#well how did they get the sword in the stone

[atlantic-riona]

"it's not realistic—" do you think I am reading the genre named "fantasy" for how accurate it is to real life

[dreammfyre]

the heir's favorite ⋆ jacaerys velaryon

SUMMARY. You are the first daughter of the marriage between your mother Rhaenyra Targaryen and your father Daemon Targaryen. Always the most rebellious and difficult of all, temperamental, impulsive. However, weak before the temptation to possess your older brother, the crown prince Jacaerys Velaryon, a knight par excellence, the opposite of you. But no one in Dragonstone imagined that you shared much more than dragon's blood.

WARNINGS. +18 Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!oc. Targaryen incest (brother and sister). Jacaerys aggressive and dominant. Smut. Based on the second season of House Of the Dragon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. This was a suggestion left anonymously in the messages, so I invite you to leave yours. Thanks for reading.

The empty room was so quiet that you could feel your thoughts could be heard all over the place. The full moon illuminated the dark sky, standing out against the stars that night where everyone was resting in their chambers, but you were unable to lie in your bed, much less fall asleep without having nightmares. The Stone Table was where everyone met daily to discuss strategies for the war that was being unleashed in Westeros, but now that empty place was strange, so much silence and loneliness. The extinguished embers did not illuminate the tabletop, you touched the stone expecting to burn, however, it was totally cold.

"Who's there?" a familiar voice entered the place. You turned immediately finding Prince Jacaerys, your older brother and heir to your mother's throne. "Sister... it's very late."

"I know, you should be resting." You replied walking towards him.

"It's a bit complex lately." He took the luxury of joking, in response you smiled without much encouragement. "May I know what you're doing here?"

"Not much. Seems to me you're not the only one who doesn't get any rest." You lifted your shoulders casually. "Any news on your rounds?"

Jacaerys shook his head in disappointment, pacing around the table resting his hands on the handle of his sword without taking his eyes off you, analyzing your presence carefully, as if silently judging you. You rested your hands on the stone of the table relaxing your body on your arms, but your head couldn't stop scheming hundreds of thoughts and bloody imaginary scenarios regarding the war.

"Cole's army is getting bigger and bigger and we don't have a damn clue about anything." You said with a tense jaw. "And about my father..." you sighed deeply without looking your brother in the face "no word from him for days."

"That's not your fault." Jace tried to make you feel better with repeated kind words, but your guilt was growing and the anguish of the approaching war wouldn't leave you alone. "Daemon is not the priority."

"That idiot should be here, on the island, with his queen and his children." You whispered angrily. Then you looked up resolute in your decision. "I'll go see him tomorrow."

That didn't sit well with your brother.

"Don't talk nonsense, Visenya." The heir scoffed. "You can't go to Harrenhal alone, it's too dangerous and we don't know if the way is clear."

"You think I'll arrive by land alongside Daemon's imaginary army?" you sneered in the same condescending manner, a brazen gesture that made Jacaerys' blood boil. "I will ride Vermithor's back at dawn and arrive before the sun peaks. I will return the same day with news before the queen."

"That's a lousy idea!" Your brother exclaimed angrily. Grabbing your arm with brute force, forcing you to look him. "How can you even think of traveling alone to lands we don't know if they are enemies or allies?"

"We need to move fast before they come for us, Jacaerys." You squirmed under his grip feeling his fingers bury into your pale skin. "Do you intend to wait for my father to return?" you managed to break free from his grip with difficulty, Jacaerys ran a hand through his wavy hair desperate not to talk sense into you. "Because you may take a seat, I will not be accompanying you."

"Visenya, please understand the magnitude of your stupidity." He begged, chasing you from side to side. Your brother knew how impulsive you were, and how hard it was for you to get an idea out of your head, no matter if it was good or bad and in this case it was a rather dangerous one. "What happens if you cross paths with Vhagar in the skies?" The prince raised his voice to you demanding and imperative trying to intimidate you, anyone passing nearby could overhear your discussion. You turned your back to him, you didn't want to look him in the face out of embarrassment because deep down you knew his words were true. "You have no business there!"

"I have no business here either!" you exclaimed with the same intensity. You were temperamental by nature and now you were blowing off steam. "I'm tired of staying cooped up on the island, waiting for others to figure things out! I'm a dragon rider, and I'm constrained by these walls."

Your brother understood that feeling better than anyone, he grabbed you by both cheeks, covering your face with his firm hands.

"I know how you feel, Visenya. Believe me, but walking out at the first impulse is not the solution, don't you understand?" You put your hands over his, looking at him intently. You wanted to nod to answer him the question he asked you, but you were mesmerized in his nearness and his breath hitting your face. "Stay here, with us." He watched you carefully without letting go, losing himself in the sense of his pleas to look at you closely, you were so beautiful in any light no matter how dim, a Targaryen through and through with bright, intense violet eyes of long white hair like your parents. Jacaerys couldn't help but stare at you, the half-open lips tempting him to taste you, trying not to lose what little composure he had left. "With me."

You possessed the ethereal beauty of your mother and the complex character of your father, Daemon Targaryen. Under your little ethics and impulsiveness you did not think if it was a coherent idea and you threw yourself to kiss the thick lips of your brother who reciprocated instantly, none of them reasoned, they only moved to the rhythm of the kiss where their moist lips brushed anxiously. Your brother's hand on your waist took you by surprise, more so when he pressed you against his body bumping you against his chest and cornering you against the table.

"Go to sleep." Jace scolded you making an attempt to stop kissing you, but you kept reaching for him. "This isn't a good place."

With a smile you ignored knowing the only way to stop the situation was for you to go to your quarters and you didn't feel like leaving. You grabbed her hair tangling your fingers in her chestnut curls, Jacaerys strength intimidated you, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Don't go to Harrenhal." He pleaded leaving kisses on your neck, tracing a wet path over your skin taking advantage of inhaling your scent. "Do it and I promise I will warm your bed every night."

You felt a shiver run down your back at his offering, Jacaerys kept leaving kisses until he reached your collarbones uncovered by the neckline of your dress. His warm lips made your heart beat faster, you grabbed him by the face stopping him.

"Would you do that for me?" you asked with dangerous innocence, watching his glossy swollen lips.

"Do you really doubt it?" he answered against your ear, then brushed his nose against yours slowly, you left a short kiss on his lips almost by instinct, so tender and unexpected that you heard a laugh come out of the prince.

"I'll think about it." You whispered touching his chest, playing with the textures of the fabrics, his agitated breathing gave him away, having you close was a personal challenge for the prince. It was a lie, you weren't going to think about it, you just wanted to give him what he needed to hear to stay with you.

Jacaerys' big hands began to take hold of your body squeezing you tightly making you gasp, then you lifted your chin giving him access to your neck, the kisses there unsettled you in a special way and only your brother knew it, taking advantage of your weakness, listening closely to his breathing and feeling the warmth of his breath was much better. Everything about him you liked, and you were missing him lately. The pressure and uncertainty of the war had taken your head elsewhere, you had abandoned each other for valid reasons, but at that second you just wanted to give yourself to him one more time.

You stood on your tiptoes to gain a little more height reaching for his ear, your brother tensed at the delicate touch of your hot tongue against his lobe, you licked delicately knowing that it turned him on, he confessed it to you one night and you never forgot it. A deep moan of satisfaction came from his throat, then carefully, you lowered one of your hands straight down to his pants, positioning yourself over his hard member that was pressing against the fabric.

"This is not the best place." Begged the prince resting his forehead on your shoulder. "We are in a sacred place, you know?"

You cared little for his insistence or decency when you only wanted to shout his name, though you knew Jacaerys was asking you to stop for the sake of not failing in duty, not because the desire wasn't there. No one understood the reason why Rhaenyra did not cancel the stupid engagement between Lady Baela and the right Jacaerys, no one could deny that they could become blameless kings for the history of Westeros, but there would never be the tension and burning desire throbbing as when the fire was unleashed between you. That first time with a taste of sin, you begging him not to stop, that it was going to become a one-time secret that his parents would never find out, a secret they couldn't help but repeat between your sheets and his, in the hallways and in the library.

Desperate, your brother lifted the skirt of your dress with your help by grabbing your leg and pulling it up to his waist. The mere contact made you moan from the pleasure, you clamped your mouth shut to keep from making noise, you were too sensitive and needy and Jacaerys liked to have you under his control. You were always sarcastic, upset and nasty, just like your dragon, but Jacaerys Velaryon knew how to control you.

"What are you going to do if someone finds out about us?" You asked with bated breath. Deep down it was important to keep the secret guarded to keep it. Jacaerys' fingers stroking between your legs making you jump, clinging to the heir's neck and leaning against the table. "What are they going to say when they find out the crown prince fucking his sister."

His fingers slowly moved up and down, playing with your slimy wetness between his fingers. The mischievous grin on the chestnut's face only reflected the satisfaction of having managed to have you like this, so submissive to him.

"Does it scare you?" he whispered against your moaning lips. With his other hand he gripped the back of your neck tightly, so you wouldn't move. "They're going to find out you're my spoiled sister." Two of his long fingers began to search for the perfect place to insert themselves into you. You stirred under his grip settling in for him, your desperate breathing needing him to finish his work, but he seemed very calm provoking you with his words. "Do you know what they'll call you?" he bit your lip, pulling it towards him. "The heir's whore." His fingers slipped inside you so easily, sliding into your wet insides gushing moans from your chest as you felt him move in and out of you. Jacaerys took your leg his free hand clutching his fingers to your thigh preventing you from closing before him.

At the first loud moan you covered your mouth immediately knowing you were attracting attention, the sensation between your legs was stronger. You squeezed your brother's shoulder getting used to the movement of his fingers inside you.

"Don't yell." He ordered uncompromisingly. He had to kiss you to shut you up, which served you a few short minutes. You were losing your mind, your legs wanted to close but Jace put his foot down to stop that from happening.

"Jacaerys." His name on your lips excited him more than anything else, for it was the tone of desperation that mirrored your desire. To know that he controlled you and you were under his dominion with how arrogant you were, that no knight owned you, that everyone desired you for being Rhaenyra's spoiled daughter, but you were his, no matter an arranged marriage or duty was enough. "Mmh." You ran your hand over your face, desperate to keep silent fighting against your body that was beginning to tremble as his fingers went faster.

But for an ego like Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's it wasn't enough. Listening to you enjoy yourself on the Stone Table where every day they met to discuss war strategies was the most satisfying image to his eyes and he was not going to be able to forget it. The way you moved, dragon-like, the sweetest and most desperate noises came from you, none of the whores he had been with compared to the delicacy of a pureblood Targaryen. A unique and unrepeatable privilege.

When your breathing became erratic and the murmurs incomprehensible swearing you were going to reach that peak, Jacaerys came to a screeching halt chastising you. You opened your eyes in disappointment and fury, your heart leaping out of your chest and your legs damp and trembling.

"Be a good sister," he stroked your cheek with the gentleness you deserve to be treated with. You were trying to listen to him but you were so upset you just wanted to insult him for doing that to you. "Turn around."

Your hair stood up at his tone of voice demanding and conciliatory at the same time. As obedient as ever, just for him, you turned your back to him as the prince busied himself with pulling down his pants that were pressing against the erection he was trying to contain. Your heart wouldn't stop pounding, you could still feel his long fingers inside you and the wait, however minimal, was becoming eternal and torturous. You looked sideways at the entrances of the place without finding anyone, but the truth is that you didn't care if at that moment the queen arrived and found them like that, the euphoria and adrenaline was taking over your body and your reason, the overflowing desire had taken your actions. You felt Jace's hands sneaking up your skirt, careful where to touch, looking for just the right position to enter. He stood behind you, your dress pulled up over your back, the mere touch made you moan. You were so wet it was slipping from your entrance.

"Don't say anything." He told you and you nodded, you were capable of begging if necessary, though deep down you knew he enjoyed it making you obey. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

You closed your eyes as you felt Jacaerys slowly push behind you. You took a breath and tried to relax, you both moaned slowly, the prince tensed his jaw and clenched his teeth to keep from making noise, he stayed still for a few seconds searching for your hips digging his fingers into your skin trapping you in that position, moving you back and forth to better thrust. The rubbing of his member on your walls felt warm and wet, an invasion of your body, you were so used to his size that the sensation became familiar, literally. Some of the pieces of stone you unintentionally threw away, that was going to be a problem for later, because now the noise of their bodies colliding was beginning to consume you. The control he had over you didn't bother you, he gripped you tightly taking over everything. Her hips moved with yours instinctively in a delicious back and forth.

