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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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Rubies in the Dark LUCIFER x gn!Reader 4.9k Words | NSFW | Medieval Fantasy AU | Dubious Behaviour Content Warnings: Dark Elvish Prince!Lucifer x Alchemist!Reader. Contains descriptions of monsters, magic and blood/gore/violence; minor injury; implied stalking, breaking and entering, invasion of privacy; dream magic, dream sex, mutual masturbation, implied somnophilia. (Also, shameless references to Warcraft lore because it inspired the worldbuilding for this story.) A/N: This is my fic for @bizarrebankai's 1k Follower Collab! 💙

It’s been nearly five years since you left your family’s small farm to create a new life in Hillsbrad Foothills. You didn’t have any weapons' training and you weren’t magically gifted. Some of your childhood friends were, and they were able to move away to pursue new adventures, leaving you behind. Your family expected you to accept your boring country life, but you knew you wanted more. Disappointment and heartbreak finally motivated you to pack your meager belongings and set off on your own adventure.

You might not be a warrior or mage, but your new freedom gave you the opportunity to explore and study your true passion for alchemy. Your small cottage is located in one of the villages near the Alterac Mountains. Most of the villagers are hunters, gatherers, or tradesmen.

You make a comfortable living trading your alchemy creations to the other villagers. The foothills are an abundant source of some of the most useful flowers and herbs for crafting utility potions and healing elixirs. You don’t like to let things go to waste; the discarded plants you can’t use are milled and turned into ink that you supply to the local constable and village leaders.

In exchange for your services, they provide you with clothing and food and other useful goods. Your life is lonely, but it’s comfortable. Time has healed old wounds and very rarely is your mind plagued with doubt and regret; you know you’re better off without your unsupportive family and the weak-willed ex-lover you left behind.

Today was surprisingly busy and you were in your alchemy lab all morning. The weather started to turn and you saw clouds rolling over the hills when you peeked out the window. You glance at your herb reserves hesitantly and wonder if you have enough time to gather some more before the storm comes.

One of the village’s recent hunts ended bloodier than usual–there weren't any deaths, but more hunters were seriously wounded than normal. You were more than eager to provide them with potions to accelerate their recovery, but most of your supplies have run out as a result.

The wildlife in the foothills has become exceedingly aggressive. There aren’t many visitors to these quiet lands. There are rumors circulating the village of suspicious travellers conducting experiments with local animals and plant life along the region’s uninhabited borders. They talk about rabid animals and foliage overrun with disease, but you’ve been fortunate not to come across anything like that yourself.

The foothills aren’t easily accessible and are used mainly as a thoroughfare to other regions. There’s only one main road travelers can use to bypass the mountains: the eastern road leads into the valleys and the sea beyond; or the western road that winds up through Silverpine Forest, a thick and dark place nestled along the mountain range.

You’ve heard stories about Silverpine Forest, too–or the Demon’s Forest, if suspicious townsfolk are to be believed. Some people say that monsters hunt along the road at night. If the legends are true, they capture weary travelers and unsuspecting hunters and drag them to their demise in the dark, never to be seen or heard from again. This land might be home to magical and wondrous things, but even you doubt that the stories are true.

Regardless of what you believe, you try to be cautious when you go out to collect herbs on your own. You attach a long knife to your belt before you slip on your cloak, although it is more useful for trimming leaves and brances than for protection.

You bite your lip and glance nervously at the sky. The clouds overhead threaten rainfall, but you think you have enough time to restock some of your depleted resources. You slip out of your little cottage and follow the stone path to the main road heading west.

Today’s harvest is productive and uneventful. These foothills are an excellent source of Briarthorn and Silverleaf, some of the most potent herbs you use regularly. You’ll be able to provide the local healers with more elixirs with extras to spare.

You don’t normally venture this close to the western border, but you naturally follow the most abundant patches of herbs and it led you there. You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but you’re still eager to return to your cottage before it gets too late.

