#'i never yielded! and as you can see: i am not dead!' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsphoenix0724 · 9 months

Text

A Shadowed Throne (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: The warmer seasons have been particularly hard this year as Azriel awaits his Queen's return. When winter finally dawns he finds Death will only kneel to life in one circumstance.

Warnings: SMUT, throne-sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hello everyone! This was heavily inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone if that wasn't obvious. Also incredibly inspired by @azsazz's beautiful work called "Between the Shadow and the Soul" so please give that a read. I asked on anon if I could write something similar and I am thrilled they agreed. I hope everyone enjoys it, and as always constructive criticism is welcome!

The halls in the Obsidian Castle are always eerily quiet. You can only hear the whispers of the souls that bustle around the castle. The God of Death finds that he enjoys quiet peace. The cold marble of his throne presses against his back and calms his racing pulse. He feels your presence enter his realm. Shadows bring him a rush of warmth and the smell of sweet spring flowers.

The feeling awakens something in his blood he thought was long dead. This spring's goodbye was awful, the summer bittersweet, and the fall melancholy.

Winter was always his favorite season.

Selfishly he loved the quiet bliss of snowfall and the influx of souls that enter his realm. Most of your smaller creations don’t survive the harshness the winter brings, but he wipes your tears and consoles you that all of your creations will be safe with him. He cherishes each one, kindly guiding them back when they’re ready to move on.

Two souls open the large doors to the throne room. When he sees you the cold heart in his chest starts to beat again. He surveys you from where you stand at the door.

You had chosen a dress in a deep purple for your return home. Two thigh-high slits let him see the vines that wrap all the way down to your bare feet. Your usual flowers had been swapped out for an homage to the underworld. A crown of lilies, nightshade, and oleander were woven through your hair. Two sets of foxglove dangled from your ears and purple emperor butterflies fluttered around your neckline.

You were a vision, a true queen of his realm.

Your eyes locked for one tortuous moment. Neither of you moved, exhaling a small breath before you take off to him in a run. With a wave of his hand, the souls cleared out of the throne room. They would celebrate the return of their queen later with a week-long festival in your honor.

He fully intended to celebrate the return of his queen right fucking now.

He pulled you onto his lap as soon as you reached the throne, the butterflies scattering into the air and landing around the both of you. One brave butterfly rests on his hair before your fingers chase it away.

He wraps one strong hand through your hair before finally drawing his mouth to yours. After months and months of cold, he finally feels warm again. He draws his tongue along the seam of your lips, and they open for him as he greedily slides his tongue into your mouth. He moans as the taste of honey and pomegranates flood his senses and you dig your hands into his hair and pull so harshly he fears you may have drawn blood.

“Azriel,” you whine his name into his mouth and he wants to inject the sound into his veins. Mortals fear his name, only referring to him as Death or King, and he finds he doesn’t mind their fear.

He only wants his name to fall out of your lips anyway.

He moves his lips to mark the soft skin of your neck. He wants to leave his mark everywhere on your body. He wants to remind you of why he deserves your return to him every winter. Azriel’s instincts are kicking into high gear. He wants to claim you and make you beg and cry underneath him and never let you go again. However, he puts that on pause.

For now.

He stands up, hauling your whole body against him before pinning you to the back of the throne and falling to his knees.

All life has to yield to Death eventually, it’s the way of the world, but Death kneels for Life in some instances. He parts your dress, fingers toying with the vines that wrap up and down your legs before diving in. His eyes almost glaze over as he licks one strong stripe through your center, tongue gently flicking over the apex of your thighs in a way that makes you convulse and squirm beneath his tongue. There will be time for teasing later.

Azriel intends to fully make you beg for him when he can properly take you apart in the bed that has been dreadfully cold in your absence. He eats you like he was starving for it, in a way he was, as he laps at the juices running down your thighs and looks up at you through half-lidded lashes. Your cheeks are flushed, your chest heaving up and down as your fingers wind through his inky black hair. You urge him back down and he lets out a dark chuckle that wraps your bones in dark silks.

Azriel laps his tongue at your center before thrusting inside and you let out a moan of approval. His tongue fucks you in and out as one hand comes up to rub tight circles against your clit. You shatter against him with another scream of his name. Azriel’s eyes find yours again and he takes a moment to admire his queen. Your skin is flushed with a thin layer of sweat, even in the cool throne room, and you're lounging on the throne like a true ruler of the underworld. The sight makes his painfully hard cock twitch in his pants. He shucks your legs off of his shoulder before rising to his full height before you. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, playing innocent, even as you undo the laces that hold his pants shut. Your hand runs over him and his head falls back with a groan.

He needs to get inside you now or this is going to be over far before it begins.

He takes your hands away and pins them above your head as he slowly sinks in inch by tortuous inch. He tries to patiently wait for you to adjust but you dig your nails into his wrists and growl in his ear for him to “move already,” he begins to fuck you at a relentless pace. His hands drag down the top of your dress and he takes the weight of both breasts in his palms. He runs a thumb over your nipples before pinching and pulling in time to his thrusts.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” He growls into your ear and he feels your run a hand up the back edge of his wing. He lets out a long moan, hips stuttering for a second, and he bites your neck in warning before pounding into you at a relentless pace.

You’re trying to arch your hips to meet his thrusts but you’re too fucking cock drunk to keep up.

He reaches one hand down to play with your clit again and he brings you to another mind-numbing orgasm that makes your walls convulse around his cock. That and the way your nails are digging into his back sends him growling through his release. He pulls out slowly before tucking himself back in his pants and rearranging you so that you’re sat on his lap. Az rubs small circles on your lower back and you play with the ends of his hair.

“Sweetheart,” you mutter and he looks down at you, a small smile playing on your lips. “Where’s my throne?” He tries to smother the guilty look before feigning his innocence. With a wave of his hand your throne appears. A rose quartz twin to his obsidian one.

“It depresses the souls when you’re not here Flower. I had to hide it.” It’s not a complete lie. He notices the sad glances the souls steal at your throne when you’re not here, it saddens him a bit as well, like half of his heart is missing. An incomplete set.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He sends another guilty smile your way. The whole truth is that he hid it so he could enjoy you on his throne, and you’ve always been able to clock his bullshit from a mile away.

“Anyway,” He continues, hopeful to change the subject as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. You let out a small squeal and grip him tighter. “You have a party to prepare for my love. We’re thrilled to have you back.” He’s marching you to your bedroom and he kicks the throne room door closed behind him.

“Azriel if you drop me I swear I will make flowers grow out of your ears.” It’s an empty threat. He can feel your body shake with unreleased laughter and hear the smile in your voice. Az leans down to playfully nip at your ear before he jostles you in his arms just to make the laugh you were holding bubble up in your chest.

“I would never drop you Flower.”

And for the first time in months, on the evening of the first day of winter, the halls of the Obsidian Castle are filled with the sounds of laughter.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel smut #smut

769 notes · View notes

ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 3 months

Text

"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

by ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prologue: The Stone

The Loom is breaking. The Timelines are in chaos at the TVA. Just as Loki realizes he may have to sacrifice himself, O.B. offers one last Hail Mary that may spare his rueful fate...until it shoots him across time and space instead, to the most Norn-forsaken place imaginable: Syracuse, New York.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence toward our poor Loki

MASTERLIST

Time Variance Authority Outside of Time and Space No Time and Every Time, AM and PM

It was as if Loki was gazing at a gallows, just waiting for him on the other side of the door. A gallows just for him.

An abstract gallows, to be sure, one snarled and twisted by the fraying timelines. The Loom wasn’t going to hold them much longer. Victor Timely’s tens of repeated failures had yielded no progress. Loki had just finished spending centuries’ worth of time jumps learning everything he could about time, physics, and metaphysics. It all came to nothing but false hope.

Zapping his way back to Point A one last time, he knew what was needed. Only a God could survive in the temporal void long enough to reach the branches and save them. That left one of two people in the room with the ability.

Loki knew now that Sylvie would never see reason. The parts of ‘a Loki’ that were driven by self-preservation were too strong in her. Perhaps one day, after centuries behind that fast food counter, she’d have a moment of clarity. But reality couldn’t wait for that to happen. Even in the repeated attempts to calm her bloodlust in the Citadel there had been in no change in her resolve. Sylvie was lost, but pity would come later, after Loki took the glorious burden upon himself to save the universe.

I can keep the timelines stable as long as I keep my hands on them…at all times. For all time.

It was the single worst case of irony that reality had ever known, or at least that Loki in his thousands of years of travels had never known: that only now he would be getting a throne. The Throne of Time awaited him, only instead of eternal glory, it would bring him eternal imprisonment, forced to watch the eons pass by as if each were a vignette on a stage. He would have to watch Mobius die, as well as Sylvie and OB and everyone. Even Thor, for no creature was truly immortal. He would have to stand by as all of consciousness fell back into the void of death and rebirth at the end of it all.

And indeed, at the End of Time, where would he be?

After one final look around the room, everyone looking back at him with expectant apprehension, Loki took in one deep breath and began his march to the Loom. He felt a solid hand on his shoulder, and didn’t need to turn to know it was Mobius.

“What the SHIT are you doing?” he whispered frantically.

Looking into his worried eyes, Loki felt a stabbing pain in his chest. If only we’d met somewhere else, you brilliant man, I would’ve shown you the world.

"I know what kind of God I need to be. For you. For all of us,” he said, his voice faltering in spite of his wish that he sounded more sure.

“Wait!! I have one more idea! Look!”

Loki looked back beyond Mobius and Sylvie. OB was running back from somewhere he’d slipped away to. No one had even noticed that he’d left the room. He carried two small pebbles in his hand that to the unknowing witness would look like two small pieces of emerald, or perhaps tinted glass.

He was closer to Sylvie, so he pulled out her hand first, placing one of the dead Time Stones in it. It began to glow softly, a dull gray-ish green. The light was pulsing weakly, but it was clear that something in her skin was activating the time magic within the stone.

“Loki! Catch!” OB said quickly, tossing the stone at Loki, whose godlike reflexes caught the dangerous relic with ease. It also glowed green upon touch, only a much brighter, indisputable forest green.

“How is that possible?” asked Mobius. “How did we never think of that?”

The God of Tricks turned the stone over in his palm, as if doing so would give him some kind of clue. “Well, it’s quite lovely, OB, but I don’t understand--”

“Time Stones thrive off of the energy of the timelines and work by being linked to every single one, enabling the one who uses it to hop from time to time! Maybe if you throw one of those at the timelines while it’s active, it’ll act like a pill and regulate the streams again!” OB suggested enthusiastically. “But only if it’s active, and it looks like the only place they work in the TVA is…well, in the hands of a Loki variant.”

“Are you suggesting we give aspirin to the Temporal Loom?” Sylvie scoffed, the weakened stone in her hand blinking with every other syllable.

“You sure that’ll work?” asked Mobius with skepticism.

OB shook his head, “Oh no. It’s a long shot. Odds in the trillions, and that’s just a guess,” he admitted bluntly. He looked at Loki and twisted his lip into a hopeful smile. “But it’s worth a try, right?”

Loki looked down at the brilliant stone he held. Something within the stone felt like it was attuning itself to him. Small threads of green light were radiating from the stone and digging into his skin, illuminating it from underneath, as if his very veins were filling with the power of the Time Stone.

Looking up one more time, Loki shrugged. “Indeed,” he said under his breath. “Well, here I go.”

“Loki!” Mobius shouted one more time. “Let her do it,” he said, pointing back at Sylvie. “She’s the one who caused all of this.”

“I don't know, her stone doesn’t look as strong as yours,” said OB, now at Sylvie’s side and watching the pathetic pebble in her hand barely flicker in tandem with her breath. “If we have one chance to do this, I think it has to be you, Loki.”

The more Loki stared down his permanent imprisonment within the twisted vines of time, the more he realized that he’d been fooled the entire time…and by none other than himself! He’d assumed that every variant of himself would have every capacity to grow that he had. Perhaps Sylvie did, and Loki was only looking at a portrait of who he had been as a rash, physically-driven youth.

It didn’t matter anyhow. If this worked, Sylvie would be going back to the counter at McDonald’s. If it didn’t, Sylvie’s mind would always be at that silly little place, unable to see the world past the end of her own nose no matter how many people suffered for her choices.

“I’m sorry, Mobius, but I think we both know it must be my action,” Loki said softly, gently taking Mobius’ hand in his own. “Have an extra slice of pie for me.”

“Go throw it,” OB suggested. “Quickly! We’re out of time!”

Victor stood clueless behind everyone else. “This has been a remarkable day” he mumbled.

Finally going beyond the door and into the temporal space, Loki felt the stone begin to burn in his hand, the sensation not only pressed against his flesh, but in his bloodstream.

One last breath, and Loki reared back, pitching the Time Stone toward the Loom.

As if the air were too thick, the stone’s speed was almost too slow to make sense, slowly floating toward the fraying, entangled timelines in an arc. It fell in a spiral toward the Loom, increasing speed as if it were being sucked directly into the messes of fibers.

The God’s breaths slowed to a standstill, his veins still on fire with green energy from the stone. Loki suddenly felt as if he’d turned into a marionette as hundreds of points on his body were suddenly yanked, throwing him off of his feet and into the air behind the stone, flying at incredible speed toward the epicenter of energy.

As if the Time Stone was pulling him by invisible chains, Loki was dragged along until he reached the Loom, after which a strong updraft knocked him unconscious, the last thing to grace his open eye being Mobius’ frightened stare.

Around his lifeless, floating form, the green clouds, rogue lightning, and whipping winds began to form a time vortex, shooting the helpless god through each and every reality, one by one…

Syracuse, New York, USA June 9 7:19pm EST

“Get off my shit!”

Loki awoke with a start, his head roaring, his skin tingling, and his vision blurred. Hungover from the unexpected trip, he felt weakened and confused. The skinny man yelling in his face wasn’t helping him regain his bearings.

He was splayed rather unflatteringly among a pile of garbage bags filled with clothes and cans. Frommhis view, he could begin to see that he was in some sort of alleyway surrounded on three sides by brick. The sky above was dim and overcast.

“Oh, Norns, what is…?”

“I said, GET OFF MY--

“--my shit, yes, that much we’ve established…”

The angry skinny man was impatient to the point where he started shoving Loki to his feet, urging him away. “Find your own awning!” he called after him as he finally managed to throw Loki into the street. “And some clothes, too!”

Loki looked down, realizing for the first time that he was stark naked. His clothes had been torn from his body in transit across the realities. Well, at least it wasn’t my skin.

The street was full of potholes, the environment claustrophobic as it could be for being outdoors. The air smelled of sewage and tar. A sign hanging on the corner building nearby read S. Salina St.

Looking down into his palm, the stone remained aglow in his grip.

Now, where in the Norns am I? Loki asked himself, keeping to a nearby shadow in hopes no one was nearby to see his nudity.

It felt like dusk was at hand, though the thick greasy cloud cover did little to explain the actual position of the sun. The air was warm, humid, and unpleasant. Rain was inbound, as evidenced by a building darkness rolling in from the western horizon.

“Damn,” Loki whispered. “I…”

He took off down the street and around the corner onto S. Salina, scurrying in such a manner that a mouse could beat him in a footrace. He used his godlike ability to absorb detail in order to learn as much as he could about this place.

Wait a moment…I can control my time jumping!

How simple! Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. He sucked in his breath and clenched, just as he’d taught himself to do in order to control his phasing.

Seconds went by. Perhaps a minute. Nothing happened when the reaction should have instantly drawn him back to the TVA.

“Hey Di, look at the naked guy shitting himself across the street!”

Two women were sitting on a porch across the way, a small white dog at their feet, staring directly at Loki as he squinted and attempted to force himself through space. He was suddenly the most self-conscious he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Hey Mister, what’re you doing with no clothes?” shrieked the other. “How much’ve you had?”

“Yeah, he’s drunk,” agreed the first lady, trying hard to hold in a laugh.

“It’s gone! My time phasing!” Loki whispered aloud. He snapped his fingers, attempting to bring some cover to his body with seidr, only for the stone in his hand to dim its glow. “Magic…none of it works here.”

The two gleeful ladies continued to mock Loki from across the street. “I’ll give him this, he’s hot.”

Di raised an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like that guy from the movies, doesn’t he? Loki! He looks like Loki!”

“Holy shit, you’re right! He’s dead on for Loki!”

“Of COURSE I look like Loki, blast you!” he swore, beginning to move towards them, not bothering to check and see if any vehicles were bearing down on him. “Because I--”

“--dude, don't come any closer! Just because I don’t like the cops doesn’t mean I won’t call ‘em if you’re gonna…” the larger of the two women got up to reach for a cell phone perched on the railing.

“What? No, ladies, I just need to know where I am and how to get to--”

“--dude, get out of here, and stop by the Salvation Army or something on the way because no one wants to see that!”

“Speak for yourself, Di.”

“Where am I?” Loki asked, slower this time.

“Yeah, he's drunk,” mumbled Di. “Dude, you’re on the south side! Near the park!”

“Did you say that I need to find an army?” Loki asked, backtrack, unsure about which way was up.

“Mister,” continued Di, “head that way and you’ll be downtown in ten minutes. Someone’ll either help you or arrest you up there.” She pointed further up the road, which led to a bright district of flashing neon and nightlife about to get underway with the sunset. “Ain’t nothin’ down here for you except fentanyl.”

The larger of the women quickly ran inside and came back a few seconds later with a small fleece blanket in a nasty shade of hot pink. “My daughter doesn’t use this anymore. Use it to cover your junk. I don’t want it back.”