"Like this." You gasped with closed eyes and a satisfied expression. You reached for his hand under your dress and clung to him as tightly as Jace clung to you.

His length pumped in and out of you at a rapid pace, but this time, Jacaerys made sure each thrust was deep by ramming his pelvis into your buttocks.

"What a pleasure to meet again, don't you think?" his question was punctuated by your same panting without stopping moving. You weren't able to answer, your high-pitched moans were getting louder and louder, putting both of you at risk. On the other hand, he was breathing heavily. You had to cover your mouth with your hand, biting your palm to stifle your own moans of pleasure at having him inside you.

You started to stir but you were trapped in his hands, he knew you well enough to know what to do, you turned to look at him finding the heir ramming you with force and speed, his hair fell in curls that moved to the rhythm of his rhythm, when their gazes met for a second he stared at you, your face sweating, your eyes bright with a frown of supplication and red cheeks were enough to have no mercy. Your entrance was tightening at the same time you couldn't breathe, that feeling of a wave invading your insides begging for more desperate to reach orgasm. Jacaerys took your with one hand your waist and with the other your hip, encasing his fingers preventing you from escaping, you were in this together and you had to finish it.

You moved your arm and disarranged the pieces on the board. Now you could hear your brother moaning, cursing you for being his undoing and the greatest of his sins, making you his own feeling the power to mark you and deflower you breaking any tradition that governs the Targaryen nobility. It felt so good that you could confess your love to him just so he wouldn't stop. Luckily for both of you, he didn't stop, the rapid movements and the pressure forming in your lower stomach was getting out of control, the noise intensifying from the collision of your bodies and your knees seemed to lose any kind of strength to hold you up, luckily the table was there to support your body, plus your brother who wasn't going to let you fall. Until you couldn't manage to resist anymore, your orgasm came first like a shiver throughout your body, you closed your eyes tightly and watching you exclaim his name in screams of pleasure ended the infinite torture of the heir that took a few seconds to wait.

"Shit." Your voice hopefully came out of your dry mouth. You had your chest against the weight crushing your breasts, one of your hands intertwined with your brother's who was rebounding behind you.

You both took a second to take a breath and assimilate what you had just done, you had promised not to fall into carnal sin again and that's why the last time was several months ago. You leaned on the table with both hands coming back into yourself with your chest heaving, your brother's hands were still in the same place but he was no longer squeezing you with the same possessive intensity. Your hair was falling on both sides, tousled from the movement and your legs were begging you for a rest.

Jacaerys caught his breath, but his heart had not calmed down at all. His body was still experiencing those chills and that unique tension, he took a step backwards out of your body to get dressed. You immediately felt the fluid trickle down the inside of your thighs, dripping slowly down your hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Jace asked pulling up his pants, his movements a little uncontrolled as the adrenaline was still pumping. You nodded fixing your wrinkled dress. It wasn't the first time it had happened, you both knew what it was, that meant you would have to have tea the next morning.

"Looks like I'll be staying."

Your older brother smiled, fixed his hair pulling it back and moving closer to kiss you again, this time slower and softer, trapping your lips with his so slowly that you relaxed. You took his face kissing him again, his scent, his warmth, his bearing that forced you to lift your chin to reach your mouth, the softness of his lips, it was the most comforting sensation you knew.

"Go rest." He whispered without opening his eyes. Tidying your hair behind your ear.

"Okay." You replied in the same tone, so obedient and submissive before him, kissing for the last time his mouth following your movement. "Good night"

Leaving him was complicated, but you were satisfied with the encounter. As you walked you felt the burning between your legs, a reminder that was to last a couple of days that he had made you his once more, that was the greatest secret they kept hidden, they had forgotten for a moment the war between families, the political problems, duty and order.

Jacaerys Velaryon watched you go, silently picking up the sword he had dropped to the ground. That simple symbol that he was capable of abandoning his duty as prince for you, he staked his honor and his word for taking you. He stayed a while longer tidying up the mess they had created, arranging the pieces of stone in the place that corresponded according to the figure, picking up from the floor some that fell without realizing it. It was he who always assumed the role of responsibility for cleaning up the mess and pretending nothing had happened. How was he going to show up tomorrow at this very spot knowing he had relations with Visenya, the spoiled and arrogant princess, right there?

He only hoped Daemon Targaryen would never discover that his daughter was the heir's favorite if he wished to one day ascend the throne.

[retroactivebakeries]

It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can't get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can't tell. She's yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.

"No," says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—

"No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only 'an attack.'"

And the girl understood.

~~~

It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.

From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.

"No," says a part of her.

"You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple' foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every' attack. Only one."

"Oh," the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.

~~~

It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.

Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.

These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling's blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon's dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.

"No," she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.

The sorcerer-prince's brow furrows. How did she even do that?

"Parried it."

But—

"With my sword."

No—

"See, like this."

Stop—

"Well," the swordswoman finally says, "I figured that if I just...looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack...then I could block it."

That's not how it works at all!