You set along the path that will lead you home when a strange sound carries on the wind and catches your attention. It doesn’t sound human, but you recognize the whimpers and whines of a creature in pain. You take a hesitant step off the main road, and then another, until you’re walking slowly, carefully, through the grass towards the noise.

The unusual sounds lead you down a deep, sloping hill towards one of the region’s abandoned mines. You shiver from the sudden drop in temperature–something about the air in this area feels unsettling and desolate, and it sets your nerves on edge. The pained noises come from just inside the opening of one of the mining tunnels. You peek around the corner carefully, and you spot some sort of wounded animal.

At a first glance, you think it might be a type of bear, but it’s hard to tell without getting closer. It’s stuck in a tangled mess of thick, white webbing that pins it to the ground. The beast raises its head when your leather boot disturbs some loose stones, and its eyes–or is that two pairs of eyes?–blink at you. The beast is still whimpering in pain, but a low growl echoes around you now, too.

You hold up your hands and show the beast you mean it no harm. It sniffs the air curiously and the growling fades, which you interpret as a sign that it’s safe to approach. You kneel at the beast’s side and examine the webs trapping the poor animal in place. You stroke its furry back soothingly as you slowly cut away the thinner sections of webbing, but the thicker ropes along the beast’s back are too tough for your knife to hack through.

You’re so distracted by your task that a new sound startles you and makes your blood run cold; the beast starts to growl louder and more menacing than before. There’s a hissing noise approaching you from deep within the mine. The flurried sound of skittering limbs echo off the stone walls. Dozens of yellowish eyes seem to float in the darkness further down the tunnel from you and the beast.

It appears that the mines are home to a nest of overgrown spiders. The spiders are nothing like what you’ve seen before: they’re nearly as tall as you are and much wider. They have gnarly limbs and strange, pulsing growths jutting from their backs.

You have no weapons except for your knife, and it’s a poor substitute for a proper sword or axe–not that you could wield either of those successfully, even if you had one. The beast struggles to break free of its bindings next to you, but its limbs are still immobilized by the webs.

You don’t want to run and leave the beast to a bloody fate, but you don’t want to be devoured by the monsters approaching you either. You’re paralyzed by indecision and fear. You remember the stories of suspicious individuals creating abominations from nature in their wake. You didn’t want to believe the rumors were true; you didn’t think this is how you would die.

Something knocks into your back, and you yell in fright as you’re pushed aside. You’re afraid that a monster ambushed you from behind, but instead you see a tall figure wearing leather hunting gear underneath a long, dark cloak.

Whoever it is stops and examines the beast closely, and a male voice speaks to it in a strange language you don’t understand. He pats the beast’s heads–all three of them– before he approaches the swarm of spiders. He doesn’t hesitate to draw a long steel blade, and you stare in horror as he marches towards certain death.

“Hey, wait, don’t–!” you try to warn the stranger. You realize very quickly that your warning was not wanted or needed.

It’s not a battle so much as it is a slaughter. His movements are graceful but quick, and they’re difficult for you to follow. He darts a path through the monsters, his sharp weapon slicing through the air and cutting them down effortlessly. Frenzied, monstrous shrieks and hissing fill the air; the sound of flesh slicing and squelching blood makes you nauseous. The musty mine air grows heavy with the hint of copper. You clench your eyes shut and cover your ears.

Eventually, the sounds of carnage fade into nothingness, and all you can hear now is the wild thumping of your heartbeat. When you open your eyes, the hooded stranger is standing near the beast’s side once more. His sword drips black-red ichor from the slain spiders, and he wipes the blade clean. He cuts through the webbing so the beast can finally stand up properly. It reminds you of an enormous dog as it shakes its dark fur. Its heads each try to lick at the stranger’s face, and you hear a soft huff of amusement; it nearly makes you smile, despite everything you’ve just gone through.

The stranger finally seems to remember your presence and turns to face you. Most of his face is shrouded in darkness with his hood still up, but you know he’s staring at you. His attention feels weighted, almost suffocating. His aura is intense and you’ve seen for yourself he’s capable of ruthless bloodshed, but for some reason, you don’t feel afraid.

