unclench your jaw before Sun and Moon share a look so devilish, you fear for your soul.

“We worked hard today, Sun,” Moon drawls out sinisterly.

“We have. We need a reward,” Sun hums, pleased and dastardly.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, your heart racing within you.

“A dance, of course, dollface.” Sun takes your hand and lifts it high. Moon captures your other before you register how they lift you from the couch in one swift motion.

You reel as they escort you to the dance floor. One flick of Moon’s hand commands the musicians to turn up the music, and the gangsters’ eyes follow you as you’re pulled onto the last place you want to be. The dance floor.

In one sure motion, Sun begins to remove the shrug from your shoulders. Any resistance you might have made is cut by Moon holding you in place by your chin until Sun carelessly tosses the checkered cloth off to the side.

“Beautiful,” Moon announces. His thumb finds the tattoo of a quill on your right bicep and strokes it adoringly. You shiver under the caress.

You freeze when another presence falls into your shadow.

“Lovely little thing,” Sun says as he traces a finger along the line of your bare shoulder. Another shudder rolls down your spine.

You turn as if you might escape but Sun seizes you by the hip and lifts your arm high, twirling you until the world is a blur of low light and smoky haze, and dips you. You gasp. The same nefarious hands catch you by the waist, bowing so close to your face, the sharp crown framing Sun’s head in sharp, yellow rays takes over your vision. A blush fills you to the brim.

“There’s nothing to fear, love. We’ll lead,” Sun reassures you with a laugh that flips your heart. “Won’t we, Moon?”

“We will.” Moon answers by stealing you away into a swift step that leaves you dizzy and with a head rush. He half drags, half carries you with a tight grip on your hands. You can barely catch up.

You flush, trying to protest that you want to leave, now, and stop being a shining new toy to show off to their underlings, but there’s no denying the crime lords. Moon sweeps your feet off the ground as he grabs your waist and lifts you in a half circle. The red fabric of your dress flares out. Your stomach drops and your heart soars.

Then you’re back on your feet. Breathless, left spinning after Sun’s dip and Moon’s twist, you can hardly register the closeness until both mob bosses are upon you. At your back, Sun clasps your hand, holding it behind your waist as if he intends to pin you against his brother. Moon likewise captures your other hand, holding it shoulder-level. Two palms fall to your hips, and in a strange, electrifying motion, Sun and Moon force you to dance with both of them.

“How do you know how to do this?” is all you can gasp. It’s too perfect. Too prepared. Sun looms over your shoulder with a lethal warmth while you turn your cheek as if you might keep both of them in your vision. Moon presses closer to you, hanging over you like the cool threat of a storm.

“We have thought long and hard about what we might do with a troublemaker like you,” Sun speaks low into your ear. “You’ve been learning too much, turtle dove.”

You stiffen in the slightest. Despite this, your feet are caught in their rhythm, slowly spinning in time to the romantic tune floating in the air.

“What?” you breathe. “How did you—”

“We have our ways,” Moon reminds. He tilts his head, his fedora covering the lowlight and shadowing his face even deeper.

They know. You found out their relation to their elder brother. The police chief.

You also found that they haven’t spoken to each other in years.

Your pulse picks up in horror. This is what this has been about. This whole time, the cat-and-mouse game, is because they’re going to kill you.

“Please,” you say, trembling. Their hands squeeze your own.

“Hm? Speak up, love,” Sun laughs, taunting you. “I can’t hear you.”

“Don’t kill me,” you say it starkly, quietly. Your eyes are wide. There is nowhere to hide while they trap you between their chassis.

Moon stares at you, his red eyes darkening into crimson before he releases your waist and slowly leans down. He captures your face between his palms. With Sun holding you in place, there is nowhere to run. You close your eyes.

A brush of something cool and tasting of anise falls against your lips. You start under the lunar crime lord’s kiss. When you open your eyes, his grin is pleased, wicked. He holds you a moment longer under his sharp teeth.

“That would be a waste, don’t you think?” he rasps.

Sun grunts something before he spins you around by the hips. Moon allows him, and he takes you by the waist to keep you on your feet while Sun looks upon you with desire so fiery, that you fear it will engulf you. His pale eyes gnaw away at your every edge.

“I thought…” you murmur senselessly.

“You thought wrong.” Sun presses a finger to your lips with a wicked grin. “I need to take a bite out of you too.”

This time, your eyes are wide open when he bends down to press his faceplate to your lips, and you gasp underneath his hungry kiss. He pushes and pulls, and you almost sway were it not for the Moon stabilizing you. Sun releases you slowly, greedily.

“That’s right, dollface,” Sun purrs as Moon presses close and kisses the back of your neck. “We have plans for you.”

#naff's writing commissions #syzygy in dedication #mob boss!sun #mob boss!moon #i had so much writing this one augh these boys are dangerous #naff writing

392 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 6 months ago

Text

Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

#deity #Tergrid #kaldheim #divinity: fear #random encounter road #oracle

161 notes · View notes

kradogsrats · 2 months ago

Text

How Does Your Garden Grow: Terry's s4-s7 Slow-Build Arc

So, Terry. A character who could be objectively called the goodest among the main cast. We've been waiting through four seasons to really figure him out... or I have, at least. Maybe everyone else got him from the start.

Anyway, Terry's arc is a very slow burn that only comes becomes clear in s7, because it's revealed primarily through two sequences of scenes that echo each other—the first in s4, and the second when s7 finally comes back to tuck that s4 sequence into bed and kiss it gently on the forehead. This means that in order to really grasp how Terry develops, we need to examine and compare those sequences, both to each other and in the context of what we see of Terry in the intervening time.

God's Most Plant-Based Clown...

Fun fact: Aaron Ehasz apparently named Terry as his favorite character at SDCC 2019, during the s3 hype tour [citation vague]. He probably didn't expect that it would take another two and a half years of real time for us to actually meet Terry, but them's the breaks.

We don't really know a lot about Terry for the first few episodes of s4, where he's suddenly thrown in as a new main character alongside all the ones we had already known and loved for years. We can see he's a little anxious and awkward, but he lights up with confidence in his dynamic with Claudia to the point that he'll discuss the smell of his own farts in front of her dad. He has an incredible amount of compassion for Viren, repeatedly offering up deep emotional vulnerability even though Viren radiates nothing but aloof dislike for him. He seems to have no problem with Claudia's dark magic, such as the pufferbat breathing spell, even when the credits go out of their way to remind the audience that hey, those pufferbats had families, too.

He's obviously good for Claudia, which (as intended) immediately makes us turn around and question whether Claudia is good for him. He is, after all, an elf, and she's a dark mage. She has already done, by her own admission, things she "never imagined [she] would be able to do"—and this from the girl who once killed a baby deer with her bare hands. Does Terry not know about these deeds? Is she using him? Is he secretly a nihilistic sadist beneath his perky, easygoing exterior?

He's just a mystery wrapped in an enigma rolled up around a chewy marshmallow center, then dipped in crushed-up pretzels (since nuts are an allergy risk).

However Dangerous

But Terry does reach what we can clearly see is a crossroads of development fairly early in s4, when he kills Ibis to protect Claudia. This is a Big Deal—he immediately breaks down crying, to the point that despite being injured, Claudia prioritizes comforting him. Later, he's unable to sleep, instead crying over both Ibis and himself... or rather, what he had no choice but to do.

Viren, perhaps seeing a tiny sliver of his teenage self in Terry, offers him some advice regarding how to make peace with doing what you have to for those you love:

VIREN: But there is an aching pain mixed with love that you feel in these moments. In the name of love, you may perform acts so unforgivable... you will never forgive yourself. TERRY: Please, how do I live with this? How do I deal with these feelings? VIREN: I will tell you how. TERRY: Yes! Please, I need to know.

Of course, he's still Viren. Fatherly advice isn't exactly his strong suit. He also technically hasn't had a full night's sleep in two years.

Now, the writers could have left it at that. It's a good scene. It's a good character interaction. It sets up like 90% of Viren's remaining arc—as the first appearances of both "I had no choice" and "however dangerous, however vile"—and a not insignificant part of the entirety of arc 2, itself.

But they don't, and that's where it really becomes about Terry, because the next time he and Viren are hanging out (in s4e7, titled "Beneath the Surface" in an example of having zero chill), he brings it up again. He respectfully tells Viren that he's given it a lot of thought, and what Viren proposed isn't what he wants to do. He doesn't even say Viren is wrong, just that it isn't right for him:

I think what you're trying to say is... Is that I should stop having feelings. Well, I'm not going to do that. No way, I-I'm gonna be strong enough to do whatever I need to do and have feelings.

This is, in a way, Terry affirming his true heart—he's not going to give that up, even if letting go of the compassion that made killing so devastating to him (and probably narrowing his understanding of who and what is worthy of it) would make things easier. He's going to be strong enough to not have to do that.

It's not a coincidence that the very next scene for them includes Terry coming out, because both are about Terry's chosen identity.

This isn't only about Terry being trans—what he's saying here is essentially, "I know who I am, and I am who I choose to be. I won't change for your or anyone else's approval."

Viren's response, which I previously always found kind of baffling, is actually perfect:

Like, as responses to someone coming out... it's not awful, and it definitely sounds like something Viren would say. But just like Terry is affirming more than just his trans identity, what Viren is actually doing here is acknowledging the strength in who Terry has chosen to be—someone who is (I remind you) strong enough to "have all the feelings." Someone who can both act on his love for individuals he's close to, and retain his deep compassion for everyone else. Viren isn't going to try to change him, or convince him that he'll be happier another way—both because he's very, very tired and has no investment in Terry being one way versus another, and because I genuinely think some very small part of him is like, "god, I wish that were me."

Of course, what's being ignored here is whether what Terry wants to be is even possible.

