#ash can attest to it

[destructix]

anytime ginzo shows up im like "where's your daughter"

#not even lying #ash can attest to it #talk tag

[teehee-vibes]

I found the root of my adoration for father figure characters, and it was fucjing Hawlucha from the Pokémon XY(Z) anime.

I genuinely can’t think of a Dad character that I loved before this guy. He’s a bird, too, gosh darn it.

Shout out to the flying type trio from XY, they were the ultimate family ever ))): proud parents, and their equally proud littol guy

He’s so worried for him omg I’m ill

#anipoke #pokemon xy #pokemon hawlucha #pokemon noibat #pokemon fletchinder #actively crying about them in a call #friends can attest #fell down this rabbit hole while looking for ideas about swap AU Ash’s performer design #have made no progress #👍

[dabisbratz]

PENANCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: 5.1k

౨ৎ . . . warning: light bondage/restraints, fucking on a cross, argument, bottom reader, mixed praise/degradation, leons corny one-liners, impulsive reader, fingering, spit, finger sucking, oral sex, improper use of guns, “make-up” sex (kinda), standing mating press, dirty talk, sir kink, leon’s weak pull-out game, readers genitalia undisclosed, clothed sex, d/s understones, two (2) spanks, phone sex (kinda?)

The last lingering days of winter sit at the very edge of the night, the top of the inveterate day, like the ever-ticking clock resting upon the wall that inches deeper into the midnight sky with its turning. The taste of regret lingers in the air, bitter and sour and pungent, assaulting the senses of any passerby and residents.

So overpowering, in fact, it’s plagued the plagued, drew them straight to you as you ran through the dingy village. Your combat boots slipped through the mud, clingy and riddled with a thick, musty smell that clasped itself to your clothes. The air was thick with fog, an impenetrable layer of milky grays that made it almost impossible to see through, and the gun glued to your hand felt like a cold, heavy brick.

Your mission was simple enough— accompany your superior while he secured ‘Baby Eagle’, make yourself unknown.

Tread carefully.

Your knife— secured by a leather scabbard wrapped around the swell of your thigh— remained cold and sharp. You thought there’d be no use for it— no close encounters.

Tread carefully.

You’d managed to run through the heart of the village, conjuring up quite the mob, full of pitchforks and flames, full of ashes and debris that danced in the air. It burned your lungs more than the running, lit the charcoal fire in the pit of your stomach as you ran until you couldn’t anymore— and your partner was out of sight.

Tread carefully.

Leon told you to stick beside him. Follow closely behind and he’d cover you, as long as you covered him. But you just couldn’t help yourself— the blood rushing through your veins and your heart pumping in your ears— you panicked. You ran. Stupidly, selfishly, you ran. You’d broken the dam and left Leon to pick up the pieces.

The last thing you’d heard before slamming the mass of your body into a wooden door was the gruff scream of your name, Leon, who you knew was more than capable of making it out just fine. That wasn’t the issue, no— it was your recklessness, your brief disregard for his advisory or guiding hand— it was your impulsiveness to run straight into danger.

He’d specifically told you not to on the way there. Stick by his side and you’d be okay— not that you’re incapable—just inexperienced. No strays— none of the sort. No catching any, no following any, no becoming any.

So now you have to pay for your mistakes.

You’re sprawled on the cross like a two-page spread, skin sheen and wet with what you assume is sweat— and dirt sticks to the slickness of your forehead. The pitter patter of rain against the poorly ventilated windowsill lingers, and the dirty glass trembles with loneliness. You can certainly attest to that, with your arms bound above your head and tied up in rusty chains. There’s no one here but you and your thoughts, your increasingly darkening veins and swimming mind.

You don’t remember who chained you up— perhaps the crafty residents of the village with much more intelligence than you’d like to admit, especially considering their predicament. But you do remember the injection of something cold and foreign. Something that absolutely should not be in your body. It doesn’t hurt, though, it’s not uncomfortable. And the wetness of the air bothers your head much more than the injection, if it’s bothering you at all.

It’s more a minor inconvenience than anything, aesthetically.

Perhaps it’s immunity, or maybe just inattentiveness. You’d have to tell Leon about it later, if you ever get to see him again.

You can’t help but think of him, his opalescent skin that travels for miles, the small quirk to his pink lips when he’s reveling in pride, the bleached-blond bundles of hair that sit perfectly atop his head. Like a crown— like a halo. The piercing blue of his eyes, cold as the arctic as he stares right through you. The deep pool of his pupils that dilate and constrict when sunlight hits them just right. . . The swell of his biceps when he crosses his arms, bulging and spilling over his closed fists. His hands, rough and scarred. Gloved and airbrushed with leather gloves that stop just before his knuckles, hiding the veins and muscles of his hands that stream down his wrists like a steady river.

It’s almost like you can hear him, the assertiveness of his voice that reverberates in your ears. Like he’s next to you again, wrapping his large hand around your wrist and maneuvering it into the right position for combat— the thickness of his voice as he notes aloud, “Keep it like this or you’ll hurt yourself.”

This whole time he’s been your keeper, steering you through the village with one hand secured around the handle of his gun and the other cradling the nape of your neck.

(“I got it.” You’d muttered, shaking off the heat of his large palm. There was something calculating in his eyes, and his long, dark eyelashes batted against the prominent curve of his cheekbone.

Your pistol rested in your hand, barely a scratch across its metal surface. You were still a bit slow at reloading, but you got the job done.

“As long as I’m here, I’m sure you do.)

You want to laugh about it now, pitifully, because the chains around your wrists are nowhere near as warm. Just as domineering, maybe, but not comforting in the slightest. It’s embarrassing to admit how often you’d thought about it— his comfort, late hours in the night filled with his voice, his hands, his touch.

Heat pools in your abdomen, swimming down your navel and spreading between your thighs. Now isn’t the time— not that you could take care of anything if you wanted to— You’ve been stripped of everything— just not in the way you want.

There’s a quiet rustle of the leaves, barely audible with the echoing pews of the church, but you hear it. That walking pattern. . . stepstep… step… stepstep’ only belongs to one person, and you feel relief pushing down your shoulders.

“Jesus...”

“Leon,” Breathy like a prayer, your hands clench into fists as you strain against the rusty chains. His figure grows, stalking forward with swaying shoulders that look broader than ever, and his nude lips are pulled tight into a snarl. His eyebrows— full and straight, pinch together with what you assume is anger, and a familiar crease forms between them. “I can explain.”

His shoulders bounce, as if he’s let out a sour chuckle, and there’s a slight shake to his head as he carries himself up the steps to free you. Quite the hero, you can’t bring yourself to stare into his eyes for too long as he scours your body for injuries. Nothing major— nothing he can’t help with, and his blue eyes settle on your face for much longer than he’d like to admit. There’s a soft haze to his furious eyes, the fire behind them dampening as his mind slowly realizes you’re alright for now.

You’re alive.

“Oh, I'm sure you can,” He quips, circling around the contraption you’re chained to. It almost feels primal, his intense gaze taking you in from every angle as he walks forward to trace his fingertips along your wrists. He’s gentle, though, feathery light as he gives an experimental tug to the metal. “And you will. So you better start talking.”

A small breath of relief escapes your freshly parted lips as it’s pulled away, and Leon doesn’t miss the indents freshly engraved into your skin. His frown deepens, but the cool leather of his fingerless gloves feel much more soothing than the chains.

You don’t mind it as much as he does.

A dagger of shame shoots through your chest, beating and writhing against the confines of your rib cage. Your tongue is tied, excuses dying in your throat as you stare at Leon’s five-fingered grip on your wrist. It’s tightening, his nails digging into your wrist ever so slightly, though you already have no chance at escape. You figure it’s meant to ground you, not hurt you.

“It’d be a lot easier if I were free,” You’re stalling, not all that uncomfortable as Leon turns his head in the direction of your face, his head tilted downward and his breath lightly fanning your neck. Warm. “…Leon? Wanna help a guy out, or…”

A characteristic clench to his jaw has the words dying on your tongue, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, he’s seething.

“Pull something like this again and those things won’t be the only ones after your head.” The warmth of his large chest against yours leaves just as it arrives, and he’s tilting his neck to really get a good look at you. Trying to get his point across, you suppose, with steely, gunmetal blue eyes. You can’t help but waver, irises stinging as you turn your attention to your bound wrists. Part of you wants to roll your eyes.

That just won’t do.

Leon sucks his teeth, gripping your jaw with restrained strength so you’re actually looking at him now, and whatever excuse you’ve created dissipates immediately. The look in his eyes—territorial, maybe?—has you at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch his pink tongue dart over his bottom lip.

Whatever he’s thinking about, you don’t like it, because he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other with his hands on his hips. His face is pensive, but you can still feel the heat of his anger radiating off his skin. Even from a distance. “Shoot the chains or something.”

“Sure, let me accidentally graze you with a shotgun shell while I’m at it.” More bite than he’d intended, Leon loosens the straps to his body armor and lets it hit the ground with a small thud. You blink, eyelashes beating against your cheeks as you blink away surprise.

“Leon—”

“Shh, I don’t give a damn. You could’ve died. Seriously, what were you thinking?” His hair sways, violent and angry and overprotective. “Don’t go running off like that again, you understand?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m a grown man—” Irritation bubbles in your throat— did he just shush you?

“Damn right you’re not. And I’m not your father. Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?”

“I had it under control.” You both know you’re lying through your teeth, but Leon wants to really drive his point home. He nods, noncommittal, snaking his arm around your waist and down the small of your back to unzip the pocket attached to your utility belt. He pulls out your gun, which remains heavy and shiny with disuse.

“Yeah? Under control with no bullets?” He aims the gun at a large mosaic of a stained window, and pulls the trigger with no hesitation. There’s nothing but a click, then resounding silence as he slowly releases the trigger, one hand secured over his knuckles while the other grips the pistol's handle.

“Lee, c’mon, we have stuff to do,” You sound whiny and borderline pathetic. You almost expect him to tell you to ‘use the magic word’, but he’s too busy pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips. His finger tastes vaguely of salt and leather, and you fight the urge to open your mouth and suck on it. “…Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging for. The ache in your wrists feels dull and distant, and you can’t help but press the tip of your tongue against the flat underside of his thumb. You watch his pupils blow wide, pink creeping up his neck and pooling around the shells of his ears.

“Okay.” He breathes, broad shoulders melting ever so slightly as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth, taking in every curve and contour of lips as you wrap them around his thumb. It fills your mouth with ease, caressing the flat surface of your tongue with slow, circular strokes. You want more. “Yeah— okay. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Sir.” You try to sound more snarky and annoyed than anything, but it’s hard when you’re deepthroating another man’s finger. You sputter around his thumb, can barely form a coherent sentence with it pressing into your mouth like this— but Leon seems to catch on anyway, chuckling humorlessly to himself. Stubborn boy.

There’s a warning pat to your cheek, and suddenly you’re back in that training facility. Dimly lit and nearly empty, save for some equipment and workout machines— save for you and Leon, who kept his hands relaxed as you punched him square in the palm.

It was Leon who was told to take you in, show you the ropes, and he’d done so with a sly remark and a curt nod. It flew over your head at first, whatever he was implying, but you were slowly starting to get it now.

(“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Time to break in the fresh meat, then.”)

Only a few months ago, you’d been recruited into special forces, and there was something special about you. Something untapped and not yet tainted— there was still a genuine curve to your lips when you smiled, a sparkle in your eyes as you spoke. Charm was written all over your face, boyish and giddy and eager. You’d reminded Leon a bit of himself back in 1998, full of potential but laced with undeniable naivety.

And, truthfully, he liked you. Likes you, even, because of it. You remind him of who he used to be— why he’s here— to serve and protect. And if he’s being honest, he wants to protect you.

Even if it means putting you back in your place.

Breaking you in.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I understand, Sir.” You’ve lost some bass in your voice, and it comes out shaky and cracked. You don’t have time to dwell on it now, how pathetic you sound, because Leon’s expression is nothing short of prideful. Your breath hitches in your throat, stuck in your larynx as you want the blond take in a sharp breath. He likes the title.

“Atta boy.” His eyelids are blanketed, heavy as he stares down at your lips with the remnants of a lazy smile. His— your — gun is still in his hand, but with him closing the distance between the two of you, it’s pressed against your collarbone.

You can’t help it; the opportunity is right there, and you find yourself leaning forward to press your tongue flat against the slide of the pistol.