His head tilts questioningly. “Why?” his smooth voice asks quietly. “Why did you stop to help him?”

“I wanted to,” you reply honestly. You cringe when you realize how naive it sounds. You could’ve died, and you probably would have died, if not for the traveler’s excellent timing.

You don’t know what to say, and neither does he judging by his icy silence. Something catches your eye when you take a better look at his clothing. There’s a gash on his arm, and the thin material of his tunic is already soaked with blood from the wound. “You’re hurt,” you point out worriedly.

He looks at his arm like he didn’t even notice he was wounded, but he startles when you approach him without hesitation. “What do you think you’re–?” the stranger demands, but he only makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away from you.

You shake your head to silence his complaints and focus on his injury. You normally carry a small assortment of bandages in one of your pouches, pre-soaked with healing elixir, and you unwrap one and press it to his arm. You wrap it around the wound as gently as you can.

“I make these myself,” you explain to him quietly. You move the ripped fabric of his shirt aside, and your fingers brush against his bare skin. You hear a sharp intake of breath, and you pause tying the bandage in place. “Is it too tight?”

Even with his hood up, you can tell he’s shaking his head. “No, no–it’s fine."

When you’re satisfied with your work, you step back and give him some space. The man seems to be focused on his arm now, and the strange tension between you makes you nervous. Before you can think of anything else to say, rumbling thunder booms in the distance outside the mine and you look over your shoulder. The sky is even darker now, and only the barest hints of sunlight peek through the clouds.

You suddenly feel the tingling sensation of magic in the air. You turn around to ask the man if he lives nearby and what his name is, but he and his beast are gone. You scan the tunnel as far as your eye can see, but nothing else remains except for the plagued spider creatures the traveler killed to save you.

More thunder booms, louder and closer than before, and you rush from the mine. You see no sign of the man or his beast, but the storm brews on the horizon. You have no choice but to continue the journey home as quickly as you can and hope that they’re safe now too.

The villagers are on high alert after you inform them of the monstrous spiders you encountered near the western border of the region. You leave out the details of meeting the cloaked stranger and his three-headed beast.

Your thoughts drift to them often in the days that pass since that tense encounter. The traveler must be a gifted magic user if he was able to teleport them both away so easily. You feel the pang of envy when you think of your nonexistent magical skills, but you remind yourself that you’re an accomplished alchemist instead. You’ve honed your talents and found your own purpose in life; you don't need anything else.

Sometimes when you walk to town to buy supplies, or when you tend to the small garden of herbs near your cottage, you feel uneasy. You glance around nervously when the sensation of being watched makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You call out nervously and ask who’s there, but no one answers. The silence feels anticipatory somehow, and you wonder what it means.

The next morning you stumble tiredly from your room after a restless sleep. You think a warm cup of tea will help, but you freeze when you realize there’s a man in your house. His back is facing you while he looks over the alchemy texts and storybooks on your shelf. He turns to you properly when he hears your startled yelp of surprise.

The man looks like no one you’ve ever seen before. Black hair streaked with grey falls over his intense ruby-coloured eyes. He wears a silver circlet adorned with black opals. His black regalia is perfectly tailored and looks expensive. The dark fabric is accented with gold and red threads that almost seem to glitter in the sunlight shining through your window. His cloak is lined with fur, and his black leather boots are shined to a high polish. He clears his throat and tugs on the cuff of his gloves, almost like he’s nervous. Whoever the stranger is, he looks regal and important and painstakingly out of place in your humble cottage.

You should be afraid that a stranger broke into your home and looked through your belongings while you were sleeping in the next room unaware. However, there’s something familiar about him that you can’t place at first. You suddenly think of a three-headed beast and the cloaked stranger that saved you both, his pale, sharp jawline peeking below the shadow of his hood–

You realize the man before you is the swordsman from the mine, and he nods his confirmation when you ask him if he's one and the same. Your gaze lingers on his intense red eyes and the pointed tips of his ears, and he explains that he lives deep in Silverpine Forest with the elves. He tells you that he’s the crown prince of his kind, and he’s here because he owes you a debt of gratitude.

