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corpsebasil · 1 year

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The Second Son 18+ parte uno

When the Queen of Ravka is widowed and her place on the throne is challenged, the second son must find a way to be there for her.

Y/N pressed her head against the tomb-stone, closing her eyes against the sheer weight that was resting on her shoulders. She’d grown thinner and seemed to drain of color the past few weeks, dealing with daily state meetings, funeral preparations, and planning.

Just last night she’d been yelled at in a meeting, told that she would be forced to step down due to her lack of a son to pass the throne to. Nikolai Lantsov, the man that was technically her brother in law, had thrown a glass about three inches shy of the man’s head, shattering it against the wall.

The message was loud and clear: don’t disrespect Y/N, or Nikolai will deal with it.

He was there now, at the wake, his hand resting carefully on one shoulder as silent tear’s ran down the girl’s face. He had no idea how to truly comfort her—how to comprehend that sort of loss. Vasily had died, died somehow in his sleep, and instead of being sympathetic the members of court had accused her of killing him, had blamed her for her lack of a child, and had utterly abandoned her when she needed them most.

“I’m here for you, you know that.” Nikolai murmured, running his hand along her back. She sniffed and glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained.

“It feels like—” her voice caught and he crouched on the ground beside her, looping his arm around her back. “like I’ve lost everything. My husband, my dignity, any friends.” She shook her head, eyebrows pulling together as her pretty face began to crumple. “I have nothing left, Nikolai.”

“You have me.” He assured his queen and, damn the onlookers, he pulled her into him, holding her as close as he dared as she wept against his chest.

The next few months were torture for Nikolai.

It felt like nothing was good enough, nothing could help her. It amazed him that she managed to get herself out of bed, her miserable gaze growing cold and steely when accusations or criticism were thrown her way. She went to every meeting. Deflected every harsh phrase. And Nikolai had to watch as the woman that had always been so full of life, the woman he’d known since they were teenagers, slowly turned into a shard of ice.

“Y/N,” he called, following after her down the hall one afternoon. Her handmaidens, carefully selected by Y/N herself, all fixed him with territorial gleams in their eyes as he approached. “what do you think of a walk in the gardens?”

“She is busy, Sobachka.” One of the girls practically sneered, looking down her nose at him.

“If she wishes to walk in the gardens,” another argued, looking at her fellow maiden. “then she can with us. We will keep her safe, prince.” She smiled at Nikolai, almost sympathetically, as Y/N’s cool stare found his own.

But whatever she saw on his face had her own eyes softening, and she laid a hand on the girl that had practically hissed at him’s shoulder.

“Easy, Marian.” Y/N sighed, then nodded to the other girl. The third was still silent, peering over the queen’s shoulder with an almost childlike shyness. “Delia, Anika, will you please visit the dogs in the kennels? I hear a new batch of puppies was born and I’d like to hear if they’re worth the company.”

The shy one, Anika, immediately lit up, grasping the other two girl’s hands and rushing away, the three laughing as they raced. Nikolai had never seen such whimsical behavior in his court; it warmed him momentarily, only until the one named Marian shot him a look that promised a horrifying death if anything happened to her queen.

“My handmaidens,” Y/N mused, watching as they linked arms and began skipping as they rounded a corner. “are quite energetic. But they keep me sane.” She sighed, turning back to Nikolai, and tilted her head to the side in a ridiculously adorable way that had Nikolai feeling strangely flustered. “They are also trained killers. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you will.”

“How um—” Nikolai cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the garden. “How lovely. I do think that Marian wanted me dead on the spot.”

“She’s my cousin.” Y/N admitted, surprising Nikolai. “She came all the way from our northern cities to be at my side during this time.”

“I like her already.” Nikolai said, offering her his arm. “I’m a bit scared of her, but I like her.”

Her laugh stunned him enough that he shot her an incredulous look, one he quickly wiped off his face when she looped her arm through his own. How she could even smile with what she was going through was beyond him. But he saw the darkness under her eyes; he could see the way she seemed to sink down into herself, like she had a permanent exhaustion wrapping around her.

They moved throughout the hallway, passing into the gardens, the sweet smell of flowers floating along the air. Y/N let go of Nikolai to kneel by a rose bush, inhaling deeply. She seemed calmer, now. Less tired. She tipped her face back into the sunlight and closed her eyes, and Nikolai’s heart almost stopped.

He’d seen her do that same gesture about a hundred times but now, watching her that afternoon, she seemed more radiant than ever.

“You look—” he started, then stopped. Her eyes cut to his, wide and gorgeous, and he wasn’t sure why his chest had grown tight. “beautiful.”

Something in her face changed, a subtle twitch of the mouth, but she seemed to straighten, a sheen of delight appearing slowly in those captivating eyes of hers.

“Thank the Saints someone thinks so.” She said, laughing half-heartedly, and turned back to her flowers.

“I’m sorry about Vasily.” Nikolai blurted, his heart rate speeding. Saints where was this coming from? “I know you loved him and—”

She startled him by cackling, a surprisingly witchy sounding laugh that sent the hairs on the nape of his neck on end. He stared, borderline stunned, as she covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes twinkling at the prince.

“What?” She gasped, fighting off her laughter. She glanced around to make sure no one was around and, almost conspiratorially, whispered to him, “I hated that bastard. He was an arrogant son of a—”

“But you—you cried. At his funeral.”

“I might not have cared for him but he was still my husband.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Then she took in his stunned expression and frowned slightly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I promise I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He only shook his head, but was unable to stop himself from leaning a bit into her touch. The wicked gleam in her eyes told him enough: she would’ve like to be the one that killed him.

“You wanted children, though?” He offered, moving a step closer, and was met by a rush of warmth when she made no move to back away. “You—you always told me you wanted…you told the court that you’d tried—”

Her expression darkened and she turned away, striding a few steps before turning back.

“The people of court know nothing about my desire for children, or how much I wanted to be a mother.” Nikolai was horrified to see tears beginning to form in his queen’s eyes. “They don’t know about my—” she wiped a hand over her face and gave him an agonized look. “he wouldn’t touch me. I couldn’t tell anyone. How am I to be blamed for being childless when he wouldn’t lay a single hand on me—"

“He what?” Nikolai interrupted, startled. The fact that his brother had never bedded her, hadn’t wanted to, was a fact that made absolutely no sense to him. He’d felt a stab of burning jealously in his chest when she’d said she’d tried to have children, and had chalked it up to fertility issues. “Not once?”

“He kissed me on our wedding day. During the ceremony. That was the last time.”

He only stared, briefly winded, and moved towards her. That she didn’t move away gave him courage, not even when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave her a look so filled with longing it took her breath away.

“I’m sorry.” He said, and didn’t move when she leaned closer into him. “If I would’ve known—I knew you wanted to be a mother. I would’ve liked you to have had that, at least.”

She nodded, eyes sad, and she surprised him by hugging him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He didn’t hesitate to hold her, breathing in her flowery scent, as she pressed her face against him.

“I won’t let go of my dreams.” She whispered, fingers clutching him tighter. “I will find a good man, a man who truly loves me, and we’ll have a family together. And I’ll be at peace, knowing I’ve gotten what I’ve always wanted.”

His arms seemed to loop around her further and she closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth the best she could. This was Nikolai, one of her closest friends, the boy that had teased her and played pranks on her throughout their youth. This was the boy that had once snuck her away to a village festival had spun her around so fast during a dance she was afraid she’d puke.

The boy who, during her wedding, had rose in the middle of the ceremony and left, a barely suppressed sob catching in her throat as she watched him leave. And now he was running a hand over her hair, his face dangerously close to her own, as she pulled back to look at him.

“I need time.” She told him, voice quiet, as she looked up. “I need time but—but if you care for me…in any way I might feel about you, then maybe..” she swallowed, glancing away. “I would’ve liked it to be you.” She admitted, and he could hardly hear her words over his pounding heart. “I never wanted him. It was always—” she couldn’t finish, her grip on him tightening, and he simply laid a kiss against the top of her head, a smile on his handsome face.

“However long you need,” he said, sliding a hand up to her cheek to pull her eyes to his. “I’m here. Always.”

The months seemed to fly by. Months of spending almost every second with one another; every morning, as a tradition, they had breakfast together. They took walks together, and horse rides, and he took her to see shows and slowly, slowly, she came back to herself. She became giddy at the sight of him, at his smiling face and his kind words.

Even Marian, the coldest of her handmaidens, took a liking to Nikolai. She annihilated him when they played cards, to his dismay, but even her steely, protective cousin began demanding when they could all see the prince again. And then came the night after he and Y/N had gotten a bit drunk, laughing and dancing around her rooms.

“This is not queenly behavior,” he laughed, watching as she twirled around and around, her crown tossed carelessly on a couch.

“I’m still a girl, Nik.” She grinned, flouncing towards him, and took his hands, forcing him to dance with her. “Come on, you lazy bastard. Dance with me.”

He laughed aloud, tugging her into him and, so fast he didn’t know what he was even doing, he dropped a kiss down onto her mouth. She froze in his grip, expression sobering as she pulled back, and he instantly regretted the decision.

“I’m sorry, I—” he felt panicked, watching as she stared at him so calculatingly he was sure he had made a gigantic fool of himself. “I didn’t mean to I just—”

But then she was lunging for him, practically tackling him over as she kissed him hard, with everything she had, and he tugged her roughly against him. A pretty moaning noise left her mouth when he lifted her, wrapping her legs around him as he moved to her bedroom.

“Nikolai,” she breathed, pulling back for only half a second to look at him. “please I—”

“Anything you want.” He murmured, kissing her again, before dropping her down on her bed. She immediately shoved him onto his back, straddling his hips, pressing as close to him as she could when he tugged her mouth back to his own.

It felt desperate, ridiculously so, this inevitable joining. He practically ripped her dress off as she tugged at his belt, her face flushed and hair tousled. Then she gasped as he slipped his hand between her legs, running the calloused fingers across her center, then inside.

Her head dropped to his shoulder as she keened out his name, feeling every single curl and thrust of his fingers into her. And gods, he was good. Especially when he rolled her onto her back, tugging off the rest of her clothing, and moved down between her legs.

Her head was spinning. Spinning, as his tongue dipped inside her and then dragged up, his hand still working her as best as he could. She clutched at him, anything she could hold on to, her face so warm she thought she was on fire.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he mumbled against her, barely intruding the fog that had swarmed within her mind. “not yet.”

“That’s—” her breathing was ragged through the intensity of the pleasure. This had never been done to the queen before—never—and she was having trouble focusing on his words at all. “I want to make you—“

“Next time.” He promised, and with a particularly hard lick against her, his fingers curling to brush against that certain spot that made her head spin, she came, shaking so hard she had to grip him with both hands in order not to jolt away.

Then she laid spent, chest rising and falling at a rapid clip as he moved beside her, his lips pressing against her neck in slow, soft kisses.

“I want you to…do more with me.” She said, turning her head to face his. Lord, he didn’t even have sex with her and he looked completely fucked out. Her stomach dropped at the sight and her face warmed further.

“Later.” He swore again, bringing her mouth to his, then brushing his tongue against her own. “I want to make love to you until you can’t think of anyone else.”

“I never have.” She said, swallowing nervously. “Never anyone else.”

He ran his fingers across her cheek, smiling softly.

“You have no idea how much I care about you.” He breathed and then added, almost as an afterthought, “Your Majesty.”

“Oh hush.” She scoffed, climbing over him to straddle him once again.

They kissed long into the night, her fingers in his hair, a bruising grip from him on her hips. And then later, though not too long later, he’d tugged her up over his head, forcing her to grip the headboard as he licked at her until she broke again.

hi I feel jealous and also unhinged

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #six of crows #smut #sturmhond smut #sturmhond the sassy biotch #sturmhond x reader

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crismakesstuff · 6 months

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new invincible oc!

cele grayson aka celestial !

(they/he/she)

Cele was an artificially grown viltrumite that was apart of a secret project to help repopulate viltrum. They were the only baby that lived through the full gestational period and didn’t die after their birth. They were born august 6th, 1999

Cele was made by taking the DNA of a woman who had died during the scourge virus and of nolan grayson. It was done without his knowledge, he never knew about these experiments as they were only known about by the highest ranking viltrumites. The whole project being personally overseen by grand regent thragg who wanted to find a way to effectively create purebloods without having to mix them with other species.

They spent their early years constantly observed and studied. Days consisted of near endless experiments and exams. They were treated more like a lab rat than an actual person with all their actions under heavy supervision, monitored by thragg who was the only viltrumite they were allowed to interact with during this time. When their powers manifested at the age of 7 training immediately began. Personally taught by General Thula, they came to see her as a pseudo mother figure during this time.

At the age of 14 they were officially made a solider and allowed to go on missions with other viltrumites. At 19 they were put in charge of a planet that had anomalies that defied physics. After a year of being left mostly to themselves the stress finally began to eat away at them and their mental health took a sharp decline. One day during a visit from the generals a gravitational anomaly opened up a miniature black hole that seemed to only pull them in at first, later devouring the entire planet with her. The generals barely escaped and witnessed the entire thing believing cele to be dead.

Instead they were spat out into the multiverse from a white hole and spent the next few years surviving on their own and trying to learn how to use their new powers. When they suddenly were spat back out into their universe, they were instead in the Milky Way galaxy instead of the Andromeda galaxy. Remembering that the other viltrumites told him that their father was on earth they headed there.

Only to find out he had just left a few weeks prior after a huge fight with his son, mark. Now they have to adjust to life on earth while they hide from the empire out of fear of being found.

Themes:

With Cele i wanted to really explore the idea of “What you were made for vs. What you want to be”. As well as the trauma that came with their upbringing and them coming to terms with the lack of self worth they tend to feel and the martyr complex he develops from this trauma too.

Another major theme is the “found family” trope. Cele from a young age has always looked for parental figures and people they can feel close too since they were little but their first pseudo parents (thragg, thula) barely treated them as a true person with autonomy. When she comes to earth and meets mark and debbie they begin to really learn what a family should be. This gives them the courage to begin making friends on earth and letting people into their lives.

Powers

Viltrumite Abilities

Superhuman Strength: Cele has strength of a well trained viltrumite of their age allowing them to perform extreme feats. (One such example was when they held up the upper half of a mountain by themselves on earth during a major disaster. Scientists calculate the mass held and then placed back was anywhere from 200-400 tones)

Superhuman Speed: Cele can move at extreme speeds both on foot and in the air. Allowing him to travel around any space with extreme ease. They can fly from the earths surface to the moon in a matter of minutes. They also are capable of traveling through space on their own.

Superhuman Stamina: Due to her smart atoms Cele’s body rarely tires and is capable of physical exertion for long periods of time without becoming fatigued.

Superhuman Durability: Cele’s tissues are extremely durable to the point of almost invulnerability. While they can be damaged by other viltrumites or beings stronger than her they can withstand damage that would vaporize and easily kill a normal human. Able to withstand falling from a planet’s atmosphere onto its surface, nuclear weaponry, the surface of stars and are now invulnerable to black holes.

Flight: like any viltrumite they can manipulate the atoms around them which allows them flight. They are able to reach light speeds when flying but only do so in space.

Superhuman Equilibrium: Cele has a very enhanced sense of balance. However this sensitive process which takes place in their ears means that like any viltrumite, they could be harmed by a specific frequency which would incapacitate them and make them unable to even fly or stand upright.

Superhuman Senses: Cele possesses acutely enhanced senses. Such as hearing, smell and sight. This can also lead to them becoming easily overstimulated, especially when they arrive on earth.

Accelerated Regeneration: her body can recover from injuries at an extreme rate. Even capable of regenerating full organs, nerves and bones. As long as their heart isn’t severely damaged they can and will heal.

Decelerated Aging: like all viltrumites they have an extremely long lifespan. While they are only currently 24, they will appear the same for many centuries. Viltrumites live for many thousands of years, their own father Nolan is over 2000 years old and appears middle aged.

Non-Viltrumite Abilities

(manifest after the black hole accident)

Pocket dimensional void (PDV): Cele can access their own pocket dimension which they refer too as the "void". It is a black oxygen-less miniature dimension that is seemingly endless, although it hasn't been measured. It is mainly used by cele as a sort of infinite storage space, any item placed in here that is not an animal of some kind will stay in the exact same state as it was when placed inside. They also use it asa place to safely decompress and calm down at times.

Dark Matter Portals: Can create portals made of dark matter. These portals can either open up to the PDV or function as traditional portals that teleport an individual from place to place. If too many are opened at once and/or kept open it can quickly tire out cele and even cause them to pass out. It's one of the things that can truly exhaust them.

Gravitational Invulnerability: They are impervious to the gravitational pull of any black hole and seemingly unaffected by them where anything else would be pulled and stretched into its singularity. It is unknown if cele can fully enter into a black hole again and what would happen

Celestial Body Connection: a new manifestation that sometimes suddenly means they feel the power of whatever celestial body they are nearest too. They have no control over this and currently it means they can become completely overwhelmed with the strength of these ancient creatures that are far more powerful and knowing that herself. Perhaps one day they could harness this power but for now it remains more of a hindrance

Singularity: the creation of a very specific type of portal that is a miniature blackhole. No other portals can be active when this is done. Extremely unstable ability thatcan leave cele seriously wounded. The singularity is a writhing, bubbling ultra-condensed amount of gravity that takes a massive amount of strength and energy to control. Only done in space as to not bring harm to any celestial bodies immediately nearby because if it was done directly on top of them it could possibly begin to immediately pull in the planet or star.