“Playing a dangerous game, pretty.” Leon rasps, but taps the barrel of the gun against your tongue anyway. It’s slick with your spit, shiny and wet and he has to resist the urge to suck on it too. To taste you. “Yeeaah, just like that. There you go.”

It’s like you’ve learned nothing.

With a low grunt, Leon pushes the gun deeper into your mouth, using his left hand to hold onto the nape of your neck and keep you still. Asshole.

Ever the brat, you furrow your brows and thrash against your restraints.

“You can take it,” He hushes you, using that voice he has reserved for hostages or targets, all gentle and sweet. It’s hushed, barely a whisper, but it makes your brain foggy anyway. You can take it. “Give me your mouth. You can do that for me, can’t you? Say ‘yes sir’.”

You try, hard as you can, whining around the barrel of the gun with tears springing in your eyes. It’s hot and heavy now, like some sort of makeshift dildo, but you know the real thing would feel better. Warmer, stickier, curved and veiny. Thick on your tongue and pulsing, salty and sweet and long.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ. Holy shit,” He’s fucking your throat, sliding the metal into your mouth as far as it can go. It’d be much better if it were his cock instead, so big and so deep, leaving a bulge as he grinds it into your mouth. You’d take it like a champ too, eager and greedy. “Breathe.”

“Sir,” You gurgle, drool running down your chin and coating your skin until Leon pulls the pistol away and inspects it.

You watch him part his lips, previously pulled into a frown, to suck along the barrel of the gun and lap up your spit. There’s remnants of mint and saliva, fresh and sour when combined with the metal of the pistol. “Shit—Leo.”

“Tastes good. Did you take my gum?” He hums, witty as ever. It’s a passing comment, one you can’t help but laugh at, and the man seems to appreciate it. Even if he doesn’t exactly say that. He doesn’t give you much time to laugh, instead opts to connect his lips with yours. Finally, you moan into his mouth, much sweeter and pliant than before. You can’t stay mad at him.

“That’s all you needed, huh. Just a few sweet words, a couple kisses… If I’d known that I would’ve done that months ago.”

Only because you’re so needy, though. Your hips buck into the air, grinding against the space between your hips as your heart slams against your chest. You want more— need more, and the ache between your thighs is enough to prove it. You whimper, high in your throat and full of frustration.

“You really like hearing yourself talk.” You can’t take yourself seriously, not like this, but you say it anyway with nothing but the intent to get fucked stupid. You don’t doubt his capabilities, not with the way Leon’s staring at you. Predatory and ready, like he expected you to say that, his large hand gripping his cock through his tightening pants. You swallow hard, sensing some kind of mistake, and manage to gulp down your pride in the process. If you were someone else you’d be scared, running away from his anger with your tail between your legs. But you’re not.

“You just can’t wait, that it? Over here humping my leg like a damn dog, and now you have something to say? What, because your little hole gets frustrated when it’s been empty for too long?”

You’re squirming within seconds, struggling to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist. Even after dropping his armor he’s wearing too many clothes, too many layers that separate your skin from his. You can’t exactly take your shirt off, not without ripping it straight down the middle, but your lower half is free rein.

“Spoiled brat,” It’s something the blond registers too, because his big hands are hastily unbuttoning your pants and tugging them down your thighs, trailing behind with the gentle scrape of his fingernails. “Remind me the only way to keep you quiet is stuffing your holes.”

He’ll be able to see you much better like this, kneeling in front of your position on the cross to really see you. The clenching of your hole, empty and needy, the trail of lube gushing from it just as he hopes to, the shiny slickness covering your inner thighs. He wants to bury his face in it, fuck you on his tongue till you’re downright ruined, fucked-out and plaint. Maybe it’s in your nature to drift off, have your brain cut off from an orgasm (or two..or three) until you’re malleable enough to listen.

Your words are stuck in your throat, choked up and wobbly as his fingers relentlessly press into that special bundle of nerves. You feel like a slut, with Leon’s fingers twisting and pounding away, his newfound grip on your thighs so tight you’re gasping, crying out and squealing. He’s still careful, applying just the right amount of strength to keep you still.

“We don’t have much time,” His breath is hot against your entrance, and it can’t help but flutter with his mouth so close. Leon’s face contorts, softening as he licks a fat, wet stripe alongside it. “Wish I could keep you on my tongue. But you won’t mind something bigger, yeah?”

There’s nothing for you to hold onto as his fingers poke and prod at your hole, rubbing smooth, slow circles around the entrance. You want to wrap your arms around him, grip his shirt like iron and stifle your moans with it— but you’re chained. Leon pauses to stick his thumb in his mouth— the same one previously pressed against your own—and brings it down to you, pushing into your hole with ease. The thought of an indirect kiss has you spreading your thighs, lifting a leg just barely above Leon’s shoulder. Maybe you’re easy— maybe a kiss is all you need. Maybe it’s just because it’s Leon.

“Damn. Feel so fucking good on my fingers, baby,” He purrs, his voice melting in your ears. “Keep it up and I’ll see if I can promote you to Special Forces’ personal fuckhole.”

His fingers are wet and thick, you’re not sure how he’d managed to lubricate them so well, maybe he kept some in those extra storage pockets of his, but whatever it is…feels good. Slick and warm, almost feels like he’s fucking a fresh load of cum into you. The thought has you mewling, hands furled into tight fists as you struggle to stay upright.

With an unending stream of pitiful noises, your mouth pools with saliva that starts to dribble from the part of your pouty lips, and you instinctively spread your legs wide. It’s far from gross, the messiness of your drool catching on your chin and trailing down your clothed chest. It’s hot— you’ve gone braindead from his fingers alone, and he’s barely even started. You’re wailing, more wet and hiccupy sobs than moans, and tears stream down your handsome face in response. It’s just too much: too big, too deep, too warm, too wet.

You can’t do anything but take in the digits, slick and warming up by the minute until they curl, deep and thick. Your eyes roll back in your head as Leon keeps an iron hold between your thighs, rubbing and rubbing at your front and—and oh, you’re so close. You’re so close it hurts, the pit of your stomach filling with light and your toes curling deliciously. You have nothing to grab at, nowhere to hold, nothing to keep you stable as you lul your head to and fro. You sound delirious, and you must look just as bad.

“Ohh, m’gonna—”

“Brace yourself,” He mumbles, gloved hands running up the back of your thighs until he’s lifting your lower body off the cross and placing your knees on his shoulders. It’s intimate, personal and close as he lets out a breathy moan in response to the perfect fit of your hips against his own. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart. For the most part.”

The blond is still clothed, and it’s hard to gauge his reaction of your naked lower-half grinding against his pulsating erection, with his hair partly shielding his pretty face. But you can imagine it, his pink licorice-twist lips divorced and blush high on his cheeks as his precum mixes with yours, sloppy and soaking the front of his inky combat pants.

You whine, wiggling your hips and kicking out your feet like some sort of brat, a completely wordless attempt at telling him to strip. You know there’s tears streaming down your face, just when you think you’ve taken a step forward you discover you’d taken two steps back.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Like molten lava, Leon’s voice grows deeper by the second. He’s pushing your legs further forward, bending you in half until your legs burn and he’s sandwiched indubitably close. You’re glad you stretched before this, because he’s got you bent like a pretzel— like some sort of cheap whore, and there’s no escape. “Your new mission is to take it and look pretty, don’t complain now. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” You feel yourself nodding from a distance, frantic and erratic despite the strong grip he’s got on your chin. You can feel him twitching beneath you, his cock jumping in his pants as he traps you with his weight alone and unbuckles his utility belt. It drops to the floor, loud and heavy, but it’s nothing compared to the obscene sound of his cock slapping against your skin. He’s unzipped his fly— still clothed, almost like he’s emphasizing his power over you. “Yeah, I— yes, Sir.”

“Open,” It’s not a suggestion, as he’s already rutting his hips against the warmth of your skin and snaking one arm around your waist. The other goes to your mouth, wet and ready, pries it further open so your pink tongue is on display. Leon gathers a glob of spit, but rather than your mouth it reaches your cheek, wet and sticky. Leon’s aim is better than anyone you’ve ever known— so it’s deliberate. “Good boy. Use your manners.”

You swallow anyway, desperate pants obstructed as you stick your tongue out further for more. “Thank you, Sir. For— for your spit.”

Leon sinks in with a loud whine as you clench around the fat head of his dick, whining and gasping, fighting your orgasm off with everything you’ve got. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his fat, lubed up cock nestling into your hole— but it feels good, indescribable and finally plugging you full. It’s hard to hear anything he’s saying behind the loud squelching of his cock slipping inside, that and your own sounds, but you try anyway. He’s filling you till you’re ready to burst at the seams, pressing his weight against your body so you can clamp down and take him completely, no questions asked.

“F-huck, I can’t… Please, please, you’re so,” You’re on fire, his cock curving up just right as your pillowy walls flutter around his intrusion. Right there, electricity sparks inside you and your eyes roll back with the pinch of your eyebrows. “So deep.”

“Yeah?” The blond laughs, breathless and high off the feeling of your velvety walls constricting around him— clenching so perfectly, so hot and slick with rhythmic pulses along his veiny shaft. His hand travels to press on your navel, and he can feel himself sliding in and out, in and out. “Feel it right here?”

You do. And his hand pressing against it isn’t much help, you can’t focus on anything other than his cock. Your wrists are achy, almost as much as your hole, straining against the chains that you still have yet to break from. But it makes it better, you’re open and free for Leon’s use. Just a hole—to be filled, used, fucked. And, yeah, maybe you are. Maybe you want that, being used by Leon and his strong arms, manhandled into any position he wants.

“Yeah, in my— in my stomach.” You sound so cute, sniffling on his dick with every bounce and thrust forward, occasionally thrashing against your restraints. Leon coos, right in your ear and echoing in the pews. Much like the sound of your skin slapping against his, deep and fast thrusts like he’s pounding the brat out of you.

"God, should’ve had you like this all the time, drunk on cock,” You’re twitching, pulsing and convulsing around Leon’s cock, the fabric of his combat pants rubbing against your front. “Just like that, there you go, honey. Don’t run, let me watch my pretty hole swallow this cock.”

His— oh. Yeah, you suppose, it’s his hole to fuck, to kiss, to use. Since day one, really, when you’d spent your first night after meeting him knuckles deep. It’s incomparable to his own, longer and thicker, faster and better. So, yes, your hole is his, and his alone. You nod. babbling in his ears and wriggling in his arms. You’re his. The implication behind it has your heart stuttering, hammering in your chest as butterflies beat against your tummy.

Oh— You’re cumming.

“Shit, sweetheart. Knew you were a slut.”

“I don’ wanna— I can’t—” You let out an array of desperate, hysterical cries around Leon’s long, airbrushed pink cock, thighs and chest heaving and trembling, and arching off the wooden cross. It takes you a moment to form a complete sentence. “Don’t wanna.. st—op.”

“Yeah, yeah..” Leon nods against your neck, burying his face into the warm skin. His hair tickles your throat, soft and silky. “I won't. We won’t. I got you.”

His big palm cracks against the swell of your ass, loud and echoing in the church. Your core tightens, knees tightening on his shoulders as you cum. Hard and fast, you can barely register the squeals being ripped from your throat. Not over the slapping, the spanking, the—

The crackle of Leon’s radio, loud and blaring in his earpiece.

“Hold on.” Tears spill over your glassy eyes.

“Wh— No! Sir, you—“

“Hey. Don’t ‘no’ me. I’m right here, just sit pretty for me and take it,” He moans, emphasizing his words with a sharp snap to his hips. Your toes curl, searing white pleasure sparking in your stomach as Leon responds to the radio comms. You’re overstimulated, sparks of sensitivity striking through you with every quick thrust. “There you go, such a good boy. . .”

“Condor one to Roost,” He replies, sparing you a gentle glance while your legs lock behind his neck. The blond doesn’t let up once, honey locks bouncing as you cry on his dick. “What?”

“…Very funny. . .” Whatever Hunnigan said must’ve been spot on, because a low growl rumbles in his chest and his balls are tightening against your skin. Blotches of pink bloom in his neck, probably following down his wide shoulders— if only he weren’t clothed.

“Goddamn, you’re gonna make me cum, yeah, wish I could fuck it into you. Next time,” It’s deliciously obscene, the sounds of Leon’s cock reaming your hole like his life depends on it. His voice is barely above a whisper, so quiet but full in your ears. “Next time, we’ll make your pretty hole all messy with my cum. Yeah?”