She threw it down to Loki, who gratefully wrapped it about his waist, tying it off at the hipbone. It hardly qualified for more than a belt, only covering him from below his navel to a few precious inches below his…other time stones.

“Thank you, madam,” he mumbled. Without further awkward conversation, he left the two women to their excited giggles and whistles and headed in the direction he’d been given.

He didn’t even have any shoes, as was quickly made evident by the painful tar gravel that burrowed between his toes and under the balls of his feet as he paced himself, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone as he fled from shadow to shadow, hoping to remain unseen despite at least being minimally covered now.

“Hey buddy, nice skirt!”

“The gay bar is on the west side!”

Loki was still exposed to catcalls and insults nearly the entire way up the trashy, unwelcoming city. Even as he approached a larger, brightly-lit square accompanied by live music from several different outdoor patios, he could feel the eyes bearing down on him.

This place is deplorable, Loki thought. No magic, no help…

“Ew, guy! At least put on a skirt that covers your crack all the way!” a woman called from behind him.

“Hey, there are kids here, man!” a huge man with a shaved head stepped into Loki’s path, causing him to stop short. The man had about three inches on Loki, and even though his Asgardian density made him about the same weight as the sizable human before him, Loki wasn;t sure he wanted to risk an altercation in his present state. He smelled of beer. “Put your dick away, alright?”

“Let me pass,” Loki mumbled. “Please. I’m on my way to the army.” He tried to throw up a defensive arm, which the man caught with ease.

The skinhead laughed. “Jesus, what I have to deal with…”

Without warning, the asshole laid out a direct punch to Loki’s temple, sending him to the sidewalk. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Regents Park, London, England June 10 12:19am GMT

“Oooh, talk to me! What did they do to you?!”

The Doctor, frustrated, removed the magnifying goggles from his face and squinted as he looked up into the undercarriage of the TARDIS console, trying desperately to find out what had stranded him here and how to fix it.

Having barely made it out of yet another fray with the Cybermen, The Doctor’s beloved TARDIS had been hit, or perhaps bombed from within somehow (who could tell?). Barely landing safety in a place the TARDIS recognized as a ‘favorite’ location (London, England, early 21st century), The Doctor quickly learned that whatever had attacked him had destroyed what held the Time Vortex in place within the TARDIS’ core.

The Doctor’s ship was nothing more than a wooden box, sitting in a public park on Earth in 2023. Nothing, not the screwdriver, not The Doctor’s own ingenuity, was yielding any hope.

“Maybe Jack could…oh no, no, no,” he thought out loud, shaking off the idea. While it was true that Captain Jack Harkness could always be assumed to be waltzing around somewhere at any given place in time, what did he really know about TARDIS mechanics?

The Doctor sighed. Thinking about Jack always eventually brought his thoughts back to Rose. She may have been as human as anyone else around, but sometimes her intuition would shine through, triggering some epiphany in his head and bringing about the best answers.

That was Rose: brilliant in the most unexpected ways.

“If only it were easier to fall through realities,” he bitterly mused. “Or at least find a good fix-it shop that has equipment to jumpstart an Eye of Harmony…very basic stuff, not sure why it’s so hard to find--”

He was interrupted by a sudden, instantaneous flash of emerald, brighter than the sun, sending The Doctor squinting and crouching to the floor. Though he couldn’t see what had happened, for a brief moment, he heard the TARDIS breathe, as if the Vortex had been restored within it for as long as the luminous green assault filled the interior.

“What?” he asked nobody. The flash of green ceased, as did the TARDIS’ temporary recovery.

“WHAT?” he asked himself, running up the stairs to the top of the console, looking at every screen and pulling every lever he could.

Something had triggered the Time Vortex within the TARDIS, as if it were being given a push by an external force somewhere else out there in the world…something with enough time energy imbibed in its core to do so.

Perhaps if it was something he could find and bring back to the TARDIS…

Running to the doors and flinging them open, The Doctor was just in time to catch a streak of green flash across the night sky, heading southwest and missing London by a long, long shot. As it left the airspace above England, the TARDIS grew dark and cold again.

The Doctor’s mouth couldn’t close as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“What?? WHAT?!”

TAGLIST: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @kkdvkyya @red-shirt-mania @misschris1412 @salvinaa @marygoddessofmischief @spiderstyles04 @fireflymoonwitch @mochie85 @loz-3 @lcolumbia1988 @lokilurker @eleniblue @gruftiela @starkzdaughter @mrsbarnes-avenger @thedistractedagglomeration @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @itsthattimedarling @wolfsmom1 @scully2u @shinisenko @mischief2sarawr @ririsutty73 @lulubelle814 meg81589 @gloriuspurposeposts @theonetruepotato87 @linllewellyn @wistfulclueless @etherealkistar @tinydancer40

174 notes · View notes

nightprompts · 1 year

Text

&. 𝐡𝐨𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( lyric dialogue prompts taken from various hozier songs. free to change how you seem fit. )

❛ i’ve walked the earth and there are so few here that know how dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow. ❜

❛ i’ve no more kept my warmth than blood upon the snow. ❜

❛ it’s not my arms that will fail me, but this world takes more strength than it gave me. ❜

❛ the only heaven i’ll be sent to is when i’m alone with you. ❜

❛ i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. ❜

❛ i’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife. ❜

❛ good god, let me give you my life. ❜

❛ so tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes. ❜

❛ every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside. ❜

❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜

❛ would things be easier if there was a right way? ❜

❛ honey, there is no right way. ❜

❛ i fall in love just a little, a little bit every day with someone new. ❜

❛ when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes, i feel like a person for a moment of my life. ❜

❛ you don’t know what hell you put me through. ❜

❛ there’s something tragic about you. ❜

❛ i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me. ❜

❛ i have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me. ❜

❛ i’d be home with you. ❜

❛ there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. ❜

❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her. ❜

❛ what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth? ❜

❛ i will not ask where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you. ❜

❛ just put your sweet lips on my lips. we should just kiss like real people do. ❜

❛ i know who i am when i’m alone. i’m something else when i see you. ❜

❛ you don’t understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❜

❛ don’t let me in with no intention to keep me. ❜

❛ don’t feed me — i will come back. ❜

❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜

❛ still my heart is heavy with the hate of some other man’s beliefs. ❜

❛ i need you to run to me, run until you feel your lungs bleeding. ❜

❛ when i was a child, i heard voices... some would sing and some would scream. ❜

❛ i learned the voices died with me. ❜

❛ don’t you ever tame your demons, but always keep ‘em on a leash. ❜

❛ you’ve done me wrong for a long time. but after all you’ve done, i never changed my mind. ❜

❛ honey please, try to love me. my love will never die. ❜

❛ nothing fucks with my baby. ❜

❛ if i was born as a black thorn tree, i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies. ❜

❛ ain’t it warming you, the world going up in flames? ❜

❛ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now.❜

❛ i’m almost me again, she’s almost you. ❜

❛ i’ve had no love like your love. from nobody. ❜

❛ make your good love known to me, or just tell me about your day. ❜

❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜

❛ that’s the kinda love i’ve been dreaming of. ❜

❛ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ❜

❛ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ❜

❛ i had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you. ❜

❛ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty, oh my sunlight. ❜

❛ i have never loved a darker blue than the darkness i have known in you. ❜

#hozier #sentence starters #lyric sentence starters #roleplay memes #ask memes #inbox memes #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #rp memes #lyrics

1K notes · View notes

edenmemes · 11 months

Text

tloz: tears of the kingdom starters

WARNING: spoilers !

❝ there doesn’t seem to be any danger at the moment. ❞ ❝ history and legend sometimes blur together. ❞ ❝ i think you’ve caused quite a stir since your arrival here... ❞ ❝ i think you do look weird. so there, chew on that. ❞ ❝ i feel like i should apologize for dragging you into this mess. ❞ ❝ there’s no need to get so worked up. ❞ ❝ you allowed your heart to falter. that is the quickest way to fall on the battlefield. ❞ ❝ i’ll fight by your side till the very end. ❞ ❝ as with any leader, it is my duty to safeguard and protect my people. ❞ ❝ you are burdened with a mission of monumental importance. ❞ ❝ it was my hubris that set us on this path. ❞ ❝ i get it, you’re young --- you feel invincible. ❞ ❝ i thought you had harder bark on you than that. ❞ ❝ this little village used to be as quiet as a dusty old tomb. ❞ ❝ i don’t know who you are, but i’m sorry you have to see me like this. ❞ ❝ i feel a lot better after talking to you. ❞ ❝ you should have seen the look on your face. ❞ ❝ please, no need to look so petrified. ❞ ❝ you’re alone too, right? alone is good. ❞ ❝ you have disgusting, unwavering commitment to do ‘good’. ❞ ❝ i apologize. i keep getting lost in my thoughts. ❞ ❝ you’re finding this all a little scary, aren’t you? ❞ ❝ did you hear me singing? how embarrassing. ❞ ❝ you might want to make other plans...if you value your life. ❞ ❝ i suppose fate really wanted the two of us to run into each other again. ❞ ❝ you use your power to crush the weak...to serve evil. ❞ ❝ you will die knowing that you failed. ❞ ❝ you heard that strange voice too, right? ❞ ❝ this is a lot to learn all of a sudden, i know. ❞ ❝ did you know if you put your ear to a well, you can hear the wailing of the dead? ❞ ❝ i see the shadow of death upon your face. ❞ ❝ it seems skill and confidence is in short supply. ❞ ❝ that pride will be your downfall. ❞ ❝ i’ve gotta say. your stories are always so wild. ❞ ❝ did i manage to keep a smile on my face? ❞ ❝ you take for granted the godlike power you have in your hands. ❞ ❝ nevertheless, i can’t shake this strange tightness in my chest. ❞ ❝ why do i get the feeling we’re being watched? ❞ ❝ sorry you had to listen to me go on and on like that. ❞ ❝ anyway, i’m sorry for teasing you. ❞ ❝ uh...what’s with the face? ❞ ❝ what was it you wanted to discuss with me in private? ❞ ❝ were you looking for me? i’m honored! ❞ ❝ one cannot accomplish great feats without allies at one’s side. ❞ ❝ it’s important to help each other in times of need. ❞ ❝ i hate the way rain feels, but i don’t mind how it sounds. reminds me of waves crashing on the beach. ❞ ❝ you look distracted. what’s wrong? ❞ ❝ things with ‘legendary’ in the title are usually just stories. ❞ ❝ do you really think i hadn’t realized your deceit? ❞ ❝ what are you doing in a place like this? ❞ ❝ i never thought i’d see such a marvel with my very own eyes. ❞ ❝ thank goodness. if something had happened to you...i... ❞ ❝ how did you find this place? what cruel ploy are you plotting? ❞ ❝ it seems that the world is still in a wretched state. ❞ ❝ enough is enough! you are not acting like yourself! ❞ ❝ i can see right through you, whether you want me to or not. you are yielding to the fear of losing someone you love again. ❞ ❝ i can see it in your face. i don’t hold that special place in your heart. ❞ ❝ light and dark - one cannot exist without the other. ❞ ❝ do not get lost in the past. you must keep moving ever onward. ❞ ❝ it is best when those who care for each other are open and honest, even when it is difficult. ❞ ❝ push yourself too hard and you become your own worst enemy. ❞ ❝ look at all those scars...you must have fought a lot in your life. ❞ ❝ i am hesitant to admit it, but our success was thanks to your support. ❞ ❝ you look very pleased with yourself. ❞ ❝ i was giving in to my fear of once more losing someone i love. ❞ ❝ hold still, and don’t fret. i’ll take care of everything. this won’t hurt a bit. ❞ ❝ did you think i’d deceived you? perish the thought. ❞ ❝ i’m always here. should you ever have need of me, you need only ask. ❞ ❝ it’s amusing, isn’t it? our little back-and-forths. ❞ ❝ i just don’t want anyone to drop dead right in front of me. that’ll give me some nasty dreams. ❞ ❝ there it is. that inexplicable smirk upon your face. ❞ ❝ what were you praying for? long life? wealth? ❞ ❝ you get even cuter when you’re blushing. ❞ ❝ it is all right. i swear it. i am not going anywhere. ❞ ❝ i never thought...never dared dream...that i’d live to see the day we could all laugh together again like this. ❞ ❝ i’ve seen enough faces in this job that i can tell from looking at one if someone’s lying to me. ❞ ❝ you’ll come visit me again, right? ❞ ❝ i hope that ours will be a long and profitable relationship. ❞ ❝ this must be what the end of the world looks like. ❞ ❝ there’s nothing wrong with asking if you can help, you know. ❞ ❝ i knew there was a bright smile in there somewhere. ❞ ❝ let’s not pretend it won’t look absolutely dashing on you. ❞ ❝ no matter. you will not live to see another sunrise. ❞ ❝ you cannot hope to escape your fate. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. i know i’m always throwing you into dangerous situations. ❞ ❝ hear my name and tremble in fear. ❞ ❝ it seems you have met with great danger once more. ❞ ❝ i actually...secretly followed you. ❞ ❝ there’s no shortage of strange happenings these days. ❞ ❝ anyone tell you it’s rude to stare? ❞ ❝ sitting here feeling sorry for myself won’t solve anything. ❞ ❝ at my age...well, very little surprises me. ❞ ❝ there are more mysteries waiting for us down here, i know it. ❞ ❝ i’m only telling you this because you seem like a trustworthy sort. ❞ ❝ we are bound by fate, you and i. ❞ ❝ i’d have preferred to stay with you a while longer. ❞ ❝ you will have to do something about that fear eventually. ❞ ❝ now i live for vengeance. ❞ ❝ so you’re our saviour, eh? i thought you’d be tougher looking. ❞ ❝ sorry about that. the sadness just gets to me sometimes. ❞ ❝ you were involved, weren’t you? ❞ ❝ i’m sorry, i’m just surprised. i mean, you don’t seem all that strong. ❞ ❝ did i...see what i thought i saw? ❞ ❝ just forget it. it’s not important. ❞ ❝ we cannot afford to stand still at a time such as this. it is imperative that we act. ❞ ❝ disappointed that i wasn’t shocked and aghast at the very sight of you? ❞ ❝ you must be pretty strong beneath the surface. ❞ ❝ what happened? is this your doing? ❞ ❝ i can see right through you, whether you want me to or not. ❞ ❝ just watching you move, i can tell you’re no ordinary person. ❞ ❝ whatever is troubling you? why are you hesitating so? ❞ ❝ good...evil...that’s the futile perspective of narrow-minded beings. ❞ ❝ are you here because you’ve heard about me? ❞ ❝ one difficulty has been overcome, and yet another has appeared in its wake. ❞ ❝ once i rest up, i’ll be hitting the road again. i’ve stayed here too long as it is. ❞ ❝ we have to train. we have to get stronger. we have to get ready for what’s next. ❞ ❝ is everyone all right? nobody’s injured? ❞ ❝ i’m the one who made such a mess of things, after all. ❞ ❝ it is a mighty opponent, certainly, but we must not falter. ❞ ❝ what’s with that look? you don’t think i can do it? ❞ ❝ what’s the matter? you can tell me, weirdly handsome dude. ❞ ❝ why is everybody so quick to believe the silliest things? ❞ ❝ i dearly wish that i could believe what you are saying. however, at present...i simply cannot do that. ❞ ❝ wow, listen to me. with every breath, i spew out brilliance. ❞ ❝ for a long time, i have been concerned that you are holding yourself back. ❞ ❝ i feel like you weren’t getting what i was going for there. way to kill the mood. ❞ ❝ can’t talk my way out of this one... ❞ ❝ this is normally where i’d give you a chance to respond, but i’d like to talk about me instead. ❞ ❝ never forget that we are all standing beneath the very same sun. the only distance that matters is the distance between our hearts. ❞ ❝ i lost my head a little there. i’m not too proud of the way i behaved. ❞ ❝ i’m sure an answer will come to you. wisdom takes time. ❞ ❝ i must truly be getting on in years to have allowed a mere monster to catch me off guard. ❞ ❝ you really don’t know your place, do you? ❞ ❝ do you really think we hadn’t realised your deceit? ❞ ❝ you heart is like a chicken’s egg --- easily given but easy to break. ❞ ❝ your wounds were severe...i am relieved to see you escape death. ❞ ❝ i’m told that your skill in swordplay is unmatched. ❞ ❝ what, you’ve never heard of me? ❞ ❝ where were you? you disappeared on me so suddenly. i was worried sick. ❞ ❝ oh my. i’m surprised to hear you say such a thing. ❞ ❝ i wonder how many times we’ve met in our past lives. ❞ ❝ so what if you don’t say what you really think. i won’t hold that against you. ❞ ❝ though our time together has been brief, i am so happy that we finally met. ❞ ❝ what’re you thinking, strolling into this war zone? ❞ ❝ you’ll keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you. ❞ ❝ i sense a fierce battle ahead, the likes of which we have never before faced. ❞ ❝ i can feel the moonlight pouring down, cleansing my spirit. ❞ ❝ you’re not needed round here any more. ❞ ❝ that mystery just leads us straight into another. ❞ ❝ it is very difficult to rest peacefully when things like this happen. ❞ ❝ sometimes i’m so smart, i scare myself a little. ❞ ❝ ever try getting info out of a boulder? well, that boulder’s ME. ❞ ❝ i prefer to keep work and my personal time separate. ❞ ❝ sure, you look like a strong breeze could blow you over, but you are solid as stone. ❞ ❝ that pride will be your downfall. ❞ ❝ i’ve been abandoned by love...by luck...by happiness. ❞ ❝ at last...i have been waiting for you to arrive. ❞ ❝ i am stunned. i am in complete and utter awe with you. ❞ ❝ despite all we have endured, my feelings for you have never altered. they never shall. ❞ ❝ am i some sort of villain? or a force for good? ❞ ❝ i’m just fated to be unhappy. steer clear or you’ll catch my misfortune. ❞ ❝ you’re your own worst enemy sometimes. ❞ ❝ i will crush any opposition. i will rule. ❞ ❝ that’s an old dangerous road absolutely crawling with monsters. ❞ ❝ now that you’ve seen it, i can’t let you live. ❞ ❝ you look like a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt anything. ❞ ❝ my body...my mind...everything. i’ll sacrifice it all to destroy you. ❞ ❝ i had almost forgotten the thrill of battle. that feeling as blood surges in my veins... ❞ ❝ i bet evil always scatters when you show up. ❞ ❝ it’s important to remember that luck and love aren’t things that run out. sometimes they just take the long way to get to you. ❞ ❝ i’m gonna make my ancestors proud today. ❞ ❝ this world should be shrouded in darkness, not bathed in insufferable light. ❞ ❝ it would have been more...satisfying to overcome a worthy foe. ❞ ❝ a mere mortal will not stand in my way. ❞ ❝ you’d walk away...from someone in need? ❞ ❝ you have proven yourself, and you no longer need me. ❞ ❝ i have some heartbreaking news to share. this will be tough to bear, but i ask that you stay strong. ❞ ❝ you might think of this as ‘hush money,’ and...yes. that’s what it is.. ❞ ❝ now, let’s both pretend like this never happened. ❞ ❝ you might think i’m a hopeless coward...and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. ❞

#rp meme #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #totk spoilers #loz spoilers #tears of the kingdom spoilers

366 notes · View notes

nordleuchten · 2 months

Text

ALL of La Fayette’s Grandchildren

(This post discusses the death and loss of children)

While four children are still pretty easy to keep track of, La Fayette’s abundance of grandchildren can be quite confusing. You often see the following graphic, published in Jules Germain Cloquet’s book:

Jules Germain Cloquet, Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, Baldwin and Cradock, London, 1835, p. 227.