"If you insist," says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.

~~~

It is now. It is the end. Death couldn't take the swordswoman, not when she'd spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild's crib, and she'd just give it a look. That's all it took, by then.

Heartache couldn't take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take...she'd just, move her sword in a way that's difficult to describe. And she'd keep going.

Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet's star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.

But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.

"No," says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. "This isn't the ending. And even if it was, it's not the ending that matters."

The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she's been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.

[komoboko]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐨 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝

ft: tanjiro kamado, zenitsu agatsuma, inosuke hashibira, kanao tsuyuri, genya shinazugawa

Genlas canon I’m ufotable so what if I made a kny oc bcs of genya 🗣️ ・ignore how half of these are about sleep

# tanjiro ! ☆

TANJIRO is such a sweetheart, he really is. But when it comes to sticking to a schedule, he does not make any shortcut or excuses to what will happen. Whatever the schedule says goes no ifs ands or buts. Thankfully he only uses a morning routine anyways.

He had heard from both Rengoku and Mitsuri that having a morning schedule is very good to prepare you for the day. So tanjiro has one to! He tries to get you to follow the routine along with him but you would rather stay in bed instead..

The moment the sun begins to rise is the time Tanjiro wakes up as well. It’s almost as if his body had a set in clock to wake him up. He already gets himself up before he comes and “pesters” you, who is still sound asleep when he’s ready to start the day. Tanjiro only pokes your cheek trying to get you to wake up.

You only groan turning your body over as you already know what he’s waking you up for. “Tanjiro I don’t even think the sun is up yet..” you mumble putting a pillow over your head. Tanjiro only silently laughs before replying “That doesn’t mean we can’t wake up either, if we don’t go fast we’re going to miss our time to train before leaving!” He only flashes a beaming smile, you wished to see that smile in your dreams right now instead.

# zenitsu ! ☆

If he had to be honest ZENITSU is unironically really clumsy. Sometimes he’s doing it to get a laugh out of you, but other times he’s genuinely falling. He can’t help it! It used to be something that happened every now and then but it’s almost become more of a habit of his now.

Even if everybody knows he really is just clumsy, if your around without fail he’ll try to play it off like it was on purpose. If your around and he’s already mid fall he’s going to try and stick the landing to make it seem like he was being funny and just doing it on purpose. Other times when it’s too late to cover up his mistake he tries to cover it up with a cheesy pick up line.

You’re only sharpening your sword, admiring the peace until it’s disrupted once again. You can hear a very familiar voice chanting your name as the voice only grows closer and closer. You turn around to see zenitsu rushing towards you after turning a corner, and from what you can tell he has a couple of flowers in his hand.

It’s only when he gets closer is when he somehow manages to trip on whatever was in his path. He comes tumbling towards you as you rush to his aid only to see him quickly put a rose in his mouth. He stares at you with a prideful gaze as you bite back a laugh. You can’t hold it in anymore once he screams howling something along the lines of “THE ROSE POKED ME!!”

# inosuke ! ☆

Sleeping around INOSUKE is no fun at all. He normally has a lot of energy so staying up late is a given, if you manage to actually fall asleep before he does your lucky. If he even manages to get tired and get close to a bed you’re doomed.

When inosuke is asleep there is nothing that is going to wake him up except himself. He is stone cold asleep meaning whatever he does do in his asleep is a complete ball game to deal with. It’s obvious that he is going to be uncomfortably loud, but he really handsy and not in the romantic way at all..

You groan on the edge of the bed as the cold air breezes against you, an hour before you were very much comfortable in the bed, alone at least. The moment inosuke toppled into bed was when everything came to an end. He took all the blankets for himself, he sprawled out taking up most of the space, and did this all while asleep already.

Not to mention the fact he was almost louder than when kyojuro when he’s talking whenever he snores. Every other moment the room rattles with how loud he is. To the point where you get so fed up you grab the one pillow you can find and move to sleep on the couch. It was much easier falling asleep on the couch, the only problem is when you woke up you find inosuke still completely asleep on top of you.

# kanao ! ☆

A lot of people don’t realize that KANAO can be unusually blunt. Around you she feels more open to speak her mind about something and without realizing it. Her words can come out much more harsh than she had originally intended it.

When she’s around you she’s much more careful at watching her tongue, as she obviously does not wish to hurt your feelings. Which she is really good at!! But if you ask for honest criticism she can’t say that she won’t hold back even on you.

You stare at kanao’s paper as she continues to sketch the treeline in the window Infront of the both of you. You’re impressed by her eye for art and even wonder if she could give you some tips as well. It’s not like you haven’t been practicing after all! “Kanao? Would you mind giving me some tips on how to improve my drawing? Honest criticism please.” You ask the girl as she turns to you. Kanao stares down at your drawing seeing what she believes is a samurai down on your paper.

She looks up back at you taking a deep breath before saying, “well your drawing isn’t near accurate to what time period I assume you’re going for. The proportions are off, the armor plates aren’t in the right place, the blade is incorrect, the legs aren’t even or balance the upper body.” Your jaw drops as kanao only looks back at you putting a hand on your shoulder. “I could help you if you like.” She hopes this would make up for shock she put on your face

# genya ! ☆

While GENYA can normally keep things together, there are times where he doesn’t keep track how long he has been a demon. It’s rare considering he normally on a mission for this to ever really happen, but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t.

The mission had gone well to say the least but everything had gone on for so long. Task after task, minute after minute Genya had become more weary and more irritable. By the time he was actually released he couldn’t care about anything except going to bed. On the plus side it would mean he could see your face as well.

When he finally made it to the inn you to we’re staying at he didn’t think twice about immediately moving towards the bedrooms. He failed to see his reflection or acknowledge how loud his footsteps were moving around the house. You groggily open your eyes startled awake by the incoming noise, you don’t remember anybody staying with you. Not until a shadow peers through the doorway.

You turn around to see yellow eyes stand out from the dark hallway. They pierce menacingly almost into the room your in, slowly creeping closer in the dark. Naturally you scream but your surprised when the figure screams to. It stumbles around the room until it can see its own reflection. It’s only then when you realize it’s just genya who didn’t even realize he was a demon himself. He only mumbles out a small “ohh..” before climbing into bed to try and trying to apologize to you..

[safetypinxtales]

Together with you | Azriel

(Lonely with you pt. 2)

summary: heart break sucks. Missing your friend sucks even more. It is mind-blowing what a little open communication can do.

words: 4.1k

warnings: angst with happy ending, terrible communication at parts (sorry), mention of alcohol consumption, fluff, just general misery, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, dumb idiots in love

notes: so this got a lot more angsty than first anticipated, but here it is! Not sure how I feel about it, I like some parts, not so sure about others - feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

part 1

Cold. Your bed was freezing cold. And empty. 

Like lying on a frozen slab of stone, utterly alone and undeniably pathetic. Just as alone and pathetic as yesterday, when you woke up on the couch in the living room. No Azriel in sight. Like he wasn’t the one to practically beg you not to leave him alone, and then he went and did that exact thing to you. 

It was humiliating. You were humiliated.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity. 

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise. 

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below. 

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince. 

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you. 

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s. 

-

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit. 

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart. 

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated. 

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name. 

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him. 

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed. 

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to reach you. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting. 

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,”  he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.” 

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel. 

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?” 

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm. 

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!” 

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself.  Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other. 

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay. 

-

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.” 

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands. 

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard. 

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you. 

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers. 

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.” 

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung. 

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt. 

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved. 

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was. 

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always. 

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel. 

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth. 

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest. 

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack. 

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.” 

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair. 

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you. 

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened. 

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate. 

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you. 

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down. 

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you. 

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them. 

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel. 

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond. 

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed. 

He loved you. 

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.” 

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself. 

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great. 

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.” 

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his. 

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways. 

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body. 

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever. 

-

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body. 

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. 

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

tags: @hnyclover @justdreamstars @historygeekqueen @sharknutz @icey--stars @mel-wcst @alysena2 @lewsnumerounofan

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[axelsagewrites]

Hello. First of all love your writing. <3

I have a request for you:

can you write a robb stark x reader maybe reader is a ward of the starks and the two have been engaged and best friends since childhood. Then the wedding comes and the reader is nervous and afraid of the wedding night

thank you

Robb Stark*Goodnight Dear Husband

Pairing: Robb Stark x f!reader

Word count: 1594

Warnings: insecurity, worrying about sex, (brief)motherhood, marriage

Masterlist here

you still remember the first night you spent at Winterfell. The day had been so fun. Catelyn gave you a tour of the castle, Ned let you try pick up his sword Ice which you could barely even lift the handle, Jon taught you how to sneak into the kitchens. You even remember meeting Robb.

He was a lanky boy, seven to your six. His knees were knobbly, and his curly hair could barely be controlled no matter how much his mother tried. Freckles scattered his cheeks and there was a shy smile on his chapped lips. “Welcome my lady,” he greeted with a shaky bow which was matched with your own wonky curtsey.

“I like your horse,” he said, pointing to the stuffed animal in your hand. A wide smile beamed onto your face at that, “Would you like to meet my horse? You can ride him if you’d like,” and within moments of arriving you were already fast friends. You didn’t even know you were to marry him yet.

The day was fun but tiring at that. there was a small feast of stew and honey cakes to welcome you however you were relieved to be shown to your room. It was only a corridor away from Robb’s and next to the young Sansa’s and Arya’s.

The bed practically consumed you as you clambered in, snuggling into the furs to try get away from the nipping cold. You watched as the candle flame began to waver just as a wolf howled. Your hands clutched the furs in fear before bravely reaching out to grab your horse.

But it wasn’t there.

You’d left it at the feast. How could you be so foolish? You gently began to sniffle, soft tears falling when you realised you were alone, and the light was nearly out, and you didn’t know where they kept the spare candles. Then there was a knock at the door.

You quickly jumped out of bed, running to the door encase your parents had come to tell you it was time to go home. Instead stood a boy with knobbly knees and unkempt curls holding a stuffed horse. “You forgot this. Were you crying?”

“No,” you sniffled, snatching the horse from his hands, “Its just dusty in here,” Robb nodded, biding goodnight and turning to leave when you grabbed his wrist, “Wait! I-I,” you stammered, “I don’t know where the candles are,” you mumbled.

Robb, no longer even slightly shy, strode into the room, fetching them from a drawer and quickly lighting more for you. “How’s that?”

“Perfect. And thank you,” you said, smiling softly at the boy, a yawn overcoming you again.

“Do you want me to tuck you in?” he offered as you began to clamber into bed, “Its what my mum does when I’m scared,”

“I’m not scared,” you pouted, pulling the covers over yourself, “You can. If you want to. Its up to you,” you said, silently hoping he would which he instantly did. Robb tucked you in, kissing your forehead before turning to leave, “Night Robbie,”

“Night, night,”

-

You were pacing your room so much you wondered if you might wear a hole in the stone floor. Your wedding dress was folded perfectly in a chest by the foot of your bed. There was a box on top of it with your families crest on a broach your parents had gifted you as well as a Stark amulet from Ned and Cat. It also had hair pins, carefully selected by Sansa from the market and a silver ring with a red stone from Robb.

Everything was as it was supposed to be. You were to marry Robb and officially become a Stark. Yet for some reason your corset felt so tight you could hardly breathe despite how lose it was. Your mind was running over drive as your pacing struggled to keep up.

There was a soft knock on the door. You rushed over, flinging it open despite the late hour, to be greeted by your soon to be husband, “Robbie,” you almost gasped, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said, coming in without having to ask, “Who were you expecting?”

“No one,” you lied, biting your lip in the way that made Robb raise an eyebrow. “Jon said he’d sneak me some honey cakes after cook went to bed,”

Robb chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair off your face. “You look so pretty,” despite him saying it a hundred times you still felt the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“You wanna come in?” you asked.