Leon’s hips stutter, his deep thrusts growing shallow and messy as lube and precum froths between your warm skin. You can feel it all, the way his cock jumps and as he cums, missing a beat before pulling out to spurt the rest on your tummy. Thick and hot, it’s starting to cool on your shirt before he can move to wipe it away. Before he can end the call.

“He’s fine. We’ll have Baby Eagle home in time for dinner. Right, rookie?”

#₊˚⊹♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 #x bottom male reader #x sub male reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil smut #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon smut #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x male reader #resident evil x male reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #x male reader #x male reader smut

[thegnomelord]

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

#trinkets from the hoard #male reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #monster au #mage reader #violence #reader is not a good guy #reader is a feral gremlin #monster 141 au #captain john price #reader x cod mw #x reader #centerpieces of the hoard

[whencyclopedia]

Zagreus

In ancient Greek mythology, Zagreus is a god closely associated with the wine god Dionysus, the underworld, and hunting. A son of Zeus and Persephone, he is known in the Orphic tradition as the first incarnation of Dionysus, whilst other stories identify him as the son of Hades or even as Hades himself.

The earliest mention of Zagreus comes from a quoted line from the lost Greek epic Alcmeonis, a poem dating back to at least the 6th century BCE, where he is described alongside Gaia, the Greek personification of the earth, as "highest of all the gods" (West, 61). Yet some scholars believe this line was only in reference to him being the highest of all the gods of the underworld, as surviving fragments of works written by the Greek tragedy playwright Aeschylus (c. 525 to c. 456 BCE) identify him closely with Hades.

Zagreus is also the name often given to Orphic Dionysus, whose story was central to the beliefs of the followers of Orphism. In the story, Zagreus, a child of Zeus and Persephone, was killed and eaten by the Titans, except for his heart which was found by Athena and brought to Zeus. Because his heart was saved, Zagreus was able to be reincarnated as the god Dionysus. Zeus punished the Titans for their treachery by destroying them with a thunderbolt, and it was from their ashes that humanity was born.

Followers of Orphism, therefore, believed that humanity had a dual nature, one of the body, inherited from the Titans, and one of the soul, or the divine spark inherited from the parts of Zagreus ingested by the Titans. It was the central focus of Orphism for one to achieve salvation through acts of atonement during their lifetime or else be cursed with endless reincarnation. Aspects of Orphism, including the suffering, death, and resurrection of Dionysus Zagreus, and the idea of redemption for an original sin call to mind aspects of later religions, such as Christianity.

Origins & Interpretations

What little is known of Zagreus outside his association with Dionysus comes from fragments of lost works of Greek literature. He was certainly renowned, as a surviving quote from the lost Greek epic Alcmeonis offers a prayer to "Mistress Earth, and Zagreus highest of all the gods" (West, 61). The invocation of his name alongside Mother Earth seems to suggest that Zagreus was held in high esteem and was thought to be very powerful. Some scholars believe that the reference to him as "highest of all the gods" does not claim that he was the greatest god on Mount Olympus, but rather that he was the greatest god of the underworld.

This can be gathered from the context of the prayer, in which the hero of the Alcmeonis, Alcmaon, calls upon the powers of the earth to see the soul of his father safely transferred to heaven. Zagreus' status as a god of the underworld can further be attested to by two works written by Aeschylus. One of these references, found in a fragmented line of one of Aeschylus' lost Sisyphus plays dating back to around the 5th century BCE, identifies Zagreus as the son of Hades. Another reference, from Aeschylus' Egyptians names Zagreus as Hades himself.

Either way, Zagreus seems to have been a powerful underworld god, earning the epithet "Chthonios," or "the subterranean." As for the associations of him to Dionysus, scholars such as Timothy Gantz have postulated that the separate myths of Zagreus, a son of Hades and Persephone, had over time become merged with the myth of Orphic Dionysus, the son of Zeus and Persephone, so that the name Zagreus came to be associated with both myths.

Continue reading...

#History #Dionysos #GreekMythology #Hades #WHE #[ #]

[evilios]

Thargelia (θαργήλια) is an Athenian and Ionian festival celebrated in the city of Athens and on the isle of Delos on the 6th and 7th of month Thargelion, which corresponds with late May. This year, Thargelia falls onto the 26th and 27th days of the month.

Traditionally thought to celebrate the birth of Artemis and Apollo Patroos, or, in some versions, venerate Helios and the Horae, this festival is a two-day long celebratory occasion focused on a cult sacrifice, rich offering, and devotional games given to the Gods in hopes of appeasing Them.

Thargelia, like many other celebrations of the Ancient times, is an agricultural festival. At the beginning of this celebration, Demeter was praised by the people, and the name of the festival itself, Thargelia, according to grammarians, translates into “fruits/grains of the earth”: Θαργήλια εισί πάντες οι από γης καρποί.

The specific harvest given attention to during this celebration was that of the first fruits of the earth, symbolically connected to the heat of the sun. Due to the connection between Demeter’s celebration and that of the Twins, it was customary to annually send an offering of fresh corn to Delos.

The festival of Thargelia has ritualistic sacrifice of two individuals as its nucleus. The individuals, called pharmakoi (φαρμακοὶ) are sometimes said to be picked from the “ugliest and vilest” of the citizens, as to associate with all that is negative, unhealthy, and plague-ridden. After an extensive ritual, the pharmakoi would be either driven out of the city or, if the festival happened to fall onto a plague year, thrown into the sea or burned alive.

There are two possible origins of that tradition. According to Istrus, there was a man named Φάρμακος who had stolen the sacred vials of Apollo and was later discovered by Achilles’ men. He was, allegedly, stoned to death for the theft, and the sacrifice of Thargelia is meant to commemorate that happening.

According to Helladius, expiatory (made to offer atonement) offerings were a common custom of offering to the Deities in order to purify the city of diseases, such as plagues. Epimenides, for example, attested a different pair of sacrificial youths, Cratinus and Ctesibius, who were allegedly put to death to stop the plague that overtook the Athenian army earlier.

The origins of Thargelia are as Ancient and unclear as the origins of the ritual sacrifice given to the Twins during the celebration. We can only assume that this is a very old festival celebrated with the aim of both asking the Divine for rich harvest of ripe fruits - and safety during the times of contagious diseases.

The ritual of Thargelia starts on the 6th with an offering of a sheep to Demeter Chloe (Δημήτηρ Χλόη) followed by a large purifying sacrifice when two people are put to death or exiled.

The rites of this particular ritual are definitely old, as all human sacrifice goes deep back into the earliest civilizations of the world. One of the pharmakoi (sometimes called σύβακχοι), sacrificial humans, was to represent the women of Athens, the other - the men. They were either both men or a man and a woman, as accounts differ. According to the Ancient writers, on the day of the sacrifice these two, picked from the most unpleasant parts of the society, were led to the temples of Apollo Patroos, Apollo Delphinius, and Apollo Pythius, and then - towards the seaside, followed by a flute melody called κραδίης νόμος.

The pharmakoi were richly dressed in garlands of black and white figs, and as they walked through the city they were whipped with rods made out of fig-wood; some account that the citizens would throw objects at them. They were given honey cakes, cheese, and figs before being burned on a ritualistic funeral pile made of fig-wood. Their ashes were scattered to the winds or thrown into the sea. Some writers state they were thrown into the sea alive while some argue that they were in fact exiled to never return.

Is it possible that an actual sacrifice only took place in the years of calamity where appeasing the Gods with a bloody offering was necessary. It’s hard to say who the pharmakoi were: some say convicted criminals, some call them τὸν πάντων ἀμορφότερον (the ugliest), some say they were φαύλους καὶ παρὰ τῆς φύσεως ἐπιβουλευομένους (or simply physically deformed).

The second day of the festival was meant to be devoted to offerings of thanks given to the Sun God, that is, Apollo or Helios. Children took part in the celebration, carrying εἰρεσιῶναι - olive branches wrapped in wool that were hung up before the doors of houses. One of the best sources on the occasion, Porphyrius, lists a large number of offerings given to the Gods on that day, including ἰλύς - moist soil from which all is born.

A choral procession of men and boys (agon) performed solemnly during the second day of the celebration. This supposedly involved some sort of competitive air to it, as two masters of chorus were given two different tribes, which they were then to supply a chorus from. Whoever succeeded was given a tripod meant to be dedicated at the temple of Apollo. Chorus of women and young girls was also present.

Adoptive parents could properly register their children into the gens and phatria during Thargelia.

Solemn sacrifice was not the only focus of the festival, as it also included the so-called Delia (δήλια), which is the name of festivals and games held at the great panegyrics at the island of Delos. Initially it seems that there was a religious center formed around Delos for the sole purpose of worshiping and securing the worship of Apollo, θεὸς πατρῷος (Father-God) of Ionians. The Delia were held every five years and were supposedly happening during the birth of Artemis and Apollo.

This celebration included gymnastic and musical contests, choruses, and dances. Men, women, and children participated in the festival in equal measure, and the members of the religious assembly of Delos and neighboring islands were welcome. Athenians took part in the celebration from the very early times, as suggested by historical records; they also sent out a “sacred vessel” (θεωρίς) to Delos annually, claiming it was the same as legendary Theseus sent out after returning from Crete. These celebrations were stopped at some point, having been reignited by Athens later on. After Athens took control over the Ionian confederacy, the leader of the Delia became a picked Athenian, and the superintendence of Athenians at the local sanctuary became prominent.

Sources and further reading: 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞 🌞

#FESTIVAL : THARGELIA 🌞 #greek mythology #delos #thargelia #apollo #artemis #demeter #Sort of demeter deity

[de-sterren-nacht]

The Fae of the British Lostbelt

This is gonna be a long one, so strap in.

The fae and other creatures of the British Lostbelt take heavy inspiration from real-life legends; almost every major character is named after a type of fairy or mystical creature from British folklore. Many of these names are not English; I've added a pronunciation guide for these in brackets after the word. In this post, I'll go over the beings and concepts these characters are named for and compare the legend to the original. This won't include Morgan or Oberon; those figures are complex enough to deserve posts of their own.

Aesc [ASH]

Aesc is more accurately spelled Æsc. It's an Old English word for the ash tree, and also doubles as the word for the rune for the letter Æ. This is pretty much a direct translation into Old English of Aesc's Japanese name, Tonelico (トネリコ), a word meaning "ash tree".

Albion

Albion is a poetic name for the island of Britain, from Greek Albiōn (Ἀλβίων), the name used by classical geographers to describe an island believed to be Britain. The name probably means "white place", which is how it's connected to the Albion of Fate. The Albion of Fate is the White Dragon, a symbol of the Saxons from a Welsh legend. In the most well-known version of the legend, the King of the Britons at the time, Vortigern, was trying to build a castle on top of a hill in Wales to defend against the invading Saxons, but everything he tried to build collapsed. He was told by his court wizard to find a young boy with no father and sacrifice him atop the hill to alleviate the curse. He sent his soldiers out and found a boy being teased for being fatherless, but when he brought the boy to the hill, the boy, a young Merlin, told him that his court wizard was a fool and that the real reason for the collapsing castle was two dragons inside the hill, one red and one white, locked in battle. The red dragon represented the Britons, and the white dragon represented the Saxons. Merlin told Vortigern that nothing could be built on the hill until the red dragon killed the white one. A red dragon is the symbol of Wales to this day, and a white dragon is occasionally used in Welsh poetry to negatively represent England. This white dragon is Albion in Type/Moon lore.

Baobhan Sìth [bah-VAHN shee]

A baobhan sìth is a female fairy in Scottish folklore. The name literally means "fairy woman" in Scottish Gaelic. They appear as a beautiful woman and seduce hunters traveling late at night so that they can kill and eat them, or drink their blood depending on the story. They're unrelated to banshees except in terms of etymology (Banshee is from Old Irish "ben síde", meaning the same thing as baobhan sìth). They're often depicted with deer hooves instead of feet, which is probably what inspired Baobhan Sìth's love of shoes.

Barghest

In the folklore of Northern England, a barghest is a monstrous black dog with fiery eyes teeth and claws the size of a bear's. The name probably derives from "burh-ghest", or "town-ghost". It was often said to appear as an omen of death, and was followed by the sound of rattling chains. The rattling chains probably inspired Barghest's chains. Her fire powers are also obviously based on the fiery eyes of the barghest. Otherwise, she's not very connected to the folkloric barghest, which is never associated with hunger or eating humans.