-The longer cele does this the more they lose control of it. Once their sclera turn black and their irises begin to glow it means he will be left seriously injured. Their eyes will remain in that state (except their irises will no longer glow) until they are fully healed.

Inspirations

Ellie Williams: while I will say there’s no main inspiration for cele. I do draw a lot of their personality and behavior from ellie. The struggle to survive and stay alive that that then clashes with having to try and “fit in” when arriving in Jackson is something that very much mirrors Cele’s experience with arriving on earth. And cele like ellie has very little issue about hurting/killing others if it means it helps them get to their goal. The world has made them a bit jaded and awkward but there is still much love underneath that

Rei Ayanami: I mainly pulled from the idea that rei was made to be a tool for NERV and taught to be loyal and obedient no matter what. As well as the aesthetic of the lighter hair for cele, they were made to be tool for the viltrum empire and to further its goals. So when they are pulled into the black hole into the multiverse and then spat back out and they head to earth, this all crushes their world view. They learn they aren’t some weapon or tool to be fought over but rather a person with their own agency

Gwen Stacy: I am mostly pulling from her character arc in the spiderverse films. Focusing on identity and trying to find who you are both as a hero and a person, and opening yourself up to people to let them in again.

If you made it all the way to the end thank you for reading! If you have any questions about cele please send it all to my ask box! 💜

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elissanatok · 3 months

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part 4

pairing: Aemond targaryen x velaryon! (strong!) reader

summary: Aemond has loved and secretly claimed you for himself since the day you were born. losing his eye changed him, but maybe it did not affect his feelings for you as much as he thought it had

warnings: english is not my first language, angst, fluff, shy reader, unclexniece, possesive aemond, everybody adores reader in this

wordcount: 902

let me know what you think!! reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback are highly appreciated <33

You couldn’t help it. It had been this way ever since you were a child. Maybe even before that, maybe it was fated by the old gods. You tried so hard to forget about the warm feeling that memories still brought up in you when you thought about the past.

You could hear him giggling, a sound that now was lost forever. He would never be seven again, never sound like that again or look at you the way he used to. He had been your best friend, nothing else, and you wished so hard for it to become that way again.

The light of the almost complete full moon shone through the high window in your bedroom. It had always been your room, nobody dared to change a thing, even though the beautiful chamber had been empty for too long. It didn’t smell familiar anymore, you had realized and so had Aemond, for the hundredth time, while standing in the doorway. You did have a bad habit of not closing the door when you wished for some privacy, always feeling safe and respected in both your homes, but now it seemed like the dumbest thing you had ever done.

In his life he had visited your room more often than you did yourself, he would never say it or tell you, but it was more his than yours at this point. But than again that’s what you felt a lot throughout your life. Being more his than your own.

He stood there for a few minutes, not saying a word, not breathing too loud.

You looked pretty when you cried. Your eyes tinged red and your cheeks stained wet. The color of your lips more prominent because of the swelling. He felt captivated by the sight, but he knew that it was his fault you had shed painful tears. He cleared his throat, clenching his hands behind his back. A small gasp escaped you while your hand flew to your chest, touching the skin above your heart.

“Princess.”, he greeted- you didn´t answer. Your eyes fixed on him like a prey prepared to get his throat torn out, until they changed to the eyes of a dragon, ready for her own meal.

“Did you come here to violate me again?”’ His eyes widened. He certainly didn´t expect you to confront him so straight forward and he never wanted you to believe he had wanted to hurt you. “I…”, “or did you come to make fun of my hair?”

He shook his head. “No. It wasn´t my intention to…”, “Are you certain about that?” He shook his head again, white hair falling out of place. “If it wasn´t you intention than why did you say it? Why couldn´t you hold back when it wasn´t your intention?”

You turned away, trying to hide the tears that were most likely to fall. “I never meant to hurt you, please believe me. I -I lost control of my temper- I didn´t mean to.” He wasn´t apologizing, you both knew that. He had grown up to a man with great self control, he didn´t even know why he had not excluded you from the speech he presented. He wished he would have been controlled enough to ignore the little smirks Lucerys threw at him and instead could have talked to you in a normal way, maybe charmed you a little.

But he had not been able to control his brewing rage, that’s why he now stood in front of a woman he himself felt he had never met before. She had never looked at him like this. Full of hate and pain. It made her look different, but changed nothing about the feelings he kept for her. She was his, and he knew no matter what happened in the future, no matter how she looked at him, his love would always be reserved for her.

You heard his footsteps retrieve from your room, so you hastily ran to the door and slammed it shut – louder than you had intended to.

He had never made you feel like this. He had almost begged you to allow him to touch your hair a few years ago, because he liked it being so different than his. Curly, dark and unruly, not as silky and light as you would have liked for it to be.

It made you doubt. Doubt yourself, although you knew that it was useless. You could not change your appearance you had told yourself, you couldn´t change his view of you, just like you couldn´t change the image of him in your head – no matter how hard you tried or how hard he seemed to try to break it.

When the sun rose again the next morning, and the maids came to prepare you for the day, raking their gentle hands through your hair, you could not stop your wandering thoughts again. The circles under your eyes showed your clear lack of sleep, and everybody would be able to see them. But you weren´t sure anymore if you were good enough to stay in the red keep, if you were strong enough to handle the ongoing feud between your family members.

This had been your home, until it hadn´t. This people were your home, until they weren´t anymore and maybe you were the only one who believed that things here hadn´t changed, just because you didn´t.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #hotd #aemond fic #aemond imagine #aemond smut #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #velaryon reader #jace velaryon #lucerys velaryon #strong reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targeryan

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charlie-lec-stories · 7 months

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Ride // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Summary: She's battling the fight of her life, he crashed into her life in the middle of the chaos and now won't leave.

Warnings: descriptions of illness and its treatment, mentions of death and a lot of existencial crisis.

Author’s Note: I keep finding old stories that fit this account and I find myself to lazy to keep editing the longer story I started, so this is another one-shot for you guys. Rate: +16 (descriptions of sickness)

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It was her laugh, that was the first thing he heard. Charles didn't like all of that PR things he had to do, but when he was told that he was requested by Make A Wish, he didn't have the heart to say no. What did surprise him nonetheless was that the person who asked for him wasn't a kid, but a woman his age. He wasn't used to grown up women to ask for rides just so they could sit in the car, usually they were looking for other activities inside it. But his agent assured him that this woman just wanted a ride in the super car, like the celebrities got, and when they asked which driver she wanted, she asked for him. She said something along the lines of "he seems like a joy to be around" and that made it all too difficult for him to refuse the wish. So there he was, standing beside the Ferrari super car, waiting for the mystery girl.

"Remember to always grab tightly to the handle over the door". Catherine, the representative from Make A Wish, was making her way into the paddock, walking backwards and looking down as she talked. Charles couldn't see the other person, but he heard the laugh, and it was the most beautiful laugh he had ever heard.

"I know, I'll be fine, I'll be in the hands of one of the best drivers in the world. Nothing can go wrong". She said between giggles. Charles could feel his chest fill with pride at the compliment.

"This guys drive rough, I just don't want you to get hurt, your dad would kill me for that". Catherine's voice hinted a little bit of worry from her end. The last thing she wanted was for her friend to bury his daughter even earlier than he expected. As the woman moved away, Charles could finally lay eyes on the wisher. She was pale and her eyes were a little sunken, but a radian smile adorned her tired face. The wheeling chair that moved her around was quickly rolling towards them, an electric engine powering it up. Once they were facing each other, Catherine made the proper introductions. "Y/N, this is Charles Leclerc, F1 driver for Scuderia Ferrari Formula One Team". The pale girl looked up and smiled at him. "Charles, this is Y/N. She made the wish of riding a super car at full speed. We hope you can make her wish come true... And return her back to us in one piece". Catherine's warning tone made Y/N chuckle. Charles looked down at Y/N, her energetic personality already fueling him up.

"Nice to meet you Y/N". He extended his hand and she took it weakly, her hand cold and bony. "Ready for your wish to come true?"

"I was born ready". She said as she let go of his hand. For a moment, he felt sad of letting go, but he did anyways. He walked to the car and opened the passenger's door for her. Catherine helped her up from the wheeling chair and they slowly made their way to the car. Charles grabbed her hand and helped her in, fastening her seatbelt and making sure she was comfortable before shutting the door and sprinting to his side of the car.

"If you want to stop at any moment or if you feel like getting off the car, just tell me. I can also slow down if you need it". He said, concern tinting his words. His accent got strong and his breathing uneven. He was worried, but she looked at him like this was the most normal activity of her life.

"Don't worry. I'll probably ask for you to drive faster". She smirked and he shook his head and started the car.

To say that those were the funniest laps of his life would fall plain short to reality. He had the time of his life and, taking into account how loud she laughed the whole time, she did too. They spent the ride talking and laughing. She asked a few times for him to drive faster and he took the chance to do that at every straight the track had. When it was over, he felt like he needed more time. He helped her out of the car and back into the wheelchair. The goodbye felt bittersweet, but he knew that that was the deal. He was walking away when something light up inside his mind.

"Now is lunch break, isn't it?". He asked his assistant. She nodded, he had two hours to do whatever he wanted. He turned around and ran to Y/N, who was rolling down the ramp of the exit. "Y/N! Wait!". He yelled, the woman stopping in her tracks and looking around to meet his gaze. He ran up the few meters that separated them. "I have a break now, you know? Lunch break". She smiled as Charles looked at everything but her, suddenly shy and scratching the back of his neck. "I was wondering if you had any other plans? If you don't maybe you would like to grab lunch with me?". Everything came out as a question and he hated himself for how insecure he sounded. He wasn't like that.

"I'd love that, Charles". He smiled wide. "But...". His face fell before she could finish her sentence. "...It has to be quick, I have to go back to the hospital".

"Yeah, sure. Of course. I'll drive you myself". He assured her once he understood that she wasn't rejecting his invitation.

"I'm on one third of my sessions now". She explained to Charles while they were eating at a restaurant close to the hospital. He asked about her health and she explained to him that she was battling uterine cancer. She was diagnosed on a late stage and the doctors decided to do chemotherapy first before the surgery.

"So that means you could get your surgery in a few months, no?". He asked.

"Yeah, if everything goes according to the plan, then yes". She seemed hopeful and he found it a catchy feeling, since he was feeling hopeful too. "I think I'm going to be alright. But since life is... you know... unpredictable, I wanted to make my wish come true before I couldn't anymore".

"I'm glad you picked me for that".

Two weeks later, at the other side of the world, he found himself still thinking about that day. How good it felt to be around her, how much he liked to make her laugh, how peaceful she was about almost everything, even her own health. He was smitten, he couldn't deny it. That was the reason why he sent her the first gift in the first place, he liked her and he didn't know what to do about it. He brought a golden necklace with a bright red heart-shaped ruby, it was expensive, but he didn't care. He sent it with a note for her and half a dozen of red roses. Three days later, she sent him a message through Instagram, thanking him for the gift and telling him how much she loved it. They kept talking for another week, until he decided to travel back to visit her. He had a week off before another race and he didn't want to let the chance slip away from him.

When he arrived at the hospital, the reality of her life hit him in the face. There were other patients, some in rougher states than others, machines beeping and health workers running around. He looked for the room where he was told she was. It was at the end of the hallway, one that seemed to never end. He gripped the flowers tighter, his breathing hard blowing through his nose, a tingling sensation in his toes as he got closer. Was he ready to see her like that? He could picture her suffering, machines and tubes all around. He had never been in a chemotherapy room before, but he couldn't expect it to be nice. It was quite a surprise for him when he opened the door and saw people just sitting and chatting, all peacefully joking around while connected to their IVs. Y/N looked at the door and smiled wide at him. He saw that she was wearing the necklace and the red envelope of the letter he wrote for her was at the table by her side. She was resting on pretty comfortable chair, similar to a couch.

"What a surprise!". She told him excitedly. "What are you doing here, Charles?". She was notoriously paler than before, but she was still very cheerful. He walked to wards her and handed her the flowers he brought.

"I wanted to see you. See how you were doing". He could feel his cheeks burning bright. He heard the other two women in the room giggling. Y/N glared at them when she noticed the pink that covered Charles’ face and they stopped.

“That’s so sweet of you”. She was melting inside. “It’s nice to see you again”.

“How are you feeling?”. He sat on a chair - not as nice as hers - next to her and took her hand. She blushed instantly giving him some sort of new found confidence.

“Better. I think the chemo is working, Charles”. Her eyes were big and full of hope. “Think I can beat this”. She looked happier, but not better. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, slightly skinnier than the last time he saw her almost a month ago.

“You can”. He said nonetheless, because he believed in her. She squeezed his hand lightly.

He made himself the promise that he would visit her as much as he could. They exchanged phone numbers and every morning he sent her a message, wishing her a good day. She found herself receiving those ‘morning messages’ at all crazy times of the day, Charles completely forgetting about time zones, but she loved them so much that she didn’t dare to tell him to stop. She answered every one of them. His visits got closer together, just like them. They would go around the hospital, him wheeling her around, taking her on ‘adventures’ and sprinting her around to ‘feel the excitement of the speed’. He took her out to classical concerts and the theatre, evenings of art and dinner that would always end up with them shattered that they were over. He was getting better at the races too, having found a new inspiration to better himself on the track. Everything seemed to work out, everything except her health. She was weaker every time he saw her and even though he wanted to keep his hopes up, he was scared that she could be slipping away. She reassured him that even if the chemo was hard on her, that didn’t mean it wasn’t working. Still, he was afraid. In three months knowing each other, he had grown fond of her. He knew from the start that he didn’t want to be her friend, that he wanted more, but she had this wall around her, and he understood. Sometimes, he understood.

“This is crazy, Charles. We’re gonna get kicked out. I’ll have to finish my treatment in a basement”. She whisper-yelled as he wheeled her up to the roof.

“Be quiet, you’ll get us caught”. He tried to sound serious but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re a madman”. She giggled and he felt his heart skip a beat. He loved her laugh, he just couldn’t help it. Once they reached the roof, he wheeled her to the north end of it, where a blanket was lying on the floor, a basket with food and drinks on top of it. He was on summer break and he thought that it would be nice to have a picnic, even if they had to stay in the hospital. He didn’t tell her, but he planned it with her doctors. She wasn’t allowed out and about anymore, her immune system weakened from the treatment, so they all planned this so she could get some air. A nurse was close by, ready to help if needed.

“You outdid yourself this time”. She said looking at the scene in front of her. He helped her on the blanket, pulling her up the chair and gently placing her on the floor. She didn’t weigh much, and Charles hated that. He wanted her heavy and healthy.

“You deserved some fresh air”. He sat next to her and pulled his phone out, an 80’s classics playlist filling the air. She leaned her head on his shoulder. She looked tired.

“Thank you, Charles”. He kissed the top of her head. They chatted and ate for at least an hour. The day was almost over, the sun going down as they rested on the floor, looking at the sky. Charles knew that they had to come down in a few minutes, so he helped her sit up and they looked at each other for a moment.

“I hope this was…” but he couldn’t find it in himself to keep talking. She was close, so close that they were practically sharing a breath. Her big eyes looking into his soul, never dropping the gaze, not even when his hand placed itself on her cheek or when his eyes went to her lips. He moved forward almost on his own, without thinking it, his lips gazing hers shyly, but his heart shattered when they never collided. Her hand rested firmly but softly on his chest, keeping him from moving forward.

“No”. She breathed it out, pain and hurt dripping from it. “Don’t do this to yourself”. He moved back, his frown showing his confusion with clarity.

“What do you mean by that?”. He sounded almost angry at her comment. And maybe he was, maybe he felt offended that she saw herself as a burden, as a problem he shouldn’t get himself into.

“You know what I mean”. Her annoyance was not hidden. She didn’t want to have to say it. “You know”.

“No”. He shook his head fervently.

“I’m sick, Charles”. His eyes shot closed at her words and she felt the pain in her chest that proved her that this was the right thing to do. He couldn’t hurt more than he was already hurting. “You shouldn’t get too attached”.

“Too late. I already like you”. He retorted looking back at her with a confident gaze. He crashed his lips on hers before she could make up another excuse, kissing her like his life depended on it. Because maybe it did, him not being able to breath without her there, next to him. She kissed back with a shared sentiment. One of his hands grabbed her face, pulling her even closer, moving her onto his lap. They just couldn’t stop, too afraid of what would happen once they did. His other hand sneaked behind her lower back, pressing her against him tightly. At some point, they needed to breath. “I like you. I want you. The good and the bad. I want to be with you. I don’t care if it’s for 4 months or 40 years. I just want you for as long as you’ll have me”. He could see the hesitation in her eyes. “Please”. She let out a long sight, but nodded her head.

“I like you too”.