He looks visibly irritated when you tell him repayment of any kind isn’t necessary. Shouldn’t you be repaying him since he saved your life? But there’s a pink flush blooming across his cheeks despite his offended expression, and all he says is that it’s complicated. Apparently, risking your life to save elvish royalty–or his pet–is a big deal.

You rub your arms nervously and ask what he means. You’re expecting him to offer some sort of compensation, like gold or rare goods, and you plan on refusing all of it. What you don’t expect is for him to ask permission to court you. His eyes are serious and they blaze angrily when you burst into laughter at his proclamation.

(He doesn’t tell you that his brothers noticed his increasingly distracted behaviour the days following your fateful encounter. He washed the bandage you gave him and kept it for sentimental reasons he can’t even articulate properly. He can’t look at Cerberus without remembering how close he came to losing his beloved companion, or how brave you were to try to save him yourself. He thinks of how kind you were when you tended to his wounded arm and how gently you touched him–no one's ever touched him like that before.

He thinks about the spies he sent to your cottage to learn more about you, and how he grew too eager and started watching over you himself. He thinks about your reputable alchemy skills and kind nature, and how respected you are in your small village. He thinks about your potential, and how he can offer you so much more, if you’ll give him the chance.)

In the awkward silence that follows, you realize he isn’t joking and he's waiting for your response. You don’t mean to offend him, and you apologize profusely, but he can’t seriously expect you to accept such a proposal so easily, right?

But you think about your quiet isolation with only fleeting acquaintances among the townspeople to keep you company. You think about the world beyond the foothills that you pretend doesn’t exist. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up in another isolated prison of your own making.

Were you craving a sense of adventure when you let a strange beast’s cries lead you astray from the safest path home? What could someone like an elvish prince offer someone like you?

The world, a treasonous voice whispers in your mind. Judging by the mischievous gleam in his eye, you’re not sure whether that voice was yours or his.

You explain to him as gently as you can that you can’t accept such a bold offer of courtship, but you would be happy to accept an offer of friendship instead.

He readily agrees with your counter-proposal, and you wonder what you’re missing that makes him look so pleased; he looked ready to attack you for wounding his pride only moments ago. He refuses your offer to stay longer and visit, but he assures you that you’ll see him again soon. You stop him before he leaves when you realize you don’t even know his name.

My name is Lucifer, he tells you warmly. There’s an unreadable smile teasing his lips, and he offers you a murmured farewell before he disappears in a ripple of magic.

You ignore the curious voice inside your mind that wonders how long he'll make you wait before he visits again.

It’s been nearly a week since Lucifer visited your cottage and turned your world upside down. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve made a mental note to ask him what friendship means to elvishkind. It almost seems like he completely ignored your rejection of his offer to court you.

Each morning when you wake, you find some sort of gift in your sitting room: a vase of rare wildflowers, silver jewelry fashioned similarly to the circlet he wore, a new cloak lined with soft fur that looks suspiciously like his own.

You pick up today’s gift–a heavy, leatherbound book about plants and herbs with blank pages at the end for keeping notes. You recognize some of the drawings on the pages: those plants don’t grow in the foothills, but you know they grow in abundance within Silverpine Forest where Lucifer lives, that cheeky devil.

These tokens feel too intimate for the early stages of blooming friendship, but you suspect he knows that. Is he so arrogant that he thinks your affections can be won so easily despite your initial protests?

(Or does he know that despite your protests, you enjoy all his thoughtful gifts? He’s so considerate of your interests and passions. It’s difficult not to be flattered that someone as interesting and handsome as him would be determined to impress someone like you.)

Your cottage starts to feel different as it fills with gifts the elvish prince brings you while you sleep. It’s almost like he leaves hints of his unique magic on purpose for you to find. You catch whiffs of the smoky-sweet fragrance he wears as you walk through the halls, and you can't help but think of him when you do.