Boggart

In English folklore, a boggart is either a malevolent household spirit or a malevolent creature inhabiting a field, a marsh, a hill, a forest clearing, etc. The term is related to the terms bugbear and bogeyman, all originally from Middle English bugge, or possibly Welsh bwg [BOOG] or bwca [BOO-cuh], all words for a goblin-like monster. It usually resembled a satyr. It's not really ever depicted with lion features, so it's anyone's guess why Boggart is a lion-man.

Cernunnos [ker-NOON-ahs]

Cernunnos, probably meaning "horned one", was an important pre-Roman Celtic god. His existence is only attested by fragmentary inscriptions and the repeated motif in Celtic religious art of a "horned god", a humanoid figure with deer antlers seated cross-legged. This fragmentary evidence is often led to assume that Cernunnos was a god of nature, wilderness, animals and fertility. There exists no evidence that Cernunnos was a chief deity of any kind, since we have barely any evidence he existed at all in the first place. Cernunnos might not even be his name; it's just the only name we have. Needless to say, the only thing the Cernunnos in the British Lostbelt has in common with the real figure is his large antlers.

Cnoc na Riabh [kuh-nock-nuh-REE-uh]

Cnoc na Riabh, Knocknarea in English, is a hill in Sligo in Ireland. The name means "hill of the stripes", referring to its striking limestone cliffs. It's said to be the location where Medb's tomb lies, so it's connected to Cnoc na Riabh through Fate's conflation of Medb with Queen Mab, a fairy mentioned in Romeo and Juliet; this etymology of Mab as derived from Medb was formerly accepted, but has lost favour with the advent of modern Celtic studies due to the lack of any concrete connection between the two figures.

Grímr (don't know how to say this one, apologies; Germanic myth is not my strong suit)

Odin (Wōden in Old English) was a god worshiped in many places, basically anywhere the Germanic peoples went, including the Anglo-Saxons that became today's English people. As such a widely worshiped god, he had a very large number of names, titles and epithets. Grímr is one such name, literally meaning "mask", referring to Odin's frequent usage of disguises in myths, which is fitting for how Cú disguised himself as a faerie in the British Lostbelt and hid that he possessed Odin's Divinity from Chaldea.

Habetrot

Habetrot is a figure from Northern England and the Scottish Lowlands, depicted as a disfigured elderly woman who sewed for a living and lived underground with other disfigured spinsters. She often spun wedding gowns for brides. Cloth spun by her was said to have curative and apotropaic properties. All the Habetrot of the British Lostbelt has in common with this figure is the association with brides and with spinning cloth. "Totorot" is not a real figure; the name is just an obvious tweak of Habetrot.

Mélusine

Mélusine is a figure that appears in folklore all across Europe. The name probably derives from Latin "melus", meaning "pleasant". She's a female spirit of water with the body of a beautiful woman from the waist up, and the body of a serpent or a fish from the waist down. In most stories, she falls in love with a human man and bears his children, using magic to conceal her inhuman nature. However, she tells her lover he must never look upon her when she is bathing or giving birth. Of course, he invariably does so, and when he does, he discovers her serpentine lower body, and she leaves, taking their children with her. Since Mélusine is just the name Aurora gave her, the Mélusine of the British Lostbelt has very little to do with this figure, but an analogy can be drawn between the Mélusine of folklore hiding her true form as a half-serpent to maintain her relationship with her lover, and Fate's Mélusine suppressing her true form as both a dragon and an undifferentiated mass of cells to ensure Aurora continues to love her.

Muryan [MUR-yan]

A muryan is a rather obscure Cornish fairy. The word is Cornish for "ant". Muryans are diminutive figures with shapechanging abilities, cursed to grow smaller every time they use those abilities until they eventually vanish altogether. Muryan, of course, is connected to muryans through her ability to shrink others.

Spriggan [SPRID-jan]

A spriggan is a type of creature in Cornish folklore. The word is derived from the Cornish word "spyryjyon" [same pronunciation], the plural of "spyrys", meaning "fairy". They're usually grotesque old men with incredible strength and incredibly malicious dispositions, and are often depicted guarding buried treasure. Spriggan is not himself a faerie, and the name is stolen from a faerie he killed, but it's still appropriate due to the greed and selfishness spriggans are usually depicted with.

Woodwose

Woodwose is a Middle English term for the wild man, a motif in European art comparable to the satyr or faun. The etymology is unclear. It has little to do with wolves or animals, despite its association with wildness, but there is at least a thematic connection with Woodwose's character, since the archetype of the wild man depicts a figure who cannot be civilised or well-mannered no matter how hard he tries, much like how Woodwose barely restrains his temper by being a vegetarian and dressing in a fine suit. Woodwose's predecessor, Wryneck, is named for a type of woodpecker with the ability to rotate its neck almost 180°.

#incoherent rambling #fate grand order #fgo #lostbelt 6 #avalon le fae #boggart fate #woodwose fate #habetrot #spriggan fate #muryan #melusine #baobhan sith #cernunnos #barghest #cnoc na riabh #fateposting #if i missed anyone in this post OR in the tags i will jump off a cliff #now it is bedtime #will probably give morgan and oberon their own posts in a few days #school. you know.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond and reader really be going through it together, call that shit trauma bonding ok? I'm so tired but also so keen to pump out these chapters for you so that we can finish this month long journey that has been Smoke, Fire and Ash. You are all the best!!! I love you so much! Enjoy <3

Chapter 93: Stoking the Flames 

What are women but an object for men to possess?

A body they can press their hands into, and mark with their teeth. Giving them validation that they are men, man enough, above status, better born.

Noble.

A vessel for their cocks, ears to hear their woes, and arms to hold them tenderly when needed. A body for them to take out their anger, a body for them to act upon their lust. A way for them to let out the rising tensions within their own bodies without repentance. 

A good wife should never say no. A good wife should never fight back. A good wife should have 'yes' at the very tip of her tongue, 'thank you' in the back of her throat, 'please' at the ends of her fingers, 'more' between her thighs.

A good wife should be smiles and curtseys, kisses on both cheeks and eyes, embroidery wheels, and laughter. The womb for his child, the mother to raise them, the teacher to teach them, the cook to feed them, the cleaner to keep the house tidy for them all.

A tongue that is bitten and raw, teeth that are chipped and broken, words unspoken and kept between brittle fingers and chewed lips. A body bent to his will, when he wants, without question because he is your husband, and that is what you are meant to do.

But you were not a good wife. At least, not in a way of being complacent and weak.

You were far more than that.

And Aemond now knew this.

Your confessions to one another seems to have begun to pull the seams between the two of you back together. Each thread being tugged, to make you whole.

To burn together. Not apart. 

As one.

And despite the horrors that you had faced, despite the losses that seems to continue to mount against you, you knew that you had a duty to your mother. To the realm. To your husband even. And this duty extended itself to dining with the King without argument. To dining with the people who watched as you were dragged to the throne room, all teeth and claws, to watch your ally be slain before you. 

A warning. 

A threat. 

Their victory. 

The Greens believed in their heart of hearts, that the Maester was the only eyes in the Keep. Or at least, you suspected Aegon to believe this. Alicent, despite her sometimes lack of spine and wherewithal, had a paranoia that often worked to her favour, not to her mental health, her chewed and battered fingers and all round jumpy demeanour could attest to that, but perhaps to the way things always seemed to fall in line around her, no matter how messy.

The maids were silent as they doted on you, as though the simplest of touches would pull a carefully laid brick in your very being, and the rest of you would fall down, tumbling to the surface below with a crash.

It was a black gown you wore, not only in support of your mother, but in mourning of the mother you would not become. 

High necked, and tight sleeved, the bodice wrapped around you tightly, false dragon scales lining your bust with a dark leather, the sleeves cuffed over your middle finger in a sharp point. Skirts of sweeping black, and hair braided tightly behind your head, not a hair out of place, not a strand left loose.

Stiff. 

Strict.

Together.

A vision of power, despite how powerless you felt.

Aemond wore black leathers, a similar scaling press at the front of his own chest, buckles of gold reaching right beneath his chin. His own hair pulled back into a half braid at the back of his head, large rings upon his fingers, and his sweeping black leather coat that used to strike fear in you. 

And so you walked, as one, in unity.

One in loss.

One in mourning.

One in fire and blood, and rage and grief. 

Walking as one to the Small Dining Hall where you knew the both of your strengths would be tested by the King and all those surrounding. By the Council. By the Dowager Queen and the Hand. All eyes would be upon you, and all lips would no doubt utter false senses of condolences and meagre hints of regret.

You were exhausted.

Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

And as Aemond walked you through the corridors, he kept with your pace, his hand in yours, letting you squeeze his tightly. Preparing yourself for the inevitable.

When you had entered the Hall together, the room instantly became silent, and the thundering roar of blood in your ears filled the noise instead. Each step that you took seemed to echo, and each breath that you breathed seemed to rattle within your lungs. 

All eyes were on you. 

Not Aemond. 

You.

And your eyes were on Aegon. 

He matched your stare with equal verocity, violet eyes glinting in triumph. 

I won, they said.

And he had.

For now. 

No one spoke a word as you sat in your seats, nor did they stop their silent staring at you either. It was worse, you thought, this false pity. Worse than the usual disdain or hatred.

It made you feel weak. 

“Princess,” Aegon began, tone low and filled with false sorrow, “You should be resting in your chambers.”

You cleared your throat softly, shifting in your chair as you watched the tables reaction.

Everyone seemed to be on edge.

“I have rested plenty. I have a duty to my husband, and he a duty to his King.”

Aegon nodded solemnly, as though he was not the catalyst for your losses, “You are a good wife to be sure. And strong.” 

You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around at the Lords and Lady Alicent, who watched you with cautious and sad eyes. The table was full of food already, piled high with meats and legumes, gravies and sauces, and large decanters of wine and ale. 

Turning to Alicent, you gave her a terse smile, “Lady Alicent, might you say a prayer to begin?”

Alicent blinked at you doe-ishly for a moment, before nodding, holding her hands in front of her, “May we pray to the Father,” She began, and all Lords bent their heads to look at there hands in prayer, whilst Aegon kept his eyes on you, “And ask him to guide the child lost to the Stranger gently where it may rest."

You let your gaze meet Aegon, and fire erupted within. His lips were pulled forward in a pout as he looked at you, then to your husband beside you, who’s head was diligently bowed, and eye slid shut.

Alicent continued her prayer as heat rose within you, “May we pray to the Mother, for mercy and peace, and ask her to give blessings for a new heir.”

You swallowed thickly, hands in your lap tightening into fists, “May the Crone guide us forward, and show us the path to strength and unity.”

The prayer ended, and all eyes fell upon you again, some looking away as your gaze met theirs, others offering you a sad smile in brittle support.

“I pray to the Father,” Aegon began, hands tucked under his chin as everyone warily looked at him, “I ask that he delivers divine justice, and judgement upon my actions, and pray that he forgives me of my misdeed which led to the loss of an innocent babe.”

You breathed heavily, teeth clenched as he looked at you.

“Very good, My Lord.” Otto Hightower praised stiffly from his side, whilst Alicent looked as though she had turned a shade of grey.

Aemond dropped a hand into your lap, stopping the way one of your own pulled at the skin of the other meanly. His large fingers pressed between yours, squeezing it in a subtle show of strength, a show of support. A sign that he was there with you. 

An attempt to ground you.

“I pray that he delivers such justice indeed.” Came you cool response, reaching forward to pour yourself a goblet of wine, bringing it your lips as you did not trust yourself to hold your tongue. 

The Lords around the table began to eat, and their own chatter rose amongst each other, replacing the once stale, stagnant air. And as they spoke, Alicent asked after you. 

“Might there be anything that you need, Princess? Perhaps we could go to the Sept together and pray.” 

An attempt at kindness. 

But kindness did not come to the Lady Alicent easily.

You swallowed, feeling Aemond’s hand still in your lap, “That is kind of you, Your Grace. But for now, I think I need time to spend with the Old Gods first.”

The older woman gave a crooked smile, “Of course.”

You all ate, yourself and Aemond staying quiet, listening to the filler conversations that the Lords tiptoed around, all the while Aegon continued to stare at you in a way you could not describe. 