... Fighting His Vegan-est Battles

So about that. As s4 winds down and we progress through s5, we obviously see a lot more of Terry, and we get a much better grip on exactly what his deal is in the dynamic between him and Claudia and dark magic:

This scene shows us several things. First, the compassion of Terry's true heart: he feels for Rayla's grief, despite the fact that she was, by all appearances, 100% prepared to cut his throat a full... ten seconds ago. Second, that Terry is at least superficially okay with Claudia's dark magic because he believes in her reasons: the only times he calls her out on her actions are when he feels they don't have her love for her father driving them—namely her tormenting Rayla and later the water dragon. And third, that Terry actually disconnects himself from Claudia's choices at the most basic level: he doesn't suggest she go back and correct her behavior, though he's presumably glad that she does. He's very much a bystander to all of her actions.

Like, he very obviously loves Claudia. We see this in his quiet, consistent care for her—anticipating her needs, focusing on her wellness when she disregards it, calming her down and/or cheering her up, even just carrying her shit around. (Like, her staffs! Both of them!) For him, it's entirely about her as a person, and a person who is fundamentally good, as all people are. She's a girl so full of love that she'd tear herself apart for it, if Terry wasn't there to pick up the pieces. He spends all of s5 making sure she doesn't have some kind of exhaustion-driven breakdown.

Then we hit s6, which is a series of crucial turning points for Claudia, that Terry... also unconditionally supports her through.

Which would be beautiful, except that Claudia's turning points tend to include thing like straight-up murdering what was, if not a child, then at least the equivalent of the family's weird but beloved dog.

Now, I don't think chewing her out over that would have been the right (or productive) thing to do. Really Terry handles her breakdown in probably the best way possible, all things considered. But after that, he treats her questioning everything she's ever believed with a degree of passivity that like... I guess would be good for a therapist, but not necessarily someone you love and have watched hurt themself with their own choices for two years straight.

CLAUDIA: Please, Terry. Tell me what to do. TERRY: Claudia, I can't. Only you can see your own deep truth. Only you can decide the path you're going to walk. You won't be alone. I'll clear out the thorny brambles if I see them, I'll hold your hand as we trudge through wet, mucky leaves. But... you have to choose the way.

Again, he's not strictly wrong, and it's a beautiful sentiment... but he offers no input whatsoever when she's weighing things like "When my dad left, I thought he lost his mind" versus "He seemed so strangely hopeful. So certain." He has no problem claiming Viren obviously found peace in s7, so it's not that he doesn't have an opinion. He just seems to not want to influence her on principle.

Maybe that's because he knows Claudia is so easily influenced and pins her identity entirely to external things or people, and he doesn't want to be another one of those. Which is valid. However, taking this position (or lack thereof) also conveniently absolves him of any responsibility for the choices she subsequently makes—they're her choices, after all. If she winds up hurting people, it's not like he could have stopped her. He'll hold her hand, as if doing so leaves no blood on his own.

This is something that starts to change at the end of s6 and into s7, mostly because suddenly Terry isn't the only influence on Claudia—if he wants her to be making her own choices in a vacuum, he has to balance out Aaravos, who has zero qualms about manipulating her when she's extremely vulnerable. Terry gets a bit more assertive to combat that manipulation, especially when Aaravos is being extremely obvious about it...

But really, by then it's too late.

However Vile

Finally, in s7, we reach the denouement of everything that has subtly been building around Terry. We find out that he has a true heart, a feature everyone is born with but most eventually lose:

More on that, and Ezran, in my eventual true heart meta.

Aaravos then sets Terry up in a very specific way—he sends Terry to find two feathers from a shimmercrow, one large and one very small. Terry happily complies, relieved that the request wasn't something "weird or creepy." However, as always with Aaravos, the task is half straightforward and half a manipulation. He uses the large shimmercrow feather to give the half-completed primal stone flight for its journey around the world, but the small feather...

Aaravos has Terry bring him to where the feathers were found, where he knows there will be both an adult crow and chicks. He brutally murders the mother crow in front of Terry, while calmly explaining how they will use her dying fear and pain to open the In-Between. It's only a key. A tool.

In the ensuing confrontation, he also drives home to Terry that a) it's too late to easily sway Claudia away from him, and b) it doesn't matter, because Claudia is also like this. Claudia uses him. Claudia tells him half-truths, ostensibly to "protect" him, but really to protect herself from him deciding to leave her.

Aaravos has a definite agenda here—he needs Terry's influence, the influence that makes Claudia question whether it's right to hide things from him, removed from her. Either Terry's true heart has to go, or he does. It's time for him to, shall we say... "get a grip":

The true heart is a gift of childhood. For a few wonder-filled years, we each have innocent eyes to experience the world's beauty in a simple way. I have seen generations of humans and elves accept the darkness that lurks in all of us beside the light. There is no black or white, only shades of gray. We must all carry complexity. But please believe me that there is beauty in this burden. Your heart will be a little heavier. But now, there will be no more half-truths, Terrestrius.

Just like in s4, it has been suggested to Terry that he let go of the identity he has chosen. The identity where he's committed to having all the feelings—crying for Ibis, pitying Rayla, mourning Sir Sparklepuff. Doing "what must be done" is positioned as now being incompatible with who he is.

And again, Terry is not going to give up who he is:

Not for anyone. He knows where the lines he has drawn are, and he won't move them just because it's Claudia who has crossed them.

So Terry leaves—but there's one thing that Aaravos has done that goes unstated, and while it's maybe not a major factor (compared to all the other major factors) in Terry leaving, it is the critical factor in his growth:

He has made Terry complicit. Without Terry, Aaravos would not have found and killed the mother bird... and he has been complicit all along. He couldn't stop Aaravos this time, but how many similar tragedies could he have stopped when it was just him and Claudia?

And so here, for the first time, he goes back to make things right. He didn't go back for Ibis, or for Rayla, or anyone else Claudia hurt in the name of love, or who he, also in the name of love, allowed her to hurt. But he goes back for the baby shimmercrows, to comfort and care for them now that their mother is gone, and he goes back to people who (rightfully) consider him an enemy, to help them stop Aaravos.

Just to make sure we really get it, they even have him say it out loud:

Should Bloom a Week or Two Early

Anyway, I think they did something really beautiful and complex with Terry, in that there's no question he loves Claudia—they took three entire seasons to show us how much he loves her, at her highest and lowest points, selflessly and unconditionally. With Callum and Rayla slowly easing back into their peak perfect romance during the same period, his love for Claudia is also not treated as less real or important. We all knew it was probably more than a little doomed, but he's not foolish or wrong to love her.

He doesn't even stop loving her, or decide she's no longer good enough for him to love. He leaves because in order to keep loving her, he has to also love himself. He won't change who he is to stay with her, because he's fought too hard to become that person. With Callum willing to give up everything he is for Rayla at a moment's notice—something that really works only because Rayla would never ask him to, and in fact is staunchly against it—Terry having a solid identity and refusing to compromise it is a reflecting alternate perspective on love.

He's also the most emotionally mature and objectively good person in the cast, but ultimately his arc shows that neither of those exempt him from doing harm passively or even actively—and growth, from that point, is acknowledging that harm and working to heal it. In a story where most of the beloved characters have done wildly questionable things or are defined by their maladaptive coping mechanisms for deep personal trauma, Terry being so generally stable and (all things considered) normal, but still able to develop and grow is actually pretty special.

And, of course, now that he's grown... he's ready for a road trip even wackier than "my girlfriend and I hauling around her dad's formerly-dead body on our way to break a fallen god out of prison."

#what even are these section titles shut up leave me alone #the dragon prince #tdp spoilers #s7 spoilers #the dragon prince spoilers #terry #kradogsmeta

88 notes · View notes

1whore1gang · 1 year ago

Text

it’s the little things 🤍

Part 1 is here!

in which the 141 turn into toddlers and you and price must figure out how to make it work

I’m sorry this one’s a bit short! 😕

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl

(if i forgot anyone i apologize)

You had woken up in the middle of the night to feed Gaz, trying to keep his crying to a minimum so he didn’t wake up Soap and Ghost. “Shhh… you’re okay.”

You were rocking him on your hip in the kitchen as you waited for the bottle to warm. “It’s almost ready, I promise!”

As soon as the microwave was about to go off, you opened it so it wouldn’t beep and wake up Price. You mixed together everything and gave it a good shake before adjusting Gaz to feed him.

The kitchen was dark, only the moonlight peering it lighting the space. The compound was quiet as everyone slept, giving this moment some slowness. You stared down as Gaz drank, his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

You’d be kidding yourself if you said you never wanted kids, but it hadn’t been in the cards for you. You quietly cooed at Gaz, rocking him as he held his own bottle. Sighing, you watched as he tried to get every last bit out of the bottle, taking it from him and washing it out quickly before returning to your room.

Turning to set Gaz down, you see Soap standing up, a giddy look on his face as he grasped onto the top of the playpen wall, bending his knees to make his body bounce. You laugh a little as you set a sleepy Gaz down and pick up Soap. “What’s got you all energized huh?”

He was giggling and grabbing at your face. Excitement was written all over his little face. You laughed quietly as you sat down with him and held him as he laid against you. “And I thought you had energy as an adult. Simon sleeps more than you right now.”

Soap let out a noise in response to your voice, looking up at you. “I wonder if you know what’s going on, or if you’ll even remember any of this.” Soap moved his arms to lay flat on you as he turned his head to lay on your chest as you began to lay back down in your bed.

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” You moved to put him in the playpen when he whined. “Nevermind.”

You woke up to feel a wet spot on your t-shirt, looking down to see Soap still laying on your chest, a pool of drool taking place on the collar of your shirt. “Great.” You slowly sat up, putting Soap down, seeing the other two boys still asleep. Yawning, you stretched your arms out, seeing it’s only 5 am.

You leaned over the side of the playpen gently, staring down at the littles when a stench hit your nose. “Uh uh. No way.” One by one, you lifted each boy up to smell who did the deed.

Once you picked up Ghost, it made the scent stronger. “Oh come on.” You carried him stretched out from your body, his little head lopsided as he slept. You looked around, realizing you left the diapers in Price’s room. You sighed, propping Ghost on your hip as you walked down the hall to Price.