Not too long after that, Charles came face to face with the worst side of her illness. He had to watch her suffer and all he could do was grab her hand. He talked to his team, explaining to them that he was taking days off from Monday to Thursday every week to go and see her. She tried to convince him not to, she had a valid point, it could affect his races badly. But contrary to what she expected, he did better like that. Charles learned to focus more in the months knowing Y/N. He learned to multitask. He could chat with her about a movie while he checked her IV and put some lotion on her hands. He could read her medical reports while helping her with her food and tucking her better in her bed. Charles put everything he had to focus on her and what she needed on those four days a week, so he did the same with the races when he traveled back. He had this new concentration on the track and out of it.

Faster than he expected, she finished chemo. Charles was there for her last session, holding her hand as always. They were talking about his last race and the rainy conditions he had to deal with when the last bit of her IV was finally done. He flickered his eyes towards it, noticing it was over, he smiled at her. She was ready for her last lab test. The treatment had been working, she was getting better, even if it was taking a toll on her. They just needed one more to be sure and she’ll get her surgery. The nurse took the sample and disconnected the IV. For a moment, they stayed quiet.

“You’re going to be in Brazil when the results are back. Do you want me to text them to you or-“.

“Yes, please. Don’t leave me hanging”. He cut her off quickly. He wanted to be there with her, but he knew that he had to race. “I wish I could be here with you”.

“I know, babe”. She squeezed his hand. “But you have a job. You’re already doing a lot, coming back for a few days”.

“It’s not enough”. He said shaking his head. “This is important and I’m going to miss it”

“I’m not gonna be alone. My parents and friends will be here and I know you’ll be thinking about me”. He kissed her hand.

“I’m always thinking about you, Cherie”. She laughed.

“I’m the one who’s not doing enough. You’re always here for me, I’m never there with you”. She said, the sadness clear in her tone. “You need support too. I’m an awful girlfriend”.

“No, mon amour, you’re not. I understand that you can’t be there”. He tried to make her feel better. “I know that you’re here, watching the races and cheering for me”.

“I’ll make you a promise”. She proposed out of nowhere. “If this works out, if I get better…”.

“And you will”. He added quickly.

“…I’ll be there for you, every race”. Charles’ eyes lit up. He could picture her, walking around the paddock, wearing a Ferrari shirt with his name and number in the back.

Charles never felt more relieved by a text message. When he heard the ringtone of his phone he was in the middle of an interview. He wasn’t supposed to have it with him, but he snuck it in to be able to see the message about the results as quickly as he could. Max Verstappen and Lando Norris were there with him. They both heard the phone and waited expectantly for the news. Everyone in the paddock was aware of Charles’ girlfriend’s health and they tried to keep it away from the press. ‘I’m ready for surgery. The chemo worked. I love you, Charlie.’. He felt like he was breathing again. Not only for the news, but also for those three words that got him all fuzzy inside. He knew they still had a long way to go, but he knew they were on the right path to love each other for many, many years. He smiled wide while he texted her back. ‘I’m so happy, mon amour! I love you more’.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I think I might dedicate the page to one-shots only.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader

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crownedinmarigolds · 3 months

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Question about khanni and the cool lore implications:

Would her creation make her something of a revnant or dhampir? Do yall have a name for it in your homebrew games?

Further cool question? If im following the timeline correctly, shes created between 1990s-2000s- do u think any work got out that thinbloods were a key to make hybrids?

As you know, fan of your blurbos and in the process of making my own wod timeline with friends!

Ahhh what interesting questions....! So while we're still fully werkin' it all out ourselves, here's what @thesixthplaneteer and I say about the situation: From what we've been reading up, Kahanni is probably very close to a dhampir but without restrictions, according to book. Though because of V5 no longer having dhampir (yet?) she's probably closest to a Thinblood? But also not. She essentially is a living vampire who can bond, Embrace, make new disciplines if she desires... From what sixthplaneteer has conceptualized: Kahn is a Ushebti (SETITE MAGICCC) construct made of flesh, given life through necromancy and Thinblood alchemy. She was grown in her mother's womb from start to finish and was born... obviously a TON of magic and blood had to happen. She was born in 2000! (In the older lore a Garou was also born in 2000 kind of like this as well, so we call them Apocalypse Twins haha!) And no - unless there was a SIGNIFICANT breach in trust - this news was kept extremely on the downlow within Harrakhty's inner circle. Many see Kahn as the second coming of Set and they would not allow any rumors to discredit her. Setites are incredibly secretive as is with their goings-ons, so this hopefully wouldn't be an issue they dealt with. Nyth and Noa when doing this for them are probably the only outsiders who know what went down. After Kahn was born, Harri and Pari went on a very long "away from the temple" sabbatical, not unlike them, and twenty years later returned with a full grown woman. So many followers would not have watched Kahanni grow up. Kahn DOES have a soul as well, so as a Ushebti construct, even if you were to fully explain how she was born, she more than likely would not crumble like a normal construct. She's a person, they just used similar magics in the process! Also: Kahn is basically Harri's twin, pre-Embrace. She grows tall like him, she's muscular and confident. She has some of her mother's striking features but she is all Harri. Setite Magic was used to change his appearance back in the late 1800s, so the two do not seem as similar as they would be if he looked as he was first Embraced. Thank you for asking!! :0 I'm so curious as to what you have in mind. :3c Bonus sketch of the family together!

#long post #wilted roses #vampire the masquerade #vtm #kahn #kahanni #followers of set #droppin' that hot kahn lore!!!#setites #thesixthplaneteer #insatiablewit #answered asks #vtm oc #my art

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humanpurposes · 1 year

Text

Karma is a God

Chapter 6: Winterfell

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: grief/mourning, mentions of death

Words: 5700

A/n: Originally posted on AO3, posting to Tumblr before I get back to regular updates.

“You never told me why Maegor had so many wives.” The little girl with dark hair asked, curled under her uncle’s arm.

The boy with silver hair didn’t look up from the pages of the book he held on his lap. “Shouldn’t you read the history books yourself?” The girl hummed smugly and nestled further into his side, she knew he would never refuse her. He sighed. “Because he wanted an heir.”

“Why?”

“It is the duty of a King to ensure the succession of his bloodline, for the security of the realm.”

“But he never succeeded.”

“No, all the children born of Maegor’s wives were stillborn.”

She contemplated this for a moment. “Why?”

“Some say he was cursed after he killed his nephew.”

That story she had heard of, how the Conqueror's son and grandson had waged war against each other for the throne. How Aegon the Uncrowned had led his armies from atop his Dragon, Quicksilver, to claim the crown worn by his father, while his uncle, rider of Balerion, had met him above the God’s Eye. Her grandfather had told her countless tales of the Black Dread. Poor Quicksilver never stood a chance.

She shifted herself to lay her back against him, rearing her head back so she could see his face. “Aemond?”

His eyes were still on his book as he gave a distant “hmm?”

“When will I marry?”

She felt his breathing still and his heart beat a little faster. “When you are of age, I would expect.”

“When will that be?”

“You will be a woman grown when you are six and ten, so a decade from now. Or perhaps less, my mother was married at four and ten.”

She kept her wide eyes fixed upon his face, mapping the freckles against his soft pale skin. “Will my husband be cruel?”

He shook his head a little. “I hardly think your mother would allow that.”

“What of Maegor’s Black Brides? Why did their mothers not protect them?”

He closed the book, slowly, with a light thud as the pages came together. He placed it on the table before him and let his arm find his way around her. “You’re the granddaughter of the King, you’ll always be well protected by your family.”

She hauled herself up and came to sit on her knees on the settee beside him. “And you?”

He rolled his eyes, in the way he always did when she asked him foolish questions. “Yes, I will protect you.”

She held her hand up to him, little fingers outstretched. “Promise?”

He placed his hand against hers, letting his fingers intertwine between hers and close around her knuckles. She did the same in return. “I promise, Lucerra.”

This time, when she wakes, the world feels real.

Her body melts into a soft mattress, too soft really, she could almost be floating– no . She is grounded. She is awake. She is alive.

She breathes, lets herself feel the air rushing into her lungs and her back pressing a little further into the bed. She is aware of every sensation against her skin, the bandages over her torso, the thick nightshift and the heavy fur throw over her body.

Her eyes see the room as it is, not like the vague blur she scarcely remembers of the hut by Shipbreaker Bay. The light is low but it is comforting. Daylight seeps in through the shutters and gaps in the curtains, but mostly the room is lit by a roaring fire that crackles and hums from a grey stone fireplace. It is small, smaller than her bedchamber at Dragonstone, but it feels full enough, with a pair of settees before the fireplace, a chest of draws, a dining table and a copper bathtub in the corner. All of the wood is dark and all the upholstery black.

She had almost forgotten what stillness feels like, what warmth feels like, what her thoughts sound like now that her pain seems to have mostly numbed. That is, until she tries to sit up and a sharpness in her chest holds her down against the bed.

The wind howls against the walls and, for a moment, she can almost believe she is home, if she keeps her eyes closed and imagines the smell of smoke and the sound of the sea–

A coldness washes over her. She tastes salt on her tongue. Her heart pounds in her chest as she frantically fights to breathe. The edges of the room seem to fade, until all she sees is the furious glow of the fire, but even that fades… the rain beats against her leathers as her hands pull on Arrax’s reins. An open jaw comes to claim a debt.

She doesn’t see his face as she falls but she hears his voice. It’s not the chilling whisper she had heard in that hidden corner of the Red Keep, it’s grating, hoarse and desperate. “LUKE!”

She keeps falling, further and further, until she forgets where she fell from.

“Luke?” A softer voice drags her from the storm.

Her head snaps to the side of the bed, to the boy who has appeared before her, a boy with unruly curls and eyes as dark as hers. Her hand drifts towards him and settles against his cheek.

He’s real. He’s here. “Jace…”

Her brother has changed in the weeks they have been apart. His eyes are tired, his skin is paler, and when he smiles it is a sad thing. He places his hand over hers and presses her further against him.

He whispers her name, over and over again, like he can’t believe what his eyes are so plainly telling him.

“Mother,” she breathes, hand trembling against his cheek, “does she know?”

“You’ve been asleep for a few hours,” he says delicately, slowly taking her hand and lowering it to her side against the mattress. “I sent a raven to Dragonstone as soon as you arrived; she will know by the day’s end.”

Her memories are hazy, though now she starts to think, most of it comes flooding back; the flight from the Stormlands, how the dragon had settled below her, how she had pushed herself onto her hands and looked past it’s head to see a sprawling complex of a castle, looming through the distance and the snowfall.

The thought of being a guest at another Lord’s castle filled her with dread, but she understands now. She wanted to go home, and the dragon had brought her to Jace.

“The maester said it’s a marvel you’re still alive, such injuries are often fatal if left untreated for this long. But you are here now, broken bones and all.

She looks down at the bandages over her chest and her limbs, squeezing down around her skin, but the pain has mostly faded. “What happened?” She asks, “how long has it been?”

“You flew to Storm’s End a day and a fortnight ago. I was still at the Eerie, and mother sent a raven. She said you hadn’t returned, she was planning on going to the Stormlands herself to uncover the truth but then- ugh.” He swallows down a sob and his eyes drift down.

“What?”

He takes a slow breath. “Then news came from King’s Landing. Apparently Aemond declared his so-called-victory to the court and Aegon threw a feast in his honour. The world thought you dead and they celebrated .”

She hadn’t thought it possible to overestimate Aemond’s hatred for her. What a crushing thing it is to be proved wrong.

“He meant to kill me,” she whispers. “He chased us down through a storm and laughed as he did it.”

“I should have gone with you. I should have protected you. I should never have suggested this in the first place.”

“Please,” she says, vaguely waving her hand to stop him. It isn’t his fault, surely he knows that, but aside from that, she can’t bear the whining melancholy.

Jace’s head falls. “I’m sorry about Arrax, I hear his remains were found by Baratheon’s men in the sea below Storm’s End. But you have a new mount I see. He’s impressive, though I can’t say I recognise him.”

She supposes she owes her life to the dragon that carried her here. She too had no recollection of this dragon at the Dragonmount, or in the Dragon Pit back at King’s Landing, but she had heard tales, on the days she and Rhaena had gone to visit the village on Dragonstone, of a dragon that had never known a rider, that spent its days flying low over the Narrow Sea and fishing for prey.

“It’s Grey Ghost,” she decides. “He must have saved me from the fall, and then he found me, he came to me at the dock at Rainwood.”

“Rainwood? You must tell me more of your travels when you are better rested.”

“It’s not a particularly exciting story. I’m not sure I remember most of it.” She’s not sure if she wants to either.

A soft knock sounds at the door. Jace looks to her with an expectant expression. She tilts her head and nods her approval. She tries to sit up but he puts his arms out to stop her.

And so in strides the Warden of the North, dressed in a thick, fur lined cloak, his dark hair falling in ringlets to his shoulders, his sharp jaw shadowed with stubble, and his blue eyes as piercing and pale as ice.

She can’t help but wince at her own appearance, a Princess, in a nightgown, her brow coated in a thin layer of sweat, her hair falling limply around her shoulders, unable to even sit up to mark his entry.

“Princess Lucerra,” he says with a warm voice and a bow. “What a relief it is to know you are well, and an honour it is to welcome you to Winterfell.”

The castle’s maester won’t let her leave the room, or spend too long standing if it can be helped, which, for the first few days, she does not protest against.

Jace spends as much time as he can in her presence, eating his meals at the dining table, reading letters before the fire, or just sitting by his sister’s side. Sometimes she wakes to hear faint sobs, which disappear as soon as he realises she’s awake.

She has read of the North in books. A savage place, as Aegon used to tell her, where men fight each other for scraps like dogs, the women are miserable and misbehaving children are fed to the wolves. Aemond would rebuke such claims of course, but said it was dull, a cold wasteland, no place for a dragon.

Cold it may be but dull it is not. From the window in her bedchamber she sees the blanket of white snow that shimmers under the sun’s gold beams. It reminds her of the sea, looking out over Blackwater Bay from the Red Keep, or the Narrow Sea from Dragonstone, how the water would glitter like rhinestones when the sky was clear.

Her heart aches for home, for her family. She’s been gone for so long, and to think they must have mourned her for weeks.

She imagines their faces. Her mother’s quiet grief for King Viserys, the pain of Visenya’s brief life being snatched from her very arms. Daemon’s seething rage, restrained only by the duty to his Queen. Joffrey’s confusion. The haunted expressions worn by Baela and Rhaena. Through it all, Aegon and Viserys were still blissfully unaware of the world around them.

Tears trickle down her face. How would they have reacted, after hearing the news from Storm’s End? The thought weighs down on her chest, and she tries not to choke on her sobs.

She finds Jace’s arms around her own as he draws her head onto his shoulder. “You’re alright now,” he whispers, “we’ll all be alright.”

The next morning she feels well enough to hobble to the dining table to eat a few spoonfuls of porridge with Jace. He tells her of his journey to the Eerie, his successful negotiations with Jeyne Arryn, his time in White Harbour, and the days he has spent at Winterfell, hunting, feasting and flying Vermax over Wolfswood.

“He’s restless,” Jace says of his mount, “I think it’s the cold, he needs the warmth of the Dragonmount.”

“What of Grey Ghost?” Luke asks.

“He doesn’t seem to be fond of Vermax, I can tell you that much,” he chuckles, “but other than that, I have not seen much of him. Truth be told I thought he might have fled back South. He’s been wild for so long, I don’t suppose he’s used to having a rider.”

With Arrax, there was a presence in her chest, a window into her dragon’s very soul existing in her heart. They fed off each other, their feelings, their fears, their instincts. Something has replaced that feeling now. She feels the emptiness of Arrax’s loss, and yet something lingers. It’s faint, but it is there nonetheless. For the first time in her life, she feels a longing for isolation, only she cannot tell if it is hers or her dragon’s. “He’s nearby, I can feel him.”

Jace takes his leave for the day. For a time she admires the small glimpse of the world she can get from the window, until her chest starts to feel tight again. The maester checks on her, gives her a tea that tastes of herbs and cinnamon, offers her a salve for the bruising, instructs a maid to help her bathe.

“You’ll be alright, Princess,” he assures her, “the main concern now is relieving the pain and rebuilding your strength.”

If indeed she had it to begin with.

She replays Storm’s End in her mind over and over again. She’s sure she can still hear the clatter of Aemond’s dagger against the floor ringing in her ears. To think she had held even a glimmer of hope, that they might salvage the friendship they once had, she must have been delusional. Of course he wouldn’t forgive her. Of course he’d seek to punish her. But he’d got what he wanted now, his triumph, his victory, his debt repaid, celebrated in the court of a false King with all the other traitors.

But what of that night, in the Keep? She was so sure he was going to pry her eye from her socket, in that empty chamber, where no one would hear her screams and no one would think to come looking for her.

A familiar restlessness rises in her gut. In her mind she sees his hands, trailing down her torso and slipping beneath her skirts. The memory of his breath against her neck is cold. He meant to humiliate her surely. To tempt her and punish her for it.

She digs her nails into a palm and huffs a grunt to the empty space around her. She supposes even thinking about it would give him leverage over her, even when he has revelled in her death. She will not allow it.