Was there remorse there behind his eyes?

“My condolences to you, brother, and to you niece.” Aegon spoke quietly to you both, “It is no easy thing to lose a child.”

Jaehaerys.

Aemond’s eye was cast down at his plate, before he gave a solemn nod. 

The hand in your lap tightened.

“Have you written to your mother and father to tell them of the loss?” Aegon inquired, placing his cutlery softly against his plate, he was treading carefully. 

Too carefully. 

He was worried for your parents reaction. 

“I had not the chance to tell them I was with child, and it would seem silly to send them such notice of losing one they didn’t know I had.” Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

“Of course, it would be difficult to say such things over parchment. A far better conversation to have in person, when one can convey the misfortune of it all. Not at all what I had intended, I would never wish anything like the loss of a child upon a mother.”

You ground your teeth down in your jaw, Alicent and Otto watching you and Aemond carefully. 

“Your apologies are too kind, Your Grace.” The words were sour in your mouth, "You were not to know of the outcome of such a thing.”

Aegon’s violet gaze searched your face before he asked a new question, “And how are you faring? Is the new Maester tending to your needs?”

The new Maester. 

“He is perfectly acceptable.” Came your stiff response.

Aegon smiled, “Good. Did you know that he was the one to treat Aemond’s eye when he lost it?”

Aemond’s hand twitched in your lap, and it was your turn to soothe him. 

“I did.”

“Then you are in good hands.”

“Indeed.”

You finished your meal, and as the Lords continued to dance around you, you decided that you had had enough. Standing from your chair, you offered no bow, no apologies, but instead stiffened your posture, holding your hands in front of you as you had been taught to do, and excused yourself from the Dining Hall. 

Aemond followed you, curt farewell on his tongue.

Your maids dressed you for bed as soon as you entered the chambers, and soon enough you are beneath the sheets, calling out for Aemond to join you. He crawled in from behind, the heat of his body engulfing you. You rolled in your spot, turning to face him before you asked him to hold you. 

Aemond pulled you tight against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip to slot his between yours. Not in a sexual way, but in a way to have you as close as possible, to have all of you pressed against him. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you lay in the dark of the chambers. 

“I wish things were different.” You whispered to no-one. It was just something that you wished. Something that you needed to speak into existence, for you feared if it was not said, it would not be true.

Aemond only pulled you tighter against him, small hum vibrating his chest as he kissed the top of your head, keeping his lips against your hair.

“I wish he was dead.”

Spoken into existence again. 

Aemond’s chest stilled, before breathing again gently.

You licked your lips, inhaling the scent of your husband. Musk. Sandalwood. Smoke.

“I wish Aegon was dead.”

You felt hot air blow against the top of your scalp, but Aemond did not move to stop you, and so you let the roll of thoughts tumble out of your mouth. The thoughts and words which had been hiding in the back of your throat, your tongue bitten and bleeding, teeth chipped and raw.

“I can still feel it.” You breathed, heart beginning to race in your chest, "I can still feel the way he felt inside of me. The way he forced himself inside of me.” Aemond’s hands tensed on your flesh, and you felt the familiar sting of tears on your eyes. 

“I remember it all. The fear. The terror. The pain.”

Another sharp blow of air atop your head.

“I called out to you, and he would not stop. I tried to stop him. I tried-“ You hiccupped, feeling a sob wrack your body, “But he was so strong, and I couldn’t move, and all I could do was pray you would come home and save me.”

Aemond murmured your name so quietly that you would have missed it if his breath were not above your ear.

“I hate it. I hate him. I hate that I know what he felt like. I hate that he was inside of me. How he laughed at me. How he mocked you. I think about it and I feel sick. I feel so sick and horrified at the thought of him in our bed again.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and you felt Aemond press another kiss to your head, though his body was stiff, and vibrating with energy.

“Sometimes,” You licked your lips, tasting your salty tears as your voice crackled, “Sometimes I’m thankful we lost the babe.”

Aemond’s chest stopped again, no hot air of his breath moving across your scalp.

“B-ecause,” Your voice wavered, more tears beginning to fall, landing in the crux of your neck wetly, “What if the Moon Tea hadn’t worked. What if it was Aegon’s.” A sob fell from your lips. “What if-“

“Shh.” Aemond whispered atop your head, shifting so that your body was now atop his. You curled atop him, his hands coming to hold you against his body as you felt his chest rise and fall raggedly beneath you.

“Ēdrugon, byka mēre.” Sleep, little one, The One-Eyed Prince whispered atop your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead gently, “Ñuha idaña perzys, ȳdra daor pendagon hen ra.” My twin flame, don’t think of such things.

“Nyke vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry, You sobbed into his chest, feeling him hold you against him impossibly tight.

“Shh, konīr iksis daorun naejot sagon vaoreznuni syt.” There is nothing to be sorry for.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[omnicom]

Decided to contribute a small thing for the AAML Weekend Ayushi put together just because I can’t say no to participating in feel-good events for one of my childhood favorites. (My art tag can attest to that!) I wanted to show my thanks without getting elaborate since I was also pressed for time and didn’t have a lot of ideas to pull from.

Gonna miss this guy being our main eyes and ears for the show. It’s been a long time and some of us (myself included) have been through all 25 years of it, but I know he’ll be around. I’m sure they’ll have him pop in now and again when the time comes. He’ll always be a Pokemon Master in my eyes, and my favorite protagonist to boot. Thank you, Ash, for all the fun and adventure you’ve given us. ♥

[Personal and bittersweet text under the cut. Don’t read if you don’t want your mood to be brought down a bit. Nothing graphic, just sad sentimentality.]

When the news broke that Ash was no longer going to be the main protagonist of the anime anymore, I was shocked. As well as unsurprised, and honestly a bit saddened in that bittersweet kind of way. I’ve always had a problem with accepting change, especially if it’s done quickly after it’s announced (or it being done IS the announcement), but I think... I’ll get through this change okay. Oh no, don’t worry, I’ll be blubbering like a parent watching their child moving away the day his last episode comes out and I can watch it, but I’ve known for a while that this change was a likely possibility. I guess I just wish my mom was around to hear about it. She would be more shocked than I was.

#aamlweekend #fanart #pokeshipping #satokasu #ash and misty #ash ketchum #misty #pikachu #my art #pic post

[life-in-the-garden]

3 card spread for 10 USD!

decks to choose from:

Oak, Ash & Thorn by Three Trees Tarot

Cosmic Slumber Tarot by Tillie Walden

Crow Tarot by M J Cullinane

question rules in this post

contact methods:

email me (preferred)

send a message/ask to this tumblr blog

send a DM to Haven1927 on Discord

Hey everyone! I'm pretty strapped for cash at the moment, and would love to do some readings for y'all. I'm a trustworthy, thorough, and compassionate tarot reader, as @jasper-pagan-witch and @crimsonsongbird can attest. Please consider sending me a request if you need insight from the cards!

#paid divination services #witchcraft #witchblr #magic #tarot #tarot reading #divination #tarot reader #tarotblr

[mischiefmanaged71]

In this moment (3/?)

Summary: A single moment can spark a magnificent change in a person’s life.

A/N: Peaky Blinders AU, Ewan Mitchell OC x fem!reader

To say Y/N felt tense at the prospect of someone staying in her flat would be an underestimation. She felt on edge at the prospect of Will, the handsome bodyguard that had her acting in an absurd manner moving into her flat.

Will would join her tonight and then her downfall would begin. She suddenly became aware of his presence behind every corner. His steps wandering around his bedroom. The scent of coffee and smoke, although he always minded to open the window when he did. He was neat, keeping most of his clothes in his room, save for a jacket thrown over the chair or his coat the doorway which reminded her of the man staying in her space. Will also enjoyed tinkering, always fiddling with something in his hand, whether it be his watch or the switch-blade he kept hidden beneath his waistband.

One afternoon she had wandered over to his room, a clean towel in hand when she noticed his door ajar. Her mouth fell agape, eyes widening at the sight of a shirtless back that she almost dropped everything in her grip. She thought her heart would burst from her chest, glossing over the state unbeknownst to Will until he turned around and caught her gaze through the door.

Y/N quickly closed her mouth, regaining her composure as she, "I-I wanted to ask if you needed anything?"

"I'm alright.” he assured her.

"Right." She nodded, averting her eyes from his chest.

Will caught the flush of her cheeks as she avoided his stare and made her exit. He wandered into the doorway, leaning against the wall with a smile tugging at his lips at her flustered state.

That moment was the first of many encounters that reminded her of why she attested Tommy and Arthur's authority.

***

The crackle of the radio sounded in the background, lulling the many thoughts of work from Y/N’s mind as she waited for the coffee to brew on the stove. The early hours of the morning were quiet as she moved around the flat. With the addition of Will, however, there had been a change of pace in the flat. 

The place was subtly different in a way with the addition of his presence in different rooms. The coat on the hanger in the doorway, the scent of his remaining cologne on the sofa cushions, along with the ash tray by the window where he regularly sat in his thoughts. 

She poured a cup of coffee for him. Black, of course, leaving it on the bench top. Every morning he would accept it with a grateful smile, ever subtle, each time. No matter, the gentle look always managed to stir something in her stomach as she distracted herself.

Y/N reached for the mug on the top shelf, leaning onto the tops of her toes when an arm brushed her’s, grasping the mug. She gasped lightly, glancing at Will’s body brushing against her own, his hand offering it up. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she worked, pouring the hot liquid into the mugs. When she turned, her mouth open and closed as their eyes met. The breath trapped in her throat at the proximity of their faces as she exhaled. The intensity of the stare gracing her face was what halted her movement as she froze.

He broke the silence first, sipping from the mug without breaking contact “Have you always lived here?”

She blinked, “No. I grew up in a flat near the Shelby’s original residence. Moved here when I could afford it. I suppose with your job, you’re always moving around?”

Will nodded, “I go where the work takes me.”

“How long do you stay in one place?”

“Depends on the contract. Some last a few weeks, months. Longest job was eight months.”

She sent him a sympathetic look, “That must be difficult. Never staying in one place too long.”

“Well, let’s hope this one sticks. I have a good feeling.” he surmised, the slight upturn of his lips.

She mustered a response, “No complaints, so far. I suppose that’s good for you.” somewhat unsure where the teasing remark came from.

“My last job wasn’t entirely as nice as this.” he said.

“In what way?”

“Well, for one thing...” he placed the mug down, leaning against the benchtop, “My previous clients weren’t nearly as...charming.”

She refused to let him see her flustered state, hiding the smile behind her mug, “Oh.”

A soft chuckle left his mouth, “Do you always get this flustered?”

Oh.

“What?” she softly asked, eyes widened. 

“Just asking.” he breathed. She traced his muscles as he folded his arms across his chest. "Your hands are shaking."

She placed them still at her side. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He didn’t need to step any closer to notice the tells. The wavering gaze, the dilated pupils. The pause each time his hand brushed her own, or he stood close enough to register the sharp intake of breath. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” his stepped closer, leaving a gap between them.

She huffed, shaking her head slightly in defiance, “I-what does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re standing...close.” she exhaled, meeting his gaze in a show of correcting his statement. Although, she wasn’t too sure if that worked in her favour as Y/N found herself absorbed in his blue eyes again. 

His eyes flickered to her lips and back. She felt her breath hitch at his hand ghosting over her’s. Will was reading her reaction tentatively, studying her. 

“What’re you doing?” she whispered.

He hummed, “Just seeing something.”

Her lips parted, breath becoming difficult to grasp with his close proximity as her eyelids fluttered. Will tilted his head, his fingers brushing her arm as he blinked, nodding ever so slightly.

“Right.” Will raised his eyebrows. He would play into her wishes, wavering the notion for now, “We best be going.”

She exhaled as he left the kitchen counter, leaving to grab his coat. Her eyes fell shut as she exhaled deeply. Her hands shook as she gripped her bag. It was only a matter of how far her limits could be tested before something actually happened.

***

“I fear I may drop from a heart attack tomorrow.” she spoke into the phone, gripping the receiver in hand as she laid on her bed. 

“You just need to breathe. These feelings, whatever they are, will simmer. It’ll pass.”

“You don’t understand, Ada. I’m stumbling through sentences. My hands shake. I fear my heart will...burst out of my chest. I didn’t think someone could actually be so beautiful...and when he looks at me. His eyes are so blue.” she sighed in a breath.

Ada hummed, “Seems to me things are moving fast.”