A small knock landed on his door as he opened it. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama pants and messy hair. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“What the fuck is that smell?!” He looked down at you in disgust.

“Ghost. I left the diapers in here.” You chewed your bottom lip.

“Right.” He moved to go retrieve them and handed them to you.

You both stared at each other for a moment before he raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never changed a diaper before.” You say shyly.

Price’s eyebrows raised for a moment in comprehension, then took in a deep breathe. “Come here.”

You entered his room as he took Ghost from you, laying him down on a towel spread on a side table by his couch. “This is going to weirder than it has to be.” He said as he began to change the diaper. “You see these little tape straps? You gotta peel those back.”

He snapped and signaled for the wipes, which you quickly grabbed. “Hold his feet.” You took ahold of Ghost’s tiny feet and held his bum up away from the towel. You watched as Price discarded the diaper, quickly wiping away any mess and applied the new diaper. “It’s not super hard.”

“You made it look easy.” You laughed.

“You’re gonna need to learn to do it. Especially with the three of them.” Price gave you a pointed look.

“I know. Thanks for your help.” You swooped up Ghost and began to head to your room.

“Wait, why don’t you bring the buggers in here? You can use the couch. That way if something like this happens again we’re close. Share the caretaking.” You nodded as Price took Ghost from your arms.

You began to bring things in trips to Price’s room. The boys in one trip, the playpen in the other, and then finally your belongings.

“I had blankets for you, you didn’t have to bring your own.” Price said as he saw you making the pullout couch up.

“It’s okay, I had to bring some other things too.” You say, setting down a change of clothes in case Gaz spit up on you again.

“Do you need anything else?” Price spoke, crawling into his bed. “We could both stand to get a few more hours of sleep.”

“All good here.” Your voice was quiet, watching as he arms flexed as he adjusted himself to become comfortable. He hummed in response and laid on his side.

You sighed as you laid down yourself.

Suddenly, you woke up to crying, violent screaming if you will. You shot up, seeing Price already halfway out of bed. You both bolted to the playpen to see Ghost crying his eyes out, clinging onto Soap.

You picked him up, shushing him and bringing him out of the room to comfort him. “Hey it’s okay Simon, you’re okay!” You made sure he didn’t need a diaper change. “Are you hungry?”

“Y/N!!” You hear Price’s panic. Bursting back into the room, he’s got Soap sprawled onto his bed.

“John?!” The use of his first name slipped past your lips as you saw the evident worry in his expression. “What’s going on?!”

“He’s not breathing!!”

The world stood still as you watch Pric perform CPR on Soap’s little body. Everything slowed down around you.

Soap wasn’t breathing…and Ghost alerted you both.

The sound of your pounding heart was the only noise you heard as panic swallowed you whole. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process the situation.

You feel Ghost being taken from you, but you can’t react. You fear the worst, that you’d lose one of your best friends, and he won’t even know what happened because he isn’t an adult anymore.

God, Soap won’t even know he’s dead. He won’t even know what happened.

Suddenly, you break out of your spell due to two big strong arms pulling you in. “Hey, you with me?”

You can’t respond, your body is trembling with fear. “Y/N? Hey, come back, come back to me Y/N.”

Finally, the strength comes upon you to look up to see a teary Price. “John?”

“Y/N.”

“Is he…?”

A hand comes down to turn your head towards the playpen where Soap and Ghost are clinging to each other, cooing with wide eyes. Soap’s breathing.

You let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding as you lose control and begin to sob. A hand flies to your mouth to silence yourself. “You saved him.”

“Sshhh…” Price holds you tight against his chest. “See? He’s okay. He’s alright.”

You are too focused on Soap moving and being alive to notice how sweet Price is being. “Soap…”

“He’s alright, he had a small toy stuck in his throat. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh my God, I put those toys in the playpen! It’s my fault!” You quickly began to crumble as you backed away from Price in horror.

“Y/N, breathe. It’s okay.”

“It’s not! I almost killed Soap! If Ghost hadn’t of started crying, we wouldn’t have known!!” You we’re violently shaking at the ordeal.

“Look at me.” Price’s voice rumbled out his chest. He wasn’t asking, it was an order. Your eyes snapped up, wide in horror. “It’s not your fault. Besides, he’s okay.”

“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

“Stop talking.”

“I didn’t think he’d try to swallow it-“

“Y/N!”

“Oh, I, oh God-“

“Shut up.”

“But I-“ Price came up to you and put a finger to your lips.

“Next time your captian tells you to stop talking, I’d listen.” He was dead serious. His military side coming forward. “Now lay back down, rest up. I’ll stay up for a bit to make sure Soap doesn’t try to kill himself again.”

You nod, still visibly shaking.

This was all your fault.

But why didn’t he yell at you? Why didn’t he reprimand you? Tell you you were useless? Insult you?

Instead he took you in his arms and shushed your crying.

Something was changing inside of John Price, and little did anyone know, it went deeper than the three littles laying in the playpen.

#captain price x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #tf141 x reader #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley

524 notes · View notes

thyras · 20 days ago

Text

→ of dark deeds

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → complicated birth (no graphic stuff just wanted to warn y'all of that)

SUMMARY → his plan is in motion and there will be no stopping what he wills

AUTHORS NOTE → so i have maybe two chapters left for this story, so we are coming to the end. next chapter is going to be a long one because we have to cover so much, and it is going to be DARK so buckle up for that. i have a lot in store, but i had to get aerilaya's birth out of the way before we could steam roll to the end.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

Weeks turned into months.

You remained a steady presence by Celebrimbor’s side, shielding him from whatever your husband sought to achieve. He still refused to help, unwavering in his stance, and you had made it your silent duty to ensure he stayed that way.

The two of you found solace in the study, away from the constant clang of the forge, in the quiet sanctuary where you had spent many days together over the centuries. It had become a refuge, a space of unspoken understanding, where words were not always needed. A small comfort in the face of the storm that loomed ever closer.

You had made your choice.

It had broken your heart, shattered you in ways you had never thought possible—but you had no regrets. You had to protect what was most precious to you.

Your child.

And the man sitting across from you.

A burden had been placed upon you the moment you had accepted this ring, a duty you could not abandon, no matter the cost. Even if it destroyed you from the inside out.

Celebrimbor, ever perceptive, did not pry. He never pressed into your personal matters, but you knew he saw the sorrow that clung to you, the tension that coiled in your muscles whenever his name was mentioned. The absence of Annatar in your life had become an unspoken truth, a wound left untreated, one you refused to acknowledge aloud.

Instead, Celebrimbor had simply congratulated you on your pregnancy and remained ever watchful, his keen eyes ensuring you did not strain yourself beyond what was safe.

It had been months since you had last spoken to Annatar.

Months since he had even tried to see you.

He had become a ghost, a shadow of a presence that lingered only in memory. But his words, his voids, still haunted you.

I want to heal you and create the world I promised you.

Lies. Beautiful, twisted lies.

If not for Nenya on your finger, you were impossibly sure that the sheer weight of grief would have unraveled you completely. Many nights had been spent tracing circles over the growing swell of your stomach, whispering soft reassurances to the life within you—seeking solace not only for your child but for the ache that still tore through your very fëa.

You wanted to give her everything. You wanted to shield her from the disappointment of never knowing her father as you once had. Of never seeing the light that once burned so brilliantly within him, the warmth that had made him yours.

"Thilwen?"

Celebrimbor’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, his tone gentle, laced with concern. You blinked, realizing too late that tears had begun to spill down your cheeks. Quickly, you wiped them away, offering him a soft, pleasant smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you murmured, leaning back in your chair, rubbing slow circles over your now-prominent belly. You were close to term now—your very fëa stretched thin with the final stages of pregnancy. It was a wonder you had not succumbed to exhaustion already.

A sudden, strong thud against your fingers startled you, and you giggled, running your hand over the spot where the little one had kicked.

Celebrimbor’s expression softened with quiet amusement. “Have they deduced what you are having yet?”

You shrugged. “The midwives tell me it is most likely a girl. And I believe so as well.”

Your gaze dropped to your stomach, watching as a tiny hand pressed outward, stretching your skin in protest.

“Well,” Celebrimbor mused, a warm smile curving his lips, “I am sure she will be as beautiful as her mother.”

A heat crept to your cheeks, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a fragile balm against the pain of everything else.

For a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe in the quiet. In the possibility that this life you had carved for yourself, for your daughter, might be enough.

But deep down, you knew the storm had not yet passed.

And Annatar’s silence would not last forever.

As that last thought settled in your mind, a sudden, thunderous crash echoed through the corridor, shattering the fragile moment of peace. The impact rattled through the walls, sending a tremor through the floor beneath your feet. Both you and Celebrimbor snapped your heads toward the open door, the once-quiet study now filled with the distant, panicked murmurs of voices beyond.

Celebrimbor moved to rise, but you were faster, pushing up from your seat before he could. A sharp flicker of concern crossed his face as you turned to him, pressing a steady hand against his shoulder.

“Stay,” you murmured, firm but gentle, ushering him back into his chair. He hesitated, eyes searching yours, but ultimately relented, exhaling slowly as he sat back down.

“I’ll go see what has happened.”

You gathered the folds of your gown, bracing yourself before striding toward the door.

“Thilwen.”

The way he spoke your name made you pause. There was something in his voice—something quiet, almost pleading. You turned, meeting his gaze. His knuckles were white where they gripped the arms of his chair, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Please be careful.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips despite the unease curling in your stomach. You smoothed your hand over your belly, the warmth of the life growing within you grounding you for just a moment before you spoke.

“I’ll be just fine.”

It wasn’t quite a lie.

But as you stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, the air thick with tension, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

Your ring chimed—a soft, resonant pulse against your skin—as you made your way down the hall toward the forge. The sound was not alarming, but it carried a whisper of warning, a subtle shift in the air that set your nerves on edge.

Voices echoed ahead, low and concerned, spilling from the open archway. As you stepped inside, the flickering light of the forge bathed the room in a dim, golden glow. The smiths were gathered in a tight circle around Mirdania, murmuring words of comfort, their postures tense with barely concealed unease. Tools were scattered across the forge and the anvil had fallen into the center of the floor.