He didn’t need to be told twice and soon you were sat on your bed, your legs over his and your head on his shoulder. It was a peaceful silence. It should have been relaxing but soon your mind began to wonder.

You were to be married tomorrow. There was a gorgeous white dress waiting for you, jewels to match, a new name and title. You were going to move into Robb’s room, be his wife, his comfort, his relief. In all ways soon.

Despite loving Robb, a rarity in marriage, you couldn’t help being scared. Sure, he was attractive, stunning even, and its not like you hadn’t had thoughts about it before but suddenly the wedding night was dawning on you.

Its not like you didn’t want to have sex. From what you had done with Robb you knew it would be good. great even. Orgasmic hopefully. But the idea of it made you tense. Something Robb soon noticed.

“You, okay?” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you mumbled as you picked at your fingers, “Just you know. Wedding stuff,”

“You don’t sound too excited sweetheart,” he pouted, tightening his arms around you, “C’mon you can tell me,”

You sighed before moving to face him, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes were so filled with care you could drown in them. “Just worried about what comes next,”

“Kids?” he asked, eyebrows scrunched up.

“No! well now I am but still,” you sighed, closing your eyes so you could finally say the right words, “What if I’m not good at it?” you said, emphasizing the last word making a small oh come from his mouth. “I know it’s stupid- “

“It’s not stupid sweetheart,” he hushed, his hands moving to gently squeeze yours, “But trust me you’ll be good at it,” he chuckled.

“What if I don’t do it right?”

“We’ll figure it out,”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then we’ll stop,”

“What if you don’t think I look good?”

“That’s not physically possible,” he said, tilting your chin up with two fingers to give you a soft kiss with his cheeky smile. It quickly turned into a softer face, “Besides we don’t have to do it just because we can,”

You sighed, “I know you want too then,”

Robb shuffled, almost pulling away making you sit up. His shoulders deflated as he sighed, “Of course I want to love. But only if you do. I don’t want to have sex with some girl just because I can. I wanna be with you,” he said, taking your hands, “because I love you,” he managed to get a small smile out of you making him grin, “And because you’re sexy as fuck,”

“Shut up,” you laughed, smacking at his chest, “You can’t blame me for being worried,”

“I’m not blaming you. I’m nervous too,” he admitted making you laugh a little, “What?”

You shrugged, your eyes wandering over him, “Just never imagined you not all confident and suave. Besides you don’t need to be nervous. You’re perfect,” your hand moved to cup his jaw, your thumb running over his cheek bone.

Robb pulled your legs over his lap, pulling you into his side. “That’s how I feel about you. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen or whatever,” he rambled, taking your hands in his, “We’ll do it together and we’ll go slow. I never want to hurt you,”

“And I never wanna lose you,” you said squeezing his hands

“Good,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently, “Because you’re stuck with me,” you leaned in to return the kiss which started slow and gentle, but a shiver ran down your spine when his hand moved to rest on your hip. Your glorious make out was interrupted by a knock at the door.

It quickly opened just as you and Robb were pulling apart, “Gross,” Jon muttered as he closed the door behind him. “Also, sorry cook was up late tonight getting ready for the wedding,” he said as he handed you the wrapped goods, “speaking of. You.” He said, pointing a finger at Robb, “get to bed. I haven’t been covering for you two for you to get busted in her bed the night before so get,”

Robb sighed as he dragged himself away from you, giving one last peck before he had to go and before Jon would hit him. “And you,” Jon said as he now pointed his finger to you, “Get your beauty sleep. You need it,” he said with a tilted smile making Robb hit him and you laugh.

“Your one to talk now beat it. a lady needs her rest,”

“Uhuh,” Jon said, rolling his eyes but quickly wishing goodnight. He pretended not to notice Robb giving you a goodnight kiss and instead waited in the hall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow love wife even,” he grinned.

“Goodnight, dear husband,”

“Goodnight sweet wife,”

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[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

Chapter 2 : A New Reset, An Old Story.

Warning: low qual english + corny/cringey usage of it, lots of cursing, emotional stuff, weird hallucinations, bad editing I guess?, was someone there before?, Can someone pick me up? MC is being weird.

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How do you act when you feel like your day keeps repeating?.

Would you be content? to just go with the flow? to memorize each of your steps, actions or words?.

Or, would you go crazy? lose your mind and sanity? to see red dancing on the edge of your eyes if you keep remembering the shit that keeps happening to you?.

I would, especially if you went through what I did, all effort I did just gone with one bullet from a gun, from a high fall, a kidnapping gone wrong, get killed by a villian, a sword, a freak accident or maybe just one very very bad day.

Gripping my seatbelt I wait for Commissioner Gordon to open the car's door and let me out, stepping out of the police car with it's siren and lights off, I stand on the graveled road that leads to the stone steps of the old and dark mansion I knew too well.

A little scribbles pops in my vision roughly crossing the mansion as if it's giving it an evil and snarling look of a giant man eating beast.

The older man gently stir me up to the porch and I watch as he ring the doorbell - The tiny mean words and drawings floating around the door flew away from the sound - on the side of the giant doors as we wait for anyone to answer.

Tensing when I heard someone's familiar shoes thudding on the otherside of the closed entrance, I step back as I grabbed Gordon's coat and braced myself to put up a new face again.

'By now Alfred should open the doors and be surprised to meet us'. a little tiny voice said by my ear as they hide behind my back- peeking over my shoulder as if they were scared even though they're not the one confronting them anyway.

As soon as they're guess was right, I observe the old event unfolding in front of me seeing Gordon hand Alfred a manila folder and show him what I knew was my DNA test and citizen papers and profile inside.

I stare blankly at Alfred who looked at me with slight pity and worry after he heard that Gordon personally escorted me here because I was supposed to be relocated to my biological father custody more than a few months ago.

'Would have prefer to stay there as well but the broody asshole insisted on one of the last resets and got my hopes up just to go back to becoming #1 fucked up dad on my list'

'Yeah! he's such an asshole!' The voice pipe up with a snort and a laugh while leaning on my shoulder.

I turn back to Commissioner Gordon one last time as he drove off as I sadly wave goodbye from the door before side eyeing the butler who was already watching me.

"Would you like some tea young master?". He kneels down and hold out a hand to me.

I stare at his face as I see glimpse of scratches around the air and scribbles on his face - crude lines to circle around his only slightly older look - a wobbly arrow to point at the small cracks of wrinkles on the edge of his eyes and a small older doodle of him from my old memories comparing his age before a glitch switching between halo to devil horns floated above his head.

Blinking two times suddenly everything turned back to normal as I look at him again properly and I study his white gloved hand before grabbing it in a practiced motion as I keep on with the old scrip that I memorize long ago.

Walking close to him I follow as we pass long dark hallways that was only illuminated the flashing of lightning during the current storm and a few dark oakwood doors each one seemed taller and more menacing than the last as we entered a fairly large kitchen that I grew to love and spent most of my time in before.

He led me to an kitchen island with a marbled top so shiny I can see my face's reflection clearly along with a few stool chair with actual leather covers and I carefully climb before proceeding to watch him prepare me a tea and some of his prized cookies.

While waiting I got lost in my thoughts as I re-assess on what to do in this reset.

'What do I do now? does it even matter?'

'Do we even matter?' the small voice questioned in my ear.

I remember the times I try to use the past knowledge I have to get closer to them but........

'nothing really works for us anyway' again they lean in my shoulder and reply with a whisper.

No matter how hard I try, everything I sacrificed, anything I do nothing happens, sure there were some................. progress but I always get cut off by another death.

'We're just born to do this shit all over again' they spit out now with anger in their voice while I hear their teeth grinding together and their sharp nails digging on my skin.

If nothing else works then.......

Looking down at my bandage hand filled with little doodles from the other children in the orphanage and some cute yet old sticky cartoon bandaids, I relaxed my small hands on the flat marbled surface and breathe out.

I got nothing to lose, 2790 resets made me understand how dumb and starved I am for attention and love.

'So hungry and leaving us Starving-!' They groan and wail in pain before vanishing away.

Snapping my head up I see Alfred gently pushing a nice steaming cup of tea in front of me as well as some cookies on a plate.

I slowly reach out and take the cup before blowing on the warm tea then taking a tiny sip and relish the hidden memories that this tea have brought me.

As I stare at my reflection I see it ripples as my hands shake and my body soon followed as I sniffled and hiccup, Alfred the ever gentleman that he is carefully took a hold of the tea cup as I cry finally cry out.

I cry till my eyes are puffy, I cry as let all the pain I have endured for so long, I cry out and childishly try to wipe off my snot as I asked for my mother to come back.

I cry because

I can.

--- ✧✦✧ ---

After finishing my tea and the cookies Alfred asked me if I wanted to wait for 'my father' before I go to my 'new' bedroom.

I see them in the corner as the shadows collects on that side and rise up to reach the ceiling 'They' shook their head and blared a large rough 'X' in the air then disappear with a flash of lighting come through from the large windows.

"No,...... it's fine maybe tomorrow". I said looking down before turning up to Alfred and set my plan in motion.

"Mr. Alfred?". I asked as I gently tugged on his slacks making him look down to me.

"Yes young master?". He angles down to me as he put away the dried dishes.

I see 'their' wide and sharky smile behind Alfred's shoulder before popping back down behind his back.

"Can I stay with you?". I asked tightening my hold on him.

'From now on, nothing else matters except you.........If we can't get a family out of this shitty one then We'll make a new one' They murmur down while twirling a small baby hair on my nape.

But first-

We'll have to prepare for a little reunion.

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U I A U I A A U U I I A

Taglist later because I'm now entertaining food coma bleh *dies*

[novelmonger]

I wasn't expecting it to take this long, but after a million distractions, I'm back to going through the LotR audio commentaries and taking note of any interesting tidbits I haven't heard before.

Please enjoy my notes on the RotK design team commentary with Richard Taylor, Tania Rodger, Grant Major, Alan Lee, John Howe, Dan Hennah, and Chris Hennah:

They had to make Deagol's ears out of waterproof gelatin rather than latex because he was going to fall in the water, and the normal latex ears would have come off. I guess they must have done the same any other time a Hobbit got submerged, but they didn't say that.

The fish that Gollum eats at the beginning is made from some kind of edible gelatin so he could actually bite into it. They also had another prop fish that wasn't edible that they gave Andy Serkis to keep at the end XD

The little stone hollow thing where Frodo and Sam are sleeping for their first scene in the movie was a set they built with a removable back wall so they could get a camera in to shoot it from the back as well as the front. Why did I never think of that before?

There were a couple of extra shots they needed of Orthanc in the background to finish up the movie, but they hadn't managed to get the footage from the miniatures (and I guess the miniatures were gone by that point? idk). So they took one of the model collectibles Weta had made and took some photos of it out in the parking lot XD

Whoooooaaaa! Okay, so Alan Lee talks about how, in legends, they say that you have to kill a wizard three times for him to stay dead. And Saruman dies "three times" - first he's stabbed, then he's impaled, then he's drowned. So Saruman is dead dead. Dare I say it? This is...I think this is a better death than the one in the book ._.

They even put carvings on the crossbeams underneath the seats of the chairs in Edoras! You are never ever going to see them, but that was their dedication to making everything feel authentic. That's what sets this apart from so many fantasy movies and shows made these days.

Red in the costumes is meant to suggest royalty. That's why Aragorn, Boromir, Theoden, and Theodred all have red in their costumes - as well as Bilbo and Frodo! You're meant to look at someone wearing red and unconsciously think, "there's something regal about them."

John Howe points out that you probably wouldn't ever reforge a sword like they do with Narsil, at least not in the sense of putting the pieces back together, because it wouldn't be as strong as it was originally. (You could melt it down and start over again, of course.) But, he reminds us, these are the Elves, and it's more of a symbolic thing anyway.

The great hall in Minas Tirith was inspired by Charlemagne's chapel (and Byzantine architecture was one of the main influences on the design of Gondor in general).

The statue of the king in Ithilien was made out of polystyrene, which you would think would be pretty light, but it was so huge it was actually very heavy. They had to transport it to the location in three pieces: the base, the body, and the head. And to lift one on top of each other, they had to rig a sort of pulley system over the limb of a tree, using a four-wheel drive truck to pull it. But they discovered that the first truck wasn't getting enough traction, so they hooked a second truck up to it, and ended up pulling the first truck up into the air along with the statue!

They created fourteen new weapons just to put in the background of the armory in the scene where the Witch-King is getting ready for battle @_@

John Howe said that his inspiration for Minas Morgul was...getting his wisdom teeth pulled??? He describes a metal clamp digging into the perfectly healthy enamel of his tooth to pull it out, and draws a parallel to the metal pieces the orcs fitted to the top of the pristine white parapets, staining and violating them. Um...thanks, I could've done without that visual, John.

I can't believe I never thought about this before, but there's a little wooden roof over the pile of wood for the beacon that Pippin lights. The reasoning behind that is you need some kind of cover to keep the wood more or less dry for when it needs to be lit in an emergency. The beacon will burn away the wooden roof, but it can be replaced easily enough, and it's worth it to be able to quickly light the beacon.

A lot of the saddles they used were ordered from the Indian military, because they had a good, old-fashioned sort of look to them. Then they would add onto the saddles with things that would make them look distinctly Rohirric, rather than Indian.

Alan Lee's daughter worked on some of the figures in the doors of Minas Tirith!

John Howe goes off on this whole tangent about how there's no religion or religious structures in Middle-Earth, and why that might be, but the whole time I was just sitting there going, "...have you never read The Silmarillion????"

Because they had to make over a hundred suits of Gondorian armor, other than the hero suits, they couldn't make each one exactly the right size for the man who would wear it, so the casting department had to only get actors within a certain range of size. They also built the suits of armor with sliding pieces, so they could be somewhat fitted to different sizes.

The horses started out as being part of the art department's responsibility, but as time went on, there were just so many horses they had to keep track of (and the various liveries they would have to be fitted out with) that they had to make a separate horse department to oversee it all.

Because so much of the movie was filmed on-location, in some very remote locations, they had to make a sort of caravan of mobile repair stations that they could take with them. They had all the tools and crew necessary on hand wherever they went so they could repair broken props or ripped costumes, reapply makeup for gore and injuries, take nicks out of the edge of weapons.... It was really like moving an army around!