So she curls into her pillow, trying to push the memories of the boy with silver hair out of her mind. He is gone, and so is the foolish little girl who once trailed after him.

A knock at the door pulls her away from everything. She bolts upright, frantically wiping the tears from her cheeks and drawing her fingers through her hair. “Come in!” She calls.

Jace enters, followed by Lord Stark. Their boots leave trails of snow in their wake. She looks between their pale faces and stony expressions. Jace is clutching a letter in his hand.

She doesn’t know why but her heart sinks. “Mother?”

Jace offers a quick glance to Lord Stark, who in turn gives a slow nod of his head. “We’ve received word from Dragonstone. Mother is… relieved at your condition.”

“Relieved? ” Hardly the reaction she had been expecting, but Jace’s expression doesn’t soften. His hands are trembling, and he can hardly bring his gaze higher than the bed.

Lord Stark places a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. When Jace remains silent, he takes a deep breath. “Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jaehaera are dead.”

She wonders if this is a dream. She says it in her head over and over again, still, it doesn’t quite sink in.

Lord Stark continues. “It appears, Prince Daemon took it upon himself to see your death avenged, Princess.”

“But I am not dead,” she mutters.

“Evidently not.”

She had not seen much of Helaena, and less of her children. They were dreamy, happy little things, playing with their toy dragons on the floor and babbling to one another. They had the same wispy silver hair as her youngest brothers, the same hair Visenya might have had.

Daemon had been waiting for this. He had been subdued for six years, but the beast had been set free the moment news came of the King’s death. She had seen it, the anger, the hunger, the bloodlust. But her mother? “The Queen surely cannot have allowed this.”

“The deed is done,” Jace says suddenly. His voice is deflated, nothing like the proud Prince he’s been growing into these past few years. “And now we must deal with the consequences.”

“Aegon has named Ser Criston Cole as his hand,” Lord Stark explains at Luke’s stunned expression, “Otto Hightower’s war of letters is at an end.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “I take it then you have agreed to pledge your banners to my mother’s cause?”

“He has,” Jace says. His chest rises and his tongue peeks between hip lips. He’s hiding something else, but he won’t say it. “I make for Dragonstone, immediately.”

“I’ll come with you-”

“No.” He finds the demand in his voice now, holding his hands up like she’ll make a run for her dragon then and there. “You are in no condition to fly. You’ll stay here, where it is safe.”

“You can’t expect me to stay, not after everything that’s happened-”

“Luke!” She sees the anger flashing in his face, but it fades in an instant. His eyes widen and his brows furrow. He looks so young now, so helpless. “I thought I lost you once before, do not ask me to even consider that possibility again.”

She bites down on her lip. She does not doubt the grief her brother has gone through after Storm’s End, only to discover it had all been a lie. And yet she feels no sympathy for him. Pain has left her bitter.

He doesn’t seem to realise it, but his hand drifts up, resting over Lord’s Stark’s. “You’ll be in good hands here, Cregan will protect you until you can return to Dragonstone.”

“But who better to protect me than my family?”

“Do not argue with me! I am your brother, but I am also your Prince and the heir to the throne. You are to remain here until I send for you. Do you understand?”

She huffs a few breaths, desperate to keep her voice calm and controlled. “Jace, you cannot keep me from mother, from Joffrey and the others without cause.”

He snatches his hand away from his shoulder. “As a matter of fact, we do have cause. I didn’t wish to tell you like this, but Lord Stark and I have agreed on a marriage pact.”

She frowns, and then it starts to sink in.

“When did you decide this, before or after you thought I was dead?”

“As I said, the circumstances are regrettable-”

“Regrettable?” She spits, “do I not deserve a say in my own prospects?”

Stark excuses himself and gently shuts the door behind him.

“Do not forget yourself, sister. You are the daughter of the Queen, a Princess of the realm. Cregan- Lord Stark is a kind, gentle and honourable man, he will be a good husband to you, I would not allow anything less.”

“But you’re leaving me, when we’ve already been apart for so long. I just want to go home.”

“We are at war now, Luke. You’ve seen the danger we face. Things just aren’t that simple.”

The closest compromise they come to is Luke trawling herself down from her bedchamber to the courtyard. A maid walks with her, an outstretched arm ready to catch her if she stumbles or tires, but she is determined that each step should be her own, no matter how stiff her movements are.

Vermax is waiting outside the castle gates, his familiar screeching, rippling purrs calling out over the battlements. Jace is once again in his riding leathers, identical to the ones she had worn to Storm’s End, though he wears a thick, black, fur lined cloak over his shoulders, rather than the red he left Dragonstone with.

The Prince kneels to little Rickon Stark, no older than their own Aegon, and shakes his hand. The heir to the throne and the heir to Winterfell are just boys, grinning at each other through the formalities.

Then he comes to Lord Stark himself. Their parting words are fleeting, spoken too softly to reach the ears of those around them, but they bid their farewells as brothers, gripping each other by the shoulders, until Jace pulls him into an embrace that lingers just a moment too long.

And then he wanders to stand before her. He pulls her into a tight hug. It hurts against the bandages around her chest but she doesn’t mind the pain.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters against her hair. “I’m so sorry…”

She cannot remember a life without her brother, how could she? He has been there since her very first breath, when her mind was a clean slate, when her skin was unbroken, before she knew what memories were. He was always there, just as Arrax was.

And now, when she thought her losses could get no greater, she watches Vermax ascend with a proud roar that echoes over the snow covered hills and the ancient walls of the castle. She watches the sky until the flash of green scales disappear through the clouds, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes.

Behind her comes a soft crunch of snow under heavy boots. “I do not hope I have offended you, Princess.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the sky and to her betrothed. She makes her best attempt at a soft smile but somehow it feels wrong. “Why would you think I am offended?"

The look in his eye is one of pity. Clearly he is not persuaded. “I understand our union is not one of your choosing,” he says, taking a step forward, “but I wish to assure you that I will be a good husband, whatever form that may take for you. I already have my Rickon, so we needn’t-”

“I trust my brother’s judgement,” she says, her eyes falling to her boots. That much has been true for sixteen years, but now it feels like another lie. “A few weeks ago, my life was quite unremarkable. Now I can hardly believe what my mind tells me is true.”

“It is a rude awakening to be sure, Princess. Youth and innocence are fragile things, to be snatched so cruelly from us, and so suddenly.”

Gods know she is no stranger to death. She could still remember so clearly the way Jace had cried and twisted his way from their mother’s grip when news came of the fire at Harrenhal. She had simply frowned. Harwin Strong had already left them once before, to return to his father’s seat, promising to send letters and in time, return to them, promises he would never fulfill.

And then it kept happening. Aunt Laena, in Luke’s mind a faceless woman, but so deeply mourned by her daughters. Then Ser Laenor, the man who had given her his name and so much more than that, his body found in the Sea Snake’s own hall, charred beyond recognition.

And she is certainly no stranger to blood, to rage sparked by fear and the regret that follows.

Life at Winterfell is quiet. She knows she will surely be driven to madness if she waits out the war in the confines of her bedchamber. Her walk down to the courtyard had been fuelled by stubbornness and spite, now she must go slowly. Each day she tries to go a little further, pacing the room despite her rigid movements and the tightness in her chest and her back, but she bites her lip and forces herself through it.

One morning she walks to the door. Another day she walks down the corridor. A week after Jace’s departure she can reach the entrance hall. A week after that she finds her way back down to the courtyard.

Little Rickon grasps a small wooden sword in his hand, landing determined but feeble blows against a straw dummy, letting out little squeaks and grunts as he goes.

A warm laugh sounds from the balcony above. “We’ll make a wolf out of you yet, pup!” Beams the boy’s father. She tries to dispel a sudden sadness at his admiring expression. It’s exactly how Harwin Strong used to watch Jace in the training yard.

She strolls across the yard, the wide skirt of her Stark black dress dragging over the dirt and the snow, to a weapons table. Her hands grip around the hilt of the smallest blade she can find, which is still twice the weight of the sword she brought to Storm’s End. There- another loss. Perhaps if she went back to that beach by Rainwood it might be hidden somewhere in the sand.

“Forgive me, Princess, I’m not sure you’re in the best state for such pursuits.”

Her smirk comes naturally as she looks over her shoulder to her host. “You think I can’t handle a sword, Lord Stark?”

“On the contrary, Jace says you’re rather skilled.”

“I’ve been mentored by Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong and the Rogue Prince himself,” she says, puffing her chest up a little, only to wince at a flash of pain in her ribs. She huffs a laugh at her own presumption. “But no, clearly I have a way to recover yet.”

He steps into her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body against her back, even through her coat. He places his hand over hers and lifts the blade with his own strength. “It might be good for you, to build up your strength again.”

But when his breath echoes over her cheek the world goes dark. The smell of leather and smoke overwhelms her senses. A flash of silver hair falls over her shoulder. A cold voice whispers, “bastard… whore.”

She wrenches herself away and feels no pain as she hurries back to her bedchamber.

At least she starts to find some normalcy. True to his word, Cregan Stark is patient and gentle, if a little more distant after their encounter in the courtyard. She dines with the Lord and his son, builds strength in her arms with a sword and discovers the grip in her fingers on the string of a bow.

But as she waits, the world below the Neck descends into chaos. Letters from Dragonstone are sparse, despite Jace’s promises, so mostly she hears news from Lord Stark. The Riverlands have seen the most fighting so far thanks to the Blackwoods and the Brackens, and Daemon’s capturing of Harrenhal. Lord Stark intends to amass his banners and march to join him, though it could take moons to do so.

She hears little news of her mother, which scares her.

The restlessness is unbearable. She can’t sit still. Can’t sleep without tossing and turning until the first birds start chirping before dawn.

There is perhaps one thing she thinks may provide some comfort, or at the very least, purpose.

Grey Ghost is an elusive creature, but he is never far. He lurks among the trees of Wolfswood and the stone of the Lonely Hills. The two meet at a lake, a few miles Northeast of Winterfell. When she can mount a horse, that is where she goes, with Lord Stark by her side.

Her dragon will not be seen if that is what he desires, and more often than not he does not want to be found. She feels him though, the uncertainty in his heart and how he misses the sea.

She waits by the lakeshore, skimming pebbles over the icy water, while Lord Stark waits beyond the treeline with the horses.

Find me. She calls silently to the space in her heart where a dragon should be.

A whistling screech carries over the mountains and he comes to her. He settles further down the shore before he stalks towards her. She holds up her palm, taking slow steps to meet him, heart fluttering in her chest.

As her skin meets his snout, her hand stops shaking, and the dragon gives an accepting purr. A warmth builds within her, not like the fury of dragonfire, it’s slow and glowing, like the red embers of a dying hearth. Each breath of her lungs is like a breath into the fire.

She feels a little more alive every time they meet.

“I must admit, even with Jace’s teachings, I cannot begin to understand these creatures,” Lord Stark says on their ride back to the castle.

“We’re learning together, my Lord, Grey Ghost is as new to me as he is to you.”

“You are bound though, yes? Jace said he and Vermax have been bonded since birth, that the same was true for you and Arrax. How can you simply claim another dragon?”

It is not simple though. She cannot pinpoint the moment she and Grey Ghost were bound, but reason tells her she could not have survived the fall from Arrax without something to break it. “It is different,” she says. “Arrax was as much a part of me as my soul is to my body, we were together all of our lives. With Grey Ghost, it’s not nature that binds us, I think it is a choice.”

He smiles. “That’s a beautiful way to say it.”

When they reach the courtyard, Cregan helps her down from her saddle, careful to keep his hands away from her waist, she notes. A man is waiting for them, letter in hand. In times of war, letters are an omen as much as they are a relief. Luke holds her lip between her teeth.

“We’ve received word from Dragonstone, my Lord. Perhaps you should read for yourself.”

Cregan waits for her nod of approval before he takes it and cracks open the wax seal of her mother. He reads it quickly, and looks back to Luke. “Princess Rhaenys is dead.”

Her heart stops.

Cregan shakes his head and takes a step towards her. “My condolences Princess-”

“How?” She asks.

He looks over the letter again with a heavy sigh. “Lord Staunton asked for aid to defend Rook’s Rest. Princess Rhaenys went atop her dragon, Meleys, but she was ambushed. Vhagar and Sunfyre were waiting for her.”

If Luke had room in her heart for sorrow she might cry, but she doesn’t. Not as she remembers the stern looking woman with silver hair, her father’s mother, who had seemed all too content to ignore her Velaryon grandchildren until the Hightowers came to strike their first blow. Not as she looks up to the sky and imagines a flurry of fire and talons. Against Vhagar alone, Meleys might have stood a chance.

She tries to force the sadness out of herself. Rhaenys is dead. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are dead. Arrax is dead. Visenya was never alive. The cost of war increases every day and the bodies are starting to pile high. But the tears do not come.

“There’s more,”

She snaps her head around to look back at Lord Stark. His eyes glisten, but his face is in a frown. “Aegon the usurper is close to death. The Greens have named Aemond Prince Regent and Lord Protector in his stead.”

A coldness crawls over her skin.

“Lucerra-”

She screams, a throaty screech that only lasts for a moment but cuts clean through the cold air and startles the horses. The courtyard silences in an instant.

Her body is frozen, eyes wide and breath haggard as her cry lingers in an echo off the walls. She swallows, forcing some moisture down her throat, but there’s not much she needs to say.

She rushes to her horse and hauls herself back up onto the saddle. It squirms beneath her, despite the reassuring strokes she drags along its neck, though she herself is hardly in a position to inspire calm.

“Lucerra,” Cregan says, gripping the reins before she can turn back towards the gates. “Wait, for a moment.”

“I must return to Dragonstone.”

“I am not sure that would be wise-”

“I am not seeking your permission,” she snaps with cold and deadly precision.

“You cannot leave, Princess.” He holds his palm before her. A thin cut slices over his skin, mostly healed, but still present. A reminder of a promise sealed with blood. “I swore an oath to your brother. I swore I would protect you.”

As she looks down at his eyes, for a moment she realises just how young the Warden of the North is. Older than her, but by a matter of years.

“And you have given no cause to suggest otherwise. But I will not stand by idly while my family…” then the tears come, suddenly, like a plunge into the cold dark of the sea. If Rhaenys could not stand to defeat Vhagar, what chance would Vermax, Moondancer, Tyraxes, even little Stormcloud have?

She will not see her mother bury another child.

Within the hour she mounts Grey Ghost. He keeps them hidden as he flies through the clouds, scales blending seamlessly into the gloom of the morning. She feels his silent pleas for home in her head. Our home.

She knows what must be done. She only hopes she has the strength to see this through.

She may have taken his eye, but Aemond Targaryen owes a debt, one she will see paid in fire and blood.

a/n: rather than listing every chapter and having to go back and edit every post I made a series masterlist (link at the top). So to see the other chapters you can look there or go to my main masterlist 🩵

Tags: @randomdragonfires @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarssslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc #aemond x fem!lucerys #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond x original female character #aemond x reader #my fics #karma is a god

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desert-bluffs-and-me · 4 months

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Kevin and Cecil: doubles, counterparts, twins, some combination?

Reblog for exposure please!

Definitions, for and against arguments, explaination of last option:

Doubles. Definition: exact copies of the citizens of Night Vale and of Desert Bluffs which split from them during the sandstorm. Essentially a newly created clone whose looks, personality and memories were/are identical to each other. For example: Dana is not sure if she's the original Dana or the double, due to the exactness of the memories of being Dana right up to the point of seeing the other Dana. Every double is described as looking, sounding and acting identically to the person they're a double of be it Cecil or Kevin reporting. Lawrence Lavine (Larry Leroy's counterpart but not his double) details the sensation of suddenly feeling like he had two hands scooping sand until there was suddenly two complete versions of him. Evidence for: Both Kevin and Cecil describe a picture of the other sharing their physical likeness, even down to what the other is wearing in the photo matching what the speaker is wearing now (or, posesses at least). Their likeness in looks is also mentioned when they physically meet during the Strex arc. Neither of them spawn any other kind of double, despite the fact that people indoors did still spawn one (such as Dana, and the imagined alive version of Vanessa Kevin seems to insist on manifesting). Kevin says directly that he 'thinks he saw his double' when the two cross back through the vortex. Evidence against: Both existed before the sandstorm, so unless (likely Cecil) spawned a double when he was very young and that double was taken away and raised as Kevin, this is very strange. Cecil doesn't actually say he met his double when seeing Kevin in the vortex.

Counterparts: a term not mentioned in canon but which can be used to explain the relationship between two characters with similar but not necessarily identical names, lives, personality traits and roles/jobs as somebody from the other town. For example: Dana Cardinal/Dan Cardozo, Larry Leroy out on the edge of town/Lawrence Lavine out in the Edgertown Development, Old Woman Josie (full name Josephina)/Grandma Josephine, Pamela Winchell/Pablo Mitchell. The fact that they seem to have similar jobs etc hints that whilst being different people they have made similar decisions in life. Evidence for: Cecil and Kevin share a lot of the same likes and dislikes which is more obvious in the brief glimpses we get of Kevin from before Strex changed him, even Cecil comments on this in Triptych. They both have the same job (obviously). They both didn't experience a creation of a double, but did make identical decisions to go through the vortex showing more likemindedness without being the exact same person (possibly).