But your gaze did not linger on the scene before you.

It found him.

Annatar stood apart from the others, his presence a stark contrast to the huddled group. He had not moved to comfort Mirdania, nor had he spoken. His piercing gaze was locked onto her, unwavering, unreadable. And yet, in the rigid set of his jaw, in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, you sensed something coiled beneath the surface.

He had yet to notice you.

But the moment you stepped forward, descending the short set of stairs, every eye in the room turned to you—including his.

The weight of his gaze settled over you like a crushing force, suffocating, heavy with something unspoken. Your breath caught, but you refused to let it show. You forced yourself to keep walking, closing the distance between yourself and the gathered smiths.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice steady despite the tension curling in your stomach.

Mirdania flinched at the sound of your voice, her head snapping up.

Your heart clenched at what you saw in her eyes—fear. A familiar fear. One that had once darkened your own face, months ago.

You tore your gaze away, scanning the other smiths, but none of them met your eyes. Their silence was deliberate, their reluctance thick in the air. Even Mirdania hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak before she cast a quick, nervous glance toward Annatar.

Then back to you.

She swallowed hard.

And you knew, without her saying a word, that whatever had happened—whatever had frightened her—had everything to do with him.

“Mirdania?” you pressed, your brow arching as you met her hesitant gaze.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, but before she could gather the courage to speak, Annatar’s voice cut through the silence.

“We were—”

Your hand shot up, a sharp gesture that halted his words in an instant.

His expression flickered—first with surprise, then something darker. His blue eyes narrowed, a shadow passing through them at the boldness of your interruption.

“I asked Mirdania, not you, my lord.”

You punctuated the word you, letting it land with deliberate weight before shifting your focus back to Mirdania. The smiths instinctively stepped aside as you strode forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She exhaled, tension easing just slightly beneath your touch, the warmth of your presence melting some of the fear that had gripped her moments ago.

“Tell me,” you said gently. “What happened?”

Mirdania hesitated, her lower lip trembling as unshed tears welled in her eyes. “We… we were trying a new design. I—I tried the ring on, and—”

Her breath hitched, and a few tears slipped free, trailing down her cheeks.

Without thinking, you cupped her face, thumb brushing away the streaks of moisture.

“You can tell me,” you whispered, voice a soothing balm against the weight of the moment. “Here, or we can go somewhere else. Whatever makes you feel safe.”

Her gaze flicked nervously toward Annatar, uncertainty warring within her.

“Mirdania,” you murmured, your tone soft yet unwavering, “you do not need anyone’s approval to speak.”

Something in her resolve hardened. Slowly, she nodded and reached for your hand, gripping it tightly.

“I would like to go somewhere else,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

You gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand lightly before turning to lead her from the forge. But before you could take more than a few steps, Annatar spoke again.

“I really must protest,” he said, voice calm, almost measured—but you knew that tone, knew it was meant to mask the brewing storm beneath. “We are hardly—”

You whirled on him, the anger that had been simmering inside you finally bubbling to the surface.

“She is frightened.” The words left your lips with an edge, sharp and cutting. “You have an entire slew of talented smiths at your disposal—you can do without one.”

Your eyes burned into his, daring him to challenge you.

For a moment, silence stretched between you.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

You could see it—the calculation behind his gaze, the way his mind worked through what to say next, how to twist this, how to turn it in his favor.

But this was part of his game, and you knew it.

And you would not let him drag Mirdania into it.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and led her away, leaving Annatar standing in the forge, the embers behind him flickering like a dying star.

You guided Mirdania gently into the chair you had been resting in, keeping a steady hand on her shoulder as she sat. Her breath was uneven, her body still trembling slightly from whatever horror she had witnessed.

Celebrimbor approached, silent and composed, a steaming glass mug of tea in his hands. He set it down before her with a quiet nod, his gaze filled with unspoken concern.

Without hesitation, you took the seat he offered you and reached for Mirdania’s hands, clasping them between your own. They were cold, shaking, the fear still clinging to her like a specter.

You waited, giving her the time she needed.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I saw something,” she choked out. “Something terrible… Something in the forge with us.”

Your grip on her hands tightened instinctively, but you said nothing, only watching her with patient, steady eyes.

“It was there the whole time,” she continued, shuddering. “Watching. Waiting for something.”

Her fingers twitched in your grasp, her breaths turning shallow again, her pulse rapid beneath your touch.

You knew.

You knew what she had seen.

You knew what these rings could do—what they could show a person. And those that had his hand in their making… they were worse. Far worse.

Mirdania’s voice wavered, her expression twisting as though the memory alone was enough to break her.

“Its eyes… they were voidless black.” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard, her entire body trembling. “And it reeked of death. I—”

She broke, sobs wracking her frame as she collapsed forward.

Without thinking, you gathered her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried, stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.

Your gaze lifted to Celebrimbor, and in his eyes, you found the same concern that was mirrored in your own.

But there was nothing you could say.

Because you knew who she had seen.

And you were powerless against it.

If you told them the truth, if you dared to speak his name aloud, then you would have to reveal your own secret as well.

And that was a risk you could not afford to take.

“I will go see what—”

Celebrimbor’s voice barely registered through the storm of your thoughts, but the moment he moved to step away from Mirdania, you reacted.

Your hand shot out, grasping his wrist in a vice-like grip, yanking him back before he could take another step.

“No!”

The word ripped from your throat, sharp and frantic—too frantic.

Both Mirdania and Celebrimbor froze, their eyes widening as they turned to you, confusion flickering across their faces. Rightly so. They did not know him. They did not understand what he was truly capable of—what he had already done.

But you did.

You could still feel the weight of his fingers around your throat. Could still hear the way his voice had snapped with finality when he told you the man you loved was dead.

You swallowed hard, forcing the panic down, scrambling for an excuse before they could question you further.

“I just…” you started, breathing unevenly. “I just think we should not escalate this.”

Celebrimbor’s gaze searched yours, the concern in his eyes shifting into something more wary.

“Escalate?” he echoed, his voice steady but careful. “Someone—or something—terrified Mirdania tonight, and you don’t want to investigate?”

“I just—” you hesitated, your grip still tight on his wrist. Think. Think.

“I just… don’t want you to act rashly,” you murmured, finally releasing him. “Not yet.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t press the issue. Not yet.

Mirdania, however, was still shaking in her chair, her hands gripping the cup of tea as if it was the only thing grounding her.

You turned your attention back to her, softening your voice. “We will figure this out, I promise.”

You did not know if it was a lie.

You only knew that you had to buy time—before Celebrimbor did go looking for answers.

Before he decided to intervene.

You had to protect him.

The moment Celebrimbor stepped back into that forge without you, he would be waiting. Watching. And you knew, without a shred of doubt, that Annatar would seize the opportunity to slither his way back into his mind, to twist his thoughts, to push him ever closer to the edge of a precipice he could not return from.

And you could not bear that.

You could not lose him, too.

Your fingers tightened around his wrist once more, a silent plea grounding him before you spoke, voice softer now—gentle, but unwavering.

“I promise, mellon,” you murmured, holding his gaze, willing him to believe you. “I promise we will find the answer. But first, let us take care of Mirdania. Then we shall see what has happened.”

For a moment, he hesitated, the conflict warring in his eyes. You could see it—the logic, the need to act, to uncover the truth. But there was also trust, the deep-seated understanding that had always bound you together.

Slowly, his shoulders eased, the tension in his stance relenting.

“…Alright,” he conceded at last, exhaling through his nose. “We tend to Mirdania first.”

Relief washed over you, but it was fleeting. Because while you had bought him a little more time—

You knew the storm had not passed.

Once Mirdania was safely home and settled, you knew there was no more delaying the inevitable.

You made your way back toward the forge, each step heavier than the last, weighed down by the looming confrontation ahead.

This was the moment.

The moment you and Celebrimbor would have to face him.

The moment you would have to stand against your husband.

Your breath was shallow, your fingers curling against the fabric of your gown as another sharp pang of exhaustion ran through your body. The weight of your pregnancy was taking its toll—your strength stretched thinner with each passing day.

And yet, despite the weariness in your limbs, despite the way your fëa trembled under the strain, you knew you had no choice.

You did not know if you had the strength to protect Celebrimbor from him.

But you knew, with unwavering certainty, that you had to try.

You fisted the skirts of your gown and ascended the stone steps, each step slower, heavier, as the weight of what was to come settled deep in your bones. At the top, Celebrimbor stood waiting, his sharp eyes scanning your face the moment you neared.

When you had left him, the tension in his shoulders had eased, if only slightly. Now, it had returned—wound tight as a bowstring.

He had seen your apprehension before, had known you long enough to understand that if you were concerned, then something was very, very wrong.

“I believe he has sent the rest of the smiths home,” Celebrimbor murmured, his voice quiet, yet edged with something unreadable.

You swallowed, glancing toward the forge’s doors. It made sense. Annatar would not want witnesses. Not for this.

Before you could respond, Celebrimbor’s hand came to rest gently beneath your arm, steadying you, supporting some of your weight as he tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow.

It was a quiet reassurance, a silent acknowledgment that you did not have to carry this burden alone.

You exhaled softly, nodding in thanks, and together, you turned toward the forge.

Toward him.

Toward whatever awaited you in the firelit depths beyond.

When you both finally entered the forge, Annatar stood off to the side, studying something with an air of quiet deliberation, as if he had been expecting you. His head turned the moment you and Celebrimbor stepped into the main chamber, his sharp gaze locking onto you both with unsettling precision.

Annatar’s presence was as commanding as ever—his tall frame exuding an effortless dominance, his face impassive save for the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. A silent confirmation that this confrontation was long overdue.

"Lord Celebrimbor. Lady Thilwen," he greeted smoothly, his voice rich and polished, like silk sliding over steel. "To what do I owe the pleasure at this late hour?"