For the dream where the Evenstar breaks, they made a version of it that was five times bigger than normal, out of a very brittle resin. Then they made an oversized section of the floor and dropped it from a great height so it would completely shatter in a dramatic way like that.

Anduril was John Howe's design. He based it on a sword belonging to a friend of his in Germany, which to him is the ideal sword, the most beautiful sword. He also talked a bit about how Men were taller and bigger in the First and Second Ages, so their swords would have been longer.

John Howe: "Why do people criticize Tolkien for not developing his characters sufficiently? I cannot fathom that kind of criticism. I think it's done by people who don't read between the lines."

Richard Taylor said they had a lot of fun gathering up all the skulls after each take in the Paths of the Dead to put back up at the top so they could be poured down again. Apparently Viggo liked to gather them up and try to throw them at the crew members! "Many hours of skullduggery was to be had," as Richard put it XD

Apparently, they'd made dozens of really finely detailed silicone heads to be lobbed over the wall of Minas Tirith, but then all but one of them were stolen! So they had to quickly put together some crude latex ones to use in the shoot instead (one of which the mayor of Wellington threw). They didn't talk about this, but I'm assuming the one good head that was left is the one that gets a close-up. You have to wonder who out there was sitting around with a bunch of highly realistic latex severed heads in his basement or something....

While most of the siege towers are miniatures or CG, they built the top third of one and put it on tracks so they could move it up against the wall. They built the set with breakable ramparts for when the little drawbridge thing crashes down.

They had the same trouble in Minas Tirith that they did in Helm's Deep, with the battering ram being too heavy for the stunties to lift. But they never actually explained how they got around that problem, if it was the same solution or not :/ All they said was that they had replaceable panels in the doors, in case they were damaged by the battering ram.

In order to make Shelob's webs, they had to heat up two polymers and mix them together to make the stringy, sticky material. In order to mix them, they had to be heated up to 220 degrees C, but if they got up to 228 degrees, they would burst into flame @_@ After they were heated and mixed, they would dribble the mixture on top of a vat of water, where it would cool in spiderweb-like shapes. Then they would lift it out on a frame, and they could carefully place it on the set. One time, the polymers did burst into flame, and they were running out of fire extinguishers to put it out! O.O Eventually, they did call the fire department, who said they'd done everything the fire department would have done. They got the fire put out, but it was a nerve-wracking moment, because the room where they were making the webs was connected to the studio, so it could have been disastrous D:

Bernard Shaw apparently got the idea to do that whole bit where he knocks his sword against the row of spears when he saw the collection of spears all lined up in a row in the art department.

The "oil" that Denethor pours over himself and Faramir is a mixture of glycerin and water. (I always wonder about these things, so I'm really glad they mentioned it.)

When they were filming the pyre scene, they had a silicone dummy for Faramir on the burning pyre. Apparently somebody on the crew brought "David Wenham" a cup of coffee over because they thought he'd fallen asleep on the side of the set, only to discover that it was a dummy! XD

The horse rig they made for close-up work of people on horseback got affectionately nicknamed "the Phony Pony." The first day they brought it on set, Peter Jackson got up on it and "rode" the horse, making the whole crew laugh XD

One of the ideas that Peter Jackson came up with for the mumakil in a brainstorming session (which Richard Taylor says he's still not sure if PJ was serious about or not) was that they could suck up several riders in its trunk and then fire them out like bullets. I'm...really glad they didn't go with that, whether PJ was serious or not <_<

Alan Lee says that the first time he saw the dead mumakil that Weta made for the set, the body was hollow, and some of the crew had set up a TV inside it and were watching a rugby game XD

The last miniature they built for LotR was the Minas Tirith docks where the Corsair ships come in. It kept getting put off until almost the end of the shoot, so they only had five days to put it together! @_@

All of the dead horses are fake, of course, so Weta had to make them all. They were made of lightweight material, so each day you'd see the set dressers just kind of casually carrying in a whole dead horse and then picking one up from the battlefield afterwards like it's no big deal. They had to do a lot of repairs to the dead horses, because the legs and ears kept falling off or getting bent the wrong way XD

The stone Watchers in Cirith Ungol have Maori influence in their design. I wish they'd talked about that in more detail, but it was just mentioned in passing.

They were concerned about the various copies of the One Ring being stolen, so they kept it in a lunchbox that was labeled "Screws."

The scene where Frodo and Sam join the orc convoy was filmed on location up on a mountain, so they had to deal with a whole bunch of extras in extensive prosthetics and armor, which would make them sweat while they were moving around, but then when the camera wasn't rolling, it would be a challenge to keep them warm. The way they did most of the orcs was that they wore a rubber mask and then a helmet, and they would need to take them off at regular intervals so the actors could get some air. So in between takes, after the director called, "Cut!" there would also be a cry of, "Heads off!" That meant the dressers would have to rush into the crowd and quickly take off the extras' helmets and masks XD

Because the crew was committed to not damaging any of the flora and fauna in the places where they were filming, even in the location that became the plains of Mordor that Frodo and Sam struggle across, there were little flowers and moss that they wanted to protect (and it was a national park). So they would lay down carpets on the ground for people to walk on, so they wouldn't damage the plant life. I'm sure that made for a strange sight, Frodo and Sam struggling in tattered clothing over rocks and boulders, surrounded by perfectly ordinary rugs XD

To do the decapitation of the Mouth of Sauron, they had a headless dummy sitting there, and Viggo would swipe his sword where the head should be. Then Weta Digital put in the head afterwards.

The lava in Mount Doom was mostly a miniature (except for the set where Sean and Elijah did their part), made from methyl cellulose and other things to make it look like lava. They set it up on a table that they would tilt so it would flow down around the model boulders made from urethane.

Richard Taylor said that, at that time, no one had really done a very good CG bird, so he was especially pleased at how the eagles turned out.

There were about 400 people working in the art department total, and most of them had never worked in the film industry before! @_@

Ngila Dickson's philosophy for the Elves was that none of their "crowns" or headpieces would go upwards, but would fit close around their heads and then go down. That's one of those things I've subconsciously noticed all these years, but never really thought about before.

Apparently, a little bit of the graphite used on Aragorn's armor in the coronation scene kind of puffed out when he and Arwen go in for their kiss, and got on Arwen's dress D: And some well-meaning person tried to rub it off, but only succeeded in spreading it around further, thus ruining the dress. And most of the female characters only had one copy of each costume, because all except for Eowyn don't see battle and thus don't need different versions with varying amounts of wear and tear. They're just made to wear in one or two scenes of them looking pretty and walking through a room. But alas, that lovely green dress was ruined.

They didn't have much time with Sir Ian Holm, so they only had a week to get a mold of his face and make the old-age prosthetics for the Grey Havens. But then word came down that he didn't want to have prosthetics, so they were to just make him look old with makeup. They were really disappointed, but then on the day, Ian Holm saw the prosthetics sitting off in the corner and asked what it was. When they explained, he said it wasn't true, and insisted on them putting the prosthetics on instead.

One thing that was really impressed upon me during this whole commentary (over all three movies) was just how much love and joy all of the crew had for the project. Sometimes you watch a movie or read a book that really means a lot to you, that's changed your life, and you wonder if the people who made it fully grasp what a beautiful thing they've created. These people know. They were fully aware, from start to finish, that they were making something truly great and worthy of praise. And I think that's beautiful.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Topic: Genshin impact.

au: Sagau.

idea: So what if you had the powers of every character you played as in every game you played and then get isekaid into genshin impact with imposter au. I imagine it goes smth like

Zhongli: “I will have order!”

reader, Who played Roblox as someone who lagged the game (explanation: I’m pretty sure ping is also how time works in games. If you can control the flow of ping you can control the flow of time in games.): “ZA WARUDO!”

Heyyy!! Thanks for waiting for the reply/response from my slow ass :0

So they did clarify what they meant/expand so imma just copy paste that here!

“k now I remember. So basically imma write it here since it’s easier: Basically you don’t have to (but you can) transform into the character that has those set of powers but if you do those powers are enhanced.”

Sun: Reader (”you”/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, Light Imposter AU (as in, NOT Yandere/Dark), mild crossover elements bc Shapeshifter Shenanigans™️

Stars: bro idek

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, genshin typical mild violence, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

so fair warning,, ive never seen jojo bizarre, but i appreciate i come off well-read/watched? LMAO

so im just gonna kinda,, guess? like just cycle thru diff. random media, and im hoping both me and you reading this will have a fun time (as this is a little challenge, but i like it so ill give it a shot, dont kno if its a good one but- 😅)

so to set the scene, of how u got to this point, ykno of running like ur life (maybe?) depends on u running around different teyvat countries,

u thought it was weird everyone knew a little too much about you?? (ofc theyve heard u during gaming, they know u the same way we all know Markiplier, get it?)

then a bunch of NPCs/Vision users/Archons?? were REALLY invested in talking to you, which freaked u out even more

and by the time you saw Zhongli, yknow, just the oldest god in game, making a fast-walk towards you, ykno the retired god who didnt move an inch when an old water god attacked Liyue for a test, is now hurrying to you???

ur logically get so fucking scared sm shits abt to go down, u just start running

it isnt until ur reaching for a ledge and some webbing shoots out of ur arm (from a glitchy little spot on ur arm, where it could be coming out of ur skin, but sometimes its a blue and red bracelet)

it latched onto the nearest building, and thats how u find out u can grapple ur way, literally Spiderman style, out of the harbor

and bro, idk if it would be fun, or confusing and stressful, or maybe both?? to just find out u can use any video game power from any game youve played before as you go running from countries bc for some freaky reason they know too much abt you/are pursuing you-

dUDE- they had small statues of you in like every little section of their cities

u head to Mondstadt and as Venti comes screaming and flying at you (in excitement, but ur freaked), u go to hold a hand up and suddenly ur holding a heavy stone tablet that unleashes some holographic yellow chains that freeze him in place-?? why is this familiar-

oh my god u have the sheikah slate from Breath of the Wild,

and as ur booking it out of there, u manage to get ahold of a sword, and u know exactly how to use it to knock back favonius knights trying to stop you (they are concerned for their god who is just unleashing random powers on ppl, pls let Grandmaster Jean just talk to you Your Majesty-!!)

by the time you teleport ur way to Inazuma, (bc u still have this worlds access to ur player/traveler’s powers), ur trying to find a nice place to stay for a little bit

at least in that sweet spot of the Raiden not noticing/finding you, while things cool down on the main continent, before moving on,

and u get some tools to help fashion just a little shelter, bc u dont have any money/mora rn, and ur able to literally build a house???

a mailbox pops up and thanks you for renting with Tom Nook???? As in Animal Crossing-

and rlly if the BOTW/slate thing didnt clue u into video game powers, then this definitely would tbh lmao

right as u see Yae Miko circling ur house, with an armful of books? ..is she planning to thru them at you??, u get the hell out of dodge before her favorite god can follow along

(she knows ur prefrences in books and got authors/trends to start so youd have plenty to read, and she was making sure it was ur house before politely dropping them off! how was she to know thatd spook their favorite God, Ei?!)

u get to Sumeru and think ur safe, hiding in an abandoned forest watcher outpost (1 person treehouse rlly) when Nahida shows up in ur dreams,

and u just,

walk out of the dream, into reality, and possess a nearby ruin guard so u can sleep in peace, bc she cant access a robot,

that one baffled u as you re-possessed ur own body before realizing-

Five Nights at Freddy’s. 💀

U cant do that forever, so u try Fontaine, hoping Neuvillette/Furina wont rlly give af abt you, plus theyre the latest region, so maybe they have the least exposure to whatever the other archons didnt like abt you??

u get there and are immediately summoned to court, and right as the mekas show up to escort you, jfc they have a mecha army

(meanwhile, theyre thinking, yknow. high profile guest/our god of gods. ofc we need state of the art mekas to escort them, its only polite-)

meanwhile ur cape has now become wings, and a mask covers ur face as you glide and fly ur way over the city in an attempt to get to where u assume Snezhnaya is

it doesnt occur to you the game until ur running out of stamnia and catch ur reflection in the waters of fontaine, Sky: Children of the Light

u hope the Tsaritsa’s dislike for other gods/Celestia doesnt extend to ur otherworldly presence so ur just hoping for the best atp tbh

tbh youd forget what all powers you have, and the absolute chaos ur causing urself as u try to desperately rememeber what games youve played thru ur entire life is NOT helping to reduce confusion when u randomly wake up with elf ears (legend of zelda/botw) or get dragged into another ruin machine when u fall asleep/faint/do smth u guess mimics death lmao- (fnaf) 💀

…

(meanwhile the Tsaritsa does get wind ur coming this way, and just, makes the people have a parade/festival to celebrate you coming,

she did also have to get Pierro/Captaino to physically restrain some of them from going ahead to meet/escort you to the palace, she’d heard how the others scared u off, and was, ironically, hoping the warm welcome would clear things up)

☆

well that was, something. 😃🫠

sorry lil car, that was such a fun idea idk if i did it justice!! i thought itd be too op to include every media youve consumed ever, so i kept it to video games, (which, could u cheat the system if youve played smash bros??)

i hope it was at least a decent read, and sorry im half asleep so i was not v funny this time around, but, again, hope u got smth out of it 😭

</3

on another note, im having my wisdom teeth surgery this friday, send whatever u got my way, prayers, blessings, good vibes, ill take anything im nervous 🙃

have a good week guys!

Safe Travels Lil Car,

💀♒

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(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

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[k4marina]

— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist || next part

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now. 

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today. 

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas. 

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face. 

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out. 

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.” 

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck. 

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?” 

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.” 

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.” 

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle. 

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys. 