All fine and dandy, but I was looking for more detailed information and I wanted to include the children that had already died by the time Cloquet publishes his book – I therefor made a graphic of my own. :-)

I am tempted to make one for the great-grandchildren as well, since La Fayette was very exited to become a Great-Grandfather – but this one was already a wild ride and La Fayette had more great-grandchildren then grand-children, let me tell you.

Anyway, some names are written in italics, these are the names the individuals commonly went by. I find it funny to see that all of Virginie’s children went by their second name, just like Virginie herself mostly just used her second name. Anastasie’s second child has an Asterix to her name. I have only once seen the name spelled out, on the certificate of baptism. The twins were baptized in Vianen (modern day Netherlands) and the name on the document was the Germanic spelling “Maria Victorina” – I used what I assumed is the best French spelling of the name.

The dates in bold indicate that the corresponding documentation of the birth/marriage/death can be found in the archives.

Anastasie and Charles: Finding Célestine’s dead twin sister was actually a surprise for me since I have never before seen her being mentioned. Anastasie gave birth for the first time in a town near Utrecht in what today are the Netherlands. The achieves there still have the certificate of baptism (on February 30, was the clerk sloppy or did the region in 1799 adhere to a different calendar style where February could have more then 29 days?) and we can very clearly see that there were too children. By May 9, 1799, La Fayette wrote to George Washington and referred to only one grand-child:

My wife, my daughters, and Son in law, join in presenting their affectionate respects to Mrs Washington & to you my dear g[ener]al the former is recovered & sets out for france on monday next with Virginia—our little grand Daughter [Célestine] is well, will your charming one accept our tender regard?

“To George Washington from Lafayette, 9 May 1799,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/06-04-02-0041. [Original source: The Papers of George Washington, Retirement Series, vol. 4, 20 April 1799 – 13 December 1799, ed. W. W. Abbot. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1999, pp. 54–59.] (02/12/2024)

I suspect that Anastasie had a stillbirth around August/September of 1801. La Fayette mentioned in a letter to Thomas Jefferson on June 21, 1801:

Anastasia Will Before long Make me Once More a Grand Father

“To Thomas Jefferson from Lafayette, 21 June 1801,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-34-02-0318. [Original source: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, vol. 34, 1 May–31 July 1801, ed. Barbara B. Oberg. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007, pp. 403–404.] (02/12/2024)

There is no mention of this child being born and both the achieves in Paris and Courpalay yield no information so that it is unlikely that the child was born and then died young. Georges’ daughter died very young and she still is in the archives. Given La Fayette’s wording we can assume that Anastasie’s pregnancy was already somewhat advanced and the term miscarriage is only used up until the 20th week of a pregnancy, after that it is considered a stillbirth.

Georges and Emilie: The couple lost at least one daughter, Léontine Emilie, young, aged just four weeks. La Fayette wrote in a letter to Thomas Jefferson on February 20, 1807:

My family are pretty well and beg to be most affectionately respectfully and gratefully presented to you—We expected a Boy to be called after your name—But little Tommy has again proved to be a Girl [Léontine Emilie].

“To Thomas Jefferson from Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette, 20 February 1807,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/99-01-02-5122. [This is an Early Access document from The Papers of Thomas Jefferson. It is not an authoritative final version.] (02/12/2024)

La Fayette later wrote to James Madison on June 10, 1807:

We Have Had the Misfortune to Loose a female Child of His, four Weeks old [Léontine Emilie]. My Younger daughter Virginia Has Lately presented us With an other infant of the Same Sex [Marie Pauline]. My Wife’s Health is Not Worse at this Moment, But Ever too Bad.

To James Madison from Marie-Adrienne-Françoise de Noailles, marquise de Lafayette, 10 June 1807,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Madison/99-01-02-1768. [This is an Early Access document from The Papers of James Madison. It is not an authoritative final version.] (02/12/2024)

As a sidenote because it confused me while searching for the letter; the archives list Adrienne as the author. I am certain that is wrong because a) Adrienne was not corresponding with James Madison, b) this is not her writing style but La Fayette’s, c) the letter does not have her typical signature and d) there is the passage about the authors wife’s health – this one at the least gives it away.

Identifying Léontine Emilie was actually quite a bit of luck as well. I found the letter to Madison by accident and that letter is the only source that mentions her that I know of. I have never seen her in any other letters, documentation, contemporary or secondary books. The letter helped to narrow her birthday and her date of death down and with that information I searches the archives in Paris and Courpalay in the hopes of finding the child – and I was lucky. While I of course understand the order of things, it still saddens me to see that you can be born into such a prominent family – your father was a Marquis, your grand-father was the Marquis, and still, not even your families biographers care to even mention you.

Virginie und Louis: For all I know, and I again have to say that I have not nearly as much data/correspondence as I would like with regard to these topics, Virginie never lost a child. There is always the question what La Fayette would feel comfortable telling and to whom. There is also the question if La Fayette himself was always aware of everything. For example, in the case of a miscarriage very early on in the pregnancy he might have not included it in his correspondence or in fact maybe not even known himself.

As much as would wish a happy family life for Virginie, stillbirths, infant deaths and especially miscarriages were and still are not uncommon.

I have put excerpts from a few more letters by La Fayette to his American friends under the cut that help identify his grandchildren.

La Fayette to Thomas Jefferson, June 4, 1803:

I am Here, with my Wife, Son, daughter in law, and New Born little grand daughter [Natalie Renée Émilie] taking Care of my Wounds, and Stretching My Rusted Articulations untill I can Return to my Beloved Rural Abode at La Grange.

“To Thomas Jefferson from Lafayette, 4 June 1803,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-40-02-0361. [Original source: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, vol. 40, 4 March–10 July 1803, ed. Barbara B. Oberg. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013, pp. 485–486.] (02/12/2024)

La Fayette to Thomas Jefferson, April 20, 1805:

Here I am with my son and daughter in law who is going to increase our family [Charlotte Mathilde]. Her father is to stand god father to the child and if He is a Boy we intend taking the liberty to give Him Your Name.

“To Thomas Jefferson from Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette, 20 April 1805,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/99-01-02-1556. [This is an Early Access document from The Papers of Thomas Jefferson. It is not an authoritative final version.] (02/12/2024)

La Fayette to Thomas Jefferson, April 8, 1809:

(…) My Children are in Good Health. Two of them, My daughter in Law [Clémentine Adrienne], and Virginia [Françoise Mélanie] are Going to increase the family.

“To Thomas Jefferson from Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette, 14 December 1822,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/98-01-02-3215. [This is an Early Access document from The Papers of Thomas Jefferson: Retirement Series. It is not an authoritative final version.] (02/12/2024)

37 notes · View notes

hotchgirlsummer · 1 year

Text

sweet nothing ⤷ aaron hotchner x gender neautral!reader

summary ⤷ aaron hotchner was just about to sleep when his partner has some interesting musings to share. and instead of questioning them, he indulges them which pays off.

pairing ⤷ aaron hotchner x gender neutral!reader ; mentions of jack

warnings ⤷ none. fluff! tiny angst if you squint very hard

word count ⤷ 1.3k words

a/n ⤷ wow wouldja look at that my third submission for @hotch-central's Aaron Hotchner's birthday celebration,, like i mentioned in my earlier post i got covid so i have a wee bit more time to write as i'm stuck in isolation lmao. as usual, feedback is appreciated (especially since this is my first time writing with a gender neutral reader!) take care guys!

prompts are from @theprincessbt (though i did tweak it a little)

“I love your cute, crooked teeth.” “…..Thanks?”

“Do you know your eyes glitter in the moonlight?” “Um…you mean shine?” “No, I mean glitter.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” That caused Aaron to place the bookmark on top of the page he was currently reading and closed it so he could direct his full attention to them as he nodded, “Of course, what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“I love your cute, crooked nose,” They stated with a toothy grin; this however just caused Aaron’s eyebrows to furrow the same way it would when they were met with a dead end during a case. He schools his features with a confused smile as he says, “Thanks?”

The furrowed eyebrows made an appearance once more when Y/N erupted in laughter as they snuggled into his side, hand reaching for his as they fiddled with his fingers before pressing a kiss to his chest, “Really? You just went with it? Didn’t even find it odd?” Catching along that they were just pulling his leg, he unclasped his hand in theirs and gently tickled both their sides, relishing in their giggles and squirms, “I, in fact, found it quite odd. And I shall investigate to get to the bottom of this!”

“I yield, I yield!” Y/N shrieked out as they were able to put a stop to the gentle assault Hotch’s fingers had launched on them. After catching their breath, they laid their head on top of Aaron’s chest and hummed, “I didn’t really mean anything by it, your nose is very cute, you know?” As if to further convince him of it, they stretched and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose before gently nibbling on it — which this time caused the unit chief to chuckle at their silly antics.

“Just wanted to bug you a little, ‘s all,” They sheepishly admitted and drew little shapes on his chest. “You could never bug me, sweetheart, you know that.” Came his immediate reply. It was often for the pair to constantly reassure each other’s anxieties — one thing Aaron greatly appreciated as he previously found himself drowning in his thoughts of insecurity. But with Y/N, he never had any moment of doubt that lingered for too long for they were always quick to ease his apprehensions.

“So what’s really going on in your pretty little mind, hm?” Aaron wondered as he kissed the tip of their nose and smiled softly. Shrugging their shoulders, they racked their brain for another way to distract him and they immediately jumped in, “Do you know your eyes glitter in the moonlight?”

“I think you meant shine, sweetheart,” Hotch corrected them gently as they chuckled when they had this firm pout of conviction that they were right, “No, I meant glitter.”

“The longer we’re having this conversation, the more convinced I am that you are sleepy,” Hotch concludes in his unwavering voice that was usually reserved for when he was out solving cases, not for when he was chatting up with the love of his life. But seeing how smiley they were when he used his sharp tone, indicating that they were not intimidated by it and instead found it attractive, caused him to mirror the happy state they were in.

“I’m not sleepy, babe. I promise,” They said as they absentmindedly drew shapes on his chest, Hotch relishing their gentle touch, “Well I am, a little. But I still want to stay up and talk to you.” They were so close to slipping up behind the real intention of why they were waiting for the clock to strike midnight. But Aaron was just worried that if they stayed up any longer, Y/N would be exhausted in the morning.

“Just go to sleep, sweetheart. I saw you snacking on Jack’s Halloween candies and you might be experiencing a sugar crash already.” This caused Y/N to scoff in offense as she lightly smacked his broad chest, “I only ate like 3 Kit Kats! I don’t think that warrants a sugar rush and a sugar crash!”

He only chuckled seeing them all riled up, trying to come across as stern but failing short as Aaron only found them utterly adorable. “I didn’t mean anything by it sweetheart,” Their thumb gently rubbed the side of their eye as if to emphasize his next point, “But I can see your eyes drooping. And I just don’t understand why you’re so against sleeping, sweet. We can keep talking tomorrow — or should I say later — you know?”

“But that’s too far away,” They whined as they took a peek at the clock and was delighted to see it was a mere two minutes and a half before midnight, meaning they would not have to stall Aaron for a long time, “Have I ever mentioned how much I loved your voice? Like, I think you can get away with doing an audiobook. Or maybe even voice acting! You did such a great impression of Darth Vader the other day that I thought James Earl Jones was the one talking!”

There was a faint blush on Aaron’s cheek and finding it endearing, Y/N stretched a little to kiss the blush on his cheek and nuzzled against him, “I’ve never thought of that, no. Perhaps a career to explore for when I retire?”

“As if you’d ever leave the bureau, we both know you have a marriage-like bond with the job,” They jokingly teased as they were able to notice a small flash of sadness in Aaron’s eyes but before they could reassure them it was made clear that it was not that as he said, “Well just say the word and I’ll form a marriage bond with you.”

Hardly able to focus on their words as they noticed that it was less than ten seconds before midnight, “Before we go saying our vows or anything like that, how about I just say this: happy birthday, my love.” This statement caused Aaron to whip his head to the side just in time to watch the clock read 12:00 and groan when he realized it was his birthday.

“Is that why you wanted to stay up late? To be the first person to greet me?”

Smiling when their boyfriend figured out the intention for their delaying tactics, they nodded proudly, “What took you so long to realize that, Mr. Profiler?” Hotch only chuckled as they cuddled them further into his side, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not really the type to celebrate my birthday.”

“I don’t understand why you aren’t thrilled to celebrate your birthday, babe. I know it’s your birthday but it’s like you came into this world as a gift to many — well to Jack and I mostly, but you know what I mean,” Y/N explained which caused Hotch to smile widely when they explained why they value his date of birth so much. “I’m gonna let your little slide as long as you promise that you don’t have something too extravagant planned to celebrate.”

Y/N sat up to turn off the lamp that was on their bedside table before finally allowing sleep to slowly take over their body as they nodded against Aaron’s firm chest, “Nothing grand, I promise. But I do have about fifty-seven presents lined up for you.” A small smile — a bit mischievous the unit chief would later take note — settled on their lips as they fell into a deep slumber after fighting it off for a few minutes whereas Aaron could only shake his head as he knew no matter how hard he tried, they were the only exception to every rule he had. Placing one last kiss on their forehead before allowing himself to sleep too he spoke, “I love you, sweetheart.”

#happybirthdayhotch22 #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x gender neutral!reader

406 notes · View notes

safely-in-vhagars-belly · 4 months

Text

Ashes Burn (Chapter 3) Dark!Aemond x AFAB Reader

🔷Summary: Aemond takes your town and you become his.

🔷Author's note: I don't mess around with the dark aemond tag. Watch your step please.

🔷Wordcount: 6052

Warnings below the cut but mind your step!

RATING: EXPLICIT, 18+ MDNI!!!!!

Warnings: Death, gore, got sexism, got violence, dubcon, thigh riding, slight smut, degrading, blood. violence and trauma. Read at your own risk, dead dove do not eat or something among those lines.

STORY BEGINS HERE

That very same evening, your father is to yield the castle to Aemond. You are present and dressed properly for the occasion, happy to see your father out of his chains. At least, the chains are not present, but that does not mean he’s a free man. No one in your family is free anymore.

The dress your servants have selected is an emerald green one with black details of roses and thorns. It is quite the revealing gown, and you know that is why Aemond approved of it. He can't take his good eye off you, as it constantly wanders to you, one way or another, as a moth drawn to the flame.

The ceremony occurs on a big square in the village. There are flower decorations that have quickly been gathered by your servants to make some effort. Perhaps for the fallen, perhaps to show Aemond they can be loyal, and they do not need to be killed yet. Maybe both.

It is sickening in a way, seeing so many flowers rooted safely from their grounds to honor such a horrible man. The faces of those who he fed to his dragon are still on your mind. They haunt you, in a way.

Blood still can be seen between the tiles on the ground. It would be a while to clean it, if it ever would be clean again.

The food is good and delicious but you as a Prince's pet are allowed only to eat what Aemond has approved of. You wistfully look at the delicious cake that his commanders and generals eat.

You can't help but stare and wonder, your tummy rambling. You would love a piece of cake too. It looks delicious even from a distance. The prince catches your glance and follows it, scowling more and more every single moment. ‘’What is it, my pet?’’

There is plenty of cake for everyone. You know so. And you are starving. So, you force yourself to become a little braver and a little bolder. A little more vocal too. ‘’I would like a piece too.’’ You declare.

His lips slowly press together in a disapproving way. It tells you all you need to know. Your shoulders hang, the sting of rejection cuts deep. ‘’That cake is for my men.’’ Aemond says and his voice tells you enough.