Twins: two children born at the same birth (according to Google, but we all know what twins are, right?). Evidence for: If Kevin and Cecil are just twins from a seperated marriage, it could explain why Kevin mostly remembers a dad and Cecil only had a mother and why they're physically identical and somewhat similar in other ways but still different even before Kevin's brainwashing. Kevin mentions having siblings, but his memory of his past is hazy. They could have been split when they were too young to really remember each other and Abby could have her own reasons for not wanting to tell Cecil about Kevin even after the Strex arc and Kevin coming to town.

Evidence against: Although Kevin briefly and unreliably mentions siblings, Cecil doesn't except for Abby. The grown Cecil from Casettes even explicitly says he doesn't have a brother (although he's technically talking about Cal here) which doesn't necessarily invalidate the other points but could do. It seems like something Abby would have mentioned to him at some point though regardless of any reasoning I can think of but people are unreasonable all the time.

Last option: We know there's many timelines and that Cecil is a constant in all of those timelines. If there can be a timeline which is identical except instead of Abby, Cal was born OR a mini version of NV which is now under the bowling alley then why couldn't there be a timeline where Cecil was favoured by a Smiling God and not Huntokar and was raised in DB as Kevin? In the newer episodes, Kevin, refreshed to a child by Carlos' meddling science, has no idea who he's supposed to be and is completely lost. I don't know if that's completely related to this theory but it is interesting.

Facts to possibly ignore for meta reasons: Kevin and Cecil having different names and voices.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv cecil #cecil palmer #cecil gershwin palmer #wtnv kevin #kevin of desert bluffs #polls #long post

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luxgalador · 9 months

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Ma'am, If I may, what led you to coming to terms with your identity? Was there a process that made you think, "maybe I'm not what I was born with?" No matter how your respond, I thank you for the mega cool vibes and consistent dream of memes, cat pics, and explanations of why furry stuff is super cool

I never had a lightbulb moment. And I also am not a "I always knew" type of girl. My unravelling and actualizing has been and continues to be a gradual process of following what feels good and asking myself questions about why it feels good.

In hindsight, I can say "oh yeah that makes a lot more sense" now that I've realized some major things, of course. But I never felt "I'm not what I was born with." It was more a "maybe I could be this? Let's follow this."

One thing I did always know is that I felt different than most other people. I figured that one out pretty early. The way I interacted with the world just didn't seem to align with how many folks did. And my problem is that I never connected with, knew, or was even aware that the way I felt was something that others felt too.

Realistically I didn't really have an original thought about my own identity until I was 19 years old and finding myself in substance abuse rehabilitation. It was only when faced with the real possibility of my own death that my Self™ began to emerge. She started slowly taking control. Because I needed it. Because without me, actually me, driving the car of my life, I was going to fucking die.

My queerness first emerged in a dream when I was 20. I don't remember the dream, but I remember waking up in a panic. I'd grown up aware of queer people, but fed through my well-meaning cishet mom who's only exposure to queerness was through the blood-stained lens of the AIDS crisis. "It's such a hard life" was a phrase I'd heard so often in regards to gay people. It wasn't outwardly hateful, but it felt like an "other" existence that wasn't preferable to "normal" society. My only awareness of trans people was through punchlines and stereotypes. Despite having always wanted to be a girl if given the choice, I didn't understand that there actually was a choice and I could be what I wanted.

I started making videos more earnestly and engaging with the YouTube community. I became pretty successful in that world. I also became a student. Fueled by curiosity and a compulsion to understand the world to keep myself going, I learned. I listened. I asked questions. I was YouTube's It Bi Boy™ but something remained missing.

I hadn't spoken the words yet, but I started growing my hair out. I'd seen a lot of sapphics with short curly bob hairdos that I wanted to emulate. I wanted to look feminine. As I was aging into my mid-20s, I started looking like a man and I hated it. I didn't understand what that meant beyond "I don't want to look like a man." That evolved into, okay well maybe I'm not a man.

The rest of my 20s, that's the crux of my identity. It wasn't an affirmative identity, but rather a reductive one. The only thing I knew is what I wasn't. I wasn't a man. I thought this was enough. Deep in me I wanted to be a woman, but I still didn't realize that I could be. That I already was.

I did more makeup daily before HRT. I got dolled up every single day to go to work. My heart would soar if someone "mistook" me for a woman. That's how I wanted to be perceived. But I was stuck in "not a man" identity for a while.

I read an article in 2019 about HRT regimens that were low-dose. I'd never considered hormones before this. But I knew immediately this is what I wanted. It felt like a level that I was "allowed" to have. I still felt like I wasn't allowed to be a woman. That I wasn't trans enough to embrace it. I made an appointment within a week.

Pandemic happened, in many ways my life froze. But I kept changing. After 6 months on the low-dose I said "fuck it" and went to a full dose. I grew tits. I felt so much better. Relieved. Like I was course correcting. It was good, but still not good enough.

I had to move to Florida due to financial issues in late 2021. I had roommates again including my sister. It was the first time I was around people regularly after so much had changed in my body. It was a few months later that I realized that I was basically living my life as a woman just without affirming that reality to myself. So 2.5 years into HRT I finally did it. I owned that. I she/they'd for like 2 weeks then realized I didn't want they. I didn't want neutrality. I wanted to be and was her. In this moment I also connected the dots that my sexuality was not bi, despite years in that community and many, many videos made by me on the subject. Bisexuality, in hindsight, was an identity that allowed me access to loving women queerly before I knew I was a woman myself.

So here I am, at 30, about 10 years after that first dream. I'm a woman. I'm a lesbian. I'm living with the love of my life in Chicago. And in many ways, it feels like I'm just getting started. Thanks for reading.

#word vomit #trans #queer #lesbian #lgbtq #transfeminine

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bluerskiees · 2 years

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THE DAMNED PRINCESS 👑

｡ ˳ْ 👤 ⍈ 🪐 𓂂 ˚ ◌ 🧸

｡ ˳ْ 𓋼𓍊 Synopsis: Haitani Ran, the prince of roppongi has always been the 'Enemy' of princess Ito y/n of shibuya. Let it be education, gratefulness, anything, he was always better than her. And to make it worse, he likes teasing her so much. What happens when their parents propose the idea of their marriage ? Will love blossom between the two young hearts ?

Tw: Murder, Typical bonten shenanigans, Mentions of Alcohol, Teasing, Enemies to lovers trope, Ran being full of himself, A bit fluff (?)

@trashmemebitch @who-dezz @sleeplessreader @ranmahaitaji @slutaholic69

R/m - Ran's mother

R/f - Ran's father

Y/m - Your mother

Y/f - Your father

Ran could see it. The way you clenched your jaws, the way you balled your fists. He saw it all and smirked. You screeched at him as he won. AGAIN. You were supposed to win this. You were always the best at learning new languages weren't you? Then how come Ran out of all people beat you? It confused you, you knew ran since forever, he wasn't the type of person to learn a new language. Anything he does, he plans it perfectly. He definitely has a motive behind mastering a new language in less than 2 months and you knew it— you knew his motive. It was obvious from the way he looked down on you, implementing that he's always a step above you and in simple terms he's just better. Better at everything. And he doesn't even try. Just the thought of him boils your blood. And since you weren't able to do anything, you ran to your carriage and locked yourself in your room when u reached your palace.

You could hear your personal maid begging for you to come out, "Y/n dear, it's 8. Please come out, you've been locking yourself in ur room for 3 hours, It's dinner time". You made yourself comfortable on the bed before letting out a long exaggerated sigh. You just hated him. Him. His guts. The way he looks down on you. Everything.

You fixed your dress and went down to eat dinner. You saw your parents sitting in the table and that made you happy. They finally had time for you after so many months. It was hard living in the same palace and yet not being able to even catch a glimpse of your own parents. However, the smile on your face soon dissappeared after you saw the evil prince from the neighbouring kingdom a.k.a Ran Haitani. You sat beside your parents after rolling ur eyes at him.

R/m: "You've grown a lot y/nnie"

R/f : "Ofc she has, she's a grown woman now, she's no longer the little girl who used to cry over a small cut"

Everyone : *laughs*

R/m: Sooo Ito-chan, have you told her yet? About the big moment?

This snatched all your attention. Tell you? The big moment? What was happening??? U honestly had no clue

Y/m : haha we haven't yet told her, she was busy earlier.

You weren't— they were. But still, What was happening. Everyone seemed to know what was going on. EVERYONE but you. The sly smile adoring Ran's lips said he knew about it too. Ugh! How much you hated this.

Y/f : So Y/n, You know, me and mama are getting a bit old and our health isn't at it best right now. So we want you to marry Ran, I know you hate him, but trust me darling he loves you more than anything. "DAD HE ABSOLUTELY HATES ME". Would you marry him and make us proud, baby?

You couldn't do anything now. You wanted to run, scream, cry. But nothing happened. Your legs didn't move, your voice was barely audible. You didn't want this. Neither the wedding nor the idea of making your parents proud only by marrying him. They did a lot for you, from the second you were born till now. They gave you everything before you asked for it and asked nothing in return. Now that they finally asked you something after all these years, will you accept it or will u make them sad ? Ofcourse, you wouldn't, you weren't ungrateful. If that's what they want, then you're ready. Ready to marry him.

"Yes dad, I would love to marry him" You said with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Ran saw it, but your parents didn't. They were too busy celebrating the great news. You sat there quietly. You didn't know how to react— It all happened too quickly. You were internally panicking until u heard a soft voice requesting your parents to talk alone with YOU, his soon-to-be. Wait- soft voice ? That's unusual. He must definitely plan to embarrass you later.

You followed him quietly into the balcony, your bangs covering your teary eyes which were about to be spilled out any moment.

"Why? Why did u say yes?" You heard him speak. You could say nothing except whispering a huh, which u were sure didn't reach his ears. But it did anyway. "Something's obviously wrong Ito-chan, Your smile didn't even reach your eyes, are u really okay with this marriage? I can ask my parents to cancel it if you aren't happy with this y'know?" You could hear the genuine concern in his voice. The smirk that once was in his lips is now replaced by a frown. This was you last straw to not cry.

"Why? W-why are u like this ? This isn't you? Why are you nice to me ? Do u really think im that p-pathetic huh? I- i—" that's all you were able to say before breaking down in tears in front of him. Oh this was a nightmare.

Ran gently pulls you into his arms and kisses your head and forehead until you calmed down.

"Who said I hated you huh? Who said I thought u were pathetic? Did I say it?"

"H-huh? I thought —"

Your words were interrupted by ran as he proceeded to speak, "Did I say it?"

"I- no. You didn't. I just thought—"

"See, I never told you anything of that sort, And honestly i dont think you're pathetic. In fact, I think you are the most beautiful, talented, adorable, super-cute girl i've met in my entire life y'know?"

"What—"

"What? Am I not allowed to love you?"

"Huh? You love ME?"

"Ofc YOU dumbo, do u see anyone else here?"

"Oh- yeah"

There was long silence between you both before you decided to speak again.

"How long have u loved me, Ran?"

"Hmmm, I loved you ever since we were children. I fell in love with the way you smile, the way you talk, the way you walk, literally everything about you makes me wanna fall in love with you all over again. You make me feel like a teenager experiencing his first love. You have no idea how many classes i've joined just to be with you, Who would've thought that the great Ran haitani would join a class to simple learn (language name). You got me doing it. Oh you have no idea how much i wanted to hug yoy and kiss you whenever you show me that face of yours. You make me wanna be a better man. All for you"

You were flabbergasted. You were blushing like crazy and your heart was beating so hard you were sure people from the next kingdom would hear you. You didn't expect this— Definitely not from ran.

"You know, I've never seen you that way, but the sincerity in your words makes me wanna give you a chance and that's what I'm gonna do. Dont break my heart, Haitani"

Words couldn't express how happy he was, to be accepted by the love of his life, the apple of his eyes, the sunshine that lits up his world, You were his everything and he wanted to protect you.

"Oh darling, I would never break your heart. I may break others bones but never your heart. Never in a million years"

And that's how your love story began, in the balcony, your eyes interlocked with his, as if time has stopped. Everything stopped. The only thing that matter now were you and ran. You could feel your heartbeat perfectly syncing his racing ones— indicating he's your soulmate, he's yours and you're his. That's when you realized Ran haitani wasn't always a bad guy. He was the one who helped you when you almost got kidnapped by a bunch of locals, He was the one who helped you become a better version of yourself because if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be practicing your skills regularly. He was your everything. So were you his.

This may be the end of the one shot, but the love you have for each other will continue for centuries to come.

Maybe marrying your so called 'Enemy' wasn't a bad idea afterall <3

You knew you were gonna enjoy your new life with him. And you were more than excited for it to happen ♡

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lamentingocean · 4 months

Text

☆Sword Demon x Martial Art Prodigy Reader

Part 2☆

Warning: a bit of violence, a bring up of sky and yeri, vent, and, philosophy shit and wisdom.

______________________________

You landed at white hawk town to take a little drink/ a break right before you find the mighty sword demon that comes out of the darkest shadows in the halls to express his undying power to most cult enemies, but jaha finds him inspiring and also worthy to be a master but that's pretty obvious since he taught mongrang martial arts also electing him to be part of the 4 great evils of the murim world that is matching superhuman strength. He wonders how he's able to beat jaha to a pulp even though jaha made him go through a lot. But no. That will get him killed.

you saw him while you were drinking your specially edited wine with the freshest plants made to put it as a delectable drink, sipping a small portion of it from the cup to the pool of your mouth, it cost 3000 yuan, pretty normal price for a rich province born martial artist such as yourself. your eyes looked to the left to see mongrang staring at your back, even the girls around him were fuming in an ocean of jealousy since they saw him look at you for a couple minutes. your neck snapped right back at him to intimidate a bit. but he didn't get fazed at your attitude that didn't flinch when it shot him like a gun.

his steps rushed to you and sat at the seat right across from your table. He seems to be intrigued by your physique, appearance, and hopelessly beautiful jewelry lathering right across your body like a violet evergarden village of the delicate scenery, he took a small cup and slowly poured the dark subtance to his own cup to break off the argumentative silence a bit. he kinda knew that his charisma couldn't work on a province born sword wielder. even when you got the news that he apparently acted pathetic to a sect leader capable of killing a bunch of men rather than treating women properly in this world. it rattled a light chuckle a bit before you took a sip of your expensive wine.

he scowled a bit at your chuckle and spoke up. "Hello, I'm mongrang. such a divine little thing you are..so where are you from?" You slammed your cup down to his sudden question. you analyzed that he's trying so hard to spread out his charisma like a virus, but all you are thinking about is to see the mighty sword demon. Perhaps this pervert has the key to exposing his locations. you answer in a condescending tone to possibly drive him away. "I'm from the Liang Province. Belonging to a family of wealth. anyways. if you can be at any use to be, then do you know where the sword demon resides? I need to meet him immediately. " he was confused at why you suddenly wanted to meet his master but he had something else in mind.

"If you would give me a little kiss on the lips, then I will lead you to him." You stuck your tongue out in disgust of ever touching your own lip skin onto mongrang's perky lips that probably has a lot of DNA in them by every relationship he ever been in with a woman. until a girl jumped in joy right behind his long brown hair, holding a box of specialty chocolates. costing 7000 yuan in total.

"Yeri!"

she took his hand away from you, whispering in ear, but you overheard in the easiest way possible: "I'm gonna meet my girlfriend sky. wanna come with me?" You stood up once they ran off like boyfriend and girlfriend to a nearby forest full of a bunch of fresh grown chinese fruits. it was a beautiful lake glimmering of the bright sun. It's a small bridge that leads to a nearby village. you must think that's where the sword demon must reside. shaving the dirt of his sword to see any visitors in his training grounds. you walked even further to see a big house. a sound of sword striking is heard from the inside of the gates. you approached the gates to see a man sitting right at the left of the house. is that who I think it is? Is the legend of the sword demon true? It isn't a lie? Maybe this is only a mere disciple? I shouldn't eavesdrop on a random disciple. I should just go-

"whoever is at my gate. show yourself."

Your skin blitzed with fear at the strikingly terrifying sound of his voice calling out to an intruder he's going to kill soon, but you caved it and opened the main gates to see a site never to be seen in your life. The beautifully powerful sword demon with his hair withering at the wind of his unapproachable attitude in the way, being covered as an obstacle to set up with any sword decked out to be spilled by the controller of our hands.

his dim, gray eyes glanced up to see you in shock. To see the same kid training as a ruthless, relentless warrior of china to a full-fledged martial artist being praised in all the provinces for your outstanding combat skills. even he couldn't deny it as a good addition to the demon group of murim. he slowly put his sword that has a carving of a gray dragon on it and approached you in the most un-intimdating matter a demon could possibly do. he recognized you somehow. and some brief memories can get him to drop his unapproachable side of his human being and be a good person to those who grow up after training as a baby.

he reached his hand to you, and you did the same to him like you in him are on the same page with a rose on it that separates the petals from the plants. You softly smiled at him and felt as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders for a man this intimidating to make an elite fighter have piss run down his legs. "The legendary sword demon...it's really you." his throat cleared to his sudden alias, stepped back in a proper man.

and smiled in the same dull expression he gave to everybody. "Would you like some tea? Sir/ Miss Y/N?" Your mouth gasped at his kindness, bowed down to him, and gleefully took the generous offer to have tea with the mighty sword demon.

he had some leftover tea he had with mongrang in the back, poured it in a small container, and handed it to both you and him.