The woman groaned, dropping onto the pillow again “What am I gonna do? I can’t breathe around the man.”

“How bad is it, really? You’re spending an awful lot of time with an attractive man devoted to protect you. Where is the issue?” she asked, 

Y/N bit her lip, “He’s always got this knowing look and that smirk-” she paused, a sigh leaving her mouth “I’m terrible at hiding my emotions, Ada. I don’t know...”

“You could talk to Tommy or Arthur about it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “No. That would make things exponentially worse. Besides-he’s good at his job. I wouldn’t want to get him fired.”

“Do go on.” Ada drawled.

“He’s...” she trailed off, eyes wandering the ceiling, “attentive...kind. He always seems to anticipate what I need. And he does make me feel safe.”

Silence rang on both sides as Y/N breathed, the words ringing through her mind.

“Sounds to me that you’ve got no problem there. What is the worst that could happen?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” she replied, pushing her hair back, “I’ll talk to you soon. Give my love to Karl.”

“Love you, Y/N.”

She hung up the receiver, sighing as she closed her eyes. Y/N moved off the bed, wandering to her door to the kitchen. To her surprise, Will wandered from his door at the same time. She scanned the fitted white shirt he wore, along with the casual trousers as it was the later hours of evening settled. She froze in the doorway, meeting his gaze and the smirk that laid there as he stepped toward her. 

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hi.” he smiled, leaning against the doorway “Who was that?”

“Oh-it was Ada. Just catchin’ up.”

He nodded, “Right. How is she?”

“Good.” she averted her eyes, nodding, “Yeah. Busy with Karl and work.”

“Nothing else?” he asked.

“No. Not really.” she moved to step around when his arm leaned against the doorway, halting her movement.

Will's lips were pursed as he studied her face, "You sure about that?"

"Yes." She breathed.

His warm breath brushed her cheek. He hummed, “The walls are actually thinner than you think.”

TAGS

Y/N felt her face grow warm as her stomach dropped at the comment. She froze up, meeting his gaze and words escaped her entirely. He simply smirked at her before departing downstairs, leaving her with many thoughts of what could’ve been as she retreated to her room. Her head banged against the door tirelessly.

"Fuckin' hell."

@pearlstiare @dothrckis @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx @filipinamultifandom ​ @padfooteyes @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @cl-0-vr @viviartsy @h3k3t @arcana-greenleaf  @yummycastiel @lauraneedstochill @sasikanleesworld @theliterarybeldam @actualhawkesworld @ohitsthemaster

#tom bennett #ewan mitchell #aemond x reader #tom bennett x reader #peaky blinders x reader

[loveyoso]

Yan! Azul Ashengrotto x (GN!)reader drabble

Wrote this for fun, I want to write longer things with more story but this is just a test to see how it will do. Characters are in their 20s in this.

Azul can't deny that feeding on the naivety of fools doesn't make him feel any sense of peace anymore. He's been in this rodeo for far too long to be able to feel glee from it. By now, it's just the way of his life. Every soul that's been signed off to him has no real meaning to him, just another gain of income.

But then there was you. Every once in a while, there's a clever one who doesn't fall for his tricks. Not even those satisfy him anymore. However, you're worth much more than them. You aren't just a game. No, you're the reward.

He needs power over you, control. He has everybody in the Mostro Lounge right under his hand, except you. No, you play here with your own free will. When you first offered to perform on the stage and sing a little song, Azul didn't attest to it. He knew you sang beautifully, and he knew customers would come flocking in to hear your Melody.

But now he isn't content with you just simply singing. He pays you, yes. You respect him, yes. But it's not enough. This is his club for sevens sake! So of course, he sends his two little helpers to watch over you. To find anything he could use against you.

However, he didn't expect to be slapped in the face when he tried to pull his golden strings. He doesn't understand how you could be this rude to him; he allows you to perform in his club, you're allowed drinks for free, and you get paid! The disrespect is blasphemous. He expected much greater from you.

After your brutal refusal to sign his contract, he allows you to keep performing. Yet, who could you turn to when the cost of your shabby apartment goes up? Oh? So you want a raise? That's rather unfortunate for you, isn't it? That's too bad though, because you missed a key at your latest performance, he can't reward lazy work! Run along now and go get ready, you're up in 30 minutes!

It's amusing watching you show up every night, barely able to keep up like you used to. Word around town is you're sleeping in your car now, and couldn't afford to buy a new apartment. He can't help but notice the glares you've given him through your tired eyes. You know this is his work, but there isn't much you can do about it. Every other job you've gotten has declined you, this is your only option.

He tries once again to help you out, and get you on your feet. But no? You refuse him again. That's okay, hell see you tomorrow! After this, he sends a certain eel with an eye for danger after you.

News breaks down about the person who barely escaped their car when it was set on fire. The wiring was messed with and the brakes wouldn't budge on their way to work. Another car t-boned the passenger side; shooting the victim's car into an electricity pole. The car was set on fire, and the victim barely made it out. But whatever luck they had appeared and allowed them to see another day.

After this mess, you're rushed into the hospital. Your throat is stinging and the doctors inform you that the ash and smoke from the fire caught into your throat. A surgery has to take place for you to ever be able to sing or talk normally again. On top of that, many of your cracks are in the process and another surgery will be needed.

However, the cost of these surgeries is too much. You won't even be able to afford to buy another car. But in all his glory, Azul steps into your hospital room and requests a moment alone for you. This will be the last time he asks you to sign a contract, for him to be able to give your voice and ability to move again with any surgery costs. If you refuse, he'll have to fire you though, what use is a singer without a voice?

Ecstasy fills him when he can see you give up, the fire in your eyes drizzling down. A tight smile tugs at his lips when you sign the best you can. A few seconds after you sign, a golden glow emits the room and you can feel yourself healing drastically. All it took was to allow him to control your voice, but keep it inside you. And of course, complete control over you.

Don't worry about a raise! You won't need it. His little siren will be living under his care, he always needs to keep his possessions in today's conditions!

#yandere azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #yandere azul x reader #Yandere Azul Ashengrotto x reader

[giantologist]

What hygiene routines do giants have? And do humans ever help?

Good day!

Well, giants culturally wash every Saturday. They use the nearest body of water to bathe (or shower if there is a waterfall!) with a soap made from animal fat and ash, usually combined with something fragrant - pine oil is a favourite, which is why a lot of giants smell like forests. Hair trimming isn't usually practised, only when it becomes unmanageable. Rather it is combed and braided tightly enough to last another week. Nail trimming and teeth cleaning are both done on the same day, but tooth decay isn't much of an issue for giants given that their enamel is strengthened with a composite reminiscent of titanium, the same as their bones.

I have seen one human run giant salon, situated on the banks of a rather large waterfall and hot spring. The family that ran it had constructed a great wooden structure by a rock that could be raised or lowered depending on the height of their client. After a wonderfully hot and cleansing bath, the customer would place their chin on a U shaped groove. From there the sons would tidy any hair with large purpose-built rakes, and trim and polish nails in a way that reminded me of a bootblack. The daughters (one of whom was a doctor) would lance and extract blemishes, apply salves, and even use their arms to reach into ears and pull out any detritus that lingered there. Teeth cleaning services cost extra, considering the risk, and were performed solely by the father who was a retired dentist. Their mother was in charge of organisation and bookkeeping, at which she was very proficient.

They turn over a hefty profit each year, and their repeat clientele speak highly of their services. I was even treated to a spa day when I visited, and I can attest to their efficiency and comfort.

Professor J Finch

#queries

[duxbelisarius]

Euron's Götterdämmerung

Warning! Spoilers ahead for A Dance With Dragons, A Feast For Crows, and ASOIAF in general

Alternate Title: The One Where Euron Pisses Off the Volcano

Back with another analysis/theory that I happened upon while reading on break; this time our subject is Mr. Nihilism himself Euron Greyjoy, and his likely endgame in TWOW. My argument for this theory is two-fold: 1) The Iron Islands sit atop a dormant, partially submerged volcano, the caldera of which is formed by Great and Old Wyk; and 2) Euron will sound a 'kraken summoning horn,' aka The Hammer of the Waters, to pulverize Oldtown and the coast of the Sunset Sea, causing the Wyk volcano to erupt and setting the stage for a second Long Night.

A huge shout out to Company of the Cat and her video about the Iron Islands being volcanic (skip to 9:37 of the video for her explanations), which inspired me to pursue this theory. To summarize her arguments, everything about the islands from their rich ore deposits, the mythology of Nagga the Sea Dragon, the prevalence of fire in Ironborn culture and imagery despite being a sea-faring people, and the similarity of Great and Old Wyk's shape to the known volcanic islands of Marahai in the Jade Sea, point towards the islands being volcanic. A past eruption could also explain the Ironborn mythology surrounding the Drowned God's conflict with the Storm God; to Dawn Age observers, the collapse of the volcano's caldera combined with volcanic lightning within it's ash cloud (which may be referenced by the arms of House Kenning of Harlaw) could have been explained as the Storm God casting down the god of the Islands, giving rise to the legends of the Drowned God.

This brings me to my second argument; from where things stand at the end of ADWD, Euron's plan seems straightforward: Euron wants to rule the Seven Kingdoms and intends to marry Daenerys, bending her dragons to his will with the Dragon Binder horn he allegedly found in Valyria and crushing all those who stand in his way. But as anyone can attest that has read "The Forsaken," an excerpt of an Aeron Damphair POV from TWOW, these may only be a cover for his true aims:

He showed the world his blood eye now, dark and terrible. Clad head to heel in scale as dark as onyx, he sat upon a mound of blackened skulls as dwarfs capered round his feet and a forest burned behind him.

“The bleeding star bespoke the end,” he said to Aeron. “These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits.” Then Euron lifted a great horn to his lips and blew, and dragons and krakens and sphinxes came at his command and bowed before him. “Kneel, brother,” the Crow’s Eye commanded. “I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest.”

“Never. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair!”

“Why would I want that hard black rock? Brother, look again and see where I am seated.”

Aeron Damphair looked. The mound of skulls was gone. Now it was metal underneath the Crow’s Eye: a great, tall, twisted seat of razor sharp iron, barbs and blades and broken swords, all dripping blood.

Impaled upon the longer spikes were the bodies of the gods. The Maiden was there and the Father and the Mother, the Warrior and Crone and Smith … even the Stranger. They hung side by side with all manner of queer foreign gods: the Great Shepherd and the Black Goat, three-headed Trios and the Pale Child Bakkalon, the Lord of Light and the butterfly god of Naath.

And there, swollen and green, half-devoured by crabs, the Drowned God festered with the rest, seawater still dripping from his hair.

...

The dreams were even worse the second time. He saw the longships of the Ironborn adrift and burning on a boiling blood-red sea. He saw his brother on the Iron Throne again, but Euron was no longer human. He seemed more squid than man, a monster fathered by a kraken of the deep, his face a mass of writhing tentacles. Beside him stood a shadow in woman’s form, long and tall and terrible, her hands alive with pale white fire. Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed …

As indicated Aeron Damphair's Shade of the Evening dreams, Euron aspires not merely to kinghood but godhood. This makes sense with George building-up towards a second Long Night, as Euron makes obvious parallels to the Bloodstone Emperor who was responsible for the first Long Night in Yi Tish mythology. They both came to power by murdering their elder sibling (Balon Greyjoy, the Amethyst Empress), and have committed similar atrocities. According to TWOIAF, Bloodstone "practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky." While Euron has yet to marry a Tiger-Woman or raise the dead, on all other accounts he is emulating Bloodstone: he uses blood magic; we know from Aeron's POV that he tortures foes; he sells his captives from the Shield Isles into slavery; he forces the Qartheen warlocks he captured to eat their dead companion; and it is made abundantly clear that Euron is a godless man bent on destroying the existing organized religions.

With Euron set-up as the one who will unleash the second Long Night upon Planetos, the question remains as to how he will do this; for a concise account of how the first Long Night happened, I recommend consulting David Lightbringer's videos that I linked in my previous ASOIAF theory. Some have suggested that Euron means to sound the Horn of Winter, aka the Horn of Joramun, which may be in Sam's possession in Oldtown, but I find this very unlikely. For starters, Jon in ACOK and Sam in AFFC both describe the horn found by Ghost as being old and cracked, suggesting that repairs or magical intervention may be needed to get it to work if it is the Horn. There's also the problem of Euron being at the opposite end of the continent from the Wall; if the Horn is indeed used for lowering and raising the Wall (as suggested by Cat in her video about magical horns in ASOIAF), it would be a massive liability for it to be capable of doing so from anywhere in the world.