You notice there is some disgust and perhaps even jealousy there. Quickly you turn your eyes away from other men as Aemond's brows become threatened, worried, jealous.

You don't know why he thinks you'd be even interested in anyone at this moment. Your heart is being tested. Because it bleeds in ways you never imagined.

Not for yourself.

Not even for your own family and friends.

Just for the innocent people that died at his hands.

But you are a coward.

You are worried he might kill even more if you won't comply. So you do. Even if it hurts you and goes against your nature.

The cake looks tastier every passing moment. ‘’I am aware. I just thought...perhaps you can make them share?’’ You suggest your voice soft, trying to play him. ‘’I liked the cupcakes you arranged-’’

Despite his laugh and despite the chuckle, you see a dark dangerous glimmer in his good eye. He is warning you. ‘’Let them have their cake, little lamb. Be glad it's not you on that table that's being shared.’’ You understand what Aemond means.

You should be glad and grateful for his protection and his claim. This does not erase the pain of being his trophy but his claim makes sure that none of those so called ‘heroes’ bother you.

His slender hands grab your hips before firmly sitting you down on his lap, his arms strangling your stomach, pushing you almost inside him. He brings his lips to your ear when his hands feel up your dress. You feel ashamed he does this in front of your friends and servants and try to stop him. He only grabs you tighter at that, enjoying this game. ‘’A lamb fights the dragon.’’ He murmurs, grinning madly. ‘’You can resist and fight all you like. Just don't cry when I put you in your place for your treason.’’ You recall his punishment. How you were whipped before after he stripped and bended you on the table.

How you almost came when he fucked you with his fingers.

You must avoid that at all costs.

‘’My Prince. I meant no offense. It was a silly question.’’ You stutter, a little foolish, staring at your hands. Aemond sinks back in the chair that serves as his throne.

He stares a little too long at your nippels watching them harden under his icy touch. You hear his lips smack. ‘’It was. You'll learn soon to stop asking silly questions. I have little patience for stupid girls.’’ You are worried.

You are known to ask silly questions a lot. And worse, if you can't ask him things how will you know what to do? It is risking punishment by asking or by doing the wrong thing by accident.

To one of your servants he nods. You know her by the name of Darla. She is from the Crown lands and has been with your family for some time. She makes a small curtsy for the prince before bowing her head and addressing him. ‘’Your highness. Is there something I can do for you?’’ She asks terrified. You can tell by her trembling hands.

You bet she is worried Aemond might touch and claim her too.

Aemond grabs the goblet he drinks from and dryly turns it upside down, watching as a single drop of red wine splashes on the tiles below.

You watch, as it spreads in a familiar bloody color. However hard you try, your eyes are as clued to the spot. ‘’Get me more wine. And fetch me a piece of a cake. I am hungry.’’ You hear Aemond's voice far away and your breathing increases.

Moments pass yet it feels like years. Aemond is handed a piece of cake on a silver plate and his goblet is hastily filled with wine. He puts you back on his lap and your trance is broken as you once again find yourself on his lap.

Aemond cuts the cake in small pieces and you watch as he brings the pieces to his mouth, taking proper gentle bites. He is a prince after all. He can be so charming...

When he wants to be. And that is exactly what makes him so dangerous.

The prince eats the cake while your stomach rumbles.

‘’It's good.’’ He grins. You notice his eye shimmers with pure sadism at your hunger. Perhaps it's your pain that turns him on. Perhaps it's the power he has over you. One of the two, makes the prince lusty.

Aemond takes another bite and while you don't doubt it's delicious you doubt it's so good that he can moan. ‘’Mhm…’’ there it is again, that foreign strange sound.

You stare at your hands, at a loss for words and actions. You doubt there is much you can do.

‘’Look at me when I eat.’’ The prince barks suddenly at you. You nod hastily and look at the prince while he eats the cake.

Your stomach roars a little louder causing him to chuckle. When he has finished the cake, you are hungry. Aemond holds the plate in front of you, careful to avoid losing crumbs. ‘’You may have the crumbs.’’ The way he speaks remembers you of your losses. You have lost your title and are nothing more than his pet now.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks again as you stare at the plate. Ashamed. You reach out to a big crumb of cake on the plate. You need to convince yourself to allow this. You are hungry. Who cares about you eating a crumb?

That is until Aemond grins and smacks your fingers the moment they touch the crumbs. You cry out, quickly removing your fingers hurt written in your eyes. He chuckles. ‘’I didn't say you could use your fingers. There is another body part of yours that I want you to become agile and mobile with.’’ You tilt your head in confusion.

He stares at your lips. ‘’Your tongue. You will lick up all the crumbs. After that, you can clean my plate for me. And after that, we'll see.’’ You would have preferred silverware.

Aemond takes big gulps of his cup quickly emptying it for a second or a tirth time that night.

There is one reason why he wants you to become more agile. He wants you to use your tongue to pleasure him. You have no experience doing such a thing but take his advice. Any practice that might save you discomfort and pain is welcome.

And you know better than to keep him waiting. You lower your head and as a pig, you start to collect and lick his crumbs off the plate. Aemond groans in pleasure when you softly gasp as he touches your back.

He grabs hold of your hair, dragging you closer. And then, he tilts it slightly so he may reach your lips. And before you can push him away he softly kisses your neck, sucking deeply, harshly marking you by biting down the sensitive skin as you whimper at his mercy.

Aemonds breath quickens alone at that sound and your eyes search for help among the crowd of drinking spectators and soldiers. Not one soul comes to your aid.

No servant or soldier.

No enemy or friend.

The worst part is, you see people judge you for his actions. Your stepmother is disgusted judging by the look in her eyes. Her daughters look on as well yet you aren't sure if they would hate or pity you for what happens.

You are too afraid to look at Diandra. You know she'd be furious, letting yourself be touched by the animal that is Aemond Targaryen.

And your father?

You can't look at him either.

You lower your eyes. He leans in closer before wiping your lips clean and the corners of your mouth. ‘’Good little pet. I hope you enjoyed your cake.’’

A response is wise, you know that.

‘’It was delicious, my prince. Although I would have preferred a bigger portion.’’ It does not matter what you intended to say, he takes it as an insult.

The prince glares at you, forcing his nails into your skin to punish you so no one can see. ‘’Do not make me punish you, little ungrateful thing. Not the way I had you punished this very afternoon. You finally stopped bleeding. Do not make me rip open your pretty skin again.’’ He laughs at the end of his sentence, and you close your eyes, reliving his punishment.

You don't want that. You scold yourself and tell yourself to be quiet unless spoken to for now on.

A familiar face walks up to you and Aemond. It's the Dornish commander Diandra tried to kill. ‘’Prince Aemond. A word?’’ His voice is gentle and kind yet strict.

You know Aemond does not want you around for this conversation. ‘’You can speak freely within her presence. I will break her will fully tonight.’’ There is only so much you can bear.

New tears fall as you take a shaky breath. ‘’I shall wait for you, my prince.’’ You announce when freeing yourself from his grip and his lap.

A rough smack on your behind causes you to yelp out loud and for the prince to iron his grip. He whispers in your ear. ‘’You don't decide when you leave, little pet. Not anymore. I want you here. I want you to warm my lap. I want to count your tears and hear you whimper.’’

You try to find comfort. He relaxes, letting you be more free on his lap. ‘’That's better. Apologize to the commander for wasting his time and my own.’’ He tells you with a tug at a fistful of your hair.

You cry out, quickly blurting an apology. ‘’I am so sorry.’’ You say.

Aemond and the Dornish commander ignore you both, making you feel even more worthless. ‘’What did you want?’’ Aemond asks. He does not sound annoyed. Just curious.

The Dornish commander folds his hands in front of him, barely glancing at you when you softly sniffle at Aemond's lap.

The hands of the prince run down your knees, touching you when listening patiently to the words of the commander. ‘’We found an orphanage. We found traitors and rebels among the children, hiding behind a wardrobe.’’

Despite it being his duty you can tell he does not want to tell Aemond this. The prince's head goes up and down in understanding as he becomes very quiet.

‘’How many traitors and how many orphans are we speaking of?’’ Your blood becomes cold as you recall the faces of many innocent children who already endured the seven hells themselves. You know the orphanage. Your father was the patron.

You don't know how many traitors there are. Or how many children call it their home. But you know that every child that dies is one too many. ‘’Around 50 traitors and twice as many orphans. Children from all ages.’’

You need to help them. And you know how. Aemond is not a stupid man. His worst fear is likely running out of supplies. So if you offer to handle that, the reason to spare the children grows. ‘’Perhaps we can do something for them? We can invite the children inside the castle. We will use the supplies of my house, my prince. You should not let this bother you.’’ You tell him.

Aemond only cocks his head at you. He leans back his fingers dancing on the armrests of the chair. ‘’You speak out of turn, little pet. Stand up.’’ You gulp.

Your own father watches as you stand up, together with his men and other people you have known all your life. They all watch as you tremble and cry, whimper and beg. Your begs go unanswered.

You feel the smack a few moments later, on your behind. And the hiss of his voice. ‘’Sit back down.’’ That is enough to make you obey.

The commander leaves at the point of disgust. You don't know what will happen to the children now and are worried for the smirk that grows on Aemond’s lips, becoming bigger every moment that passes by.

Aemond lifts your chin. ‘’I will deal with them accordingly. You don't decide a thing anymore. From the way you dress, to the way you will fall asleep.’’ He tells you coldly. ‘’And no one will care. You are a bastard. A dirty bastard. You have nothing. Why shouldn't I take you? Hm? Who possibly could defend you? No one. You're all mine.’’ He growls. ‘’I killed your brother, your father is in chains and no one,’’ Your gaze drops for a mere moment, intimidated and hurt by his words. So he punishes you by pinching your skin until you gasp. ‘’No one will save you from me.’’ To prove his point, he leans in a little closer before locking eyes with you and licking your cheek.

You whimper.

You notice a familiar face in the crowd subtly approaching. He pretends to fill cups and to collect plates of drinking officers and soldiers alike. But you see the hatred in his eyes burning like a wildfire.

He is a soldier, a guard your father trusted. You know him by the name of Daros. He has always been very protective of your family and you can imagine he is up to no good.

It would be satisfying watching Daros kill Aemond. Until his soldiers kill Daros in return. You can count. You have done the math. Daros can not outwit and outrun the soldiers that Aemond has.

You worry your face might betray what you know about Daros and quickly stare at your hands as Aemond puts you a little firmer on his lap, rubbing your naked arms and wiping away some remaining salvia on your cheeks.

Aemond stares you down and nods to his cup that is standing close by on a table. You stand up for him and reach for the cup, handing it faithfully to him with your head lowered. He chuckles at your display of submission and fear, enjoying every little moment of it. ‘’Pet, you should be careful with your body. It is a weapon you don't know how to wield yet.’’ You don't know what he means yet you nod.

He inspects the cup, holding it upside down. ‘’Pet, the cup is empty.’’ He tells you. Panicked, you glance around for a pitcher or a servant. And your eyes light up when you look at your home. Perhaps, perhaps he lets you go and you can fill a pitcher inside and run far far away.

The servant girl that helped earlier has wisely fled and you doubt she's coming back. You hope she escaped.

‘’I shall fetch a pitcher-’’ Before you set a foot his guards are alarmed and he has grabbed you by your hair, painfully dragging you back to him, forcing you on your knees like a disobedient dog.

You stare at his boots, the same boots you were forced to kiss earlier and can't help but tear up, gulping. Aemond still holds your hair as a leash. You hear him chuckle as he tugs, wrapping your hair around his hand, causing it to tangle painfully.

He makes a disapproving little sound. ‘’No, little pet. No breaks for you. You'll stay. You'll stay right here and warm my lap for me. You have plenty of pretty useless kitchen sluts who can fetch me wine.’’ They are no sluts. They are women. You doubt he knows the difference.

Dramatically, Aemond sits down and forces you back on his lap. Daros has approached silently and is busy with attending the soldiers closest to Aemond now. His own personal guard.

Your breath quickens and you pray to the gods that Aemond does not notice. That he can't read you that well. Because if he does it might fail. And Daros could die.

You must avoid looking at both at all costs. Aemond is luckily used to that so you avoid looking at him. But he is no idiot. ‘’So tense, my little pet. Are you worried about tonight?’’ He whispers, kissing your earshell as you shudder on his knee. ‘’I have been picturing you on your back since I met you. You, the sheep being conquered by the dragon.’’

Images are formed in your head as Aemond keeps kissing you, images of you wearing nothing with him atop of you.

You squirm until you feel something move over your wet sex. The prince moves his leg, stimulating you with a sly grin on his lips. You endure it, shocked at the nerve of him to do this in front of everyone...

And shocked that you like it.

You don't want to like it however. You should hate everything this man does with you. Aemond grins as he repeats the process, lazily fucking you on his thigh. ‘’If you do your best, I might keep you alive.’’ He murmurs, as your pleasure is building.

You are speechless and light in your head, overwhelmed by many emotions. ‘’I will do my best.’’ And that's all you can do. That is the worst part of it all. You can do your best and be the best pet there is, and he'd still kill you. Part of you knows it. Part of you has always known it.

The prince seems pleased as you softly press your lips together to avoid a whimper as he fucks a little rougher. ‘’I hope your best is good enough, then.’’ You hesitantly touch his leg, feeling the warmth of his body.

You want to ride him back.

You want to touch him back.

Not to reward him. But to dull your own pain with pleasure.

You have experience with touching yourself but that does not even come close to the hype and excitement it gives your body when someone else touches you.

You roll your hips to his leg, lost in the moment...Until he sharply stops you and you are left with nothing. ‘’No. You had enough.’’ He decides, suddenly with a twisted grin on his lips. You can't help but glare at him. He chuckles amused. ‘’Pleasure is something you have to earn, little pet. I won't make you come out of the goodness of my heart. If you want to come and be a good girl and soak my cock, fingers or whatever else I may fuck you with, you best behave.’’

At that point, Daros comes over and fakes a subtle bow. ‘’My prince.’’ He begins. ‘’I have orders from Ser Criston Cole to escort you to the traitors.’’ He says. One look into his eyes and you can tell he is lying.

Aemond simply leans back in the chair, rubbing your wet needy sex lazily. ‘’Can't you see I'm busy, you-’’ His eye widens as he realizes something. ‘’Didn't I see you on the battlefield?’’

You freeze unintended. The rubbing stops. You wish him to continue it. You subtly try to grab his fingers but he only needs to glare at you to make you behave.

Daros first reaction is stupid as well. It's the worst thing he could have said. ‘’I- You're mistaken.’’ A clear lie.

Aemond huffs at that stupid little lie and you worry for Daros’s life. ‘’Am I? I do miss one eye, that is true. Perhaps that is why my other eye tries very hard to capture as many details as possible. Like you, standing on the tower of the wall as a coward when I sliced her brother up.’’ You recall that moment all too well.

The shameful color that spreads on Daros cheeks proves that Aemond is right. ‘’Let her go. She is innocent.’’ He protests softly.

You aren’t sure why he cares about you in general.

Aemond laughs, a haunting hollow sound. ‘’Not for long, I promise you.’’ You know what he means. He means to take away your innocence.

That is taking it too far by Daros standards. He has never been one to deal with injustice in the right healthy way. Anger gets the better of him, risking both of your lives. ‘’You fucking bastard! You think you're entitled to everything. Our people, our food, our lady. What did she do to you? What did she do?’’ He demands an answer.

Instead of giving one, Aemond pushes you on the ground by his feet. ‘’Kneel.’’ He barks at you as his guards restrain Daros. You obey.

‘’Deeper.’’.

You go deeper; hurting your kneecaps on the cold stone tiles.

‘’Kiss my boots.’’ You nod, a single tear rolls down your cheeks as you obey his command leaving two kisses on his boots. He grins.

‘’Please spare him.’’ You beg. ‘’He's part of the household, he can't die.’’ You hope he will have mercy.

Until you see that Aemond has stopped smirking and glares at Daros jealousy clearly written across his face. ‘’Do you love him pet?’’ He spits out.

You gawk, unsure where this is coming from. You don’t understand why Aemond would care, nor why it is brought up. You look at Daros and see something unfamiliar in his eyes. A gentle spark of hope that can enlight in a fire of bravery any moment with the right words. A fire that will kill you both.

He is in love with you.

But you are not in love with him.

You are worried Aemond would kill him.

So you admit to the truth, no matter how heartless it makes you seem. ‘’No, my Prince. I desire no man but you.’’

He is relieved at that although he won't admit it ever. ‘’But you do love her, hm? That is why you really interfered. You wish her ass was on your lap, hm?’’ He grins at Davos. ‘’I can have her do the most delicious things to herself and me. Things you likely dreamt of for years.’’

‘’So what if I do? It won't change things.’’ ‘’I knew she was forbidden fruit. She should not be punished for my crimes. I am the one who tried to lure you-’’

Aemond interrupts him by punching him in the gut, burying his fist deeply, so deeply you worry for Daros spitting out the lunch he had. You gasp shocked at this brutal display. Daros is thrown on his knee and Aemond changes the assault to kicking his face, stomach and other parts of his body. Daros only response is a sickening little whimper and a heartbreaking grunt.

You are grabbed too by another guard, held when Aemond makes his way to the masses of people that have gathered here today. You hope it will be peaceful. He has what he wants. He should show mercy.

But you know this man too well by now.

Your father is brought forward in chains. Your stepmother is treated respectfully as are her daughters. They remain dressed and well. Unlike you who is touched by prince Aemond a lot. But he too has not yet removed your gown.