"It's so nice to meet you."

(And that's how it ends. I'm so sorry. I had to rush to make this right before I took my trip to japan. but don't worry. I will have internet there so my upload schedule is back to normal♡

#return of the crazy demon #jaha lee #return of the mad demon #webtoon #광마회귀 #sword demon #goddamnit #hate fucking work #no

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neonlight2 · 10 months

Text

*Nyx Flamel Backstory*

Warning: blood (nothing to graphic) and pregnancy

Masterlist

It was raining…

So hard, that each drop that hit the glass of the many window mimicked that of pebbles falling on steel. The wind had grew ravenous as a starved dog, howling and thrashing against any surface that came within its path. All other life had grown silent, hiding in hopes that the weather would soon pass and leave their homes in some reasonable form.

A man, frail in stature and pale in color, however, was up and about as ever. He had little worry, lost to his youth which had left him many decades ago. Now, with his mostly white, frizzled hair decorated with thin lines of brown, his mind raced faster than his feet. Bare as the day he was born, they touched the cold stone floor in order to keep him awake, for it had been days since he’d slept.

Grabbing the fourth—and seemingly the last— bottle of crushed gold he had in his possession, the man poured the remainder of the shiny dust into the cauldron frothing with fog. There was an intense aroma about the room; one he had become immune to. The smell had numbed his nose the fifth time he’d come across it, yet he knew that all was right just based upon the liquid’s complexion. Rich, and thick— the mixture moved smoothly and gave off a purple hue until faced with natural light. In the suns rays, or in this case, lightening’s flash, it glistened a deep scarlet.

For a moment he could feel his knees buckle; he had been too indecisive with this batch. The alchemist knew he should have made it a week earlier, but he had truly thought of letting go this time. And no matter how much his conscious scolded him, calling out his cowardice to face death, Nicholas Flamel could not help his instincts. Nor could he stop the giddiness bubbling in his stomach as he imagined that same flavor on his tongue. The taste of life.

Moreover, when he went to scoop up the first vial— he’d only made enough for two this time due to his negligence toward his ingredients— he was started by an abnormal banging on his door. At first he merely flinched, believing it to be the storms’ rage, but he could not ignore it after noticing a pattern.

The moment his mind registered the sequence within the dulling taps, he realized what they truly were…

Tap. tap. tap.

Someone was knocking.

He hissed as he felt immeasurable heat seeping into his hand. It would seem the vial was full, now overflowing. Dealing with the feeling a little longer, he sealed the vile tight with a charmed cork to which only he could remove, before he finally set it on his working bench.

Rushing over to the various plants growing in the open, cracked floor in the left corner of the room, he plucked a ripe bud from a vine and squashed its insides onto the inevitable burn. It’s sure to leave a scar, Nicholas thought as he rushed to the door.

Taking a deep breath, the man yanked it open to reveal something— someone he would have never conjured up in his millennia of thoughts.

A woman was crouched against the steps of his home, holding herself up only by the frame. She was wheezing, and soaked in rain and sweat— no doubt from a ruthlessly growing fever—

“Please, help us.” She pleaded, her eyes finally meeting his as she struggled to stand, making Nicolas scramble to her side in order to help. “We have nowhere to go.”

Looking all around them, the awkward man couldn’t help as his voice wavered. “W-we? Is t-there s-someone ac-accompanying you?”

It was only until he had gotten her into the safety of his house that he noticed the way she was still hunched over, and the specks of blood tracing the end of her skirt.

“Have you been h-harmed? Are you injured?”

He was quick to lead her to a chair, ready to access whatever injuries she may have had. Yet, all he found was her belly swollen round and blood trailing down her legs.

“You’re pregnant— I-I mean of course you know that— I meant you’re in labor!” He said with encompassing worry.

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispered before letting out a pained groaned. “No one else would answer and you’re lamp was on—,”

Her words were cut off by her own screams. She gripped the chair arms tightly, clenching her teeth as more color drained from her face and water fell from her eyes.

“No, no, no,” the man repeated before standing up swiftly and moving around his home as fast as he could. “Don’t apologize! Just make sure to breathe! And I’ll…,” his voice trailed as he gathered as much as he could hold, “I’ll try to do my best in taking care of you.”

It’s not like I haven’t done this in a century, he thought to himself as he grabbed more blankets and water.

Flinging the pieces of cloth onto the floor he placed the buckets of water next to where they ended, before going back to the still weeping woman.

“I’m really sorry Mrs— Miss?? Ma’am you have to stand, it will be easier that way, I promise”

The woman nodded, taking his hands in hers in order to leverage herself up. They both took slow, heaved steps until finally reaching the covered ground, giving no thought to the trail she’s left behind. As he got a closer look at her, the woman could only be with the first years of her adulthood. Which only made the wizard’s heart ache more, for she had still not regained any color in her face, and after pressing a hand to her forehead— neither had her fever broke.

Although, he noticed that before he could say a word about remaining on her feet during the process, she had already squatted down as he would have instructed.

“Are you comfortable— I mean of course you’re not, what I mean is—,”

“I’m not laying on my back!” She wailed as more blood pooled below her. “It was a cruel custom made by a king who only wished women to suffer! And I will have no part in it.”

She breathed steadily after feeling the cool water against her temple, looking over to see the man dabbing her face with a cloth.

“Thank you,” she whimpered.

“You’re losing a lot of blood Miss.” Nicholas stated, knowing very well that the woman knew.

Her lip shook as she nodded, getting herself ready to push again. “She can’t die. She can’t—,”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, “do what feels right, I’ll get something to help the pain alright? Or would you rather I stay here?”

Shaking her head, she pulled away from his grasp and leaned forward. “No, I’m okay!”

He wasted no time, scatting numerous bags, baskets, and vials. Until his eyes spotted that familiar sparkle, lit by the crackle of a fresh lightening bolt. Without a second thought, he grabbed it, yanked out the cork, and placed it inches from her face so she could see it clearly.

“It should save you both,” he said, words honestly unsure.

“Should?” She asked with a small scoff.

Letting a small smile adorn his face he nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me…more.”

Her eyes flickered, blinking instinctively as another bolt hit the ground not too far from the pair. And for a moment, she swore it changed into a color she had seen only once before; it’s complexion reminding her of something magical.

“Brilliant,” she simply said with a short nod, opening her mouth in compliance.

In any other instance, the alchemist would have wavered in his decision. Normally he’d be particular, perhaps even greedy with his creation, but this time… it was as if he need not think at all.

He simply watched as it poured into her mouth until gone, and then as a smile prickled at the woman’s now, red cheeks.

She let out a small laugh, taking Nicolas aback.

“It tastes of chocolate.”

Tilting his head to the side, he stared at her with confusion and amazement. If it weren’t for her swift change in composure, returning to a pained cry, he would have corrected her. For that was nowhere close to what he had tasted over the centuries of curating it.

They would stay in that position for what felt like hours, truly only being thirty minutes. The man did what he could, trying to ease her pain by whispering incantations under his breath, while holding his hands under in order to catch the precious cargo the woman held so dear. Just enough to give her strength. Just enough to help. Just till she arrived.

Surely enough, the moment the woman’s arms went limp, letting her body fall back with no care, the baby had come. Laying in the wizard’s hands, quiet as the night had become.

The storm had passed. And the baby wasn’t crying.

This cause the mother to spout more tears of her own, sobbing and reaching out for her child. He did not deny her, delicately placing the newborn into its mother’s hands.

Everything suddenly became so dark. The night outside was chilling and bare of light. And the mothers rejuvenation seemed to grow weaker by the second. Her dark hair now dry and dull with sullen cheeks accompanied by pail skin. She’d looked like a corpse if it weren’t for those purple hued eyes, which were brown at first if Nicolas’ memory ran true.

“Oh please baby, you have to live. Please.please.please.please. Merlin let her live.”

Eyes practically popping out of his scull, he stared at her in disbelief and sympathies. “Are you..?”

Shaking her head vigorously, the woman’s gaze flickered about the room, landing on a pair of scissors on the floor. “Could you please..?” She asked, a small sob leaving her lips as she caressed her child’s stomach.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he follows her gaze before understanding. “Oh! Oh, yes of course.” He scampered over, retrieving the tool.

He glanced over at her tired figure, treading lightly toward her. “Would you like to, or would you rather I?”

All she said in return was please. And the alchemist couldn’t help but feel his heart drop. Gently, he pulled on the cord and cut it clean.

At that very moment, he watched as light peered through his window, and he saw a twinkle of red flicker below him. The babies eyes fluttered open, and in the light of an unveiled moon, one shined a bright red while the other a deep brown.

He had grown absolutely elated in those few seconds. Laughing out loud to himself in disbelief, as he stared at the child who still refused to cry. He felt as if he had just witnessed a real miracle. Real magic.

But all magic has a price.

“Look! Look! She’s awake—,” he throat got tight as he choked on his words, seeing that now the woman’s eyes were indeed brown, staring right back at him as her head laid limp from her body. It was a wonder that the child hadn’t slipped off her breast, yet there she lay. Totally unaware. And so quiet.

Suddenly, Nicholas could not see, for water had purged his eyes. Welling up until a flood of tears streamed down his face, the man felt a wave of sorrow overcome him.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He whimpered, closing the woman’s eyes, and picking up the child who was staring at him with curiosity beyond any of his comprehension. “I’ll take it from here, you can rest.”

Sniffling, he cradled the child to his chest with one arm as he used the other to cast a spell— cleaning both the baby and the woman’s body before wrapping it in fresh linen. He had no idea what he should do with the body. Bury it? Burn it? What would she have preferred? Did she have family? Likely not the good kind.

Should he call the minister of magic? Definitely not.

The baby cooed, apparently entertained by something behind him. When he turned he practically jumped at the sight. Her hand was stretched out, and everything in front of them now that the moons light touch was dancing through the air.

He marveled at the child’s abilities, watching as she twirled her fingers in order to make the plants he had grow and dance with one another.

That very moment, as he stared at her, and she stared at the moon, Nicholas Flamel made a decision he would never regret.

He took the ladle resting in his cauldron, not bothering with the manners of a vial and drank from it. He felt as his joints loosened, how strength returned to his arms and legs, and new warmth was brought to his body.

And sure enough, it still tasted of lemons.

***

The girl know as abnormal in every sense would grow, learn, and adapt faster than any child Flamel had ever know. For a moment he worried that putting her in Hogwarts when she came of age would bore her, for she had practically learned everything on her own, or through his stories of history, and the never ending amount of books he had in his possession. But he gave in quickly after she begged him to allow her to go.

He never denied her.

So she went to Hogwarts, in 1892, for the first time, and made friends that would go down in history. Two of which she thought to be her kindred spirits.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

And

Gellert Grindelwald

But that was before they grew up, and she stopped.

Her soul and mind may have changed, but her body stayed for same. Trapped in time. In youth…

Until 1976 that is.

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dixonsstinkysock · 1 year

Text

‘ONGOKX

PROLOGUE

“can i get a kiss?”

“and can you make it last forever?”

“i said im bout’ to go to war.”

“and i dont know if imma see you again.”

pairing: Platonic Spider Socorro (#1 spider defender)

word count: roughly 600

Plot: spiders na’vi “mother” attempts to save her son but instead gets captured with him. during the time of them both being in captivity they both develop deep relationships with the recoms 😩 amazing plot (mostly follows movie storyline js added mother!reader into it )

Notes: This is my first ever story so I’m kinda nervous 😬 dont be mean, thank you goodbye💪‼️

PANDORA FOREST

The sound of soft singing could be heard from a small stream in Pandora’s forest. The stream was surrounded by rocks and boulders, clusters of lively, deep-colored vegetation.

In the stream, A Mother would be seen with her son. Her Human son. There were no words being sung, only syllables. As her long blue fingers clean the boy’s blonde dreads, memories seemed to bleed into her mind. Sweet, Old memories of when her son was just a prrnen ('pr.nen-baby).

Enter Memory

Beautiful Chestnut eyes peered into her gold ones. The young human boy has ran into one of the female Omaticaya warriors, while out with the Oloeyktan, Jake Sully, and his children. He seems to be a bit lost and tells the women he needs help getting back to his friends. The Warrior agrees to help, and scoops him up on her back.

On the way to his destination, the woman seemes to be fond of the human boy. She learns his name and they finally say their goodbyes and go their separate ways. Except everyday after that, He finds himself in her company more than he is with the Oloeyktan’s children.

End Memory

“Sa’nu?..” … “sa'nok." The grown boy’s voice finally reaches his mother ears. “Yes, maitan?” you respond. “Are you almost finished? I am supposed to go and see Lo’ak soon.” he spoke.

“Yes I am done, Let’s go. Its almost eclipse and I need to speak with Jake Sully..” His mother gathers the soaps for bathing and starts their way back to High Camp.

HIGH CAMP

The five kids could hear the hushed voices of their parents. By the tone in their voices they could tell something was wrong. In the Oloeyktan’s tent, You and Neytiri were having a little dispute about you not joining the war parties because of your overprotectiveness with your son.

Neytiri is past frustrated and isn’t thinking about the words that are coming out of her mouth. “He does not belong here, he should be with his own kind. On his planet.” she states. “He is stopping you from your duties-“ “ He is more important than my duties .“ Neytiri does not take it kindly when you interrupt her, she hisses at you. “I do not appreciate you belittling him- belittling me.” A lenghty pause was taken. “That ‘tawtute’ you degrade, is my son. I will not stand by and let you continue to shame him.”

Jake sees this argument can only get worse by your body language,so he steps in. “Alright, lets calm down and go back to our original issue..” he looks at you. “We need you out there ___… they are only getting stronger and smarter. Now we need all hands on deck. Please.” You take his ask into consideration. These war parties are the only thing protecting your home. Miles’ home. Your family’s home. “I will join you Oloeyktan Jake.”

SCOUTING

Flying on your ikran, seeing all the beautiful moutains and forests, having the wind blow against you will never get old. Scouting with Jake Sully, Neytiri and their first-born Neteyam was going exceptional. Until a distress call from Jake’s second-born comes through.

“Devil dog this is Eagle eye, over”

“Eagle eye send your traffic”

“I’ve got eyes on some guys…they look like avatars but, they’re in full camo and carrying ARs. Theres six of them. Over.”

“What’s your pos? Over”

You scanned Jake’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“Um.. We’re at the old shack.”

“Who’s we?”

Jake was uneasy.., who did Lo’ak rope into this mess with him?

Posted : April 6th, 2023

Na’vi Definitions:

Sa’nu: Mommy, Mom

Sa’nok: Mother

Maitan: My son

Tawtute: Human, Skyperson

#jake sully #atwow imagine #atwow #avatar the way of water #rdr2 #ao3 #reader insert #avatar spider #spider socorro #miles socorro #spider x reader #mother #x reader #Spotify

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vore-scientist · 1 year

Text

The Witch and the Prince: a Mystic Woods RoleSwap

A Tail of the (inverted!) Mystic Woods

Contains: safe/soft, non-sexual, GT vore. Female giant pred, male human prey. Refer to this as G*TS and I'll strangle you. The vore is unwilling but it's not 'distressing'. The prey is aware that the pred intends to let them go.

PITCH: Sophia is the evil half-giant witch! Yonah is the human prince. Here is the story of them meeting and well, Sophia eating Yonah! Wild isnt it? Character personalities are altered because their upbringings and species are altered (Fire Witch heritage has an impact on personality) GT, vore, shenanigans! enjoy.

This story features some nice GT art by the amazing @voreadbhar who will probably be a little startled to get this notification as the art is nearly two years old.

---

From the look on Prince Yonah’s face you wouldn’t have known it was the most eventful day in his 21 years of life. You’d think he was a little bored. Maybe a touch irritated. Not shipped off by his own mother to be captive to a man-eating half-giant witch. Who happened to be sitting, shrunken, in the seat opposite him the carriage that was taking them to her lair.

---

The day was promising to be above average for Prince Yonah. Not amazing, not horrible, but overall positive. That wasn’t going to last long.

He had just finished having breakfast out in the garden. Yonah liked the garden. No. He LOVED the garden. Ever Since he was young, the prince always hung out helping the groundskeepers. He had been working in the gardens since he was around 10 years old. At first his family thought the keepers were lying when they called Yonah a delight and joy to have around. The other royals had never seen Yonah show enough enthusiasm, positive or negative, to be called much of anything, least of all a delight to be around.

See, Yonah was quiet, reserved, and strong. Very strong. Yonah was a big boy from the day he was born. And he only got bigger. Full grown, he stood at an impressive 6’9” tall. And he was built like an ogre: broad and muscular and fat.