I believe a clue for how Euron will trigger a second Long Night is Aeron's first vision quoted above, in which Euron blows a horn and caused dragons, krakens and sphinxes to bow to him. As Company of the Cat argues in her magical horns video, a 'kraken summoning horn' most likely refers to the Hammer of the Waters and/or similar objects. We know that Krakens are drawn to bodies and blood in the waters, as mentioned in both Fire and Blood and Arianne's TWOW sample:

"It was said that the waters between the islands were so choked with corpses that krakens appeared by the hundreds, drawn by the blood." (Fire and Blood, Reign of the Dragon: The Wars of King Aegon I)

"And krakens off the Broken Arm, pulling under crippled galleys," said Valena. "The blood draws them to the surface, our maester claims. There are bodies in the water. A few have washed up on our shores." (TWOW, Arianne I)

From what TWOIAF has to say about the breaking of the Arm of Dorne, the Hammer of the Waters could also account for the dragons and sphinxes:

"And the old gods stirred, and giants awoke in the earth, and all of Westeros shook and trembled. Great cracks appeared in the earth, and hills and mountains collapsed and were swallowed up. And then the seas came rushing in, and the Arm of Dorne was broken and shattered by the force of the water, until only a few bare rocky islands remained above the waves." (TWOIAF, Dorne: The Breaking)

If we assume the sphinxes to refer to the statues that flank the gates of the Citadel, these would likely be destroyed by the earthquakes and tsunamis of the Hammer, 'bowing' at the command of Euron. High magnitude earthquakes would lead to volcanic eruptions, thus accounting for the dragons answering Euron's command. In addition to Wyk erupting, we'll likely see Dragonstone erupt as well, esp. in light of Melisandre's talk about 'waking dragons from stone.' Based on Jon and Tyrion's recollections in the eighth chapters of ADWD, an eruption at Hardhome can also be expected:

"Only the brightest stars were visible, all to the west. A dull red glow lit the sky to the northeast, the color of a blood bruise. Tyrion had never seen a bigger moon. Monstrous, swollen, it looked as if it had swallowed the sun and woken with a fever. Its twin, floating on the sea beyond the ship, shimmered red with every wave. "What hour is this?" he asked Moqorro. "That cannot be sunrise unless the east has moved. Why is the sky red?"

"The sky is always red above Valyria, Hugor Hill."" (ADWD, Tyrion VIII)

"Hardhome had been halfway toward becoming a town, the only true town north of the Wall, until the night six hundred years ago when hell had swallowed it. Its people had been carried off into slavery or slaughtered for meat, depending on which version of the tale you believed, their homes and halls consumed in a conflagration that burned so hot that watchers on the Wall far to the south had thought the sun was rising in the north. Afterward ashes rained down on haunted forest and Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

The symbolism and imagery surrounding Euron strongly implies that he will use the Hammer of the Waters; as already noted, a volcanic eruption on Wyk may have inspired the mythology of the war between the Drowned God and the Storm God. Euron is heavily associated with the Storm God, starting with his murder of Balon Greyjoy:

"The Storm God cast him down," the priest announced. For a thousand thousand years sea and sky had been at war. From the sea had come the ironborn, and the fish that sustained them even in the depths of winter, but storms brought only woe and grief.

...

Better to be scorned by Balon the Brave than beloved of Euron Crow's Eye. And if age and grief had turned Balon bitter with the years, they had also made him more determined than any man alive. He was born a lord's son and died a king, murdered by a jealous god, Aeron thought, and now the storm is coming, a storm such as these isles have never known." (AFFC, The Prophet)

"Oh, and Balon was the third, but you knew that. I could not do the deed myself, but it was my hand that pushed him off the bridge." (TWOW, The Forsaken)

Euron's title is Crow's Eye, while his personal coat of arms feature ravens, further tying him to the Storm God:

He had no love of maesters. Their ravens were creatures of the Storm God, and he did not trust their healing, not since Urri. (AFFC, The Prophet)

"Crow's Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days." (AFFC, The Drowned Man)

There's also the matter of House Goodbrother, an Ironborn house situated on Great Wyk who draw their wealth from their mines. Not only is their sigil is a warhorn while their house seat bears the interesting name of Hammerhorn, but Euron is compared to Urrathon IV Goodbrother ("Badbrother") in ADWD:

"Torgon Greyiron was the king's eldest son. But the king was old and Torgon restless, so it happened that when his father died he was raiding along the Mander from his stronghold on Greyshield. His brothers sent no word to him but instead quickly called a kingsmoot, thinking that one of them would be chosen to wear the driftwood crown. But the captains and the kings chose Urragon [Urrathon] Goodbrother to rule instead. The first thing the new king did was command that all the sons of the old king be put to death, and so they were. After that men called him Badbrother, though in truth they'd been no kin of his. He ruled for almost two years."

...

"Badbrother had proved to be as mean as he was cruel and had few friends left upon the isles. The priests denounced him, the lords rose against him, and his own captains hacked him into pieces." (ADWD, The Wayward Bride)

TWOIAF claims that Hrothgar of Pyke possessed a kraken-summoning horn during the Age of Heroes; assuming that this was the Hammer of the Waters, it's possible that the horn fell into the Ironborn's hands during their raids into the Riverlands, since we know that the Greenseers of the Children congregated at the Isle of Faces on the God's Eye lake when they called upon the Hammer to break the Arm of Dorne. It also makes sense that Euron would not reveal the Hammer, given the subtle hints George has given that Euron intends to sacrifice his fellow Ironborn in pursuit of his goals:

“Why would I want that hard black rock? Brother, look again and see where I am seated.”

...

“Your victories are hollow. You cannot hold the Shields.”

“Why should I want to hold them?” His brother’s smiling eye glittered in the lantern light, blue and bold and full of malice. “The Shields have served my purpose. I took them with one hand, and gave them away with the other. A great king is open-handed, brother. It is up to the new lords to hold them now. The glory of winning those rocks will be mine forever. When they are lost, the defeat will belong to the four fools who so eagerly accepted my gifts.”

...

The dreams were even worse the second time. He saw the longships of the Ironborn adrift and burning on a boiling blood-red sea. (TWOW, The Forsaken)

Euron seated himself and gave his cloak a twitch, so it covered his private parts. "I had forgotten what a small and noisy folk they are, my ironborn. I would bring them dragons, and they shout out for grapes." (AFFC, The Reaver)

Clearly, Euron's ambitions exceed those of his fellow Ironborn, and this makes Aeron's vision of longships adrift on a boiling sea particularly ominous. At the end of "The Forsaken," Aeron Damphair, Euron's pregnant saltwife Falia Flowers, and a collection of holy men and women kidnapped by Euron are tied to the prows of his ships. With a naval battle looming between Euron's forces and the ships of the Hightower and Redwyne fleets, Euron's plan seems to be to use this naval battle in the Whispering Sound alongside his captives as the sacrifice required for the Hammer.

The evidence that Euron will sound the Hammer of the Waters is very strong IMO, as is the evidence for Wyk erupting. Firstly, we have Daenerys' visions from the House of the Undying in ACOK:

"From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . ." (ACOK, Daenerys IV)

The smoking tower most likely refers to the Hightower at Oldtown, while a 'great stone beast' that breathes 'shadow fire' sounds an awful lot like a volcano. That the beast takes wing and appears to fly can be seen as a reference to Euron's crow/raven symbolism, as well as his obsession with flying:

"When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly," he announced. "When I woke, I couldn't . . . or so the maester said. But what if he lied?"

...

"Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. "No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap." (AFFC, The Reaver)

We then have Melisandre's vision in ADWD:

Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. 

...

"If it comes, that attack will be no more than a diversion. I saw towers by the sea, submerged beneath a black and bloody tide. That is where the heaviest blow will fall."

"Eastwatch?"

Was it? Melisandre had seen Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with King Stannis. That was where His Grace left Queen Selyse and their daughter Shireen when he assembled his knights for the march to Castle Black. The towers in her fire had been different, but that was oft the way with visions. (ADWD, Melisandre I)

Many of the theories I've seen about this vision identify the towers as Oldtown, and while I agree that the Hammer will devastate that city, the description doesn't quite add up. The Hightower and the Citadel are the only real towers associated with the city while House Costayne's seat of Three Towers, at the mouth of the Whispering Sound, was only briefly mentioned by Sam as the Cinnamon Wind approached Oldtown in AFFC. There's also the issue of Oldtown's location well inside the Whispering Sound and many miles from the sea. The Iron Islands fit the description quite nicely, in particular Ten Towers on Harlaw and Pyke itself:

Ten Towers had always felt like home to Asha, more so than Pyke. Not one castle, ten castles squashed together, she had thought, the first time she had seen it. She remembered breathless races up and down the steps and along wallwalks and covered bridges, fishing off the Long Stone Quay, days and nights lost amongst her uncle's wealth of books. His grandfather's grandfather had raised the castle, the newest on the isles. Lord Theomore Harlaw had lost three sons in the cradle and laid the blame upon the flooded cellars, damp stones, and festering nitre of ancient Harlaw Hall. Ten Towers was airier, more comfortable, better sited . . . but Lord Theomore was a changeable man, as any of his wives might have testified. He'd had six of those, as dissimilar as his ten towers. (AFFC, The Kraken's Daughter)

As it happens, Harlaw is situated right next to Old and Great Wyk; but the tower imagery is even more pronounced with Pyke:

The Greyjoy stronghold stood upon a broken headland, its keeps and towers built atop massive stone stacks that thrust up from the sea. Bridges knotted Pyke together; arched bridges of carved stone and swaying spans of hempen rope and wooden planks.

...

Greydon left him when the sun was up, to take the news of Balon's death to his cousins in their towers at Downdelving, Crow Spike Keep, and Corpse Lake. Aeron continued on alone, up hills and down vales along a stony track that drew wider and more traveled as he neared the sea. (AFFC, The Prophet)

The shore was all sharp rocks and glowering cliffs, and the castle seemed one with the rest, its towers and walls and bridges quarried from the same grey-black stone, wet by the same salt waves, festooned with the same spreading patches of dark green lichen, speckled by the droppings of the same seabirds. The point of land on which the Greyjoys had raised their fortress had once thrust like a sword into the bowels of the ocean, but the waves had hammered at it day and night until the land broke and shattered, thousands of years past. All that remained were three bare and barren islands and a dozen towering stacks of rock that rose from the water like the pillars of some sea god's temple, while the angry waves foamed and crashed among them.

Drear, dark, forbidding, Pyke stood atop those islands and pillars, almost a part of them, its curtain wall closing off the headland around the foot of the great stone bridge that leapt from the clifftop to the largest islet, dominated by the massive bulk of the Great Keep. Farther out were the Kitchen Keep and the Bloody Keep, each on its own island. Towers and outbuildings clung to the stacks beyond, linked to each other by covered archways when the pillars stood close, by long swaying walks of wood and rope when they did not. (ACOK, Theon I)

What became of Valyria is well-known, and in the Iron Islands, the castle of Pyke sits on stacks of stone that were once part of the greater island before segments of it crumbled into the sea. (TWOIAF, Ancient History: The Coming of the First Men)

What remains of Pyke today is a complex of towers and keeps scattered across half a dozen islets and sea stacks above the booming waves. A section of curtain wall, with a great gatehouse and defensive towers, stretches across the headland, the only access to the castle, and is all that remains of the original fortress. A stone bridge from the headland leads to the first and largest islets and Great Keep of Pyke.

Beyond that, rope bridges connect the towers one to the other.... Beneath the castle walls, the waves still smash against the remaining rock stacks day and night, and one day those too will doubtless crash into the sea. (TWOIAF, The Iron Islands: Pyke)

Earthquakes, tsunamis and a volcanic eruption would more than suffice to submerge Pyke beneath the waves. Such a cataclysm striking the Iron Islands would also fit with Aeron's vision of Ironborn longships adrift on a bloody, boiling sea; while this could refer to Victarion's Iron Fleet and it's close proximity to Valyria and the Smoking Sea, we know that the ships of the Iron Fleet are larger than the normal longships of the Ironborn, and I believe it further points towards a disaster befalling the Ironborn as a result of Euron's schemes.