Your father barely looks at you when he is marched forward by Aemonds guards. You feel horrible as Aemond grabs you as his prized trophy and puts you by his side presenting you smirking to your father. ‘’You made a lovely girl. I will make good use of her when we warm your bed.’’ Your stomach turns at the little possessive squeeze he gives your behind.

His men laugh, you don't know why. It is not funny. ‘’You are a despicable disgusting man, Aemond of house Targaryen.’’ Your father answers, his eyes never leaving Aemond’s. ‘’Killing a man by stabbing him in the back, and taking a woman as your spoils of war. You have no shame nor honor in that body of yours.’’

Aemond is insulted. ‘’This is war in case you failed to notice. You choose the wrong side.’’ It can't be that simple. It never is that simple. War is like a coin. It has multiple sides.

Your father spits at his feet and Aemond barely avoids it. ‘’So behead me for it and be done with it.’’ He growls out, done with playing Aemonds games.

Aemond is shocked.

He seems taken back, and embarrassed. But that changes quickly into anger and fury. Instead of hitting your father, he grabs you. You already wail before he has laid a finger on you. ‘’Pet. I have a fun little task for you.’’ He mutters in your ear as you shake.

You know what he wants.

‘’Please grant me the privilege of a bedroom if you must-’’ your stutters are interrupted.

He chuckles amused that your mind went there. ‘’Sh, filthy minded pet. We shall do nothing of the sort here. I have something else in mind than fucking that little warm wet cunny of yours.’’

Your father is forced to kneel. He is to be executed. ‘’Please, good people. Consider bending the knee to this tyrant. If you don't, He will likely kill you all. We must pray to the gods that justice can be found one day. And to the women in this town, I regret that I failed you.’’

Aemond waits for more words but none come. So he folds his hands on his back and gives his men the order. ‘’Surround her well.’’

You understand that's you. You turn and watch as the guards form a circle around Aemond and your father and you. You hear the sound of steel being pulled and Aemond presents you with the same sword you were forced to lick. The sword that killed your brother.

And…

He hands it to you.

Your first impulse is to run him through. But he wears armor. He has guards around him and it would accomplish nothing. Vhagar looms from the opposite side of the square, and you know if she were to see Aemond die, she would roast everyone in this town alive.

So what does he want you to do? Is this meant as a cruel test?

Another thought makes itself into your head. A thought so dark and cruel that you gasp audibly. ‘’What am I to do with this?’’ You ask your voice soft.

He only smirks, confirming your worst fears.

You stare at your father, still on his knees. You hear the sound of something clattering against the floor and understand you must have dropped the sword by accident. He can't mean that.

To kill your own father...

He can't be that cruel....

Can he?

Your hand is forced open and a sword is pushed back in. Aemond's sword. ‘’I want you to make that little disgusting piggy that sits at our feed scream.’’ He whispers. ‘’I want your hands and gown bloodied.’’ He adds rasping with clear arousal.

‘’I-I can't.’’ You protest straight away. ‘’I'd be a Kinslayer. I'd be cursed! And furthermore...I am a lady. And do you want your enemies to hear that you had me execute him rather than yourself?’’ All lies you don't care for. All lies to hopefully distract him. You don’t want your father to die. You already lost so much today.

Aemond sighs, disappointed you don’t like his idea.

‘’You have the choice. You can kill him, or I will kill all of these people gathered here.’’ He can't mean that. You have to hope for your faith in humankind that he can't be that cruel.

But you saw it before at the gates.

He is truly that cruel. He didn't stop the battle when he could. He didn't play fair when he could. He did not show mercy. He showed fire. And he showed blood.

You understand you have a choice. Save your father, or save the town. Your father speaks up, his voice touched by emotions. He knows what you will pick. And funny, so did you. You knew the moment you were presented the choice, there was no real choice. Not really. Not when your father has spent his life protecting Dolkburg. ‘’Y/N.’’ Your father mutters.

So you must kill him. No matter how much it will hurt your soul. No matter that you become a orphan. ‘’Daddy I am so sorry.’’ New tears roll down your cheeks.

He shakes his head firmly, but yet he cries nonetheless. Every tear is a blow to your heart. ‘’Don't be. Do what you must child. No one will blame you for this. Do what you must to survive. To make the people of Dolkburg survive.’’

You can only nod. Speaking hurts. Thinking hurts. Living hurts.

‘’I think we will meet again soon, child.’’ When Aemond tires of you. Or when you maybe get pregnant. That is when he will get rid of you.

You turn to face Aemond, sobbing. He gleefully grins, looking back and forth between your father and you. ‘’Well, pet? Have you made your choice?’’ Where is the fair choice? Where is the good choice?

‘’Yes.’’ You nod but you can't stop your hands from shaking. You place the blade on your father’s neck, the way you saw him do with many criminals that dared to oppose him. And now he is executed on the orders of the worst criminal of all. A war criminal.

You want to execute him, in a clean manner. But Aemond coughs sharply, startling you. ‘’Ah, no. I don’t want a quick clean execution. You will hit his pressure points and make him bleed out.’’ A horrible slow and torturous death.

You never heard of ‘pressure points’. Aside from feeling grief stricken you also now feel dumb.‘’How shall I kill him?’’ You ask Aemond as you take in your father's closed eyes and his peaceful almost corpse-like appearance. As if he has already departed this world.

Aemond’s fingers point to the wrists, the neck, the heart, and the gut area. ‘’Just do what feels right, little pet. He is your canvas, the sword is your brush. His blood is your paint. Make me a masterpiece.’’

At his command, you start by the throat and drive the sword all the way in, causing the flesh to part as a whale opening its mouth.Blood streams out of your fathers throat and there is a small comfort that he dies fast.

Your father drowns in his own blood in front of you spitting and swallowing it as you fall to your own knees, your hands covered in blood. Aemond laughs. ‘’You are all dismissed. Have some fun. Get drunk. As long as you are in the right state tomorrow.’’ He tells his guards. They take off running into the village, likely looking for any innocent bystander to grab.

Eventually, you watch as your servant girls are bothered by the soldiers, first gently but when they dont respond they are hit, bruised, and dragged off inside. You quickly turn to Aemond horrified as he ignores what his men do. ‘’No! No! make them stop.’’

He does not move a muscle.

‘’No, I won't. They deserve a nice reward. What's a better reward than a woman?’’ He asks. You are insulted that he thinks they deserve anything and especially a woman. A woman is not a reward.

‘’They are not their rewards. They are good. Stop this. Please…’’ You see Aemond only turn his head away from the scene, careless.

Finally, he too snaps. ‘’I won't give you what you want. You are my pet, I decide for you. You can whine and beg and cry all you like but in the end I am the prince and you the dirty bastard.’’

‘’Be thankful I will fuck you tonight. If I had not, you'd be just like them. Tell me pet, do you prefer me or them in your innocent little untouched cunny?’’ When you remain silent he squeezes you to make you talk.

You look at his boots.

‘’You.’’ You confess softly in tears. You would prefer one man over six any day. Prince Aemond is cruel but he is a prince. You hope he has some consideration and decorum for your statue as maiden.

He laughs pleased.

‘’Such a good girl when needs be. Yes. You would hm? What scares you most?’’

There is no point in lying about it. ‘’The pain.’’ Yet you do so anyway.

‘’No. Pain does not scare you. You would not enjoy defying me the way that you do if it did.’’ He is too observant.

You sigh. ‘’That I'll...like it. That I'll enjoy what you'll do to me.’’

‘’Having a woman in my bed is one thing, little pet. But I live to bend and shape her into submission. I want my women deranged and hungry for me. I want them to be mindless little objects for me to fuck my seed out on. Do you understand?’’ Seven gods..

‘’What you describe is so horrible. Don't you want for your women to ..to touch and love you back? Is that not the point of sharing one's bed? To feel loved?’’

‘’Spoken like a true maiden. You'll say different things once you experienced what it is like to have a man inside of you.’’

Aemond’s attention turns to Daros who is still held by one of the guards that Aemond did not dismiss yet. ‘’So. You dreamt of touching what belongs to me, hm? Even tried to kill me too.’’ He says.

Daros spits as a answer.

Aemond punches him on his nose, likely breaking it by the sound and look of it. Daros hisses in pain. You watch as Aemond turns around to you. ‘’Pet. I think it is time you and me have some fun.’’ You can’t help but be aroused by his words. You hate it.

His glare hardens as he looks back at Davos, grinning when blood drips from his nose. ‘’And this little traitor, this little shit. He will watch me do what he wanted to do to you for years.’’

----

a/n: hes so mean and for what he already won. Oh well.

40 notes · View notes

shadowscrybe · 2 months

Text

Rayven's Revenge- Chapter 2

Summary: Rayven is the younger sister of Rhysand in the Night Court. She was banished 64 years ago for the murder of her sister. This is the story of Rayven earning her place in Prythian and finding out what it means to be family. We all know how her story ends...but how did she get there? I don't want to forget the demon princess with bat wings. Do you?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none- canon typical content

A/N: Is it smart to spam multiple chapters? Perchance.

The eternal decay of the Autumn Court perplexed her every visit. The foliage was always dying, but the vibrant colors offset its distress. Not the worst court to be trapped in, she supposed.

Late! Rahne sang to her.

They had been wandering the meeting area for a few minutes. Wasting precious minutes she didn't have.

A large hand wrapped around her elbow and yanked her down the rocky terrain.

“Can you ever follow directions?” Eris growled in her ear.

“This is where we agreed,” Rayven said, ripping her arm from his grasp.

He pointed to the rocky incline to the Forest House. “Outside the perimeter.'' He repeated his written words from their letters. “Here.” He stopped them when the ground changed to soft grass. Eris rubbed a hand over his jaw. Most of Beron’s court was under the ground with only the house as the tip of the rocky iceberg.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She hated saying almost as much as he hated hearing it.

He squared his shoulders. “At least I convinced him to let me investigate.”

Rayven didn't need Rahne to tell her what he was feeling. She could see right through it. He was going to have to return with an answer.

Eris was the same age as the boys, but his youngest brother and the spring court’s last living heir were on the same decade as Rayven. She had only met Lucien in passing since her first encounter with Eris that chilling night. His youngest brother and the spring court’s last living heir seemed to be in close company recently.

“So what was so sensitive you needed to tell me that I had to come to this graveyard?” She said, kicking a rock over.

“I am jeopardizing a lot by helping you,” he said. Embers licked behind his eyes.

She took a step toward him. “And I love you greatly for it,” she offered him an exaggerated smile.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I couldn't risk this information being intercepted. If someone was a better daemati,” he elbowed his friend, “then I wouldn't have to wake you so early.”

“But then you’d miss out on seeing this beautiful face,” she gestured to herself. “It's not everyday the disgraced princess of the Night Court gets to stretch her wings.”

“A pleasure,” he deadpanned.

Eris was her oldest and most complicated friend. After the Highlord kicked her out, she was left to find her way to Windhaven at ten.

He said he couldn't stand another year with the reminder of his daughter's death looming in his halls. Never minding the daughter he had.

The first time Rayven winnowed was by accident. That night, she was blinded by the ice whipping down the mountains. Half dead in the snow, her fire presented in her panic. Rhys would later attribute it as a physical manifestation of daemati powers. While he could read and alter memories, Rayven could only communicate mind-to-mind, and apparently, convince others they were burning alive. A fire cool to the touch, but devastating in the mind. And completely useless on her. Her brother had tried to teach her to read and manipulate thoughts in his limited time allotted with her, but the lessons had never yielded any results.

Rahne had been with her, but she couldn't make the warmth needed to keep the princess alive. She had circled her for hours, exhausting herself trying to create any kind of friction to warm her master.

Hours of shivering and wandering the mountainside, she was going to succumb to the frozen winds when Rahne expanded bigger than she’d ever seen her do. She wrapped herself around Rayven in one last embrace and they thought of bonfires under stars.

And then they were sitting in the forest of the Autumn Court. Azriel had tried to teach her to winnow using Rahne before, since she couldn't in the traditional sense like Rhys. Azriel had so many shadows at his disposal, it was easy for him to travel through them. Rahne was no bigger than a cat on her best day.

Rahne released her and began scouting the surrounding trees, frantically looking for a way out when he appeared from the treeline.

Rayven was lucky, she later reflected, that it was Eris and not one of Beron’s other sentries. He found her when he was truly the age he’d always look. He took one look at ashy flames simmering on her shoulders and recognized it as shadowfire. He taught her how to master it in secret meetings between their courts. She must have scorched him for being an asshole a hundred times, and even more did they end in screaming matches, but he always showed up to the next lesson.

Eris wasn't daemati but he always seemed to know what others were thinking. Perhaps the hypervigilance it takes to survive Beron gave the Vanserra boys daemati powers of their own.

They never bothered with pity. Neither of them could stand it from the other, but he knew what today was.

His voice cut through her reverie. “And your highlord has agreed to this proposal?” He asked wryly.

She shrugged. “He said we would send Illyrian legions.”

He raised his eyebrows, urging me to continue.

“He just never specified which legions,” she finished.

His lips twisted to the side as if biting back a sarcastic comment. “You haven't thought this through.”

Her power licked up her back at the insolence. Older or not, this male wasn't going to question the demon of the Night Court. Rahne had begun to circle around her ankles faster in anticipation.

“Careful,” his flames danced. “Don't piss off the only friend you have.”

“The bastards are my friends,” she said.

“The bastards are Rhysand’s friends,” he corrected. “Not yours.”

Unfortunately, that would always be true. Rayven didn't grow up with them the way Rhys did. They were true brothers. Not in blood, but bond. Rhys was her brother, but she never really got to be their sister.

“Are you going to tell me what you know or are you going to keep wasting my time?”

He laughed under his breath. “Tarin is looking for a female.”

“Aren't we all,” she wiggled my eyebrows at him and his face fell into a distant resolve. “Who?”

His body language became rigid as he turned an ear to the rocky incline to the Forest House. “A stranded soldier Hybern left behind, he seems to think.”

“But you don't,” she finished.

“I don't think Hybern would leave such a clumsy loose end.” His eyes were set up the incline now. “I think she's more powerful than Tarin let on. He has Lucien and Tamlin out looking for her most days.”

The highlord of the Spring Court was searching for an ex-Hybern soldier on Prythian soil. A colossal bargaining chip if a Hybern rebel were to be caught and in his possession.

Something the Highlord would also want. An asset so invaluable that even a scorned princess might finally return home. If only she could get to her before Tarin.

“Your father would be very pleased if you happened upon her first,” Rayven suggested towards his glory.

“Beron,” he corrected, “would use her and torture her for information she may or may not have if she’s nothing at best.” The shine of his eyes dimmed. He would be the one forced to do it. “And if she’s as powerful as I believe, then this is the last place she should be.”

“And you’re telling me because you don't want her in Spring either.”

He shakes his head. “Spring or Autumn makes no difference. If she’s found in Spring he will make me retrieve her.”

“And you want me to get her first.”

“It's not about want,” he said. “Beron cannot get his hands on her.” He tore his eyes from the rocks behind them.

“I understand,” she said. Beron could never send Eris after her in Night. She was going to have to kill this female if she couldn't find her and hide her in Ironcrest. “None of them should.”

“This better be worth it.” Eris leaned forward and brushed his lips on her forehead, the only goodbye she would get. He put the scribbles of his findings in her hand.

He beckoned her to lift her hands up between them. Come on, they wagged.

“I’m going to change Pyrithian,” she promised him, and then decked him in the face.

He looked like he believed her for a second. Then, like he could hear Beron calling him from miles under rock, he faded into dark mist and Rayven was left alone.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhys!sister #azriel x rhys!sister #azriel x reader #azriel

25 notes · View notes

madarasgirl · 19 days

Text

A Night for Hunting Ch.18 -Interlude III

CW: 18+, NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, explicit sexual content, Dom Vladcard, ROMANCE, oral sex, bondage, blindfold, ballgag, shadows/tentacles, ‘speculum,’ breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, affectionate vampire king, comfort, history, self-indulgent fantasies, cervical penetration, shadow writing. A couple who's BIG HORNY for each other Words: 5089

Extreme sex re: tentacle porn. But this is still emotional smut in the same strain as the other Interludes.

This chapter can be skipped and imo you shouldn't miss too much plot-wise. Something interesting that does happen will be described in later chapters. Don’t take the contents of this chapter too seriously. It wasn’t planned well in advance like most other chapters. The Reader is ovulating and so am I, that’s all. Oh daddy Vlad.

In this fic, vampires are infertile because they are dead, including their spunk, which Vlad knows. He's just indulging in a fantasy and contemplating a life which he knows would never have been possible.

I also went through this story from the beginning and made some small edits. I swapped some words here and there that I liked more and made two changes to ensure continuity and adherence to the canon:

Alucard should only be using one gun in Ch.7 since he doesn’t have the Jackal yet

In the OVAs, there was no painting hiding the entrance to Alucard’s lair

Excerpt below the cut

”Alu-!” You stopped in your tracks upon entering the great room after the check in the bedroom yielded no vampire.

“Vlad.”

The diffuse rays from another hall retreated shortly after illuminating the lounging figure, as if shying away from the night creature of legend.

Alucard was always correct whenever he mused about the wonders of darkness’ cover.

There was beauty in the unbroken shadows. The poor visibility compelled you to adjust to the nuanced differences in the most subtle shades of black. The brooding giant nearly fused into the surroundings, consuming any specs of light, his knee-length tresses flooding around him in an inky pool deeper than the background. No metal reflected the lamps outside. Vlad was unarmed, clad in a skin-tight suit covered in straps that outlined his impressive physique.