Celebrimbor’s grip on your arm tightened, just slightly, a subtle gesture that betrayed the tension simmering beneath his composed exterior. "We need to discuss what happened with Mirdania," he said, his words measured but firm, his voice carrying an undeniable edge of steel.

Annatar arched a brow, the very picture of polite intrigue. "Ah, yes. An unfortunate incident. The poor girl seemed quite shaken." His tone was laced with feigned concern, but you knew better. Every measured word, every carefully chosen inflection was part of the mask he so expertly wielded. He was already shaping the narrative, painting Mirdania as some fragile, hysterical thing rather than someone who had seen something truly terrifying.

Celebrimbor’s jaw clenched, his entire posture stiffening in response to Annatar’s dismissive tone. "This is more than an unfortunate incident. Mirdania saw something in that ring—something that shook her to her core. We cannot simply brush it aside."

For the briefest moment, Annatar’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes darkening—a shadow passing through them before his composed mask settled once more. "My dear Celebrimbor," he said smoothly, "you, of all people, understand that the forging of such powerful artifacts can have... unexpected effects on the untrained mind. Mirdania is a talented smith, certainly, but perhaps not yet prepared for this level of craft."

You bristled at his words, at the quiet condescension woven into them, as though he were speaking of an apprentice, not a skilled artisan. Your fingers tightened on Celebrimbor’s arm as you stepped forward, voice even but firm. "With all due respect, my lord, I do not believe Mirdania's experience can be so easily dismissed. She has worked on countless complex projects before. What she saw in that ring was beyond ordinary—something unnatural, something truly unsettling."

Annatar’s pleasant façade cracked, just slightly. His eyes sharpened, his expression unreadable, before he composed himself with a practiced ease. "My lady," he said, voice still polite but now tinged with the subtlest hint of patronization, "while I appreciate your concern, I must remind you that the intricacies of ring-lore are not your domain of expertise. Perhaps it is best to leave such matters to those of us who understand the potential... side effects."

The words were a veiled dismissal, a gentle push to the periphery, as though your insight was irrelevant. Anger flared in your chest, but before you could reply, Celebrimbor took a step forward, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"Annatar." His tone was sharp, commanding—unyielding. "Enough. Thilwen’s insights are always valued, as you well know. And Mirdania's well-being is not a trivial matter to be brushed aside."

He moved, ever so subtly, positioning himself between you and Annatar. A shield. A statement of allegiance.

Annatar’s gaze flicked between you and Celebrimbor, his keen mind reading the unspoken alliance between you. For a heartbeat, something dangerous glinted in his eyes—there and gone too quickly to be certain.

"Of course," he said smoothly, inclining his head in a mockery of deference. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. Though, with your insight, perhaps we could remedy these... unfortunate side effects. Your opinions on the matter could prove most helpful."

You moved past Celebrimbor’s shielding form, stepping closer, meeting Annatar’s gaze with an unflinching glare.

"No," you said, your voice cutting through the air like tempered steel. "He has told you, time and again, that he wants nothing to do with this craft. Why won’t you respect that?"

Your blood burned, a slow, rising fire, your fists clenching at your sides as you tried to steady your breath.

Annatar’s mask slipped further, a crack in the carefully controlled veneer. His irritation flared, brief but unmistakable, before he forced it back into place. His eyes bored into yours—a silent challenge, a reminder of who truly held power here.

"I am merely seeking a solution," he said, voice tight with the effort of restraint. "To ensure that such incidents do not happen again. Surely you can see the wisdom in that, my lady?"

"The only wisdom I see," you shot back, "is in heeding Lord Celebrimbor’s wishes and putting an end to this madness. These rings—whatever their intended purpose—bring nothing but suffering. Mirdania’s terror is proof enough of that."

Annatar’s jaw flexed, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. "You forget yourself, Thilwen," he said, his voice stripped of its usual silk, revealing the iron beneath. "And you forget to whom you speak."

The use of your name, absent of title or courtesy, struck like a blow. A cold, deliberate reminder of the widening rift between you.

Beside you, Celebrimbor tensed, his grip tightening on your arm in silent reassurance. "And you forget your place, Annatar," he said, his voice like carved stone. "You are a guest here, not a lord. I will not tolerate disrespect toward Lady Thilwen, nor will I allow the concerns of my people to be dismissed."

For the first time, Annatar faltered—only slightly, but enough for you to notice. His eyes flicked toward Celebrimbor, something sharp and calculating twisting behind them. For a fleeting moment, his composure slipped, revealing the frustration simmering beneath. He was losing his grip.

When he spoke again, his words were measured, deceptively calm. "Forgive me, Lord Celebrimbor. It was not my intent to overstep." He inclined his head, but the gesture felt hollow. "I only wish to continue our work unimpeded. Surely you understand that."

Celebrimbor’s gaze remained unmoved, his eyes storm-dark. "And I wish for the well-being of my people to be my highest priority. Anything that threatens that will not be tolerated, no matter how grand the ambition."

Annatar’s expression tightened at the clear dismissal. He was losing his hold on Celebrimbor, and he knew it. And you could see it—the frustration, the barely restrained anger, the way his fingers flexed slightly, as though resisting the urge to lash out.

For the first time, Annatar understood. His influence was slipping. And he did not like it.

The tension in the forge was palpable, like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Annatar's eyes flashed with barely restrained anger as he faced off against you and Celebrimbor. His carefully crafted facade was slipping, revealing the frustration and rage simmering beneath his calm facade.

"Very well," Annatar said at last, his voice tight with forced civility. "If that is your wish, Lord Celebrimbor, then I shall respect it."

But even as he spoke the words, you could see the lie in his eyes. This was not over. Not by a long shot. Annatar was not one to yield so easily, especially when his ambitions were threatened.

Celebrimbor gave a curt nod, his stance still guarded, his grip on your arm firm but gentle. "See that you do. The well-being of my people is not negotiable."

With that, he turned, guiding you away from Annatar and toward the forge’s entrance. You could feel the weight of Annatar’s gaze boring into your back as you walked—a silent promise that this confrontation had only been the first battle in a much longer war.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension of the forge. The stars above flickered against the velvety black sky, indifferent to the turmoil unraveling beneath them. You exhaled slowly, unsteadily, as Celebrimbor led you a few paces away from the entrance before turning to face you.

His eyes searched yours, concern etched into every line of his face. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

A sharp, twisting pain suddenly lanced through your belly, stealing your breath. Your fingers reflexively went to your stomach, pressing against the taut skin as another wave of discomfort followed, stronger this time.

You winced, your body tensing. "I... I don't know," you managed, your voice strained. "Something doesn't feel right."

Celebrimbor’s brow furrowed with alarm, his gaze dropping to the way you clutched at your middle. The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken dread. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, steadying you as he studied your face.

"Thilwen, what is it? Is it the baby?"

You swallowed against the rising panic, nodding jerkily as another contraction gripped you, radiating across your abdomen in relentless waves. It was too soon—a few weeks at most. The child was not ready, and neither were you. Fear coiled in your gut, cold and sickening.

"Celebrimbor," you whispered, voice raw with uncertainty, "I think... I think something's wrong. She’s too early. I’m not—"

His eyes widened, but to his credit, he remained composed. Even as the flicker of fear in his gaze mirrored your own, he forced steadiness into his voice. He reached for your hands, his grip warm and reassuring.

"Alright," he murmured, firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. "It's alright. We’ll get you inside, to your chambers. I'll send for the midwife immediately."

You nodded, but another sharp pain stole your breath, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Celebrimbor wasted no time—without hesitation, he wrapped a strong arm around your waist, supporting your weight as he guided you back toward where your rooms were.

Each step sent a fresh jolt of discomfort through you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The pain was growing worse, your body preparing for something it was not yet meant to endure. Fear gnawed at the edges of your mind, but you clung to Celebrimbor’s presence, to his unwavering resolve.

Somewhere, distantly, you thought of Annatar—of the look in his eyes as you had turned away. You could still feel his gaze lingering, like a shadow crawling up your spine.

And in the back of your mind, a chilling thought took root.

This was not a coincidence.

Once Celebrimbor had helped you to your chambers, another sharp contraction seized you, nearly doubling you over. You gripped the edge of your bed, knuckles white, as you tried to breathe through the pain.

"Easy now," Celebrimbor murmured, his voice low and soothing as he eased you onto the mattress. His strong hands rubbed slow, steady circles on your back, grounding you as you fought against the rising tide of agony. "I'll go get the midwife. Just try to relax."

You gave a weak nod, your breath shallow, sweat beading on your brow as the contraction finally eased. Celebrimbor hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave you, his hand lingering at your back, as if he could somehow will away your pain.

"Go, please," you urged, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "I'll be alright for a few minutes."

He searched your face, reluctant, but at last, he nodded and hurried from the room.

The door had barely shut behind him before another contraction ripped through you. A strangled cry tore from your lips as you doubled over, clutching at the bedsheets with trembling fingers. The pain was blinding, an unnatural force clawing its way through your body, relentless and cruel.

This was wrong. It was all wrong.

Your child was coming too soon—weeks before she was ready. And the pain... it was different. Not the familiar, inevitable pain of birth, but something sharper, deeper—twisting through you like a blade. It was as if something inside you was being forced, reshaped, against nature itself.

Gritting your teeth, you tried to steady your breath, but every inhale was like dragging shards of glass through your lungs. Sweat slicked your skin, dampening your shift, plastering loose strands of hair to your temples. Your body trembled with the effort of resisting, but it was useless.

A cold wave of realization crashed over you, sending a tremor through your aching limbs.

This was his doing.

The thought hit you with the force of a blow, stealing what little breath you had left. A shudder wracked through you, part pain, part horror.

Annatar.

Somehow—some twisted way—he had done this.

Another contraction seized you, white-hot and merciless, sending fresh tears streaking down your cheeks. Your fingers clenched into the sheets, gripping them as if they could anchor you against the storm raging inside you. A sob caught in your throat, raw and broken.

How could he?