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.  

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned. 

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.” 

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.” 

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates. 

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.” 

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.” 

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down. 

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down. 

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?” 

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled. 

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass. 

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field. 

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.” 

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me. 

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?” 

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.” 

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet. 

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs. 

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience. 

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm. 

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.” 

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax. 

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular. 

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons. 

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King. 

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched. 

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.” 

“What? 

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me. 

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded. 

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass. 

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks. 

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me. 

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him. 

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.” 

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon. 

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me. 

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off. 

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice. 

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right? 

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes. 

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky. 

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.” 

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz. 

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.” 

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears. 

“Your dragon,” 

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings. 

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I. 

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end. 

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible. 

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely. 

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle. 

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.” 

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly. 

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.” 

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. 

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

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[tunastime]

The Little Things

happy birthday @shepscapades!! you've known about this fic for a little bit, but we talked about how long DBHC Etho's hair had gotten and I really couldn't help myself LOL. I hope you have a great birthday <333

Behind his shoulder, Etho twists a particularly long strand of hair around his finger as they unpack, fidgeting in a way that almost seems anxious. He drags his hand back after a moment, flattening his hair against his neck, combing through absently as he sorts through their collected items and puts them in proper order. Bdubs watches him fidget for a long moment. The thoughts in his head bounce around like loose marbles. Or, Bdubs braids Etho's hair. Etho lets him.

(1506 words)

“Etho.”

Bdubs is staring at the back of Etho’s neck as they walk a short single file through the dark oak trees. Etho holds a steady grip on the hilt of the sword at his hip, head shifting back and forth as they walk together, like they were tethered by an invisible string. He can see the faint glow of his LED in the dappled, midday light. Etho makes a small, confirming sound, but doesn’t look behind him.

“Your hair’s gotten long.”

“Mhh,” Etho hums again—some approximation of pushing out air. He reaches back, combing through the near neck-length hair. “I’m letting it get long. Thought it might be a nice change.”

“‘S it bothering you?” Bdubs asks. Etho shakes his head, glancing back to look at him.

“Keeps getting in my eyes, but otherwise I was just too lazy to cut it.”

Bdubs snorts. 

“Typical.”

Etho shoots him a look, but his mouth is curved into a smile—one where he’s trying to stifle it, so his teeth aren’t showing, but he really wants to grin. All visible too since his mask is tucked under his chin. The motion pulls at the off-white scar down his face. 

“So mean,” he scoffs. “After everything I do for you, Bdubs!”

“Yeah, right,” Bdubs says, thumping his shoulder with the back of his hand. “And you’re bein’ dramatic.”

Etho sticks his tongue out at him, but doesn’t argue any further. Bdubs almost socks him again for that, but Etho giggles enough to get him to start laughing, and by the time he’s even considered it again, their base has come into view. Well—what some would call a stack of deepslate that looked like fort walls. Kind of. It was something at least, even if it wasn’t all that pretty. He can see the peek of Tango’s head over the wall, just a smudge of gold against the backdrop. He must be moving their chests around to keep building, because there’s no way their walls were as short as Tango. 

They both pick their way toward the base just as Tango’s head disappears. By the time their cajoling and banter is within earshot, Tango’s standing outside the front of their base, eyebrows raised.

“You two sure make a lot of noise,” he complains, folding his arms. “I swear I could hear you from across the river.”

Bdubs snorts.

“Blame Etho for that one,” he grumbles, pushing past the two of them. He hears Tango snort as he starts giggling, and Etho makes a particularly pathetic sound in retaliation.

“Bdubs started it,” he complains, dragging himself after Bdubs and into the base proper. Tango twists around to follow them both, trailing after as Bdubs lingers near the doorway. 

“Did you two at least bring back somethin’ to eat?”

“You bet your buns we did,” Bdubs snorts. He drops to sit beside his bag, fiddling until the clasps come undone. There, he reaches in, and hands Tango a chunk of entirely unprocessed redstone. When Tango twists it this way and that, it catches the light in a surprisingly interesting way. He watches Tango’s face scrunch for a moment, LED spinning a light blue ring as he thinks over the stone in his hands. Luckily he hasn’t noticed that there are a few prominent sets of teeth marks in the bottom half. 

Can’t blame a guy for getting hungry. 

Tango nods, seemingly satisfied.

Behind his shoulder, Etho twists a particularly long strand of hair around his finger as they unpack, fidgeting in a way that almost seems anxious. He drags his hand back after a moment, flattening his hair against his neck, combing through absently as he sorts through their collected items and puts them in proper order.

Bdubs watches him fidget for a long moment. The thoughts in his head bounce around like loose marbles.

Tango moves around them both and back to the place where he was moving cots and chests around. He backs himself against a particularly large double chest and shoves it sideways across the grass. Etho continues to quietly stack items into a chest. With his bag now empty, Bdubs picks himself up, and scoops up his bag. At the front door, he slings his newly sharpened axe over his shoulder.

Might as well get some wood while the day was still light.

At the fire, sleep tugging at the edge of his consciousness, Bdubs casts a tired glance over to Etho. He’s shrugged free from his coat, now draped over his knees as he sits at Bdubs’ left, leaning almost into his space. From this angle, Bdubs can see how Etho’s hair lies flat over the back of his neck, curls over the side of his face in frizzy strands. He reaches up almost absently to comb his fingers through it. Etho makes a small, startled noise. He raises his shoulders, but he’s not able to resist the tiny, pleased expression that slides onto his face as Bdubs keeps his hand on the back of his skull. He may not like the teasing, but the idea of Bdubs petting through his hair certainly seems to make him happy.

Which is why Bdubs sighs through his nose and draws his hand away.

“Etho,” Bdubs says, exasperation slipping into his tone unbidden. “C’mere and let me help you.”

“It’s fine,” Etho tries, more in discomfort than annoyance.

“Etho—” Bdubs argues. He pats the ground in front of him, legs splayed. Etho looks him up and down for a long moment, LED spinning, calculating. 

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks.

“‘M not gonna cut it,” Bdubs sighs. “Just trust me, alright?”

Etho makes a noise halfway between a groan and a hum. He finally sinks to the ground beside Bdubs’ knee. Twisting around to put him between his legs, Bdubs shuffles forward on the grass. Between Etho and the fire in front of him, the air around them is warm, filled with the slight mechanical hum from Etho in front of him, the snap of the fire. Bdubs leans forward for a moment, resting his forehead against the nape of Etho’s neck. Etho laughs, one hand coming back to squeeze his knee.

“What,” he teases. “Was this your ulterior motive?”

“No,” Bdubs startles, peeling himself away. “No it wasn’t. This was just a nice moment.”

Etho giggles, squeezing his knee again. He draws his hand down Bdubs’ shin and to his ankle, where he keeps it there.

Carefully, Bdubs combs his fingers through Etho’s hair. It’s not any different than usual, besides the length. He keeps relatively good care of it, the ends are fine, it’s short enough not to reliably knot. Sifting his fingers through takes little effort on Bdubs’ part as he easily separates three sections out, twisting the hair between his fingers as he braids. Etho slumps forward a bit, shoulders rounding out, the base of his spine and lower ribs pressed into Bdubs’ space.

“I learned how to do this a long time ago,” Bdubs says absently as he works. He watches Etho’s LED spin again, and takes that as a sign that he’s still paying attention. “Had’ta use ropes since I didn’t know anyone with hair long enough to actually practice on. It’s easy to do a simple one when you’ve got the hang’ve it, though.”

“Are you expecting me to not ask you for help when I need it?” Etho says, amusement slipping into his tone. Bdubs pokes the back of his neck.

“I’m just sayin’,” he grumbles. “You don’t have’ta learn, I’m just tellin’ a story. Jeez, Etho.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Etho placates, still giggling. “Maybe I’ll learn as long as you teach me.”

Bdubs huffs out a laugh.

“Maybe,” he parrots. He curls his hair into the last section of the small, tight braid, hoping that force alone will keep it together just for a bit. As he lets go, Etho’s hand comes back to feel out the braid, smoothing the rest of his hair back behind his ears. With most of it tucked back, only the tufts of hair in the front spill into his eyes. When he turns back to Bdubs, a soft smile tugs at his face. Bdubs reaches on instinct to push his hair back, dragging his hand down his cheek as he pulls away. He pretends not to notice that Etho’s ears have gone slightly blue as he turns away from him.

“You like it?” Bdubs asks, voice coming uncharacteristically soft. Etho nods silently. “Good.”

Bdubs leans forward into Etho’s space, then, tucking himself against the strong curve of his back. He can feel, ever so slightly, the hum of his thirium pump, the heat that he gives off from all the moving equipment inside his chest. There, he lets out a soft sigh. Etho squeezes his ankle.

“You let me know if you need me to do it again, alright?” Bdubs asks. Etho lets out a long breath of air.

“I will,” he says, voice crackling ever so.

Good, Bdubs thinks. He likes the sound of that.

[anachronismstellar]

I'm still in a weird mood, but at least I'm writing lol

This was supposed to be a fun/cute cumplane fic, but my brain got taken over by @mysteryteacup post about Airplane being a good writer he just couldn't afford the time to write.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

-----------

"Do you think we would have met before?"

The question came a bit out of nowhere, disrupting the soft mood of the bamboo house. The weather was warm, rain hitting the roof in a soothing pattern, the open doors bringing in the green hues inside the living room along with a gentle breeze.

Shen Yuan closed his book, setting Airplane's latest story aside. The plot was not so terrible now that they had stepped down as peak lords. Retirement had a good look on him, made his shoulders relaxed and his posture elegant, as if he had finally made himself comfortable with his body, fear a mask long forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Shen Yuan didn't pick up his fan as once he would, his own insecurities whispers from the past. Instead, he just turned his face at Airplane, both watching as smoke curled up from Airplane's long pipe.

Outside, thunder rolled over them like the Gods were dragging clouds heavy as stones.

"Before," Airplane waved at the scenery in general, and it didn't need much for Shen Yuan to catch what he meant. "I mean, I didn't participate in any of the big conventions they invited me, but..."

Shen Yuan hummed, head tilted to the side, imagining how would he react if he ever met Airplane under other circumstances. It would have been disastrous for sure, both of them struggling with the different challenges of a world without flying swords and demons. Would they even be friends? Probably not. Shen Yuan had spent so much of his time stuck on his own head, going from doctor after doctor, too bitter to enjoy nice things, dedicating his whole life on hating a poorly written book. And from other conversations, he knew that Airplane had been bitter as well, sacrificing his words and his world in the name of the next meal, the next rent.

"I don't see how," he reached for his cup of tea, heating up his cold hands against the warm porcelain. "Like you said, you never went to the conventions. I didn't either, to be honest. Too many people."

Shang Qinghua nodded slowly as he filled his lungs with smoke, letting it go through his nose. Shen Yuan waited for a bit longer, curious to see where Airplane wanted to get with his question. He was almost picking up the story again when-

"I was just..." He started as he put his pipe down to comb his hair with his fingers, putting the strands behind his ears. Another big change from when they had passed their mantle to the next generation: Airplane had started to wear his hair down, Northern braids adorning the sides of his head, silver beads glittering among chocolate brown. "Is the book good?"

The sudden change of topic made Shen Yuan blink. However, it wasn't as if he weren't used to Airplane's mind jumping around, so he just took it in stride, nodding slowly.

"I enjoyed how you developed the main character relationship with his old master, although I still think you should stop killing mothers left and right."

Airplane couldn't help but chuckle, his smile making his eyes curve into half moons.

"Leave some tropes for me to work with, bro, there's so much this poor writer can come up with!"

Shen Yuan could only roll his eyes at the other, picking up the book once more, touching the pages without actually reading it, just enjoying the feeling of paper on his hands.

"Well, it is an improvement. And as always your beasts are impeccable, I'll give you that."

And he regretted immediately the compliment when Airplane dramatically clutched his robes, pretending to faint. The little shit.

"Oh! Oh praised be the Heavens! A compliment from the immovable Peerless Cucumber! Oh my heart! My heaaart-"

Shen Yuan did his best to hold back his frustration and just throw his fan at the writer. Good thing that Airplane calmed down again, chin up so he could stare at the top of the bamboo trees outside. Only then Shen Yuan realized that the entire time Airplane hadn't looked at him.

He felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, heart squeezing tight.

"Are you going to tell me what is this about?"

Airplane took a long drag of his pipe, bending his head back a bit further to blow little circles in the air. He should be thankful that Shen Yuan had worked on his patience in the past decades, or he would have been hit with a fan already.

"I was thinking of your first review for Proud Immortal Demon Way," he said as he tapped the pipe on a little vase Shen Yuan had offered him earlier to use as ashtray. "You were so mean... I couldn't write for like two days."

They had commented about their forum fights before, they have even apologized for some things they had said to each other back then, but Airplane had never-

The thought of hurting him so bad to the point of making him give up on writing was-