This was not who you expected to find. Twin citrine jewels flickered softly as they regarded you. You silently observed each other for a moment. Was he sad again tonight? No, clearly he could scent your need and was waiting to see what you would do.

‘The trappings of his physical form were meaningless,’ you recalled him insisting. You took wide exaggerated steps to allow your groin to air –and for your natural aromas to diffuse better. Kneeling at his feet, you wedged between the King’s knees and fumbled with the leather straps to fish out his member. The outfit was an irritating single piece garment. Fortunately, the clothing parted as you dug in and left you salivating at the creamy flesh nestled within a sea of darkness.

Summoning up a piece of forgotten courage, you glanced up at his imposing magnificence before standing abruptly to lead him back out to the throne room. Your lover was a king tonight and respect must be imparted.

You exhaled as you arrived and got a proper look at him. The jumpsuit accentuated the outline of those sublime proportions. His chest was thick and quads swollen with brawn; you could make out the grooves where his triceps began and where the “V” to his hips ended. The smoggy darkness cloaked him like a jealous mistress unwilling to relinquish her finest work of art.

His cock hung semi-erect from a carpet of neatly trimmed pubes.

The vampire was enjoying the attention, eyes sparkling as he watched you drink him up. The corners of his lips tilted roguishly and your gaze focused on those plump pads. Something snapped.

Your mouth crashed into Dracula’s in an open-mouthed kiss as you stood on the tips of your toes and nudged him back to encourage him to sit, to allow you to fellate the King on his throne.

Piece by piece, you took your time shedding the components of your night clothes, until at last you let your panties drop and join the pile pooled at your feet with finality.

His stare bore through you.

There was a low whining sound from someplace far away, yours, as you rubbed hard against his body and collapsed to the floor to settle between his legs again. A trail of fresh bruises were left in your mouth’s wake along his thighs. Audacious, but the need to satiate the flesh was stronger than any lingering intimidation inspired by this version of your lover.

The bruises disappeared before your eyes. The circles mottling the dead man's skin were never bright red. Angry maroon faded into smooth alabaster within moments as the pounding of your heart kept pace with the speed of your lover’s healing.

Your fist tightened around him. You latched tight and sank as far as you could, casting your gaze at him again proudly through hooded eyes when you barely gagged at this depth. It was the triumph of many months of training in the bedroom. Your cheeks hollowed.

Vlad was austere and gorgeous, and though he remained silent, those narrowed vermilion irises remained fixated on your actions. At least the way he gazed at you wasn't as lecherous as Alucard.

The vampire grew for you rapidly, a reassuring indication you were doing something well. The back of his fingers stroked your cheeks as you bobbed and applied more suction while you prodded his balls.

You stayed on your knees in supplication to a demon, feeling drunk in the act of perverse prayer.

You grew docile as you suckled your pacifier, marvelling at the fleshy taste of goodness when he tugged you off the ground and bent down to bestow another passionate kiss upon your hungry lips. Your tongues intertwined and shoved at each other. Your hands dug into his suit and traced the contours of his pecs, ravenously trying to get under and onto his skin. The royal vampire rumbled as you panted to catch your breath.

“I have something to show you, my Darling. It is as we discussed,” he said.

You almost forgot your arrangements through the haze. That explained why he was dressed this provocatively.

Show me.

The warlord’s hand enveloped yours as he led with a loose grip to the bedroom, where he stopped in the middle of the cavernous chamber. Somehow, you missed the leather sling dangling from the ceiling earlier. It oscillated ever so slightly in its emptiness. Not for much longer.

The vampire King, for all his nefarious reputation, stared down at you tenderly and smoothed the back of his hand over your face. So much power and all of it was restrained for your sake. A blindfold appeared from nowhere and he fastened it around your head reverently.

“Do you remember what you agreed to? What you asked for?” He said as he cradled both sides of your face and coaxed you into tilting it up at him.

~To be Continued~

Ch. 19- Valentine's

#alucard hellsing #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard fanfiction #hellsing ultimate #alucard #alucard smut #hellsing smut #vampire smut #vampire x human

30 notes · View notes

thesparklingwriter · 1 year

Text

𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆'𝒔 200 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕!!

prompt: f, i, j, n | Zhongli

an: it's been a hot minute but i want to remind you guys that i am not dead and i will forever wake from my tumblr slumbr to write stuff for Zhongli. i have a kaeya ficcoming up and then another zhongli one and then i'm out of ideas and possibly doing exams o.o enjoy :)

taglist | masterlist | event

F is for fiancée…

Of course, human traditions like marriage are a little out of his area of expertise, but what’s another contract to add to his already staggering list? Especially when it’s so important to you? Introducing you to those around as his fiancee makes his heart swell with pride, and the grin on your face every time you say the word makes him want you to repeat it over and over again, to declare to the world that he’s yours. And he makes it painfully clear that he can’t wait until he can call you his wife, but until then, he’s more than happy to call you his fiancée.

I is for I love you…

Zhongli is very vocal about his love for you—you could never allow yourself to even think he doesn’t. But he knows his actions mean more than his words, so he makes sure to supplement his words of affirmation. You’re noticeably more hesitant to use the words, but when Zhongli hears you tell him you love him… It’s not that he’s surprised to hear it, or that he ever believed it wasn’t true, but it knocks him for six more often than it doesn’t. He’ll always be sure to make you repeat it as many times as possible, pretending he can’t hear you, before you call him out for his incessant teasing.

J is for jealousy…

It takes a while for Zhongli to realise that the bitter taste that settles in his mouth when he has to relinquish you to the rest of Liyue is jealousy. He’d initially chalked it up to being worried about your welfare out on the streets, with the way they crawl with Fatui nowadays. But then he sees you laughing with another adventurer, and while there are no signs of either of you being interested in each other, he suddenly feels his stomach turn. Upon seeing him, your face lights up and you excitedly introduce him to your friend, and Zhongli feels very childish for even allowing himself to be mildly upset. But perhaps, he can blame that on his dragon’s instincts.

N is for night…

Being an archon, Zhongli has no real need for sleep— at least, not in the same way you and other humans do. And that also means that sometimes he struggles to drift off. So at night, Zhongli sits beside you in bed, reading over old contracts or historical manuscripts that have been sent to him. Sometimes you complain about the bedside lamp being too jarring, and he settles for laying awake in bed, gently stroking your hair as you doze happily. Zhongli has mixed feelings about the night—on bad days it can be lonely, a reminder of the different natures of your existence, a reminder that he’ll live on for years after you die, but on most days he’s grateful for the quiet moments it yields. He can’t truly despise anything in the world as long as he has you.

#celeste's 200 follower event #celeste's 100 follower event #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli fluff #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli genshin #zhongli genshin x reader #zhongli x you #genshin fanfiction #genshin impact fan fiction

122 notes · View notes

secretgamergirl · 5 months

Text

A Teachable Moment

So I hopped into some freshly minted Discord server, maybe a month ago, and the norms of it still haven't settled into place. It's open to the public and focused on a game, so there's a bit of a mixed crowd, let's say, and prior to the incident I'm setting up the backstory for, there hasn't really been a test of their ability to moderate their damn public spaces.

Also when I say there's a mixed crowd I mean there's both a good number of trans women (because if you are making a deep game for a niche audience, we're gonna make up a shockingly high percentage of that audience every time), and a few right-wing extremists doing their best to "hide their power levels" (because if you create and promote literally any sort of social space, they WILL show up to test for whether local conditions are suitable enough to build a nest). In the early days of things they mostly kept their masks on aside from using the nazi frog as a reaction image to things (which IS something everyone should have a zero tolerance policy towards, but I feel like I need to know someone fairly well before I can explain that one), and their eyes lighting up when they see the server rules include "no politics" (a perfectly fine policy to have but you need to understand that if you post it you WILL have to constantly ban nazis who think you're using "politics" like they do- a euphemism for all the people they want dead).

Anyway, there's a few people on my radar here, but everyone's been civil enough, and it's a pretty relaxed vibe. Pretty quiet. Mostly just icebreaker talk. The most prolific poster is this one guy who saw there was a pet photo channel and just kinda sat down and made a point of posting several images a day to it, of a particularly uncommon sort of cute pet. Naturally this lead some people to ask some follow-up questions about whether these are his and how long he's had them, and this yielded the pretty damn weird in retrospect response that no, he has no pets at all, but would like one of these some day.

Now, this isn't at all the main thrust of this, and I wouldn't like, start keeping vigil for this as a sign of troublemakers, but a thing that undercover bigots do all the time as can be seen here is set up in a community and just kinda spam harmless generic platitudes and such to try and establish themselves as a known chill person. This goes double for anywhere that has a general public/trusted community members split. Never just go by "well he seems pretty chill" for giving people access to more private spaces, they can wait as long as they need, generally, as long as they don't have to improvise a normal person response to a situation where bigotry is in play.

Anyway, getting to the main event, a few days ago in this server, someone posted some cute little comic which... you know let me just find it.

Clever little subversion there. Got a polite chuckle out of the bulk of those paying attention, but seeing a nice wholesome bit of trans positivity incensed pet-poster guy, who immediately shouts "I've seen another version of that comic!" and posts a variation I am absolutely not going to share where the girl in the last panel is dead.

That is as clear cut of a do not pass go, do not collect $200, ban that piece of garbage permanently without a word and delete the post as soon as you can before anyone has to see that sort of hate directed at them offense in absolutely any community. Even moreso in this case as in the time it took a moderator to notice, this creep was going full mask off and responding to everyone's horrified reactions with grotesque anti-trans propaganda of a particularly hardcore "my other hangouts have openly posted swastikas" variety.

Here, people did delete the profoundly offensive comic, but then, to be blunt, otherwise handled this like a kindergarten teacher seeing a kid grab the blocks another kid was playing with and just nonchalantly explaining some basic manners. First off, nobody goes that hard on hate speech accidentally, and more importantly, showing a lack of willingness to dole out any real consequences for such an open act of hate has an emboldening effect. Sure enough the other sleeper agents present jumped up to try and push things farther, encouraging them to also remove the comic above, ban any mention of trans people, and jump the gun with prepared responses that don't work in context (you call everyone you don't like a nazi! Both sides are wrong! etc.).

I came pretty close to just quitting the server on response to that, but stuck it out a bit to double check if this wasn't just one particularly green mod trying to put the fire out before double checking if that's ban worthy when someone else was awake, or if I needed to explain the code-talk in the following conversation, or hell, if they just need more mods. I'm decidedly overqualified for that sort of thing.

Anyway, moderation policy handled that poorly... and to be clear, I'm not pinning that on any one person, basically everyone who ends up in a position of authority has a gut instinct to moderate as laxly as possible and needs some real training, reading, or tragic experience to learn how vital a firm swift hand is if you don't want people like this to show up and drive everyone else away. Especially not going to put this on the one green volunteer awake at 4 AM or whatever.

Still, the ball was dropped here, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how the rest of the community stepped up to hold their ground. Over the next couple of days, people just started casually dropping every cute trans positive thing they had handy in there, agreeing with each other that it was all nice and sweet. This both reestablished that chat as a relatively safe place to exist with a kind general vibe, and really got under the skin of these mask off nazis who started throwing tantrums. Apparently they just started privately messaging the mods to flag every single wholesome little image or comic as offensive to the point where people higher up the food chain came in, did some more serious reprimanding, and added an explicit policy against transphobia to their TOS... and threatened to ban these people if they pull this crap again.

Now, that increased firmness plus the community in general making it pretty damn clear they don't tolerate hate does seem to have scared the bigots into hiding (the one guy made this pathetic desperate effort to retake power by threatening to stop posting the animal pictures... that he's just pulling out of an image search, it was pretty funny), but... they're still there. The people they were threatening both broadly and as specific individuals still have to be careful not to share anything these scumbags can screencap and weaponize against them, and I'm sure at some time in the future when it's clear there's no mods awake they're going to pipe back up to do as much damage as they can in a blaze of glory if spying on all the queer people doesn't pay out for them, so while it is nice to see how just actively rejecting this sort of ideology can at least temporarily shut this crap down even without people in authority taking real action, I want to reiterate what responsibilities those in authority are neglecting here.

As a moderator of literally any sort of space, your basic duties are to keep things safe and to keep things civil. Those are two separate duties. Don't ever try and merge them together, and don't ever forget that safety must always take priority over civility.

If you see a situation where people are just getting randomly heated and angry over something inconsequential (happens a lot), yes, by all means, try to just deescalate things by stepping through just taking a stern tone, formal warnings, timeouts, 3 strike rules, temporary bans, etc. These are situations where we can hope that people who otherwise get along just let their emotions get out of hand and will hopefully shake hands and make up after having some time to cool off.

If on the other hand you see a situation where someone is threatening/antagonizing/intimidating someone else, especially in a case like this where the reason is transparently that the offender is a bigot who genuinely wishes harm or death on the target, there are no steps to escalate through. You remove the dangerous person from the community immediately, no exceptions, no warnings, no escalating response scale. That nazi posting crap about trans women in nooses, Jews in ovens, black people holding spears, women being raped etc. is not a friend having a rough day. There can be no reconcilliation no matter how much time you give. You just have a predator here to whittle your community down, and a vulnerable person who needs you to reassure them that they are safe in your community. The only option that should be on the table is the permanent zero appeals ban, and you should have no hesitation in deploying it.

Oh and here's the part where I remember that I am going to lose my home by the end of the year if I don't ask people to throw more money at me (this is a link). I hate doing this, but my other options for income went up in flames so completely I don't even know how to start to rebuild.

#moderation #safety

20 notes · View notes

the-art-block · 4 months

Note

Seeing your latest art of the nossies in the group new years picture reminded me of Wolf Mother (and her childe) as characters and now I'm DEEPLY interested in them as people and characters! I love their designs, just how much the curse affected them and am interested in how they fit into the Moonrise Nation story. (not that you have to reveal anything, of course!) Just admiring.

You're too sweet! YOU'RE TOO SWEET 🥺

These two have a lot of lore behind them (which I'm sure folks don't mind) so for the sake of brevity I'll try to keep it simple!

The Kindred population in the pre-colonial states was never that big, and it was kept in check by Kindred themselves - because the more of them that existed, the less food there'd be for the whole. These old laws regarding Kindred creation and conduct state that a Sire is responsible for their Childe for their whole unlife, and forbade any Kindred from having more than one living Childe at a time. Wolf Mother, original name lost to time, is a seven century old Nosferatu that was Embraced in the St. Lawrence River Valley for the crime of sabotaging the hunting grounds of another tribe in the locality.

Wolf Son, going by the name Jack Skinner modern-day, was Embraced 600 years ago by Wolf Mother for the crime of banditry. Probably like most Embraces, the relationship between them started out strained and unfriendly. Getting Embraced in the old tribe days was definitely a form of capital punishment and not something anyone really wanted. This of course is doubly true for an Embrace via Nosferatu, and the man that became Wolf Son took a long time to settle into his fate as a hideous living omen. When he did manage to overcome his grief and horror, he became a proper student to Wolf Mother and served alongside her in the assigned role of the Promiskeepers (The colloquial name for the Nos at the time) - which was to safeguard and dispense knowledge from both Kindred and Kine of generations gone. Things like: what to do when the seasons are uncharacteristically unfavorable, how to respond when a certain disease starts spreading, what to do with land that refuses to yield resources, etc. (Nos like Grandma Oginn also used to provide matchmaking services to her local tribes ;D) Additionally, in the old Kindred society, the Promisekeepers were tasked with keeping track of debts and contracts made between Kindred. The Nos of pre-colonial North America (at least on the East Coast) were basically your archivists and judges.

As the modern Moonrise Nation is attempting to reclaim some of the old traditions, both for Kindred and their human relations, Nosferatu who come into the faction are expected to take up this mantle of advisors and story keepers, to learn and preserve history, and be there to aid humans and other vamps alike when they're not sure what to do about a problem. Wolf Mother herself was a bit of an isolated Kindred back in her day, she roamed a huge tract of land and only encountered other undead and humans rarely. Still, she was widely known to be a neutral or friendly presence, and her child inherited the same nomadic lifestyle.

The pair would be separated when the first waves of Sabbat Kindred arrived on the continent on the crossings from Europe. They thought each other dead until very recently.

Wolf Son met with immigrant Camarilla Kindred in the 1700s and would later travel to Europe, where he would be installed as Sheriff over a Midlands Domain for several decades. Modern-day, he has come home to America, and is now serving as an Archon.

Wolf Mother spent most of the last few centuries in torpor near Lake Erie, and in the few years she's been awake again she's been singing into the night in hopes her long-lost Childe might still be around... Poor thing...

You can imagine the eventual reunion between them is gonna be super emotional. Not least of all because the Moonrise Nation is explicitly not joining the Camarilla, and seek to make themselves an independent faction.

I'm sure it's fine 🙃

#vtm #vampire: the masquerade #nosferatu #moonrise nation #I'll cry dont look at me #getting emotional about stuff that only happened because I made it

19 notes · View notes

wisedawn13 · 7 months

Text

#xiantober Day 2: Dragonxian

"I'm sorry sir, I really can't say what kind of egg that is. I've never seen anything like it."

Lan Zhan sighs, taking the egg back. "Thank you anyway."

Another dead end.

Carefully, he wraps the egg in a blanket, placing it back in his bag.

Lan Zhan never thought his quiet, mundane life would be upended by a mysterious egg, but here he is. His searches on the internet yielded nothing and no animal experts could figure out what species the egg belongs to.

All he knows is it's very clearly alive and was abandoned.

How does he know it was abandoned?