How could he endanger the life you had created together? The child he had once sworn to cherish above all else?

But the answer was already there, lurking in the depths of your mind.

Because this child, this innocent life, was just another piece on the board to him. Another pawn to be sacrificed in his endless pursuit of power.

Your vision was coming to fruition.

And he was ensuring you would never see it through.

He wanted you away from Celebrimbor.

He wanted your mind, your heart, your purpose bound to him once more.

And so he did this.

A fresh wave of pain shattered your thoughts, your body convulsing under its sheer force. You gasped, curling inward, as a silent scream tore through you. But even through the haze of agony, one thing remained clear.

This was not just an accident of fate.

It was a warning.

A reminder that no matter how far you tried to run, how desperately you tried to escape his grasp—Sauron was always there. Watching. Waiting.

And now, he had struck.

With brutal, merciless precision.

And he would not stop until he had won.

The hours that followed were a blur of agony and terror, each wave of pain crashing over you with relentless force. Time lost all meaning, the moments stretching and twisting under the weight of suffering. The midwives moved around you in hushed urgency, their touch gentle yet unable to soothe the wrongness that had taken root inside you. Their whispers did not reach your ears, but their faces—etched with worry, with the weight of things left unsaid—told you all you needed to know.

Something was deeply, terribly wrong.

You clung to consciousness, but it was slipping, unraveling like frayed thread as exhaustion pulled at you, threatening to drag you under. Your body was failing, pushed beyond its limits by Annatar’s cruel machinations. Every contraction stole more of your strength, hollowing you out, leaving you raw and trembling.

The child within you struggled, caught in the merciless grip of something beyond nature’s design. You could feel it—her tiny fëa flickering like a candle in a raging storm, trapped between the light that had conceived her and the darkness that sought to claim her.

Celebrimbor never left your side. His presence was an anchor amidst the chaos, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, his voice a steady murmur of reassurance, even as fear flickered behind his eyes. He knew what it took to bring elven life into the world—that it demanded a toll on one’s fëa, a gift of spirit and strength. But he did not know the other truth, the one you had kept buried in your heart.

What he did not know was what it took to bring a piece of shadow into the world as well.

Each contraction was a dagger, stabbing deep, twisting, rending—not only flesh, but something far greater, something unseen. Your body writhed under its grip, but it was your spirit that bore the brunt of it. Your fëa stretched and frayed, unraveling with each wave of agony, like a rope straining under too great a weight.

This was no natural birth. This was not the sacred pain of creation, of life brought forth through light and love. This was something else entirely.

This was a violation.

A perversion of the natural order.

The shadow within Annatar—the darkness he had woven into himself—had passed into the child. And now it fought to break free, to claw its way into existence before its time. The pain was not simply that of labor—it was a battle, a war being waged within you. A struggle between the light and dark, between all that you were and all that he had sought to make you.

You cried out as another wave seized you, arching your back against the mattress, your fingers tightening around Celebrimbor’s hand until you felt the bones shift beneath your grasp. He did not flinch, did not pull away, though you knew he felt your pain as if it were his own.

"Hold on," he whispered, voice thick with barely restrained emotion. "Just a little longer."

“Keep her steady, my lord,” one of the midwives urged, her voice tense but steady as they worked tirelessly to bring your daughter into the world.

Celebrimbor obeyed without hesitation, his grip unwavering as he held you upright. His warmth was an anchor, grounding you amidst the waves of agony that threatened to pull you under. But even as he steadied you, the room seemed to tilt, the air growing thick with something unseen—something dark.

A shudder rippled through you as the shadows at the edges of the chamber deepened, stretching toward you like grasping fingers. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to those who did not know the nature of such things. But you knew.

And then, against the suffocating darkness, a familiar warmth pulsed at your finger.

Your ring.

The delicate jewel, imbued with light, with the very essence of all you had fought to protect, pulsed with a gentle glow against your skin. It was subtle, like the whisper of a breeze, but it was there. A reminder.

It had healed your curse.

It had been your sanctuary, a beacon against the creeping tendrils of Annatar’s influence.

It had kept you strong, even when his words had slithered into your mind like honeyed venom. Even when, for a moment—just a moment—you had believed him.

The pain sharpened again, stealing your breath, wrenching a strangled cry from your lips. The midwives moved swiftly, their hands working with quiet urgency, but you barely registered them. You clung to the ring’s warmth, its presence a tether against the abyss that threatened to consume you.

It would see you through this.

It was meant to.

Because this child—this life within you—was never meant to be claimed by the darkness.

You focused all your remaining strength and will on the warmth of the ring against your skin, drawing from its light as another contraction seized you in its merciless grip. The shadows that had coiled around the edges of the room seemed to recoil from its glow, pushed back by the power woven into its silver band.

Celebrimbor held you steady, his presence an unwavering pillar amidst the storm raging through your body and spirit. His voice was a low murmur of reassurance, though the words barely reached you past the all-consuming pain.

"Almost there," the midwife urged, her voice taut with both strain and determination. "Just a little more…"

Your entire body trembled, your fëa stretched to the breaking point, fraying like the last threads of a tapestry unraveling beneath unseen hands. You bore down with a final, desperate push, a scream ripping from your throat as the world seemed to fracture around you.

The ring chimed softly, its light piercing through the encroaching shadows, scattering them like wisps of smoke in the wind. The darkness recoiled, driven back by something purer, something stronger—something Annatar had never been able to touch.

And then—release.

A shuddering gasp wrenched from your lips as the pressure that had gripped you for endless, agonizing hours finally gave way. Your body sagged, boneless with exhaustion, as warmth flooded your senses. A new presence filled the space where once there had been only pain and struggle.

Then, a cry.

High and reedy, but strong.

"A beautiful little girl, my lady," the midwife announced softly, reverence lacing her voice as she lifted the tiny, wriggling bundle.

Tears welled in your eyes as she brought your daughter to you, placing her carefully against your chest. The moment your trembling arms encircled her, your body—ravaged and drained—became weightless. As if every pain, every fear, every whispered shadow had been silenced by the fragile warmth curled against you.

A choked sob escaped your lips, raw with relief, with joy, with something indescribable.

Celebrimbor’s hand found your shoulder, squeezing it softly, steadying you as you gazed down at the miracle in your arms. His own breath was uneven, his fingers shaking just slightly as they brushed against the blanket swaddling the tiny form.

"You called it," he said gently, a tired but kind smile pulling at his lips.

A watery laugh escaped you, weak but filled with profound gratitude. You turned your head toward him, taking his hand in yours, squeezing it. "I did." Your voice was little more than a whisper, but in it lay a thousand emotions, a thousand unspoken truths. "Thank you, mellon, for everything."

“Of course.” His fingers tightened around yours, offering you all the strength he could, all the love and devotion of a friend who had stood steadfastly by your side through it all.

Your gaze returned to your daughter, your heart swelling at the sight of her.

She was so small, her delicate features still soft with the haze of birth. Yet already, traces of him were there—the soft tufts of red-gold hair that curled faintly at the edges, the sweet dusting of freckles across her tiny nose and cheeks. Pieces of Mairon woven into her, undeniable reminders of the man you had once loved beyond all reason. The man your fëa still sang for in the quiet, aching corners of your soul.

For a moment, grief lingered at the edges of your happiness, the inescapable weight of what had been, of what was lost.

But then, her tiny eyes fluttered open.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, as you gazed into them.

Not tainted by darkness. Not the searing, molten intensity that had once looked upon you with promise and deception alike.

No.

Her eyes were bright and clear as starlight, filled only with the light you had imagined the Great Trees had.

Pure.

Untouched by shadow.

A sob of relief trembled through you, your heart breaking open with a love so fierce it threatened to consume you whole.

No darkness lurked within her. No corruption tainted the soul that had been formed in the balance between you and him.

She was yours.

Truly, wholly yours.

A child of both fire and light—yet free of the chains that bound him.

And as she nestled closer against you, her tiny fingers curling against your skin, you knew.

You had won.

After the midwives had completed their examination of both you and the baby, they helped you sit up and assisted you in feeding her—before one of them finally asked the question you had already prepared an answer for.

"Have you picked out a name for her?" she asked with a warm smile.

You looked down at your daughter, your fingers running gently through the tufts of red hair as she nursed.

"Aerilaya," you breathed, a soft smile grazing your lips. "That is what I shall call her. My maiden of the forest. A blessing from Yavanna herself."

You glanced up at the midwife, who nodded in understanding before offering a small curtsey to you and Celebrimbor. Then, with quiet efficiency, she and the others left the room, granting you privacy.

"Go get some sleep, my lord. I’ll be just fine," you said, squeezing Celebrimbor’s wrist reassuringly.

He hesitated slightly, before rising from the chair and moving to linger near the door, his hand resting on the frame. The concern in his gaze had not faded. "Are you certain? I can stay if you need me."

You smiled softly, shaking your head. "No, mellon. You have done more than enough. Please, rest. I promise I will call for you if I need anything."

His eyes searched yours for a moment longer before he exhaled and nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Very well. But do not hesitate, Thilwen. I am here for you, always."

"I know," you murmured, your voice heavy with gratitude. "Thank you."

With a final, reassuring smile, Celebrimbor slipped out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him. In the stillness that followed, you turned your gaze back to Aerilaya, her tiny form nestled against your chest, her breaths soft and even as she nursed. The love that swelled within you was almost painful in its intensity—a fierce, unwavering protectiveness that would never wane.

You had brought her into this world against all odds, against the very machinations of the one who had helped create her. You had shielded her from the darkness that had sought to claim her, pouring every ounce of your strength, your light, into ensuring she emerged untainted.

And she had.

She was perfect. Pure. A tiny beacon of hope amidst the shadows that had threatened to swallow you both.

Tears slipped down your cheeks unchecked as you gazed at Aerilaya, marveling at the delicate slope of her nose, the soft curve of her cheek. She was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had fought so fiercely to protect. In this moment, all the pain and heartache seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound sense of love and purpose.