You may have thus guessed that was the other thing that could get him to show some semblance of emotional interest was... Food. He loved to eat. And more than that he loved to cook. When he wasn’t in the garden he was in the kitchen. Due to yonah’s mastery of the culinary arts, the castle chefs would decry when Yonah was predisposed by princely duties for a feast. Though often he would get bored of formal occasions and sneak in to help.

But a prince couldn’t be a gardener. A prince couldn’t be a cook.

At least his mother had waited for him to be done eating before calling him away from his garden to her office.

Huh, there seemed to be a few more guards at the door than normal. Why the beefed up security? Maybe he’d find out. He walked in, the guards did not stop him.

His mother’s dark skin was a contrast to his own which was merely generously sun-tanned. Her magical forest green eyes looked at him, sighed, then glanced at the woman sitting in one of chairs in front of her large marble desk.

Just looking at the back of her head… she wore a black pointed hat, and sported a segmented ponytail, barely holding in her thick wavy hair, which fell across the back of the stone chair.

Yonah sat next to her. She looked at him with dull brown eyes and sickly brown skin. Her nostrils flared a bit and she scowled to reveal a set of large fangs. Who was this woman??? But yonah didn’t dwell on it for long. Mother was more important.

Most people were not able to make eye contact with the Queen of Orr and the King of the Mystical Woodlands. Not with the magic of the forest shining through her eyes. Her forest green sclera and dark emerald green irises seemed to pulse with power as the prince took his seat.

“I would apologize for disturbing you on your 21st birthday my son, but since you seemed to be fine to spend it all day eating sandwiches in the garden, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Ima, I said I didn’t want anything for my birthday except to be left alone.” Yonah reminded her.

The King lifted a brow “Yes I know. Unfortunately you’re a prince, your birthdays are supposed to be kingdom wide parties sponsored by the crown!”

Yonah looked away “I was going to bake cake for everyone at the castle”

“The castle isn’t the kingdom!” She snapped. “If you’re going to shirk princely duties you might as well do it properly and get yourself kidnapped!”

Yonah stared at his mother. “You’re arranging for a fairytale?”

His mom sat back and smiled at him, not unlike a wicked witch from his favorite Arcane Opera. “Oh, it’s been arranged, meet your kidnapper, Sophia Ha’Esh”

She Took a breath through her smile but then it caught and she convulsed and shivered and coughed. Bringing her hands to her mouth, yonah now noticed the massive, rune inscribed iron manacles locked on her wrists and ankles. However she recovered fast, her voice still strained and weak. “I am. Happy to serve. The Wishes. Of King Maya.”

Yonah didn’t think she was so happy. But not for any obvious reason. “Er- so shall I…” he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. “How is she supposed to kidnap me?” His mom sighed. “Yeah so here’s the deal. It’s a pain to arrange for her /Honorable/ Mage Sophia,” the sarcasm was palpable, “to do a traditional kidnapping. So I signed the paperwork saying you’ve been kidnapped and all that’s left for you to do is go live with her. Until rescued of course.” Now the King turned her gaze to Sophia, who took it incredibly well. “Listen here monster, and listen good. The prince is your captive but you cannot kill him.”

/Monster?!/ The witch rolled her eyes and said. “Im not. Stupid. What about. Rescuers?”

The king shrugged “Whatever you wish.”

The witch smiled. And… did she lick her lips!? Wait mom was saying something.

“- already packed, the carriage is outside to take you to the Terrible Tower”

That was not a place yonah was familiar with. But it didn’t exactly strike fear into his heart. Many locations were given such grand names, it didn’t mean they were that bad, or that good in some cases.

Prince Yonah was not happy about being sent away so suddenly. But… mother had decided… it wasn’t really his place to fight her on this. So he simply sighed and stood up. “Alright. So we leave now?”

His mother raised an eyebrow at him, as if to be surprised he was taking this so well. Before sighing herself, as if she should have expected this from her middlest son.

“Is that all? You’re being kidnapped and that’s all you have to say about it?”

That was mom, always worried about his feelings. While he appreciated it, he didn’t have strong feelings one way or another. Well.... except. Now that she was pushing the subject.

“My… My plants! In the garden, some are rare, and need taking care of! There are also special ingredients in the kitchen I want to bring with me.”

There was a brief flash of… pride? Relief? In his mother’s face. As quick as it had come, it was gone and her face was harsh and contemplative. He worried his requests, his concerns for his plants would be denied. There was a sliver of hope. Technically his mother was plants herself, and perhaps she would feel enough kinship to be compassionate!

“Very well.” she said.

His heart, which was drifting lower in his chest, lifted, “I will need to speak to the grand master gardener-”

The King held up her hand to silence her son. “I shall personally oversee the care of your plants. No need to add more work for our gardener.”

Was she serious? She who channeled the power of a magical forest, was going to make sure his plots in the garden would thrive? She never cared so much about his hobbies before. Surely this was a joke. But his mother never joked.

“You may also stop by the kitchen on your way out, as you are to leave without any delay.” She stood up, “I have more meetings today, you are both dismissed.”

That was it. Papers signed, and he was leaving! At least he would get to stop by the kitchen for his rare spices. As he stood up, so did Sophia.

And he froze, as he looked… /up/ into her eyes, something he was not used to doing. she glared down at him, with an intense dislike that was not earned. She was at least a foot taller than he was! Was she some sort of disgraced fairy? No… she didn’t have enough fangs, and her ears weren’t pointed. She could be fey blooded. The extra magic in said lineage would make for a powerful witch.

“What are. You staring at. Little Prince.”

The last time he was called little, by someone who was not a giant was when he was 12. It was so jarring he forgot he was supposed to leave the office, even as she walked out, until his mother kindly reminded him. His mother, who seemed unsurprised by the stature of Sophia.

Three of the guards outside the door followed flanked her as she made her way down the halls and stairs. She did not try to make conversation, with them or the prince. Yonah was fine with that.

When Yonah split off to go to the kitchen one of the guards came with him, presumably to ensure he wasn’t going to try and escape his new fairytale.

There were a lot of tears and hugging when he told the kitchen staff what was happening. Yonah was sad too, but not enough to cry about it. He gathered his spices, and bid everyone goodbye.

The carriage to take him to his new life was waiting next to the inner west gate. A few suitcases tied to the top, the witch inside… along with the two guards. And two more were at the reigns. Seemed like overkill to Yonah. Without any protest, he sat next to Sophia. They both barely fit on the bench, and were squished together not so comfortably. Her skin was clammy. Was she sick?

A chill went down his spine as she turned his eyes on him.

“You dont seem. So worried. About your fate.” She breathed.

“Should I be?” he asked, genuinely wondering.

She frowned and growled “Are captives. usually prone to talking. Back to their kidnappers?”

That made yonah a smidge irked. She had initiated the conversation! So Following her example, Yonah decided to answer with a question of his own. “Why are you chained up? Are you some sort of criminal?”

Her expression darkened before she looked away, just heaving a sigh that carried a grunt. Then the runes on her cuffs flashed, and she shivered. The guards reacted instantly, bringing up magic and raising their hands.

Looking no less grumpy, the corners of her mouth turned up into a wide smile, and she started to laugh.

“Careful” she huffed, “Surely you’ve. Heard the stories. And you dont want. To have to get. Your fingers Re-. Regenerated. I’ve heard it’s painful.”

Without any more pretense she lunged forward and snapped her teeth, and just in time the guards moved their hands away. She only laughed louder until another flash of the cuffs turned her mirth into a coughing fit.

Was- was she seriously going to bite their fingers off? Or had she just been faking them out. Yonah wondered but did not dare to ask. Or speak again for the entire ride. But he did sneak glances at Sophia, not caring when they both caught each other doing so.

Upon arrival at their destination yonah found himself practically kicked out of the carriage and his belongings thrown off in random directions. He was about to give the guards what for! How DARE they mishandle his luggage, it would be a miracle if nothing broke. However they were already speeding away. Were they not going to help him carry his things inside? This question was answered when he turned around and saw the tower.

An old stone tower, 50ft tall and with no door, only a window at the very top. And Sophia was standing just off to the side, just under half as tall. Which answered the question as to why the guard drivers sped off. She paused to look down at him and he scrambled back as she knelt, hand reaching. He was not fast enough and was in her grip.

“You- You’re”

“Half-giant, yes” she grinned showing off what were now obviously giant fangs.

Her hold was not uncomfortable but neither was it comfortable. At least it felt secure! Until she started to bend over to pick up his stuff and he gripped her hand with all his might. She was no more gentle with his things than the carriage guards, shoving them into her pockets.

When his head stopped spinning he wondered how even she was going to get into the tower! The windowsill was out of her reach. Then again his question was answered as his stomach was left on the ground because Sophia had muttered a spell and lept! One arm reaching up and she grasped the windowsill. And he was toss up onto it as well. He barely had time to realize that had happened before he had to dodge her now empty hand as it got its new grip on the inside of the window and she hauled herself up and into the room, practically falling into it.

The room was a wonder. A Perfect workshop. Tables with materials and tools, each for their own type of magic. One for enchanting, one for alchemy, one for charms, one for taking notes. And an extra! There were shelves of books and notebooks organized by theme, color, author, and year. Plants, baskets, and cages hung from the ceiling, labeled of course. Cupboards also labeled and the one that was open had jars organized with contents in aleph-betacle order.

He had enough time as Sophia got up to clock two cupboards made of clearly enchanted metal, one labeled flammable and one labeled corrosive. Responsible! As she stood she tried to pretend she had not just done something completely ridiculous.

“Well?” she asked.

Yonah was confused “Well… what? You’re my captor, i dont think i’m supposed to give you orders?”

“Right. Right. I need to set you up with a bed and… Stuff” She reached for him again and though he flinched she did not hesitate to snatch him up.

The center of the floor had a trap door which she opened to reveal stairs.

“Can’t put you in a guest room. No no that’s not right at all. Not a guest, a captive. Too easy to escape. I’ll need a cage. Dont have one…”

“You had some in the workshop” he pointed out. He didnt want to be kept in a cage but it was traditional.

“Too small” she said “Also dirty… I will have to make a new cage. Or order one.”

They had only gone down one flight of stairs before she turned into the open doorway on the landing. This entered into a sitting room, a few more bookshelves were on the walls though none were more than 20% filled with book and much of the space between with knick-knacks. Light came from the magical windows but there were also lamps on the walls and the two tables. Which had dirty dishes and… socks? On them.

She walked through this room into one of the two hallways that branched out from it. This had many doors, each different shape, size, and aesthetic. Some were beautiful! Some rotting away. Others plain, and still others a bit indescribable.

Sophia opened a plain one. It was a storage room and she placed Yonah on her shoulder as she rummaged around a bit. Shelves upon shelves fo so much junk yonah could barely tell items apart! And not to speak of the pile in the center under racks of hanging items many of which were not clothing.

“Ah HA!” she said and held up massive treasure chest. She opened it and dumped the gold and jewels into a sack which she tossed back into the room “This will do!” then she emptied her pockets of his things onto a shelf and closed the door.

“Do? As what?” though he had a sinking suspicion-

“You’re bed! So I can lock you up at night and you cant escape while i sleep. Dont worry its not air tight, and I’ll put in pillows and and stuff”

“Blankets?”

“Those too.” And took the next half hour to find all these things scattered around this floor of the tower. Some of the doors in the hallway led to those guest rooms Sophia had mentioned earlier and for many of those she had to reduce to enter. Enter through doors that were not there until she reduced in size and turned the doorknob.

But that wasnt what surprised him.

“You can shrink?”

Sophia looked at him like his head had turned into a flower. “Do you have short term memory problems? I was shrunk at the castle, and for the ride there and back.”

It took a few seconds of awkward silence for Yonah to realize what he needed to clarify. “I thought that was something the guards did.”

“No, it’s a spell I modified.”

“How so?”

For the first time since being in her presence her demeanor no longer had an undercurrent of tense hostility.

“Normal shrinking spells are temporary and require an annoying amount of set up! Even a wizard who has the spell stored in their staff needs an activating circle! That’s so inconvenient and I needed to be able to shrink wherever and whenever i wanted”

Yonah continued to collect things from the room he wanted for his, hopefully temporary, bed chamber, as Sophia expounded on the construction of her reduction enchantment. For that is what it was. She was enchanted, permanently, with the ability to shrink for three hours at a time to about a third of her natural height.

The technical workings were nonsense to the prince but he still listened as he dragged out a mattress that he was confident would fit in the chest. Sophia gathered pillows and blankets.

“That is very ingenious,” Yonah commented when she finished her explanation of the spell. “And practical. Speaking of which, where are you going to be keeping me?”

For some reason that made her angry. “For now? In my room.” and she stepped out, returned to her normal size. She did not wait for him to walk out of the room to reach for him.

“Couldn't my things be brought to your room too?” he asked. “You ask a lot of questions” she didn't answer him but did not retrieve his things from the hall closet… storage room… thing. She did go to her room, which was the biggest disaster yet.

It was difficult to take it all in, as most surfaces were covered in… Yonah was sure it was mostly clothing but there were books, papers, and random other items. Judging by the smell there was no rotting food. This made sense, giants had sensitive senses of smell, either that or her inclination to be messy stopped at leaving food out. There was still a mild stink of clothes that needed to be washed.

Sophia pulled at a pile of clothes that was next to the largest pile of clothes to reveal a nightstand on which she placed the chest and stuffed it with the items from the ransacked guest room. She didnt stop Yonah when he scrambled down to remove everything and do it all over again to make something that would potentially be comfortable to an actual human being.

For a moment he thought about testing it to see if it needed adjusting but turned around to find Sophia face down in the largest pile of clothing. For another moment he thought she had died but that made no sense. For yet another moment he thought she was being dramatic. It was neither. She was sleeping.

Or so he thought, for one final moment.

“Dont fucking try” her muffled voice warned as he leapt from the nightstand and started to make his way to the door.

Nevermind she was being dramatic.

“Ugh I want to take a nap, i HATE wearing those cuffs i just want to sleep forever. But im also hungry.”

If her contract hadnt clearly stated that she couldn't hurt him… permanently… Yonah would be worried that he was lunch. Instead the mention of food provided a spark of hope. Lunch meant food preparation. And food preparation meant a kitchen! Then the spark died as the fear of the likely appalling condition of the kitchen loomed its head.

It was… bad. But not as bad as his fears. Pots and pans were piled up but were clean and on the stove. The oven was also stuffed. There were a few jars of items that should have been kept in a cold room that had to be full of poison now, but most of the clutter was non-food items, or dried spices.

The desire to cook was overwhelming but the fear of the witch was overpowering. The fear of what she was going to cook… he was trying not to think about it as he was sure she was eyeing him hungrily. So he backed away to let her do whatever it was she was going to do.

Quickly it became clear why the kitchen was in such a state. Sophia disappeared into a pantry and returned with eggs larger than his head but were like quail eggs in her hands. She took one pot from the stack and filled it with water, dropping the eggs in. At least 2 dozen. With a snap of her fingers a spark was sent to the stove. She stuck a finger into the water and her eyes blazed, a moment later the water boiled.

The rest of the prep was frustratingly simple. She got out bread, sliced it, and with her own hands toasted them. Not evenly, each slice had a handprint. And she retrieved onions, which were as large as the eggs. Both her and yonah had tears in their eyes from her attempt to slice them.

“Did you build this kitchen?” yonah asks.

“No, it came perfectly sized for myself, in a tower that was run by a smallfolk sorcerer!” she snapped with sarcasm.

That was all he needed to hear to shut him. So he started to wander around, and soon found what he was looking for. Tucked away in a cupboard, human sized implements. Sophia was concentrating so hard she didn’t notice, or didnt show that she noticed.

He found all sorts of stuff hidden away, tools, fuel, spices, oils. He took some of the unburnt portions of her bread and toasted them, with a toaster. And with his spices and herbs he made a sauce in the oil.He even added some of the dried pepper after crushing it as best he could. Then he waited for the eggs.

By then she HAD noticed what he was doing and didnt stop him, but neither did she help him as he had to travel back and forth from cupboards to the counter top with how equipment and ingredients. She only handed him a single egg when she felt they had been boiling for long enough.

“STOP!” he couldnt help himself as she reached into the boiling pot of water and she starred at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then she stuck her hand in fished out the eggs.

“How- are you a-”

“FireWitch, yes. Well. I’m half,” she answered as she mashed the eggs, the yolks still a bit runny, With the shells left on. And yonah felt very protective of his own egg. The shell was thick! He had to use a meat mallet to crack it and he narrowly avoided the still scalding inside.

Sophia had finished preparing her horrorshow of a meal. The mashed eggs were seasoned with salt and a concerning amount of dried pepper. Then onto the bread she put the onion bits and the egg. The sickening CRUNCH as she took a bite of the sandwich nearly put him off making his own.

As it was he needed her help. He couldnt touch the egg without burning himself, and she couldnt burn.

“Can you run this under some cold water?” he asked, putting more effort than he wanted to admit into keeping his voice level.

The wait for her to answer was worse than the grating crunches of egg shell as she pondered his request. Then he had to leap back as she reached for him out of nowhere! “I’m sorry I-” he began, not knowing how to apologize to avoid punishment.