He woke up three days prior to the egg wrapped in a blanket and placed in a box on his doorstep. Why him? He has no clue. But Lan Zhan is determined to find out everything he can to best take care of whatever is inside this egg.

Unfortunately, he'd had to travel a number of hours to meet with the most recent specialist which means he has to stay in a hotel rather than his own bed. It is... not ideal, but he cannot risk driving all the way back so late.

Tomorrow he's going to see another "specialist."

He is iffy on this one. Where other professionals study specific genera and are quite scholarly, this person appears a bit eclectic if their shop website is anything to go by. The interest in mythology and the preternatural doesn't give Lan Zhan the highest of hopes.

But Lan Zhan is nothing if not thorough.

Yiling Laozu's Wonders and Oddities.

Lan Zhan stares at the sign of the shop before taking in the rest. Various crystals and animal skulls adorn the displays in the windows. He hopes the answers will be in there.

He enters.

The shop, while being filled with all manner of items, surprisingly feels quite cozy to Lan Zhan. He was afraid his senses would be accosted like they had been in other similar shops. He feels quite comfortable here.

It's when he's looking around that someone speaks to him.

"Ah, welcome! Is there anything specific you are looking for?"

Lan Zhan turns and feels as if he were struck by lightning. He is stunned by the beauty of the man smiling at him. It's almost otherworldly. Grey eyes shimmer in the light and he's sure they must be contacts.

The man tilts his head and Lan Zhan realizes he hasn't responded. He clears his throat. "Yes. I am here to speak with the owner over an egg that has recently come into my possession."

"You're talkin' to him!" The man winks, smile widening.

"Oh, my apologies, I hadn't realized—"

"Because I'm so young and handsome while most people in my field are old and withered?"

Lan Zhan feels his ears heat. While that is objectively true, that wasn't what he was going to say. "Shameless," he grits out.

That only makes the man laugh. "I'm Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan."

Wei Ying's smile softens. "Lan Zhan... Beautiful name for a beautiful man." Before Lan Zhan can respond (by saying 'shameless' again) Wei Ying begins walking to the back of the store. "Come along!"

Lan Zhan does.

They enter a messy office where Wei Ying plops down on a chair.

Lan Zhan glances around the room before gently sitting on the couch across from Wei Ying.

"An egg, you say? Do you have it with you?"

"I do," Lan Zhan replies. He pulls the egg out of his bag and carefully unwraps it before holding it out to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying's eyes are wide.

Slowly, he reaches out. The moment his hand touches the egg he gasps. "Where did you get this?" Wei Ying asks, breathless, as he takes the egg into both hands and holds it close to his face.

"It was left on my doorstep four days ago. I do not know why or what it is."

"Dragon."

Lan Zhan blinks, sure he misheard. "Pardon?"

Wei Ying's grey eyes meet his. "This is a dragon egg." He laughs, the sound somewhat manic. He returns his gaze to the egg and brushes a hand over it. "I thought... I thought I was alone."

Confused and unmoored, Lan Zhan only stares.

He watches as Wei Ying rests his forehead against the egg and breathes shakily. "I thought I was the only one left," he whispers. "But here you are."

Lan Zhan feels something tighten in his chest. "Dragons are real?"

Wei Ying looks at him with wet eyes. "Yep."

"And you are..." he trails off.

Wei Ying nods. "A dragon, yeah. I never knew there were more than me, I thought I was the last one."

Lan Zhan's mind reels. "Can you prove it?" he blurts out suddenly.

Wei Ying blinks owlishly. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

"No. No, I apologize. I didn't mean to—"

"I'm teasing, sort of. If it were anyone else I wouldn't do this," Wei Ying says, standing up and handing the egg back.

"Why me?" Lan Zhan finds himself wondering.

Wei Ying shrugs. "Not sure, just feels right. You know?"

Lan Zhan nods. He does know.

Tenderly, he holds the egg to his chest as he watches Wei Ying closely.

"I can't change into my full form in here, but—" he closes his eyes and scrunches his nose until suddenly there's stunning red antlers on his head and a long tail behind him.

"Ta-da!" Wei Ying exclaims with a lopsided smile when he opens his eyes.

Lan Zhan is stunned. Not only has he met the most beautiful man today, but said man is also a dragon which means that dragons are actually real. Plus he has a dragon egg.

Big day.

Wei Ying shifts back to full human with ease and plops back into the chair. "So... you've got a dragon egg."

Lan Zhan nods. "I do."

"You don't know how to care for a dragon." It's not a question.

"I do not."

"And you were trusted with the care of the egg."

"I was."

Wei Ying stares at Lan Zhan silently for a beat. "Move in with me."

"Okay," Lan Zhan replies without thinking.

His shock must show because Wei Ying laughs lightly. "Are you sure? You don't have to."

Lan Zhan thinks it over carefully before deciding that yes, he is sure.

"I am," he replies. "It would be most wise for the dragon baby to be around another dragon, and I wish to learn how to care for a dragon as it is essentially my child now."

"We'll be co-parents," Wei Ying says with a smirk.

"Mn."

Lan Zhan secretly hopes to drop the 'co' someday.

----------

That's right y'all, A-Yuan is matchmaking before even being a true part of this world 😌

Link to thread

#xiantober #wangxian #mdzs #threadfic #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan wangji #lan zhan #wei wuxian #wei ying #dragonxian #from twitter #wisedawn13 #fanfic #fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 2 years

Text

Love, Vampirism, and Metaphor in Dracula: Van Helsing and the Suitors VS The Harkers

I’m writing this on the day of the September 29th entry, fresh from the second death of Lucy Westenra, Bloofer Lady and Beloved of Many. I see myself posting this on October 3rd, the day of Dracula in the bedroom and the holiest love quote. You know the one.

‘To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.’

Harrowing, horrifying in its implications for our good friend Jonathan Harker, and, when held up against the wall-to-wall likeminded alignment of the Suitors Three, of Van Helsing, and, it seems, of Mina ‘Down to Self-Sacrifice’ Harker, a quiet but unmissable sore thumb sticking out of the rest of the novel’s dogma. Let’s turn the pages back a bit.

Say, to Jack Seward’s thoughts on the Bloofer Lady resting in her box, September 27.

‘It made me shudder to think of so mutilating the body of the woman whom I had loved. And yet the feeling was not so strong as I had expected. I was, in fact, beginning to shudder at the presence of this being, this Un-Dead as Van Helsing called it, and to loathe it. Is it possible that love is all subjective, or all objective?’

Here, Lucy is completely prone in her vampiric torpor. No action, no will. Just the same deathly stillness of the Count in his coffin, radiating an ominous miasma—the difference for her being that she rests with her eyes shut, and has no power to jumpscare her visitors with a turned head or the paralytic magic of Dracula’s ‘basilisk gaze.’ She is nothing more than a pretty corpse and yet Jack feels only mounting disgust in her presence. And, following the adventure of catching the Bloofer Lady in the act with his fellows, the cruelly tossed child, the supple supplication—

“Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!”

—and the grand reveal of her monstrous face when thwarted by Cross and Wafer, we come to the scene of Van Helsing and the Suitors Three in the tomb, hammer and stake at the ready.

‘She seemed like a nightmare of Lucy as she lay there; the pointed teeth, the bloodstained, voluptuous mouth—which it made one shudder to see—the whole carnal and unspiritual appearance seeming like a devilish mockery of Lucy’s sweet purity.’

[…]

“Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilation of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is not: ‘It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it was the hand of him that loved her best;’”

[…]

“My true friend, from the bottom of my broken heart I thank you. Tell me what I am to do, and I shall not falter!”

[…]

‘Arthur took the stake and the hammer, and when once his mind was set on action his hands never trembled nor even quivered.’

[…]

‘There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we knew. One and all we felt the holy calm that lay like sunshine over the wasted face and form was only an earthly token and symbol of the calm that was to reign forever.’

‘Van Helsing came and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and said to him:—'

"And now, Arthur my friend, dear lad, am I not forgiven?"

‘The reaction of the terrible strain came as he took the old man's hand in his, and raising it to his lips, pressed it, and said:—'

"Forgiven! God bless you that you have given my dear one her soul again, and me peace.’

‘He put his hands on the Professor's shoulder, and laying his head on his breast, cried for a while silently, whilst we stood unmoving. When he raised his head Van Helsing said to him:—'

"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning devil now—not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is the devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!"

…

……

………

Now, this is old ground. Old, old, old, essay-strangled ground. Throw a dart and you’ll hit a dozen far more articulate pieces about the undercurrents of it all.

The parallels with the Brides of Dracula. The Lilith-rooted fear of the Sexual, Powerful, Child-Endangering/Killing/Unmaternal Woman. Purity > Carnal Voluptuousness. We must destroy the sensual evil to rescue and preserve this fair maiden’s purity~. Made all the easier because 1) Lucy was implied to have given her consent and urging to Van Helsing on her deathbed to carry out just this procedure, purest pure sweet virginal angel maiden that she was, and 2) the boys had Abraham ‘Definitely not a Saintly Stand-In Patriarch Figure’ Van Helsing to follow as he gives his wise and brilliant and Godly orders (my child).

I get it. You get it.

But most importantly, and barely ever brought up, Jonathan Harker gets it. He has gotten it well before he ever learned about Lucy’s own hell with Dracula.

He had a front row solo-show of three vampires murdering a child. Then overhearing a second child’s death. Not a little sip! Not dainty nursing from wee pinprick bites! The Weird Sisters drank two kids like a three-way Capri Sun. They tried on multiple occasions to hit him with that sexy-soothing hypnosis to take their turns with him and drag him into the undead girl gang against his will. The first time he got away lucky with Dracula’s intervention—he had no clue what was happening, no one there to counter the effect or prove he wasn’t dreaming. They just stuck their hooks in his head and he laid there, frozen. In the ensuing attempts he clocked them and could only run to dodge their effect.

This is the same man who, when all other options were lost, gambled his life on the cliffside and the wolves versus staying locked in Dracula’s stone box to let the Brides drink and turn him. He has more vampiric terror experience than the rest of the cast combined, even with Van Helsing’s secondhand know-how. He gets it.

…But now, here’s Mina.

Mina, Mina, Mina.

Bitten. Turning. If they do not end the Count in time, she will be a vampire.

Already she’s mulling suicide.

(Hello, flashback.)

Already the stalwart men around her are quietly steeling themselves should the worst happen and they must deliver the same mercy they did for Lucy.

(Hello, flashback.)

Already Jonathan has decided he will join her in undeath rather than have her be alone in the condition.

(Hello—wait, what?)

What? Everyone put down your crucifixes and holy cracker crumbs! Mr. Harker, say again?

Let’s look at all this implies on paper. Really look.

1. Jonathan has witnessed and endured the attentions of vampires with far fewer scruples and friendly attachment than Lucy the Bloofer Lady ever had.

2. Jonathan has learned of how vastly Lucy changed post-vampirism. Her danger, her ‘wanton and impure’ personality, the crazy demon bat face, all of it.

3. Jonathan knows she reached for Arthur. She still knew Arthur. She wanted Arthur with her.

4. Jonathan knows now that if he had powered through the spell of the Count’s inflicted fear and finished him off in his box back in Transylvania—if Jonathan had simply stayed with Mina, stayed awake and kept watch—she would not be in the peril she is. Lucy would be alive. So many would still be alive. Is he damned already for allowing this all to pass? What more is there to lose?

5. Jonathan is not Abraham. Neither Van Helsing, nor the biblical namesake who would slay the person he loves most under God’s command. It no doubt comes as a shock to him; him who has been protected by the icon of the Cross, has breathed endless prayers for his and Mina’s sake. Yet there it is. He loves Mina more than God. More than purity. More than humanity or sanity. He cannot bring himself to destroy her, regardless of what form she takes. And perhaps that is partly why…

6. Jonathan will give himself to vampirism, to Mina, to the Devil—Transylvanian or otherwise—rather than raise a hand or stake to her. If the curse cannot be lifted, they will be cursed together. Let Van Helsing and the Suitors kill two vampires if need be. But whatever she suffers, he will too.

7. Jonathan sees no point in being alive, human or not, if Mina ceases to exist.

Now, here comes the Big Issue.

The trouble of comparing the In-Canon, On-Paper Morality of this stance VS the Metatextual Metaphoric Morality.

On paper, his private oath is at once tragic, horrific, and skirting towards borderline villainous. Jonathan is willing to deny Mina’s desire to be destroyed rather than become a vampire and, by implication, endangering the lives of Van Helsing and the Suitors Three, and any potential future victims, by dint of planning to defend Mina against their wishes.

Now, this could just mean safeguarding her corpse, hiding her away from the others until she wakes as the undead. Hiding in the dark, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar open. Waiting.

It could mean a grudging confession and pleading session as he implores the others to let her wake long enough to turn him, to let them both be slain by their stakes and blades. If not, well, he was willing to die long before any of them. He won’t live long after her either way, so they may as well…

It could mean taking grislier methods if pushed into a corner. Because if Mina’s existence takes precedent over everything in Jonathan’s perspective, including the Will of God Himself, his new buddies will have a violent surprise coming if they try to pull their undead euthanasia routine on his watch.

It could mean, somehow, with all the worst stars aligned, Mina becomes a vampire under their noses, and approaches Jonathan at just the right time to see them both vanish into the night without notice. Maybe they go to join the Count. Maybe they stay behind, forced to follow murderous orders. Maybe they luck into the willpower shown by those mischievous Brides, and skulk away despite Dracula’s explicit commands, two monsters running away; eloping.

But what it absolutely means in all these cases, is that Jonathan is willing to put his friends and who knows how many strangers at risk, while purposefully going against Mina’s plea for holy destruction rather than vampiric existence. Jonathan is putting his own heart over the wishes of everyone else.

He will give all of himself under any other circumstances, will trust in God’s protection as far as he can, but he understands in this moment, without doubt, he will not, cannot, give away Mina. Not to a divine cause. Not to her own martyr’s mindset. Not for anything.

It is selfish, sweet, sad and nearly sinister in how covertly all this must play out in his mind and buried under the text.

So it must also look through the bluntest take on the novel and Stoker’s messages of Madonnas and Whores and the Preservation of Purity and the Heroic Killing of Evil that keep being cudgeled in throughout the narrative.

…But, even without a 21st century lens, you only need about two seconds’ worth of examination to see the metric ton of metaphoric power underscoring the difference between how Jonathan Harker loves and how Arthur, Jack, Quincey, and Van Helsing love. In plainest terms:

Jonathan Harker’s love is unconditional and all-encompassing.

I will love you no matter what you become. Whatever we must weather, I will weather it with you. I will take on any pain you have and make it my own. I will never abandon you, never hurt you, never judge you. I will love you forever, and if you must be a monster, I will be too.

Van Helsing and the Suitors’ love is conditional and hinges on the fair maidens in their lives being, ‘pearls among women.’

You are not what you were, despite all my efforts to stop this change. I will destroy the imperfect Thing that has usurped you. This is all I can do. All I will do. I will love the memory of what you were before I had to kill you.

Now, obviously, there is some nuance to appreciate here. There’s a whole separate essay to be had in examining the toxic nature of relationships built on a partner loving the other half to the point of worship, refusing to find fault or leave the romance when it’s clearly gone sour or dangerous. If Jonathan had fallen in with a legitimately cruel partner, with or without a monster angle in play, that talk might hold water. But not here.

Not when the whole crux of the vampirism threat for Lucy, Mina, and the Brides—once you scrape Stoker’s varnish off—is the Threat of the New Woman.

The Threat of Power Equal or Greater Than Men’s, Unrestrained Sexuality, and Unmaternal Behavior from the Pretty and Virtuous Young Lady. Or, considering the undertones of focusing on madness as another horrible affliction, vampirism as a mental illness and/or the assumption of mental illness.

(What’s up, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” parallels, didn’t think you’d make it in here!)

Or, if we want to knock down all the era-specific boundaries, vampirism is the conversion into, or revealing of, Otherness. The vampire is Wrong. The vampire is Not Like Us. The vampire is Unholy, Imperfect, Impure. Insert your marginalized group of choice here.

Against the Vampire-Other, we see Van Helsing and the Suitors positioned as the moral defenders, destroying the tainted and converted Bloofer Lady, preferring to see this New Lucy dead rather than suffer her vile voluptuous self to exist. It is too much! She would not want this any more than we would! Away, demon!

Then we take this hard swivel to Jonathan Harker, fully aware of their stance, of the full spectrum of vampiric menace, of Mina’s own hardwired, ‘Martyrdom! I am sullied and unclean because I was violated against my will! Self-sacrifice! I must give of myself until there’s literally nothing left!’ mentality, and of how it’s been painted that ending her may be the only way..!

And Jonathan discreetly but emphatically flips the bird to the whole concept.

Mina’s changing? Mina might be different? Mina is possibly doomed to be a monster, to be the Other, seemingly ruined by the very explicitly rape-coded assault on her by a predator? Hm. Hmm.

Fuck that, decides Jonathan.

He will not abandon her, period. No equivocations. No moral quandaries. No hand-wringing hemming or hawing. Just:

“Mina might become a vampire? Shit, I’ll have to be a vampire too. Let the rest of the world deal with it.”

Oh, sure, he’ll give it his all to prevent her turning with the rest of the vampire hunter gang. Even if vampirism didn’t come into it, he has a hell of a grudge to settle with Dracula for all the shit he’s pulled. But if that isn’t enough? If the fatal blow comes too late and Mina turns? That final choice is already premade in his mind. Whatever Mina is, he will be. Whatever fate waits for her, he will take it himself. Simple as math.