"Huang Hua..." He whispered as he took the writer's hand close to him, brushing his thumb over the callous on his forefinger.

"Don't look at me like that, bro... Don't mind me, I'm just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, squeezing Shen Yuan's hand back. "I've been in a weird mood that's all."

Shen Yuan understood, he understood a bit too well. For all they enjoyed the benefits of magic and cultivation, they weren't meant for this immortal world, Huang Hua and him, human beings who had always had a clock ticking over their heads. He would get stuck on his own head, too, sometimes; making Binghe walk around him with soft steps and prepare his favorite foods.

He loved his husband food more than anything blessed be Airplane for deciding to make the main protagonist a good cook.

But Binghe couldn't prepare him a burger the size of his head with golden french fries.

"Well, I think the new book is going great. And to answer your question, well-" Then it was Shen Yuan's turn to pause, trying to imagine how their meeting in the real world would go. Poorly, for sure, but also... Shen Yuan was old enough, wise enough to admit that if he knew Airplane's struggles, he would probably have helped. He had been so rash in his comments because he had seen the potential, the grandeur of Airplane's mind, while describing the fauna and flora of Proud Immortal Demon Way.

"I don't know, I think if we had met, we wouldn't become friends," he admitted with a shrug, keeping his face towards the forest, feeling his cheeks burning. "I was... I was going through a lot and you had your own problems too. But depending on the day I might would have asked for an autograph." And what an embarrassing thing to admit. And while holding Airplane's hand nonetheless! Muscle memory made him take his fan and snap it open, the sound muffling Airplane's giggles.

"Well, I can't autograph your Binghe body pillow-"

"Shut up it was a collectable item!"

"- but I can autograph this copy if you want." and then he tapped the book on the table with his pipe, Shen Yuan's eyes going wide as plates.

"What?"

"I had to change a lot of things... Mostly the names and places, but-" Airplane nervously played with his hair, stealing glances at Shen Yuan's direction. "I thought, now that everything is kinda over, why not write it properly, right? Besides, the entire Proud Immortal Demon Way had never had a beta reader, although I thought about asking you sometimes way back but uh-"

"I've could have been your beta reader?!"

"Well, yes, in a way you kinda were- wait. Haven't you noticed?" Airplane let go of his hair to turn his entire body to Shen Yuan, surprise written all over his face. "Bro, you're the only person I answered more than once on the forums. Most of the time I couldn't take your ideas and use them, that would be insane and asking for a lawsuit, but when you gave me writing advice? Or when I needed to remember which wife was which or who had died? I used your comments to remember what had been happening in the last chapters."

Shen Yuan's hands got tingling all over, his face heating up to the point of boiling. He had always thought Airplane had despised him, and it was with reason. He knew he had been a hater, to the point of Airplane remembering his name after years, but he had never known that Airplane actually had paid attention, he had actually-

Wait, rewind, write what properly-

"Hold on, you're telling me that-" he picked the book again, scanning the first page and then the second, recognition downing upon him. It had felt familiar when he read it for the first time, but he had thought it was just him being used to Airplane's stories. But this...

"Proud Demon Immortal Way could have been this good?" He gasped as he turned to stare at the author, shaking the book on his hand. To which Airplane had the audacity to shrug, light pink dusting his cheeks.

"Told you many times, Bro. No time to edits, had to pay the bills."

"Airplane, how many drafts you wrote before posting that monstrosity?"

"Uh." He turned his face away again, scratching the back of his neck, then his cheek. "I mean I didn't have a draft. I wrote it down in one sitting most of the time-"

Shen Yuan was going to pass out. No wonder the story made no sense most of the times! And he still was able to follow some type of plot?!

During their lifes as cultivators, Shen Yuan faced many situations in which Airplane had his turn to shine. He might not be aware of it, oblivious writer that he was, but he could be insanely smart and think fast enough to avoid wars between tribes that any other person would fumble and make it worse. So he knew how intelligent and smart Airplane was, although he wouldn't straight up compliment him like that.

But this... Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six chapters with no draft or beta reader? This... Was insane.

"You better honor Shen Qingqiu's past this time," he heard himself say, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. And funny enough, he had mean it. "You better give him closure so I can at least glare at Yue Qingyuan without feeling guilty."

This time Airplane threw his head back and laughed, hand over his belly, the other tapping the table. Then he turned to look at Shen Yuan with his sly fox smile, forefinger moving side to side.

"Nonono, I'm sorry, bro. I'm not writing to make the readers happy this time," he said with a sharp nod, tapping his fingers against his temple. "There's a story to be told, and I'm not gonna mess up a second time."

And Shen Yuan felt as if he should be angry, he should shake Airplane by his shoulders and scream, but at the same time... He felt like Airplane had passed his test, one he wasn't aware he had set for the other.

He huffed, sliding the book over the table until it was closer to the author, opening the first page.

"You better think of a hell of dedicatory then," he said as he got up to pick writing materials, warmth spreading through his chest to the sound of Airplane's laughter.

--------

Shen Yuan is going to find out some things about Binghe and Mobei in the book lol

Again, thank you for giving it a read!

See you next time~

[eyecosahedron]

I love the implications of the seven birds being from a more technologically advanced world than faerun (knowledge of TV, understanding of machine guns "count the shells", using microphones ect) because how many things was Lucretia not able to erase? Across 99 planes, it's impossible that she managed to get everything. And how well was she really able to introduce the more medieval concepts of faerun into their memories?

What did the THB think everyone was doing just waving swords around rather than pulling out guns; did they just accept it and move on? Imagine Lucretia trying to explain them to a weapons development department of the BoB to equip her employees. Lucretia, a records keeper, who cannot have a great understanding of the inner workings of firearms. Vaguely describing rectangles that explode to a reception of horrified looks.

Or Taako repeatedly asking Sazed to supply him with various kitchen utensils he insists are vital for the recipe that just Do Not Exist. Magnus, complaining that he can't play little games on his stone of farspeech, while everyone around is completely baffled at the concept. Everyone around them not only not getting their pop culture references, but being fundamentally incapable of understanding them.

I just think there is something so funny about them functionally time travelling and then promptly forgetting they were from a different era at all. And just. Having to get on with it.

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Twenty-Nine} {<- kinktober masterlist}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader} Request {Anon}: Daemon with 1, 7 and 22...

♡♡♡ Angry dominant Daemon is just soooo hot~ ♡♡♡

2k words - Kinks: dubcon, overstim, breeding kink, possessive behavior, wall sex, angry sex, slight dom/sub ...

"What have I told you?" Your husband's voice was dark, his anger palpable as he stood in the doorway. He was still dressed for battle, armor covered in the blood of his enemies and his face splattered with it as well. His hand was clenched tight around his sword, as if ready to strike you. "What did I say before I left?"

"That I was to remain in the castle until you returned." Your voice was quiet, submissive as you averted your eyes to the floor. You tried to hide your smile as you looked down, you couldn't help that you found the fire in him enticing. He was always so gentle with you, so careful. But this? This side of him was exciting.

"Yet I hear you've been running around the town, spending time in the tavern with men who don't deserve to even look at you." His voice was dangerous, as he closed the door behind him and started taking off his armor. He was slow about it, almost methodical as he placed his sword beside the bed and set his chest plate on the table. "You disobeyed me."

You let out a chuckle at his words, he wasn't usually so possessive, and he enjoyed your wild nature. It was one of the reasons you'd caught his eye, your refusal to submit to his whims. "You know how much I hate being cooped up in the castle." You looked back up at him, meeting his gaze as you smirked. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Sorry?" He scoffed as he removed the last of his armor, leaving him only in his breeches. He stalked towards you, reaching a hand out to roughly grab your chin. "Sorry won't save you from what I have planned." His voice was a purr as his other hand moved to your corset. "I'll keep you locked up here with my child, remind you what a good little wife you are."

"Child?" You were surprised by his words, he'd never once expressed the desire to have children. In fact, the two of you had been avoiding the possibility since the night you married. Neither of you wanted to deal with a squalling child, not when there were other pleasures you could partake in. "Daem-"

He cut you off with a harsh kiss, teeth pulling at your bottom lip as his hands tore away the laces of your corset. He didn't break the kiss, instead he pushed into the small of your back, drawing you close against his hard body. He was rough, and you couldn't deny the heat that rushed through you. He wasn't usually like this, but it was a welcome change.

"It's time, don't you agree? We have to produce an heir." His voice was soft as he spoke, moving to kiss down your jaw. "You can't be so reckless with our child inside you, can you? You'd be more careful, I'm sure."

You couldn't tell if his words were meant for you or him, but they were a comfort. He was afraid of something happening to you, and this was his way of assuring himself that wouldn't happen.

His hands were rough, yanking and tearing at your dress as if he couldn't wait another moment to see you. The fabric ripped and you gasped, pushing on his chest as you tried to get away.

"That was new, Daemon!" You were annoyed with him, the dress had been expensive and made by the best seamstress in King's Landing.

"And yet it's in pieces now." He responded, a smirk on his lips as he pulled you back to him. He didn't give you the chance to respond, his mouth finding yours again as he lifted you up.

His hands gripped the underside of your thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he pressed you into the nearest wall. The cold stones caused you to shiver, and you felt him smile against your lips.

He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, and you moaned at the taste of him. He was sweaty and musky, the smell and taste of war still clinging to him. You loved it, loved the way he smelled like a man should.

He broke the kiss, moving to nip and suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. He quickly unplaced his breeches with one hand, using his knee to keep you propped up against the wall.

"Do you have any idea what I wanted to do to those men when I heard?" His voice was a growl as he spoke, pressing his hips into yours. "What I should do to them, for daring to touch what's mine."

"They didn't-" Your words were cut off by a moan, as his cock rubbed against your cunt. He was hard and hot, the tip already leaking as he slowly slid into you.

"Quiet," He was slow as he entered you, stretching your walls. His voice was breathy as he spoke, his own pleasure evident.

He was slow at first, taking his time as he moved his hips. He was still kissing and sucking on your neck, marking the skin with a trail of red bruises. He wanted everyone to see, to know you were his.

You could feel the way he was holding back, the way his body trembled. He was fighting the urge to be rough, the animalistic side of him threatening to break free. But you didn't want him to hold back, didn't want him to treat you gently. You wanted him to let go, and fuck you like a wild animal.

"Am I not allowed to be admired by others?" You were taunting him, hoping to push him over the edge. "Am I not allowed to enjoy the company of handsome men?"

He chuckled at your attempt to provoke him, but it was a hollow sound. "You are not." He said simply, his grip tightening on your thighs. He increased his pace, pounding into you harder as he spoke. "I want every man in this city to know you're mine, to know you'll always be mine."

You whimpered as his words, your back arching against the wall as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot. You were already so close, and his words were doing nothing to help.

He noticed the change, the way your cunt clenched around him. He hummed, a dark smirk on his lips. "No, you won't cum until I allow it."

"Please." You whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his brutal pace. He was relentless, hitting the right spot every time.

"Not yet." He whispered, his voice dark and commanding. "You'll take what I give you."

Your eyes widened at his words, and you knew he wouldn't relent. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. He was punishing you, and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it.

"Will you put your heir inside me, my prince?" Your voice was a whisper, your fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

His only response was a grunt, and you felt him twitch inside you. Your words were working, breaking his unshakable control. He was losing himself, and you couldn't wait to see him snap.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his thrusts becoming erratic and his breathing heavy. Pounding into so hard that your head hit the stone wall, your hips slamming against it with every movement. Pain and pleasure blended into one distinct feeling, and you knew you wouldn't last much longer.

He was chasing his release, his own pleasure the only thing on his mind. There was still a rage simmering under his skin, a fire that threatened to consume the both of you. And you couldn't help but think how beautiful he was, the way the moonlight caught his sweat slick skin, the way his muscles rippled and tensed beneath his skin.

His thrusts were brutal, his grip on your thighs almost bruising as he chased his pleasure. You could feel the way his body was trembling, the way his breathing was labored. Soft little moans caught between his lips, his face contorted in a mix of lust and anger.

And then you felt it, the way his cock pulsed inside you. The warmth of his seed as it filled you, and his hips stuttered as he pressed deep inside you, holding you still. His head dropped onto your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin as he panted.

You waited, his seed already leaking out of you, but his cock was still hard. He wasn't done, not yet. He held you close, carrying you over to the bed, his cock never leaving the warmth of your cunt.

He was careful as he laid you down, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more of him.

He began thrusting again, slower this time, and deeper. His movements were calculated, each roll of his hips perfectly aimed to bring you both the most pleasure.

His hand moved between the two of you, his thumb finding your sensitive nub. Rubbing in tight circles, and you knew it wouldn't take long. Not with the way he was pounding into you, the way his cock filled and stretched you.

"Come," He commanded, his voice low and breathless. "Let me feel you."

And that was all it took, your back arched, and your nails scratching down his chest, leaving bright red welts in their wake. Your cunt clenched around him, drawing a moan from his lips.

He followed after you, his hips snapping forward a final time, his seed filling you once more. He collapsed on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his body a solid weight pressing you into the bedding.

You ran your hands through his hair, gently combing the silky locks. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful. He was so beautiful like this, but you couldn't help but wonder what had brought on his rage, his need.

You'd heard the whispers of course, the rumors of his behavior after a battle. Some said he went mad, killing anyone in his path, while others said he used the bloodshed to fuel his lust. But only you knew the truth, with every swing of his sword, he thought of you. Worrying about your safety, his love and affection for you was what kept him fighting, what kept him going. And now he was using that passion, that fire, to claim you as his own.

He was never a man of words, his actions speaking louder than any pretty poem or flowery sonnet. He didn't have the ability to explain his feelings, but he showed them with every look, every touch.