As you held your daughter close, exhaustion began to creep in, weighing down your limbs and clouding your thoughts. Carefully, you settled back against the pillows, cradling Aerilaya securely against your chest. Your eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the warmth of her tiny form and the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath as she too settled into slumber.

Just as sleep threatened to claim you, a soft chime resonated through the room—the gentle hum of Nenya stirring at your finger, alerting you to something.

Your eyes shot open.

He was there.

Sitting where Celebrimbor had been moments before.

Your pulse lurched violently as you clutched Aerilaya’s sleeping form tighter to you, as if trying to shield her from the presence that now filled the room.

Annatar sat in silence, his gaze fixed on you and the child in your arms, his expression unreadable. The dim candlelight cast sharp shadows across his features, accentuating the tension in his jaw, the hollowness behind his eyes. He made no move to approach, yet his presence alone was suffocating.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you met his stare, defiance and fear warring within you. "What are you doing here?" you whispered, your voice hoarse from exhaustion but edged with steel.

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile devoid of warmth. "Can a father not come to see his newborn child?"

The words were soft, almost casual, but the undercurrent of danger in his tone sent an icy shiver through you.

Your arms tightened instinctively around Aerilaya at the word father.

"You lost that right," you said, voice steady despite the storm of emotions within you. "You turned your back on me—on us—when you chose your ambition over love."

Annatar's eyes darkened, a flicker of something sharp and unreadable crossing his face. "I have turned my back on nothing. Everything I have done has been for you, for us. To build the world I promised you so long ago."

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "No. What you have done is for yourself. For your own twisted ambitions. You nearly killed our daughter with whatever stunt you pulled tonight. That is not love, Annatar. That is possession."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, silken purr. "You still do not understand, do you? The power I wield, the rings I forge—it is all to protect what is mine. And you, Moríel, have always been mine. You and Aerilaya both."

The name—his name for you, spoken with such venom—sent a wave of nausea through you. Once, it had been a symbol of love, whispered in reverence and devotion. Now, it was a shackle, a claim you refused to accept.

"I am not a possession to be owned," you hissed, fury flaring through your exhausted form.

Annatar exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Your thoughts betray you, my love," he murmured, voice like silk. "Even now, after everything, a part of you still yearns for me. For us."

You flinched, hating the way his words cut straight to the heart of you, exposing the painful truth you tried so desperately to bury. Because he was right. Despite everything he had done, despite the darkness that had consumed him, a traitorous part of your fëa still sang for him. Still remembered the man he once was—the brilliance, the passion, the love that had once bound you together so completely.

But that man was gone. Twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.

And you could not—would not—let that shadow claim you or Aerilaya.

"You’re wrong," you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. "Whatever part of me once yearned for you died the moment you threatened our child. The man I loved would never have done such a thing. You are nothing but a twisted shadow of who you once were."

Annatar’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous flashing through them. For the briefest of moments, his carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing the simmering malevolence beneath. "Careful, Moríel," he warned, his voice low and laced with menace. "Do not test me. You have no idea the lengths I will go to keep what is mine."

"And you have no idea the lengths I will go to protect those I care about, shadow." Your grip tightened around Aerilaya, pressing your ringed hand gently against her as if to shield her from his presence.

His gaze flickered to Nenya, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. "You think that trinket can protect you from me?" he scoffed.

You met his stare without flinching, despite the ice creeping through your veins. "This ring was made to protect, not to control. Free of you. Something you have clearly forgotten."

His expression hardened, the cruel amusement fading into something sharper, more calculating. "And who do you think will protect you when Celebrimbor is no longer around to play the valiant hero?"

The threat was thinly veiled, and yet it struck like a dagger to your chest.

"You wouldn’t dare," you whispered, horror creeping into your voice.

"Wouldn’t I?" Annatar leaned back in the chair, his smirk widening into something wholly malevolent. "Do not underestimate what I am willing to do, Moríel. Celebrimbor’s fate rests entirely in my hands. As does yours. If he does not craft those rings, I will start chipping away at this place, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of your precious life here."

A tremor ran through you, your mind racing as you struggled to suppress the surge of panic clawing its way up your throat. You tightened your hold on Aerilaya, her small, warm body grounding you, anchoring you in this moment.

"Why are you doing this?" The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, hoarse with exhaustion and something dangerously close to despair. "Why can’t you just let us be?"

For a heartbeat, something flickered in Annatar’s eyes—something raw, almost pained. But it was gone before you could grasp it, swallowed by the endless void of his ambition.

His voice, when it came, was soft—too soft. "Because you are mine, Moríel," he murmured. "You have always been mine. And I will not let anyone, not even Celebrimbor, take you from me."

His words hung heavy between you, a declaration not of love, but of possession.

Your stomach churned with revulsion, your very fëa recoiling at the cruel perversion of the bond you had once shared. The man you had loved had been brilliant, ambitious, yes—but he had not been this. Not this creature of shadow, of obsession and control.

"I am not yours," you whispered, your voice trembling but unyielding. "I haven’t been for a long time. The moment you chose darkness over us, you lost me."

Annatar’s eyes burned with a tempest of emotion—anger, longing, an unrelenting hunger that sent a fresh wave of dread through you. He leaned forward, his presence oppressive, suffocating.

"You cannot escape me," he hissed, voice like silk and steel. "No matter how far you run, no matter who you turn to, I will always find you. And I will take back what is mine."

A chill swept through you, your very spirit recoiling at the venom laced in his words. You cradled Aerilaya closer, her tiny form a beacon of warmth against the oppressive weight of his presence. Nenya pulsed against your finger, a steady, calming force amidst the turmoil.

"Leave," you whispered, your voice shaking but firm. "You are not welcome here. Not anymore."

Annatar’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he stared you down. The air crackled with tension, an invisible battle waging between your defiance and his unwavering belief in his own dominion over you.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you moved. His gaze bore into yours, dark with something unreadable—a storm of emotions barely contained.

And then, for the briefest instant, you saw it.

A flicker of something deep and aching, something hollow and wounded beneath all the malice. A wound that had never fully healed, an emptiness he had spent centuries trying to fill.

Your heart clenched painfully, grief mingling with your fury. But you refused to let it weaken you. Not now. Not when Aerilaya’s safety was at stake.

"I said leave," you repeated, the quiver in your voice barely noticeable now.

Annatar watched you for a moment longer, something unreadable shifting in his gaze. Then, slowly, he rose from the chair, every movement graceful and deliberate. He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and ominous in the dim light.

"This isn’t over, Mori," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will see the truth. And when you do—" his smirk returned, sharp and knowing "—I will be waiting."

The room grew cold as his presence faded, an unnatural stillness settling over you in his absence. You barely registered the door shutting behind him, too consumed by the violent shudder that wracked your body.

And then, the dam broke.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, your entire form trembling with a volatile mix of fear, rage, and exhausted relief. You clutched Aerilaya close, pressing a kiss to the top of her tiny head, breathing in her innocent warmth.

And yet, despite the warmth in your arms, despite the constant reassurance of the ring’s presence, an icy dread had taken root deep in your chest.

He would not stop.

Not until he had what he believed was his.

You.

Aerilaya.

The rings.

And the power to reshape the world as he saw fit.

#sauron x reader #sauron #annatar x reader #annatar #rings of power fic #trop fic #the rings of power

66 notes · View notes

stalkerofthegods · 1 year ago

Text

Ares Deep dive

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, so don’t judge so quick, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

Herbs • Garlic, basil, buttercup, yarrow, ginger, anything with tiny yellow flowers, spicy stuff (ex- peppers, paprika), Water hemlock, Snapdragon, Poppy, Nettle, Magnolia, Ginger

Animals• Vulture, Colchian Dragon, serpents, barn owls, woodpeckers, dogs, horses, Stymphalian birds, boars

Zodiac • Aries

Colors • Red, black, and dark purple

Crystal• garnets, rubies, bloodstone, obsidian, red scoria, smoky quartz, red jasper, carnelian

Symbols• a helm, a shield, a spear and sometimes a sheathed sword, flaming torch, armor, palace, four fire-breathing horses

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• Iron, armor

Diety of• masculinity, civil order, Battle lust, courage, City guards/police, Rage, Violent deeds, Fights, Murder, Manslaughter, Quarrels, cheese, dancing, rebellion

Patron of• the Amazons, City defenses, City defenders

Offerings• Dragons, Dragon imagery, Dragon art, Strong dark red wine, Strong whiskey, Pure water, Black coffee, Black tea, Olive oil, Beef, Red meats in general, Cooked fat from meats, Blood from cut meats, Heavy spices, Spicy foods, Garlic, Red, black, and dark purple candles, Art or statues of Him, Statues of horses or dogs, Weapons, armor, and shields (ex- art, statues, toys, handmade.), Trophies, Spicy jerky, Sport drinks / protein shakes, Hand drawn or printed art of HimArt or images of dogs, horses, and vultures, Feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, or barn owls, Iron or steel jewelry, Red flowers (ex- roses), Thorns, Miniature or toy weapons and armor (especially helmets), Snake skin, Animal teeth, Write down your fears or successes and give them to Him, Medals and ribbons you’ve earned, Antiques, Photos of riots or past wars, hot sauce, Pork ribs, homemade meals, poultry, hare, venison, wolf hearts, chili peppers, lemons, green bananas, unripe peaches, batons, bullets, kendo swords, shields, military helmets, bullet-proof vests, military boots, military belts, dynamite sticks, grenades, lion pelts, shark teeth, ram skulls, explosives (handle carefully), Medals or Certificates, dog fur or dog teeth (ethically sourced), horseshoes, bull horns, war memorabilia, broken glass, spicy jerky or twiggy sticks, Carmel, sushi, stormwater, spicy salsa, Mexican food, chocolate or chia pudding, burnt matches, cigarette butts