She chuckled and continued to reach, until she was gently pinching his egg. Again her eyes lit up, softer, a friendly orange. “There” she said.

And she said nothing more as he worked to shell the egg enough to carve off some of the white and release some yolk. Like Sophia had, Yonah mixed the white and yolk together, but unlike sophia he used more than salt for seasoning. He drizzled his sauce on each side of the bread, took the onions and peppered them, and completed his creation. It wasnt anything special, but at least it tasted good.

Sophia was hovering over him by now. The look of hunger from before even more intense, and she had just eaten! While Yonah was a large human, known for a large appetite, he found himself unable to eat more than half before his nerves tightened his stomach.

No sooner had he set his food down than it was snatched up by sophia. And for a moment the harshness that lingered on her face vanished. An instant later it was back.

“Why is yours so much better than mine!?” she demanded.

That spooked him for a moment before he got excited “Would you like me to show you?”

There wasn’t a moment hesitation before she answered “yes.” Then “but not right now”

She reached for the rest of his egg. Still mostly intact and still with the shell and popped it into her mouth. The crunch and the trickle of yolk nearly made him lose his lunch. He was lucky he didn’t when she then scooped him up.

“right now is time for gardening”

It took until his head stopped spinning and they were in Sophia’s bedroom… his and Sophia’s bedroom… that he processed what she had said. Surely he had imagined it.

Then she disrobed and put on a plaid shirt and overalls, swapping her witch’s hat for a straw hat.

“I don’t have an outfit for you.” She commented once she was dressed. Now she had on boots and gardening gloves.

Oh! “My suitcases.”

The suitcases which were in the storage room. Instead of fetching them she once again picked him up and took him to the closet. He didn’t know which suitcase it was in because his mom had the servants pack up his things so it took a bit of time to find his own set of gardening clothes. It probably wasn’t that long but it felt like it under the watchful eyes of the witch. And no, she didn’t take him back to the room to get dressed. He had to so on a shelf in the cold musty room.

He should have anticipated being snatched up again the moment he was dressed but he didn’t and he was. What he could not anticipate was the method of getting down to her garden.

She jumped. Out the window.

He did not stay on his feet when she placed him on the ground and said a spell that reduced her size again. He used the gardening tools that she took from her hat and handed to him to stand up.

The garden was both a dream and a nightmare. It was well kept, amazingly kept! In terms of the health of the plants. Organization wise it was a disaster. She had clearly tried to have a system which fell apart at some point.

And the plants. The variety almost equaled the palace. Sophia had to keep reminding him that “he do exactly as she orders.” But it was so hard. He saw so many areas he could immediately start to work on. Trim, weed, water, harvest. But this wasn’t his garden. It was hers. And she had not planned on having an assistant.

While he was familiar with a majority of the flora, there was a great deal he had only read about. And many of those were extremely dangerous. Of course those were the ones Sophia had him help the most with.

When the gardening was finished he had been scratched, bitten, burned, stung. But he was happy.

Until they were back in the workshop. Sophia was pacing. She had at least taken him and his luggage to her room and they changed back into day clothes.

Yonah had no idea what he should be doing. He expected Sophia to demand something of him any moment. So all he could think to do was pace as well. All over the desk. Exploring but not really registering bc much of the clutter.

Then his prediction came true.

“Listen up prince!”

Sophia said out of nowhere.

Yonah immediately froze and stood at attention.

“You’re mine now! Do you understand what that means?”

Prince Yonah stood on the workshop desk, hands behind his back, a disinterested look on his face. He breathed in.

“Ive read books. You’ll keep me in a cage until someone comes to rescue me.” His tone drolled, “in the meantime I’m to sing and dance for you and suchlike. I’m a decent singer, but I need a partner for most-.”

Two hands slammed down on either side, and the wicked witch smiled and snarled in his face.

“WRONG!” She somehow managed to bellow in a high pitched excited manner. “IT MEANS I’VE GOT A NEW TOY, A NEW LAB RAT! A NEW SNACK!”

That got a reaction.

“Did you say Snack?”

Impossible as it might seem, her grin got larger. It occurred to Yonah she was baring her teeth. Her very large, very pointed, teeth.

“YES! I’m going to eat you!” She declared like it was some sort of party she just invited him to. “Smallfolk taste very good! And you taste…”

Narrowing her eyes she lowered her face so they were nearly eye to eye. Her eyes were quite stunning. Very warm brown, almost like red clay. They were full of excitement and manic energy.

Then she licked him. Just on his cheek. It was kinda like being kissed by a giant dog, it was a strangely innocently affectionate action. It was also extremely gross.

“You taste incredible! How can I not eat you!?”

Yonah tried and failed to wipe the drool from his face.

“Because my mother will kill you? Aren’t you supposed to keep me alive?” He recalled her saying so in her royal office.

She straightened up and did not stop smiling.

“Yes! That means we’ve got a fun challenge ahead of us!” She didn’t wait for him to ask what that would be, she was too hyped.

“We’ve got to figure out how to ensure your safety,”

/That’s nice I guess/ thought the prince.

“Before I eat you out of boredom,”

/oh.../ not that nice.

“Actually, before I mess up!” She corrected, “I plan to eat you…tonight! Sort of like initiation as my minion! And dessert! Two for one!” She raised two fingers and closed her eyes in a fashion that, on another world, would be called kawaii.

“So… you plan to come up with this safety method before-“

“Oh no!” She shook her head “I’ll just spit you up before you die! Unless I mess up, like I said. There’s always that chance.”

Not wanting to admit his fear Yonah made an observation, “You’ve done that before?”

“Sure have!” She put her fists on her hips and looked rather proud of herself, “And it ain’t easy at my size, let me tell you. Much less work to just let you tasty little fuckers die.”

Yonah restrained himself from asking about her kill to mercy ratio, but he did think about it. It didn’t really matter since she had to be merciful for him. Though the way she talked about it made it sound like she’d accidentally killed folks that she meant to let go… And that she cared very little about her own life if she was willing to take that chance eating him.

Oh right. Back to the important part. She was going to eat him. And there wasn’t really anything he could do to stop her. The only glimmer of hope was that she said it was difficult for her. While Yonah didn’t really care, he wasn’t proud nor ashamed to admit it: he was fat. Maybe she would choke trying to swallow him whole. They could both die. Two for one.

But that was tonight. It was now mid-afternoon, and it looked like the witch had plans unrelated to him. Not that he cared.

Not that she cared either. She was moving around all sorts of things, not giving him any mind. Yonah kept having to dodge out of the way as she kept placing and replacing things on the workbench, like she just had to choose today to organize her shit. Books, bottles, boxes, sacks, and even a small (for her) black cauldron. He was grateful that instead of dropping the cauldron on top of him, she just swept him aside, almost over the side of the workbench. Finally she seemed ready to do some real work.

It was quite the show. Writing notes, mixing powders and crystals and spices and liquids, using magic words, or waving a wand in a specific motion. He had pegged the witch as unfocused, most likely to get distracted, but she worked steadily. Every so often she would get excited or frustrated and her eyes would flash orange. Yonah was impressed, even if she kept side-eying him like one would a piece of cake they were saving for later but really wanted to eat now.

“Uh,” he said, and she yelped, dropping her quill and splattering ink across the notebook. She glared at him but he kept going, “Are you um. Working that safety method?”

All of the previous irritation left her eyes but it was replaced by bemused confusion and she cocked her head, “Why would I do that?”

Yonah shrugged and blinked but did not say anything.

“This is an enchantment my good friend Myran sent me a week ago, I'm improving it!” she went back to her work.

“What’s it supposed to do?” Yonah asked, curious despite himself. Big mistake.

Sophia turned to him and flicked some of the dried flakes that were in a small bowl into his face. He’d seen her make these, rolling out a paste so thin and then drying it. She said some words and Yonah felt his skin start to fizz like someone dunked him in carbonated water.

“I feel all floaty,” Yonah tried to say but was really woozy.

“Drat it!” he heard from his fog. No not a fog, his glasses had come off! But he couldnt; move his feet without feeling nauseated.

“Sophia, glasses!” he didn’t really think shed help him out but he felt his spectacles slide onto his face. How had she avoided poking his eyes out??

It didn’t help as much as he thought it would but he saw the world around him again. He lifted his arms towards the face of the witch who was very angry and he didn;t know why.

“What happened, what did you do?”

Her eyes glowed and she slammed a fist on the table, “nothing! The spell didn’t work right!” she spat.

“I think I’m done working for today” she growled and his stomach dropped. She was eyeing him hungrily again, but this time was different. This time it was serious.

“Do you really have to eat me?”

“No! I don’t,” she said, but Yonah didn’t get any hopes up, “I want to eat you.”

“Can I at least take my nice clothes off?”

Sophia made a very childish face that didn’t suit an evil giant witch. Sticking out her tongue and wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Eat you naked? Gross!”

At least they were in agreement on that. Yonah sighed, “No… I’ll keep my undergarments on.”

The change was immediate, “Oh! Then yes, that sounds great!” She rested her head on the table in her folded arms, eyes wide with anticipation, a bit like a cat who spotted a still living mouse in a mouse trap.

“Uh, you want me to- strip. Here?”

She nodded, “Either you do it or I’ll try my best not to break your limbs doing it myself.”

He undressed as fast as he could. Under his suit he had on silken undershorts. When he started to fold up his clothes Sophia snorted, reached out a hand and took them away into her sleeve.

Then with the same hand, scooped up the prince, and sat up, leaning back in her chair with a smile. The prince was shaking.

“Don’t worry too much, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” then, “One last thing, I’ll give you a choice, feet first or head first?”

Wow, how nice. “F-feet?” he didn’t really think about it. And apparently neither did she.

Then she opened her mouth very wide, a bit wider than should have been possible. And he got a very good look down into it as he was lifted up by his armpits above her head.

A fanged jaw and eager maw.

Then he descended.

Ohhhh why did he take his shoes off? His feet slipped on her tongue, though he was grateful she placed it over her bottom teeth. His stomach still brushed against the top teeth, almost stopping him from even fitting, but ever the helpful one he sucked in his gut so as his legs were pulled into the throat, his chest was entirely in her mouth. His form was inched downwards with small successive swallows, the tongue against his back, tasting him and keeping him steady.

She was swallowing very gently, at least, he assumed, because he’d barely noticed it. Yes there was a pulling force, but it wasn’t sharp. He still worried that she wouldn’t be able to get him down, and she would choke, and well. That would be that!

There was a definite pause as his face passed between the teeth, and his waist was at the throat. He felt her tense around him, and then a much stronger, much more crushing force, shoved at him, dragging him into the confined space of her esophagus. A few more of those, which he was sure might break a few bones but thankfully did not, and his entire body was encased in the smooth moist muscle. Or well. Not all of it. But the horrible pounding of his own heart and hers and the fact that he could not breathe? He didn’t really think about how his calves were dangling in the stomach. He didn’t really want to think anymore.

Then more pushing, gentle again, and his feet hit a slimy squishy surface. Ohhh no. Soon he was forced into the chamber. A stinking, deadly chamber, the only upside was that it wasn’t constricting. He still filled up the entire space, stretching it to what had to be the near limit. He was breathing so hard he just barely noticed that Sophia was too. Gasping and heaving. Ok he did notice, because every breath into her lungs pressed down on him, and the rolling of her chest rolled around him.

“Shit” she wheezed, “That was fucking hard, you’re really fat.”

She sounded annoyed at him, as if he should apologize to her for making her eat him at his current weight. Well. He had no plans to lose any pounds. She could just suffer.

“Gods alive, I don’t think I've eaten anyone so big before, ugh.”

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he very much wanted her to say that, as he tried to stretch out as much as possible.

She moaned, as if his presence was painful. “Don’t move so much,” she said, and for some reason he obliged. “I don't regret anything. You were delicious, and I’m just a little overstuffed. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

Oh joy, she planned to keep on eating him, even if the experience caused her pain. She truly was crazy.

There had been more than a few moments that Sophia had seriously reconsidered trying to eat the prince. She had felt her front teeth push against his middle, but somehow he still slipped through her mouth and into her throat.Then when she swallowed past his legs, her esophagus was strained badly she thought he would get stuck. For a brief moment she couldn't breathe, but with determination she continued to swallow and it got easier from there. Still she was panting for air even after the first minute.

Now it felt like she had swallowed a halt-giant sized bowling ball, even if, confoundingly, it did not look like it. It reminded her of… there was like that one time when she caught two thieves and had the brilliant idea to eat them both at the same time. Actually that wasn’t as bad. Once in her stomach she was definitely a little too full but swallowing them had not been such an ordeal.

As she breathed more and more easily and made slightly coherent responses to the prince wriggling in her poor stomach, a terrible thought struck her.

What if she couldn’t spit him back up! It had been an almost impossible ordeal to get him down. But she would have to, she couldn’t kill him. Not that she cared about his life, but her own was very much on the line, as the prince had kindly told that afternoon.

However she could worry about that in five minutes. For now she tried to relax and take whatever enjoyment she could from this situation. The prince had tasted amazing, especially with only minimal clothing on! How nice of him to have insisted upon it. She placed a hand over her full stomach. Curious, she pressed down a bit.

“Hey! What’s that!” The prince jerked under her palm and she winced as her stomach was stretched again. All in all the pain wasn’t BAD, it was just a bit annoying. She was confident her stomach would stretch over time.

“My hand, you idiot!” She hissed and pressed her fingers down more forcefully, “I told you to stop moving so much!”

She drummed her fingers over her swollen middle and was pleased to hear the prince grumble.

“It’s hard to breathe in here,” he complained.

“I know,” she said, "plenty of her victims had been so kind to tell her, “but I won't let you pass out.” though she wasn’t so sure… She hoped he wouldn’t. Since he knew she was going to spit him out, he wouldn’t struggle against her and use up his air as fast. And as long as he was conscious he could help by orienting himself into a much more streamline position. The other benefit to less struggle was it kept the pain low, and the fullness pleasant. Even as she continued to bother him. For several minutes.

Finally she could breathe normally, and that made her pissed off because it was soon time to get the prince out. The pain had started to dull enough so she could really appreciate how filling her prince was. She really needed a way to keep him safer for longer. There was a sharp movement under her hand.

“It’s! Starting! To! Sting!” He cried, clearly out of breath.

Not one to show any weakness Sophia groaned with immense disappointment, “fiiiiiiine, I’ll get you out. Don’t fight against it.”

“Why would I-” but then he felt it, the stomach constricting violently. Before it had been gently rolling, now it stiffened, and tried to shove him through the small tough ring of flesh he’d come through. It wasn’t working so well. The hacking got more forceful yet it didn’t seem to be helping. But he needed to get out, especially as the fluids were starting to rise.

Guess he had to be proactive. He put his hands together like an olympic diver and pushed them into the esophagus, took a deep breath, and tried to make a large enough space to get his arms and head into, stretching out his legs against the other side of the stomach. With the organ so tense it did not give way and make him slip back, but it was still nearly impossible to get purchase.

It worked.

A few more retches and Sophia pressing interlocked fists into her stomach, the prince somehow re-entered the tight tube of flesh that really would rather he have stayed where he was and died. The flesh tube’s owner however was not having it. And he slowly made his way upward.

This was so much worse than swallowing him! She practically punched herself in the stomach, hoping that wouldn’t hurt the prince, and didn’t feel that much joy when he eventually was pushed out of her stomach. Her throat complained loudly and she had to ignore it and the instinct to swallow the prince back down.

She was grateful that his hands were the first thing back in her mouth and she reached in to pull him out. Luckily she did not dislocate his shoulders or rip off his arms. He slid out onto the desk, sticky and coughing as she took deep breaths that pressed against an aching chest. Still worth it.

Now of course she was missing her feeling of fullness. So she took her sticky prince and carried him with her to the kitchen, dropping him in the sink and turning the faucet before opening the cupboard to grab bread, peanut butter, and jelly to make a quick sandwich.

Yonah washed and dried off while Sophia observed with some sort of amusement, like one watching a pet hamster. All on her own she remembered she had his clothes. But said she’d keep them for now, he needed to get into pjs not a suit! She was right but that meant he was standing in his undies.

“Want some?” The witch broke off a corner piece of the sandwich and held it out to him.

Again he was reminded of a pet hamster. Still he took it. Sure he’d just been eaten but He was hungry, especially after eating so little for luch. Now that he thought about it, Sophia had been kind to wait so many hours before eating him so that her stomach was empty. Now that he though about it more, she probably just didn’t want to barf up her food, rather than do this for his comfort.

The PB&J was really good, even she couldn’t mess that up, considering she didn’t make any of the components. The corner was lacking in jelly so it was a bit dry but much less sticky.

A very pleasant but awkward end to his first night as her captive. Many more minuses than plusses, but as they sat munching on late night sandwiches, they weren’t enemies. And he knew one thing for certain, life with Sophia wasnt going to be boring.

——

[FIN. i hope to write more little adventures in the inverted mystic woods! Sophia is a wild witch and Yonah a bit of a funny lump. Thanks for reading]

#safe vore #soft vore #gt vore #gtvore #gianttiny #giant/tiny #nonsexual vore #vore writing

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