The final and most blatant evidence for Wyk erupting comes from Victarion, who offers this account of the Doom of Valyria while stopped at the Isle of Cedars near Slavers Bay:

On the day the Doom came to Valyria, it was said, a wall of water three hundred feet high had descended on the island, drowning hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, leaving none to tell the tale but some fisherfolk who had been at sea and a handful of Velosi spearmen posted in a stout stone tower on the island's highest hill, who had seen the hills and valleys beneath them turn into a raging sea. Fair Velos with its palaces of cedar and pink marble had vanished in a heartbeat. On the north end of the island, the ancient brick walls and stepped pyramids of the slaver port Ghozai had suffered the same fate.

So many drowned men, the Drowned God will be strong there, Victarion had thought when he chose the island for the three parts of his fleet to join up again. He was no priest, though. What if he had gotten it backwards? Perhaps the Drowned God had destroyed the island in his wroth. His brother Aeron might have known, but the Damphair was back on the Iron Islands, preaching against the Crow's Eye and his rule. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair. Yet the captains and kings had cried for Euron at the kingsmoot, choosing him above Victarion and other godly men. (ADWD, The Iron Suitor)

This passage is what sold me on this theory being more than just tin foil, as the elements it employs fit a Wyk eruption scenario perfectly. We have a massive volcanic eruption accompanied by tsunamis, along with Victarion's musing on whether the disaster was a punishment from the Drowned God. This fits perfectly with the idea of the Drowned God being a submerged volcano, as it's subsequent eruption could be seen as divine punishment for placing a 'godless man' upon the Seastone Chair.

Even more suggestive is the description of the wave's height, and how some Velosi spearmen survived due to being in a stone tower atop a hill. The Hightower of Oldtown is said to be as tall as the Wall or over 700 feet tall, with it's base being constructed from fused black stone similar to the Valyrian roads. Even more telling, the island on which the Hightower sits is called Battle Isle, which is similar to another name for the Isle of Cedars:

The girlish maester Euron had inflicted upon him back in Westeros claimed this place had once been called 'the Isle of a Hundred Battles,' but the men who had fought those battles had all gone to dust centuries ago. (ADWD, The Iron Suitor)

In the event that Euron attacks Oldtown, I expect him to make a bee-line for the top of the Hightower, and not so he can see the Wall and bring it down with the Horn of Joramun. Rather, it's because the top of the Hightower might be the only relatively safe place for miles when he sounds the Hammer of the Waters and unleashes a 'black and bloody tide.'

#euron greyjoy #euron crowseye #ironborn #iron islands #asoiaf #asoiaf spoilers #asoiaf speculation #asoiaf meta #house greyjoy

[sharkhead43]

REDACTED AUDIO HOGWARTS HOUSES!!!!

Starting off with our lovely were-bois to celebrate Milo’s hbs

———————————————————————

David - Hufflepuff

• Secondry is Ravenclaw

• He is willing to do anything for his pack

• Or Angel

• But, as the beforementioned snot can attest to, it is not easy to attain that kind of relationship with him which makes a lot of people assume he’s slytherin

• Although that is more because of his father’s passing than his personality

• He was so pissed when he found out because he had only watched the first two movies

• And thought hufflepuff was the throw-away house

• But after researching and retaking the test (many, many, times) he agreed with it

Asher - Ravenclaw

• Secondry is Gryffindor

• He is one of the only energetic Ravenclaws

• But he drinks enough energy drinks and caffeine to fit in on that front

• Also

• HE IS A HUGE FUCKING NERD!!!

• Dude dressed up as ASH KETCHUM for Halloween because

A. He is a Pokémon geek

and B. ITS A PUN!! Our boy made a fucking pun out of his costume and was still nerdy enough to make it something that he loved.

• Also he’s like one of those dumb-smart Ravenclaws

• Like he acts dumb all the time but he knows random things

• Not to mention if you get him talking about any of his interests he might just spontaneously combust

Milo - Slytherin

• Secondary is Gryffindor

• I feel like I don’t need to explain

• But I will

• First of all, mans looks AMAZING in dark green

• but we all knew that

• He is wonderfully cunning and will do anything for the people he loves

• Kinda like David but he doesn’t really have a limit on what the aforementioned “anything” is

• “Oh Sweetheart is being harassed by some bozo at work? Lemme get my pack of BLOODTHIRSTY WOLVES who the majority of are absoLUTELY feminists AND WE WILL RIP HIS THROAT OUT”

• Also he is absolutely super ambitious.

• He may not be the biggest, and he know he’s not gonna be alpha, but bro has some life goals that are most certainly going to be achieved

———————————————————————

Hey gang, lemme know what group y’all want for this next, the damn crew, vamps, etc. have a good day and DRINK SOME FUCKING WATER <3

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted hc #redacted listener #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted shaw pack #redacted david #redacted asher #redacted baaabe #redacted angel #redacted headcanons

[zedpercyfan]

Pokeshipping Week '23 - Day 1 - First Date

The Ash Way

ASH KETCHUM’S eyebrow twitched alongside Pikachu’s perturbed ear movements as they watched with bemusement as Cilan pranced around a whiteboard.

“Simply put, Ash,” he gushed, “my coveted ‘win the girl’ five step first date plan is a certified three-out-of-three stars course!  Its divine quality has been tested over the centuries by countless unknowns from around the world and written down both factually and fictionally to attest to its indomitable success rate.  Simply put, you’ll have her in the palm of your hands if you follow these steps.”

“Um, thanks, Cilan,” said Ash, masking his confusion quite well.

“You’re most welcome!” enthused Cilan.  “Trust me, my Kanto friend.  It pleases me so much to be asked advice by thee in regard to that enigmatic corner of the human experience: amour…!”

Once Cilan had finished his overblown monologues, Ash politely excused himself from the room as he prepared for the demonstration match.  “Huh…what a plan,” he said thoughtfully.

Cilan had been meticulous, mapping out every action and step and placing them in a way that was easy to understand.  Ash knew Cilan is a careful and thoughtful thinker and that his assessment of various situations was often the correct.  Which is why – PLONK – he threw it into a trash can.

“I appreciate the thought,” said Ash quietly to himself, “but I think this is a situation where only I can help myself… If I can even manage.  Oh well.”  He checked his belt and his five other choices of Pokémon.  “It’s battle time!”

Just a few days prior, Misty had out of nowhere asked him out on a date.  He’d only been back from Kalos for a week and after regaling to his Cerulean Gym leading friend his adventures in that region, Misty had seemed…irate.  He still really doesn’t know the why or how, but somehow that rage had turned into a “go on a date with me” talk.

Despite the weird goings on in the background, Ash battled with aplomb.

***

He knew he couldn’t just let Misty be mad with him.  He had to find a way to let her vent her stress in a way that didn’t end with him getting his eardrums blown up alongside getting hammered with a mallet that she’d somehow have on her person.

“Hmm…”  Grabbing his phone, Ash texted her a question, then a request…

Misty blinked in surprise, but she still texted back a ‘yes.’  She was still puzzled, however.  “Huh…?  The hell does he have in mind?”

Ash grinned when he saw Misty at the meeting point.  Luckily, she’d done as he suggested and wore sports clothes.  “Bike shorts as you said… Where’re we going?” she quizzed.

“You’ll see,” he smiled.

Ash made biking look easy as Misty kept up, trying to keep a rhythm to her breathing.  He stormed a winding road furiously as he changed bike gears.  “Pikachupi!”

He looked back and was relieved and pleased to see that Misty was keeping up with him, he’d always enjoyed that natural tomboy tenacity of hers.  “Keep it up, Mist!” shouted Ash.

“Where are you even taking me?!”

“You’ll see!”

She rolled her eyes but gritted her teeth all the same and peddled after him.

The destination soon came.  At first Misty was cross at stopping in the middle of the road but before she could finish her sentence of indignation, Ash motioned to the side.

“Whoa,” she gasped.  Before her was a beautiful view of the valley toward Cerulean City.  The ocean in the horizon, pretty wisps of clouds above, trees, grass fields, and buildings just able to be seen through the treetops.  “Pretty.”

“Yeah.  It’s the view I saw last time I came through here on my walk from the airport.”

“That so?  Gosh, can’t really say if I can remember seeing such a nice view.”  That gave Ash a smug smile and Misty lightly slugged him for it much to Pikachu and Azurill’s amusement.  “Yeah, right… Is this all you have to offer on date.”

“Only plan I have in your dreams,” he muttered as he soothed the area of his ribcage where she’d elbowed him.  “Our day’s just started, Mist.”

Unlike when they’d headed up the hill, Misty took delight in coasting downhill.  As they roamed along Ash kept thinking and thought it strange how Misty’s reaction had been slightly underwhelming.

“I’d have thought she’d have appreciated a pretty view.”  Then a line from Cilan’s little manual struck him…

When she says something’s beautiful like a view or another girl.  Tell her she’s more beautiful than that…

Ash mentally hit himself for that.

Though by the time they reached the next destination, Misty was noticeably in a better mood.  “A…diner?”

“Yeah!  It’s said this place has the best sundaes around.”  To Ash’s delight, Misty’s eyes lit up as soon as she heard that.

It got even better once she dug into the sundae.  Ash found himself taken in by her look of bliss as she devoured it and even a bit of shame as he had to point out smudges she got on her cheek.

The rest of the date went well and by the time the sun was nearing the horizon they were both exhausted.  They sat, energy depleted, on a bench.

“So…” huffed Ash, “…had fun…?”

“Yeah, I did…thank you, Ash.”  She gave a small smile and paused.  “So, who gave you the idea for this date?”

He shrugged.  “No one, came up with it myself.”

“Wow.  Quite the idea.”

“I just figured I’d do the sort of things we had fun with as kids and…a few…other things.”

“Like…?”

“I took ya to see that view because I figured you’d like that sort of gesture.  Showing you something…nice.”

“…”  Misty paused and thought about it for a second.  Ash felt sweat dripping down his forehead as he waited for her answer.  “Well, it certainly worked.  It blew me away.”

“You’re welcome.  That and they say exercise is a great way to work off a bad mood.  I didn’t want you to stay mad so I figured some long bike riding would make things more fun between us.”

“Makes sense,” she laughed.

“Hey, er…”  Ash paused thoughtfully.  “…why’d you ask for a date?”

Misty sighed and leaned back.  “I got jealous hearing about that Serena chick.  Did you…like the kiss she gave you?”

“I thought it was awkward, really.  I see her as a friend, I only hope I can make that clearer next time I see her.”

“What about you and me?”

“Well…”  Ash trailed off and reverted his gaze up front.  It was then he noticed the sun’s setting rays lighting up the coastal view from the park they were at.  “Now that’s a sight.”

“Yeah!  The light, the water… Beautiful.”

Ash looked down, ruminated for a second, and turned to Misty.  “Not as beautiful as you.”

The orange-haired girl went red and averted her eyes.  “D-did you get that pickup line from someone else…?”

“I mean it, though.”

“O-oh… so, do you…like me?”

“I…I su- I suppose I do.”  Ash blinked.  The day flashed again before his eyes.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I do!”

“Prove it, then.”

“Okay.”  Ash leaned in slowly, his face getting hotter and hotter.  It felt weird but not wanting to let fear take over, went right for a kiss!  It was warm and cozy.  For a moment, Ash questioned if Misty even is liking it…

…then he felt her reciprocating just as lightly.  He softly parted from her after a few seconds.

“Okay...” said Misty softly.  “That’s the answer then.”  She paused.  “I love you, Ash.”

“Love ya too, Mist,” he replied.  Without another word, Misty rested her head on Ash’s left shoulder as he used that arm to gently hold her.

***

Author’s Note: You know, it wasn’t until I began brainstorming for this day that I realized just how superfluous this theme is to me given my mistake of penning Left Behind just prior to getting down to writing these.  It is a quintessential aspect of a relationship of course, so it would’ve felt wrong to immediately eschew this.

That and I also realized that Left Behind’s dating scenes are surrounded by a more somber and thematically deep affair and tone, so I reckoned I owed it to myself and you the readers to write something more lighthearted and took a bit of inspiration from the recently adapted Tomo-chan is a Girl!  At any rate it was a writing refreshing necessity to counterbalance that other fic whose conclusion is incoming in a short bit. 

#pokeshipping #zedpercyfan #Pokeshipping week 2023 #SatoKasu #pokemon #ash ketchum #misty #fanfiction