Devotional• Create a playlist and listen to music that makes you feel brave/empowered, Donate to the Rape Crisis Center or other similar programs, Donate and support victims of war, Cook with garlic or heavy spices that you haven’t tried before, Try new things and don’t feel ashamed about doing so, Tell Him about your accomplishments, Tell Him about your fears, Learn about shadow work and try it for yourself, Learn about history, past wars, and past riots, Learn what they accomplished or failed to accomplish, Learn and educate yourself about the downsides of war and what can happen to the people affected by wars, Partake in combat sports (ex- martial arts, fencing), Exercise, Play some strategy games like chess, Risk, and Civilization, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, write to your governor/mayor for things you want to see changed, attend riots, Pray to Him (ex-strength, ability to fight and defeat enemies, courage, to keep others safe, and help in a battle), go to a protest, learn first aid, educate yourself on PTSD, do unharmful things that give you adrenaline rushes (ex- amusement park rides, bungee jumping), watch action movies with him, pet a dog, Playing Strategy Games, Work on managing your anger, bones, go do axe throwing, a playlist that makes you feel, brave, energized and confident, keep track of your successes (this can be daily tasks, when you conquer them cross them off, and then offer the list to Ares), write down or draw art of your fears, go to a rage room, pray or meditate during thunderstorms, watch war movies and documentaries and play war/combat and strategy video games

Ephithets•Adámastos/adamastus/ἀδάμαστος/ΑΔΑΜΑΣΤΟΣ/ἀδάμας -unconquerable & indestructible, Ænyálios/enyalius/ἐνυάλιος/ΕΝΥΑΛΙΟΣ -war-God, Alcimus, Álkimos/alcimus/ἄλκιμος/ΑΛΚΙΜΟΣ/Adj - valiant, brave, Alloprósallos/alloprosallus/ἀλλοπρόσαλλος/ΑΛΛΟΠΡΟΣΑΛΛΟΣ- loyal to the struggle and to the souls who are engaged in it, Ánax/ἄναξ/ΑΝΑΞ -lord, king, Aphneiós/aphneius/ἀφνειός/ΑΦΝΕΙΟΣ -rich, wealthy, Arrectus, Árriktos/arrectus/ἄρρηκτος, ΑΡΡΗΚΤΟΣ -unbreakable, Brotoctonus, Enyalius, Hippius, Hoplochares/Hoplodupus/Hoplophorus, Íppios/hippius/ἵππιος/ÍΠΠΙΟΣ -horseman, Mægasthænís/megasthenes/μεγασθενής/ΜΕΓΑΣΘΕΝΗΣ/μεγασθενές -very strong, Megasthenes/Mægasthænís., Ombrimothymus:See Omvrimóthymos/Omvrimóthymos/ombrimo hymus/ὀμβριμόθυμος/ΟΜΒΡΙΜΟΘΥΜΟΣ/ὀβρῐμόθῡμος -doughty, indomitable, Oplódoupos/hoplodupus/ὁπλόδουπος/ΟΠΛΟΔΟΥΠΟΣ -clattering in his armor, Oplokharís/hoplochares/ὁπλοχαρής, ΟΠΛΟΧΑΡΗΣ -rejoicing in arms, Oplophóros/hoplophorus/ὁπλοφόρος/ΟΠΛΟΦΟΡΟΣ - he who bears arms, Phrictus/Phriktós/phrictus/φρικτός/ΦΡΙΚΤΟΣ - horrifying, Polæmóklonos/polemoklonus/πολεμόκλονος/ΠΟΛΕΜΟΚΛΟΝΟΣ -he raises the clamor of combat, Polemoklonus/Polæmóklonos, Sceptuchus/ Skiptoukhos/Skiptoukho/sceptuchus/σκηπτοῦχος/ΣΚΗΠΤΟΥΧΟΣ -he who bears a scepter, Teichesipletes/Teikhæsiplítis/Teikhæsiplítis/teichesipletes/τειχεσιπλήτης/ΤΕΙΧΕΣΙΠΛΗΤΗΣ—he who storms the cities in battle, Vrotoktónos/brotoctonus/βροτοκτόνος, ΒΡΟΤΟΚΤΟΝΟΣ -the slayer of men.

Equivalents• Mars (Roman), Onuris-Anhur (Egyptian god), Tiu-Tyr (Germanic god), unnamed war-god (Scythian god).

Courting• unmarried, but courting Aphrodite.

Past lovers/crushes/hookups• Aerope, Agraulos, Harmonia, Otrere, Astyokhe, Demonike or Sterope, Kyrene or Asterie, Astyokhe

Personality• He’s a great father, and a great lover, I talk to a godspouse of his and they talk about how he calmed them and was always there. He’s a great father because I’ve talked to a person who their father is ares and he’s always there for them, he’s also generous.

Home• Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Ares was the only male greek god that never raped or sexually assaulted any woman

Curses• Routing armies, Cowardice, Death on the battlefield, Military invasion, Sacking of cities, Rebellion, Uprisings, Sedition

Blessings•Driving armies, Bravery, fighting strength & endurance, Averting war (peace), Repelling invading armies, Maintaining civil order, Crushing rebellions, Restraint violent instinct,

Roots• Thrake, Ancient Greece.

Parentage• Zues and Hera

Siblings• Enyo (twin sister), Eris (sister), Apollo (half-brother), Artemis (half-sister), Athena (half-sister), Hephaestus (brother), Hermes (half-brother), Dionysus (half-brother), Hebe (sister), Heracles (half-brother), Aphrodite (half-sister).

Pet• four fire-breathing horses (Aithon (Red-Fire), Phlogios (Flame), Konabos (Tumult) and Phobos (Fear))

Children •ANTEROS (God of reciprocated love, son of Ares and Aphrodite), DEIMOS (God of fear, a son of Ares and Aphrodite.), ENYALIOS/Enyalius (A war-god son of Ares and Eris), EROS (God of love, a son of Ares and Aphrodite), HARMONIA (Goddess of harmony, daughter of Ares and Aphrodite.), NIKE(The goddess of victory, a daughter of Ares), PHOBOS (God of panic, son of Ares and Aphrodite),AEROPOS/Aeropus (son of Ares and Aerope.), ALKIPPE/Alcippe (daughter of Ares and Agraulos), AMAZONES/Amazons (Warrior women of Assyria, daughters of Ares and Harmonia), ANTIOPE(daughter of Ares and Otrere), ASKALAPHOS/Ascalaphus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), DIOMEDES (son of Ares and Kyrene or Asterie), DRYAS (son of Ares), EUENOS/Evenus (son of Ares and Demonike, and sometimes the son of Ares and Sterope), HIPPOLYTE (daughter of Ares and Otrere.),IALMENOS/Ialmenus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), KYKNOS/Cycnus) (son of Ares and Pelopia or Pyrene), LIKYMNIOS/Licymnius (son of Ares most say his father was King Elektryon), LYKASTOS/Lycastus) (son of Ares and Phylonome.), LYKOS/Lycus (son of Ares who used to sacrifice strangers to his father), MELANIPPOS/Melanippus (son of Ares and Triteia.), MELEAGROS/Meleager (son of Ares and Queen Althaia, but most call him a son of King Oineus), MOLOS/Molus (son of Ares and Demonike), NISOS/Nisus (son of Ares, but most accounts say he was a son of the Athenian prince Pandion), OIAGROS/Oeagrus (a son of Ares but some say his father was King Kharops),OINOMAUS/Oenomaus (son of Ares and the Pleaid Sterope or Princess Harpinna), OXYLOS/Oxylus (son of Ares and Protogeneia), PARRHASIOS/Parrhasius(son of Ares and Phylonome.),PARTHENOPAIOS/Parthenopaeus (son of Ares and Atalanta, many say his father was Melanion or Meleagros), PENTHESILEIA (daughter of Ares and Otrere), PHLEGYAS (He was a son of Ares and Dotis or Khryse.), PORTHAON (son of Ares or according to others of Agenor), PYLOS/Pylus (son of Ares and Demonike.), REMUS (son of Ares and Ilia), ROMULUS (son of Ares and Ilia), TEREUS (a son of Ares.), THESTIOS/Thesius (son of Ares and Demonike or Agenor and Epikaste), THRASSA (daughter of Ares and Tereine.), DRAKON ISMENIAN (A monstrous dragon-serpent, it was a son of Ares and the Erinys Telphousia.)

attendees• DEIMOS & PHOBOS (The twin gods of terror and fear), ERIS & ENYO (goddess of strife, hatred and war), KYDOIMOS/Cydoemus (The god of the din of war), NIKE (goddess of victory), OTHER ABSTRACTIONS(spirits described such as Rage, Anger, Threats, Death and Valour)

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient Greek art, he was depicted as either a mature, bearded warrior armed for battle, or as a nude, beardless youth with a helm and spear.

Festivals • Artemis Agrotera/Kharisteria , and Genesios, maybe.

Day • Tuesday

Scared places• Odrysia in Bistonia, Thrake (his birth-place)

Planet• Mars

Tarot cards• Chariot & Emperor card

Scents/Inscene • Frankensince, Sandalwood incense, resin, burning wood (especially if Himalayan salt in thrown in since it reminds him of blood), and red sandalwood incense

Prayers•

Prayer to Ares for the Safety of a Soldier

Bold-hearted Ares, bright-helmed son of thundering Zeus and noble Hera, well-honored god of war, any battle will you face, any foe will you fight, without fear and without hestitation. Ares, god of warriors, ally of those who risk their lives on the field, to you do soldiers offer their prayers. You know each one’s name, O Ares, you know their lives, you know their worth. Great Ares, I pray to you, watch over ____________ who heeded your call, who practices your art, whose name you know well, for s/he is one of your own who does you honor with each day s/he serves. Ares, I pray to you.

In general

Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end. Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you

For Courage

Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed you are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way. Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

Links/websites/sources •https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/gods/ares/

https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/624476009567289344/ares-offerings/amphttps://aspisofares.wordpress.com/tag/offerings/https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://scarletarosa.tumblr.com/post/187742800571/ares-greek-god-ofhttps://www.tumblr.com/diana-thyme/722942201197363200/greek-gods-101-ares @enyalios-shrinehttps://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/ares/

BIG HELP TO

https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

436 notes · View notes