And, because you read the title up there, we must also address Mrs. Harker herself. Dear, devoted, devastatingly down for self-sacrifice Madam Mina, who would have herself destroyed by her husband and the others just as Arthur slew Lucy.

It is what’s right!

It is what must be done!

She dare not risk harming another as a foul new pet of the Count’s..!

Unless, we have to wonder.

Unless the shoe was on the other foot.

What if it was not her, but Jonathan in her place?

Jonathan, freed from considering his wife’s impending conversion, Jonathan, who was already prepared once to get himself killed for the sake of avoiding the Brides’ kisses, Jonathan, who is so much a mirror of Mina’s caring and self-giving nature that I can picture him parroting her own demands for a proper destruction rather than rising as a vampire to imperil the others.

What then, Mina?

Mina, who witnessed Jonathan at his lowest—struck down by fever and trauma and a shock so powerful and mixed with physical illness that it left him too weak to stand even for their wedding vows.

Mina, who fell in love with a gentle and sweet Jonathan, a boy so many, many leagues away from the lauded Man’s Man archetype. The inverse opposite to the New Woman, so endearing and warm and kind and eager to be an equal with her rather than a bully or married warden.

Mina, who chose a sweetheart over a common chest-pounder groom, who never thought less of him when shock and sickness left him weak, who chose again and again in a hundred little ways to stay by him, to love him, to protect him, to never abandon him, no matter his condition.

Mina, who would give anything for the man she loves.

Mina, who, I cannot help but suspect, would give her humanity and eternity itself.

(In another world, in another story, the quote changes: ‘To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Jonathan must be a vampire in the end, then he shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone.’)

Do not endanger yourselves with my devilish form! Destroy me, save yourself!

They are hypocrites, these two. They are selfish. They hold one another above all else, beyond good and evil, God and Devil.

To the point of madness in the book.

And to us outside the pages, to the point of holiest love.

#Nice job Bramarama Stoker #You accidentally composed a brilliant narrative for the power of loving the Other despite all pressures to perform the contrary IDIOT #jonathan harker #mina harker #arthur holmwood #jack seward #quincey morris #abraham van helsing #dracula #dracula daily #holiest love

219 notes · View notes

istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Blind Girl (Arya I) [Chapter 45]

Our favourite seafarer has returned.

Her nights were lit by distant stars and the shimmer of moonlight on snow, but every dawn she woke to darkness.

She opened her eyes and stared up blind at the black that shrouded her, her dream already fading.

I realized something.

Arya's temporarily blinded, while Jon will permanently lose an eye.

Jon suffers an injury to his hand, while Arya will permanently lose ... ya know.

Hopefully not. We'll hope for the best!

+.+.+

She licked her lips, remembering. The bleating of the sheep, the terror in the shepherd's eyes, the sound the dogs had made as she killed them one by one, the snarling of her pack. Game had become scarcer since the snows began to fall, but last night they had feasted. Lamb and dog and mutton and the flesh of man. Some of her little grey cousins were afraid of men, even dead men, but not her. Meat was meat, and men were prey.

Can you not.

+.+.+

She padded to her basin on small, bare, callused feet, silent as a shadow, splashed cool water on her face, patted herself dry. Ser Gregor, she thought. Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. Her morning prayer. Or was it? No, she thought, not mine. I am no one. That is the night wolf's prayer. Someday she will find them, hunt them, smell their fear, taste their blood. Someday.

Once again I'm left in the unfortunate position where I have to encourage these thoughts so she doesn't lose Arya Stark.

+.+.+

She broke her fast on sardines, fried crisp in pepper oil and served so hot they burned her fingers.

+.+.+

Someone had entered the room behind her, moving on soft padded slippers quiet as a mouse. Her nostrils flared. The kindly man. Men had a different smell than women, and there was a hint of orange in the air as well. The priest was fond of chewing orange rinds to sweeten his breath, whenever he could get them.

I don't blame him, I hear only the mighty have access to citrus trees.

+.+.+

"And what three new things do you know that you did not know when last you left us?"

"The Sealord is still sick."

"This is no new thing. The Sealord was sick yesterday, and he will still be sick upon the morrow."

"Or dead."

"When he is dead, that will be a new thing."

When he is dead, there will be a choosing, and the knives will come out. That was the way of it in Braavos. In Westeros, a dead king was followed by his eldest son, but the Braavosi had no kings. "Tormo Fregar will be the new sealord."

"Is that what they are saying at the Inn of the Green Eel?"

"Yes."

The kindly man took a bite of his egg. The girl heard him chewing. He never spoke with his mouth full. He swallowed, and said, "Some men say there is wisdom in wine. Such men are fools. At other inns other names are being bruited about, never doubt."

Fregar is a peculiar name.

I have no idea what to make of this. Not sure how the Sealord dying could influence the plot.

+.+.+

It is snowing in the riverlands, in Westeros, she almost said. But he would have asked her how she knew that, and she did not think that he would like her answer.

Careful, don't slip.

+.+.+

"This is good to know. What else?"

"The Merling Queen has chosen a new Mermaid to take the place of the one that drowned. She is the daughter of a Prestayn serving maid, thirteen and penniless, but lovely."

"So are they all, at the beginning," said the priest, "but you cannot know that she is lovely unless you have seen her with your own eyes, and you have none. Who are you, child?"

You slipped.

I can't tell if he knows that she's a warg.

(A 13-year-old mermaid, lol)

+.+.+

"How long must I be blind?" she would ask.

"Until darkness is as sweet to you as light," the waif would say, "or until you ask us for your eyes. Ask and you shall see."

And then you will send me away. Better blind than that. They would not make her yield.

She can have her vision back at any time, but she'll have to leave.

Maybe I overemphasize how hard it will be for her to get out of this situation.

+.+.+

On the day she had woken blind, the waif took her by the hand and led her through the vaults and tunnels of the rock on which the House of Black and White was built, up the steep stone steps into the temple proper. "Count the steps as you climb," she had said. "Let your fingers brush the wall. There are markings there, invisible to the eye, plain to the touch."

That was her first lesson. There had been many more.

Your first lesson? I don't think so, kid. I distinctly remember you already teaching yourself this in another tunnel.

If the room with the monsters had been dark, the hall was the blackest pit in the seven hells. Calm as still water, Arya told herself, but even when she gave her eyes a moment to adjust, there was nothing to see but the vague grey outline of the door she had come through. She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, felt the air move, saw nothing. She was blind. A water dancer sees with all her senses, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing one two three, drank in the quiet, reached out with her hands.

Her fingers brushed against rough unfinished stone to her left. She followed the wall, her hand skimming along the surface, taking small gliding steps through the darkness. All halls lead somewhere. - Arya III, AGOT

Funny that it's come up again though.

+.+.+

Poisons and potions were for the afternoons. She had smell and touch and taste to help her, but touch and taste could be perilous when grinding poisons, and with some of the waif's more toxic concoctions even smell was less than safe. Burned pinky tips and blistered lips became familiar to her, and once she made herself so sick she could not keep down any food for days.

+.+.+

Supper was for language lessons. The blind girl understood Braavosi and could speak it passably, she had even lost most of her barbaric accent, but the kindly man was not content. He was insisting that she improve her High Valyrian and learn the tongues of Lys and Pentos too.

Do you have any idea how hard I'll laugh if Daenerys gets caught saying something she shouldn't in High Valyrian?

+.+.+

In the evening she played the lying game with the waif, but without eyes to see the game was very different. Sometimes all she had to go on was tone and choice of words; other times the waif allowed her to lay hands upon her face. At first the game was much, much harder, the next thing to impossible … but just when she was near the point of screaming with frustration, it all became much easier. She learned to hear the lies, to feel them in the play of the muscles around the mouth and eyes.

That's bad news for Petyr Baelish.

+.+.+

Without eyes, even the simplest task was perilous. She burned herself a dozen times as she worked with Umma in the kitchens. Once, chopping onions, she cut her finger down to the bone.

I am no closer to figuring out if she burns her finger(s) like Jon.

Davos watched the hand of the Stranger writhe and curl as the fingers blackened and fell away one by one, reduced to so much glowing charcoal. - Davos I, ACOK

Or cuts her finger(s) like Catelyn.

The thumb of her left hand was covered with blood. When she sucked on it, she saw that half the thumbnail was gone, ripped off in her fall. - Arya V, AGOT

+.+.+

She knew Umma and the servants and the acolytes by the pattern of their footfalls, could tell one from the other before they got close enough to smell (but not the waif or the kindly man, who hardly made a sound at all unless they wanted to).

He's always spotlighting how little sound these people make.

She crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same. "She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears," he said. How could he hear me? she wondered, and it seemed as if he heard that as well. "The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. Clever girls go barefoot." - Arya VIII, ACOK

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal. - Arya IX, ACOK

Silent as a shadow, she would tell herself, remembering Syrio. - Arya II, AFFC

I know why.

She is standing over me. "Who's there?" Dany peered into the darkness. She thought she could see a shadow, the faintest outline of a shape. - Daenerys III, ADWD

A soft rustle made her open them again. She sat up with a soft splash. "Missandei?" she called. "Irri? Jhiqui?" - Daenerys II, ADWD

Dany flinched. "Who is there?" - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

When the serving men arrived to bear the corpse away, the blind girl followed them. She let their footsteps be her guide, but when they made their descent she counted. She knew the counts of all the steps by heart. Under the temple was a maze of vaults and tunnels where even men with two good eyes were often lost, but the blind girl had learned every inch of it, and she had her stick to help her find her way should her memory falter.

Hahaha.

+.+.+

"Not there," the voice said. "Are you blind?"

She did not answer. Talking would only muddle any sounds he might be making. He would be moving, she knew. Left or right? She jumped left, swung right, hit nothing. A stinging cut from behind her caught her in the back of the legs. "Are you deaf?" She spun, the stick in her left hand, whirling, missing. From the left she heard the sound of laughter. She slashed right.

This time she connected. Her stick smacked off his own. The impact sent a jolt up her arm. "Good," the voice said.

The blind girl did not know whom the voice belonged to. One of the acolytes, she supposed. She did not remember ever hearing his voice before, but what was there to say that the servants of the Many-Faced God could not change their voices as easily as they did their faces? Besides her, the House of Black and White was home to two serving men, three acolytes, Umma the cook, and the two priests that she called the waif and the kindly man. Others came and went, sometimes by secret ways, but those were the only ones who lived here. Her nemesis could be any of them.

[...]

The vault was still and silent. He was gone. Or was he? He could be standing right beside her, she would never know. Listen for his breathing, she told herself, but there was nothing. She gave it another moment, then put her stick aside and resumed her work. If I had my eyes, I could beat him bloody. One day the kindly man would give them back, and she would show them all.

I'm going to give myself a hernia if there's one more reference to secret tunnels.

I'm not thrilled with her sparring with the kindly man, I'd prefer the waif. That last line is especially troubling.

It reminds me of something else.

It would have been a different fight if Jon had been armed with Longclaw, but … - Jon VI, ADWD

+.+.+

She missed the friends she'd had when she was Cat of the Canals; Old Brusco with his bad back, his daughters Talea and Brea, the mummers from the Ship, Merry and her whores at the Happy Port, all the other rogues and wharfside scum. She missed Cat herself the most of all, even more than she missed her eyes. She had liked being Cat, more than she had ever liked being Salty or Squab or Weasel or Arry.

Was that when you spent all your time at the harbor?

+.+.+

I killed Cat when I killed that singer. The kindly man had told her that they would have taken her eyes from her anyway, to help her to learn to use her other senses, but not for half a year. Blind acolytes were common in the House of Black and White, but few as young as she. The girl was not sorry, though. Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die.

Sigh.

+.+.+

She had said as much to the kindly man. "And are you a god, to decide who should live and who should die?" he asked her. "We give the gift to those marked by Him of Many Faces, after prayers and sacrifice. So has it always been, from the beginning.

The right message, but a crock of shit coming from anyone belonging to this institution.

They're hired assassins, anyone who pays gets to play god. Did Him of Many Faces mark Balon Greyjoy or did Euron? Yeah, exactly.

+.+.+

I have told you of the founding of our order, of how the first of us answered the prayers of slaves who wished for death. The gift was given only to those who yearned for it, in the beginning … but one day, the first of us heard a slave praying not for his own death but for his master's. So fervently did he desire this that he offered all he had, that his prayer might be answered. And it seemed to our first brother that this sacrifice would be pleasing to Him of Many Faces, so that night he granted the prayer. Then he went to the slave and said, 'You offered all you had for this man's death, but slaves have nothing but their lives. That is what the god desires of you. For the rest of your days on earth, you will serve him.' And from that moment, we were two." His hand closed around her arm, gently but firmly. "All men must die. We are but death's instruments, not death himself. When you slew the singer, you took god's powers on yourself. We kill men, but we do not presume to judge them. Do you understand?"

No, she thought. "Yes," she said.

Sounds like a Valyrian slave was turned into a slave for the Many-Faced God.

And it seemed to our first brother that this sacrifice would be pleasing to Him of Many Faces

Lol?

Kind of like Melisandre and Dam-phair "knowing" what their gods want. Religion must be fun when you get to make up all the rules.

Ah well, at least we got more House of Black and White versus Valyria backstory. It tells me Daenerys and Arya will be the best of friends.

+.+.+

Instead she gave her pox scars and a mummer's mole on one cheek with a dark hair growing from it. "Is it ugly?" the blind girl asked.

"It is not pretty."

"Good." She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. Even Jon would never know Blind Beth, I bet. That made her sad.

My unpopular opinion is that you're being baited if you believe this is a retelling of The Ugly Duckling.

It's okay if Arya doesn't transform into a great beauty.

+.+.+

A wisp of scented smoke hung in the air, drawing her down the winding path to where the red priests had fired the great iron braziers outside the house of the Lord of Light. Soon she could even feel the heat in the air, as red R'hllor's worshipers lifted their voices in prayer. "For the night is dark and full of terrors," they prayed.

Not for me. Her nights were bathed in moonlight and filled with the songs of her pack, with the taste of red meat torn off the bone, with the warm familiar smells of her grey cousins. Only during the days was she alone and blind.

I love everything about that.

+.+.+

No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

Same goes for mothers.

Careful with that Cat.

"You take one, that's a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you're part of him. Both of you will change."

Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. - Prologue, ADWD

+.+.+

And later three Lyseni, sailors off the Goodheart, a storm-wracked galley that had limped into Braavos last night and been seized this morning by the Sealord's guards.

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong.

Cheating during your blind lessons!

But she was no one and she heard most every word.

For someone who continues to struggle with the language of Braavos, you sure learned the tongue of Lys quickly. *glances at the author*

+.+.+

The next morning, when the kindly man asked her what three things she knew that she had not known before, she was ready.

"I know why the Sealord seized the Goodheart. She was carrying slaves. Hundreds of slaves, women and children, roped together in her hold." Braavos had been founded by escaped slaves, and the slave trade was forbidden here.

"I know where the slaves came from. They were wildlings from Westeros, from a place called Hardhome. An old ruined place, accursed." Old Nan had told her tales of Hardhome, back at Winterfell when she had still been Arya Stark. "After the big battle where the King-Beyond-the-Wall was killed, the wildlings ran away, and this woods witch said that if they went to Hardhome, ships would come and carry them away to someplace warm. But no ships came, except these two Lyseni pirates, Goodheart and Elephant, that had been driven north by a storm. They dropped anchor off Hardhome to make repairs, and saw the wildlings, but there were thousands and they didn't have room for all of them, so they said they'd just take the women and the children. The wildlings had nothing to eat, so the men sent out their wives and daughters, but as soon as the ships were out to sea, the Lyseni drove them below and roped them up. They meant to sell them all in Lys. Only then they ran into another storm and the ships were parted. The Goodheart was so damaged her captain had no choice but to put in here, but the Elephant may have made it back to Lys. The Lyseni at Pynto's think that she'll return with more ships. The price of slaves is rising, they said, and there are thousands more women and children at Hardhome."

Yikes. If that doesn't underscore the dangers in believing prophecy, I don't know what will.

More Lyseni ships are going to Hardhome, but I don't think we have to worry about it.

At Hardhome, with six ships. Wild seas. Blackbird lost with all hands, two Lyseni ships driven aground on Skane, Talon taking water. Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead. Dead things in the woods. Braavosi captains will only take women, children on their ships. Witch women call us slavers. Attempt to take Storm Crow defeated, six crew dead, many wildlings. Eight ravens left. Dead things in the water. Send help by land, seas wracked by storms. From Talon, by hand of Maester Harmune.

Cotter Pyke had made his angry mark below.

+.+.+

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she.

Cheating cheater.

Whatever, I have no problem with it. Use whatever advantage you can when you're in this place.

+.+.+

When her cup was presented to her, the blind girl wrinkled her nose and drank it down in three long gulps. Then she gasped and dropped the cup. Her tongue was on fire, and when she gulped a cup of wine the flames spread down her throat and up her nose.

[...]

And come the morning, when the night wolf left her and she opened her eyes, she saw a tallow candle burning where no candle had been the night before, its uncertain flame swaying back and forth like a whore at the Happy Port. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

I don't think he would have let her pass this part of her development if he knew what she did.

Final thoughts:

Starting from Syrio Forel, Arya's entire arc is a training montage leading to her killing Daenerys.

Where else would this be going? She's not killing Cersei, Baelish will be subjected to a trial, the Night King doesn't exist (and it's Bran's storyline anyway!), the Freys are being handled by Manderly and the brotherhood, and she doesn't require any of these skills for her mother.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #the blind girl #arya i

78 notes · View notes