"Do you really wish for a child?" You whispered, your voice barely audible.

He let out a soft grunt of agreement, his body shifting as he rolled off you. He laid on his side, his arm draped across your waist, pulling you flush against his body.

"You should get some rest." He whispered, his words muffled by your hair. "I plan to keep you occupied tomorrow."

"Is that so?" You asked, a smirk on your lips.

"Yes." His voice was thick with sleep, his body relaxing into the bedding. "I have to make sure I've bred you properly, after all."

You rolled your eyes, his arrogance still intact, even when tired.

"Don't roll your eyes at me." He murmured, his hand resting on your stomach. "I've seen the way you've looked at the other children, and the way the mothers gaze upon you. You're jealous, and I aim to give you what you want."

"I didn't know you were so perceptive." You teased, your eyes closing as his warmth surrounded you.

"I choose not to be." He whispered, his voice fading into nothing. His breathing was soft, his body limp as he fell asleep.

Your husband was a complicated man, and his behavior was unpredictable. But it was moments like these, when his guard was down and his thoughts were clear, that you truly saw him.

And you liked what you saw, his heart, his soul, the good and the bad. The beast, the knight, the man. It was all just him, and you wouldn't change a thing.

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[ace-turned-confused]

proud to be yours

marcus acacius masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: marcus acacius x f!reader summary: it's the first time you've seen acacius since he took your virginity, and he has plans for a different kind of training word count: 2,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / shorter than acacius / very inexperienced, unspecified age gap, pet names, smut, vague references to past p in v & loss of virginity, cock & ball worship hooray! (blowjob & ball sucking), brief fingering, comeplay & come eating, spitting, praise kink, size kink, smidgen of corruption & innocence kink, dirty talk, possessive acacius extra info: subligaculum = underwear a/n: written for @joelmillerisapunk's PPCU body worship challenge! i asked for Big Gladiator Man + C, which very fittingly stands for cock :) this has the same pairing, teeny references to & carries on from mould me for ruin, but could be read on its own :) hugs & cookies to @morallyinept for reading this over <3 <3 <3

You haven’t seen Acacius since your last training session when he took you on the ground and claimed you for himself. He informed you he was busy, saying he’d find you as soon as possible. You weren’t sure what to expect when he sought you out today and led you down an unfamiliar path, still away from prying eyes but also your usual hideaway.

You wonder if he regrets what the two of you did and doesn’t want to train you anymore, if he’s changed his mind and is simply taking you somewhere he can let you down without an audience.

The sun is already well below the mountains, the sky like a painting of pink and purple with cirrus clouds like brushstrokes. Kicking the gravel as you walk, Acacius’ bulky frame towers alongside you. You watch his hand glide through the air, remembering how his touch had blazed across your skin.

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

“Why are we not heading for the forest?”

“Today’s lesson will be far more pleasant at my home.”

“Your home? Are you… are you sure?”

“Relax, my girl.” He stops and turns to you, steadying you by your arms. “You know I would not endanger you — even if I did, you have proven you are more than capable.”

“What are we doing?” You call out to him as he walks ahead.

“You have quite the… inquisitive mind, rascal. I imagine it gets you into trouble, hm?”

“I suppose I do ask too many questions… you're the only one who really listens to them.”

He turns and waits for you to catch up, head cocked to one side as you come to stand in front of him. You feel a strange sense of comfort around him, comfort that nobody else has time or energy to give you. Why would they, when you spend all day longing to chase your dreams?

“It is not too much, you are not too much. I enjoy listening to you. You are far more intelligent and witty than any soldier I’ve trained… Far more beautiful, too.”

He resumes walking with a soft smile and you follow in silence, trusting that you’ll be fine to do whatever he has planned, and fighting the heat that flows under your skin at his compliments.

-

Stepping through wrought iron gates, a cobbled pathway wound up to an impressive stone and brick home, the surrounding gardens neat and manicured. High arches tapering down towards mosaic-tiled floors as you head inside, it’s a spectacle compared to the cramped buildings of the town centre.

He led you through the open space towards the back of his property, dim lamps lining the walls as you reached his bedchamber. You stood in the doorway, unsure if you should have followed him inside. He assured you nobody would know your whereabouts, and if they did, he’d make sure they never spoke it, a menacing grip on his sword as he unsheathed it to place down.

Now you stand, watching him remove his armour, place his chestplate on its stand and hang his skirt. His chest is still just as broad, arms and thighs still just as thick even only in his tunic. You’ve never seen him like this, neither noble nor clad in armour — just Acacius, just Marcus. The lamplight flickers across his face, catching on the silver in his hair and the scruff of his beard.

“Still so eager to learn?” He chuckles as he drags his hand down your neck and across your collarbones, your eyelids fluttering closed as your skin rises in goosebumps.

“How will we train if you have stripped yourself of your armour? I… I do not wish to hurt you.”

“We are doing a different kind of training tonight, my girl. You did so well for your first time, I knew you were born to take me.” He steps into your space, one hand rising to cradle your cheek and you lean into his touch, still desperate to please him.

“Have you dreamt of me again? Touched yourself and seen stars?”

“Yes, General,” you whisper to him.

“It felt good to become mine, yes?”

You whimper as you think back to that night — your body ached as he pushed you down into the hard earth and split you open, pinned you beneath him so he could just take from you. He did take from you, something you can never get back but something you don’t want back, not now that he’s had you for himself.

“I assume you have not sought out another man.” You shake your head in response, gaze tracing over his features as he stares you down with a dark glint in his eyes. “No other man will have you how I did… I will make sure of it.”

“As you said, my body craves yours.”

“My good girl.” Acacius smiles down at you as he curls his hand around your waist, fingers digging into your side. “And my body craves yours, remember?” He takes your hand and guides it down atop his tunic, pressing himself into you.

“Do you feel just how much I still crave you?” You nod as you stare at your hand, feeling him for the first time through the rough fabric. “There are more ways you can be mine, and many more ways I can ruin you. On your knees, my girl.”

You sink down to the floor, the hard tiles digging into your kneecaps as you shift around and try to find a comfortable position. You look up at Acacius from the floor, about to voice your discomfort when he stops you before you can speak.

“Tonight I want to show you how to make a man — me — feel good.”

“Was it not… did you not feel good when, uh… when you…” You drop your eyes, feeling heated as you stumble over your words. Your brows knit in concern — did you do something wrong the other night?

“It was well beyond good, my rascal — a sweet girl like you, so pure.” He crouches down to level with you and holds the back of your neck. “Any man would feel good with you, but no other man ever will now that you are surely ruined.”

Looking away, you notice a white tunic laid out, a gold leaf pattern running along the shoulders and down the side seams. You wonder when he wears it, or who he wears it for, distracting yourself from the worries swirling in your head.

It’s as if he could hear your concerns before you voiced them — he grabs you by the chin to force your attention back to him. “No other man will have you, and I will not have any other woman. Now that I have you, why would I need someone else?”

He drops his hand and straightens up — you feel wet between your thighs as he towers over you. You clutch your hands together, unsure what you’re meant to do for him.

Your eyes flit between his chest and arms as he pulls his tunic off, smirking at you as you realise your mouth had fallen open. He wastes no time pulling his subligaculum off and your eyes go wide seeing him up close for the first time.

You don’t care what he thinks anymore as you stare at his cock instead — he takes himself in hand, stroking lazily up and down and reaches with his free hand to cup the heft of his balls. His skin looks soft, and the small pearls that grow from the tip of his length turn him shiny the more he fists himself. You lean back on your ankles as he lets go and holds his hand out.

Placing your hand cautiously into his waiting palm, he lifts it and wraps it around his cock. Your fingers just don’t meet — it’s not just his arms and thighs that are thick. You try pressing your legs together, that familiar nightly ache having returned.

“Are you wet?” You nod mindlessly as he starts moving your hand in his, mesmerised by the feel of him and watching the skin pull back and forth over the head. “Too bad tonight is not about you. Maybe if you are a good girl I can give you what you want so desperately.”

He uncurls your fingers and holds your hand open to rest his cock against your palm, hunching over as a trail of spit falls from his mouth and onto his length. He closes your hand around him again, a small gasp slipping from your lips as the cool, wet sensation covers your palm and fingers. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he instructs you to stroke him again, before dropping both arms to his sides.

You look at him curiously as his skin glides against your hand; you tighten your fist experimentally, feeling just how hard and heavy he is. He grunts above you and you let go immediately, looking up at him in question, worried you’ve already done something wrong. 

“Do not stop, my girl — all those noises you made when you felt good? Well, I make noises, too.” He winks at you and curls your hand around him again for you to continue. “You have always been such a curious girl — I want you to explore me.”

“But what… What should I do? And, what if you do not like it?”

“I would like anything you can do, my girl. You were fearless when it came to your combat training, I want that same fearless girl with me now.” You glance away as you consider what to do, your nerves clearly evident on your face as he starts making suggestions, “Stick your tongue out for me.”

You do, and he guides his cock towards your face, the tip prodding into your cheek before he drags it towards your waiting tongue.

“I want you to explore, with your hands, your mouth… I’m sure you will find you quite like this, too. Go on, taste me.”

You lean forward and lick the tip of his cock — he twitches as you do, and you taste the precome that’s been pearling since he took his clothing off. Looking at him again, he nods and it encourages you — you hold his cock up against his body, licking the entire underside of his length and he moans, his head lolling back as you keep eye contact.

“My sweet girl, I knew you would be good at this.”

You warm at his words, feeling your skin and ears go hot at his praise — you’ve only just started, and you still have no idea what you actually should do, but hearing how much Acacius is enjoying this only makes you want to do better for him.

You take his advice and flick your tongue across his tip again, breaking to stroke him and pepper small kisses up and down his length, peering up at him with a wide grin each time. Once you work up the courage, you take the tip of his cock into your mouth and try swirling your tongue around him — even barely inside you and it feels a stretch. His hips jerk forward when you push your tongue along his slit, sliding himself further into you.

It takes some time, but you work him progressively into your mouth, your boosted ego taking over as you push too far — coughing as you pull yourself off him, strings of saliva connect your bodies, one hand still around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Slowly, my girl. You do not have to win the war all in one night.”

“Can I…” You trail off, embarrassed by your inexperience and the vulgar thoughts clouding your mind.

“You can do whatever you want, my rascal. There is no need to ask — explore, remember?”

You nod, reassured by his guidance and stroke him languidly again. He’s even harder than when you started, throbbing in your hand with an almost permanent bead of precome leaking from him.

Your eyes drop to his balls — you watched how he held them, felt them earlier. Does that mean he likes that too?

Avoiding his eyes this time in case you make a mistake, you lift a hand to feel the skin — it’s soft, with wiry hairs littered across him. You roll your fingers over him and he groans at the contact, his hand squeezing the back of your neck.

Smiling sweetly as you look up at his face again, he looks gone, and your sweet smile turns cocky — you’ve rendered him practically speechless. You take in his unburdened features as you run through everything in your mind — he likes your mouth on his cock, he likes your hands on his balls…

You don’t overthink it as you duck forwards, eyes fluttering closed as you nuzzle into the crease of his thigh and take one of his balls into your mouth and suck him gently, one hand tightening around his cock, the other grounding yourself on his leg. He pulls you impossibly close to him and you giggle, the sound muffled but coursing through his whole body.

You keep stroking him as you switch sides, shifting your hand from his leg to scrape your nails through the coarse hair surrounding the base of his cock. He groans, a string of saliva connecting your bodies again and trailing down your chin when you release him.

“Can I, um… can we do this again? Not necessarily tonight, of course! But…” You ask timidly, your voice becoming hoarse.

“I am glad to know you take great pleasure in this.”

“Are you going to cover me like you did last time?”

“Keep going and you will soon find out.” He sounds breathless as he looks down at you, “I am close — you have done so well for your first time, you have been such a good girl.”

You clench your legs together as he showers you with praises again, hoping that he’ll let you touch yourself — or touch you himself — when he’s done.

“Take me again, my rascal.”

It doesn’t take long before his body starts stiffening, cords of muscle in his thigh tensing against your hand and his grunts become louder. You sink your nails into his leg as he thrusts forwards and knocks into the back of your throat, his cock pulsing as he spills into you. The sensation overwhelms you as you feel it settle under your tongue and thicken around your gums; Acacius is doubled over above you, his large and weathered hands borderline crushing your skull from how he pulls you into him and keeps himself upright.

Unsure what to do next, you wait. The tiles are cool and hard against your knees — much like the earth he’d pushed you into previously — and his cock is slowly softening, still kept in the wet warmth of your mouth.

Finally loosening his grip to stand, everything falls silent as you look up at him. He pulls himself out and grabs your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks to keep your mouth open and angle your head back. He leans over you, all firm chest and broad shoulders, with that same wild expression you recognise from the night he first had you.

He spits into your mouth and you whimper below him. Sliding two fingers between your teeth, he presses them down onto your tongue and dips them into the mixture of his spit and salty come, pushing it around your mouth. You grab onto his wrist to keep him longer as you lick between his fingers and swallow.

“My perfect girl.”

Pulling his fingers from you, he crouches to level with you and wipes your cheeks with his clean hand — you’re not sure when the tears had streaked your face, overwhelmed by him filling your mouth and the now unbearable throbbing between your legs. He lifts your tunic and bunches it at your waist, huffing a laugh when he sees you’re bare underneath it.

Still caressing your cheek, he dips his sticky fingers between your folds, dragging them through your slick. You tilt your hips to grind yourself against his fingers; he pushes them into you when they catch on your entrance and he laughs, watching you work yourself higher and higher, your small whines growing louder.

“My poor girl, does it not feel good by yourself anymore, hm? Now that I have shaped you for myself… You are always so good for me, let me help you.”

tagging some pookies that left kind words on my wip wednesday snippets of this, lmk if you wanna be taken off <3 @burntheedges @milla-frenchy @sixhours @luxurychristmaspudding

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @cafekitsune