Sometimes you still feel like you’re being watched, but the sensation feels friendlier somehow, rather than invasive and alarming. When you look out your window in the evenings and stare into the thicket behind your cottage, you can almost imagine the flash of blood-red eyes staring back at you.

You’ve been using the book Lucifer gave you as a type of journal. It’s become an intimate confession of your wonder and your fears and doubts. You write about regret and hope and opportunities for new beginnings. You think about friendship and the potential for more, and you wonder how it might feel to wake up in a bed warmed by someone that loves you. You haven’t wanted these sorts of things in a very long time. You’re not sure whether to thank or curse the elvish prince for filling your head with such desperately beautiful ideas.

The next morning, you wake up and find another gift: a glass jar filled with fragrant tea leaves. The unique blend smells earthy and herbal and slightly sweet. You hold the jar to your chest and glance at your journal on the writing desk. It’s open to the last page you wrote on, but you know you closed it before you went to bed last night. Realization dawns on you: Lucifer wanted you to know that he read it, and now he knows all your conflicted thoughts about him.

You boil water and make a cup of tea with the leaves he gave you. You step outside into the early morning sunlight and sip your drink thoughtfully. The familiar feeling of eyes on you returns, and you wonder why it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to.

You dream of Lucifer for the first time that night. It feels like your consciousness is floating amongst soft clouds. You feel weightless and protected and cared for. You can’t see him–not at first, anyway–but you know he’s there with you. His familiar scent is so strong you can almost taste it, and you recognize the deep, teasing timber of his voice when his quiet chuckle echoes all around you. You know it’s not real, but it feels like strong arms cradle you in a warm embrace and it feels so wonderful.

Wakefulness disturbs the tranquility of the dream, and you see one last flicker of red eyes before you sit up in your bed, wide-awake and breathless. You rub your eyes and squint as the morning sunshine filters in the gap of your curtain and bathes your room in light. Something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you realize he left his next gift in your room this time: a deep-red rose fully in bloom and tied with a black ribbon, placed next to your pillow while you dreamt of him.

Whatever is happening between you and Lucifer continues to grow more intense as days pass. Every night when you sleep, he visits you in your dreams like he knows your resistance to him is crumbling. His dream-self doesn’t really speak to you, except for deep sighs that sound like your name when he holds you against his chest. Sometimes his fingers trail lightly up and down your arm, and you can feel his warm, damp breath fan against your nape as his nose brushes against your neck.

His presence fades away when you wake up with the morning sun, and your new gift from him waits somewhere nearby. The traces of his magic seem to linger and grow stronger each time he visits you in your room. It almost feels possessive, like he’s leaving his mark on you so you can’t possibly forget him. It’s a constant reminder of who he is and what he wants from you.

His gifts become more intimate over time, too–a box filled with rare candied nuts and creamy chocolates, a bottle of rare fruit wine, a delicately woven blanket for your bed. Today’s gift is the most extravagant yet: a black silk robe with gold and red embroidery. It’s similar in style to the royal regalia he wore when he came to your home for the first time. The underlying significance of that doesn’t escape your notice.

You set the robe aside while you dress in your normal attire and carry on with your work for the day. Time passes in a blur as you grind herbs to make potions, and you mill the discarded parts into pigment for ink. When you head to the village to deliver the finished goods, you feel his intense gaze on you from somewhere nearby; he must realize by now that the bashful smile you try to smother is meant for him.

A strange feeling of anticipation has been building inside you all day. You get ready for bed that evening and take off your clothes. It’s almost like you can’t stop yourself when you slip on the robe he gave you in place of your usual sleepwear. The significance of wearing this to bed, and only this, doesn’t escape you either.

You don’t normally think about your appearance or attractiveness, but wearing something that he made specially for you feels like a type of seduction. The robe feels so soft and sensual against your naked skin, and you realize this is what it feels like to be desirable. The robe is loose across your chest and near the gap between your legs when you lay down. The thin fabric leaves tantalizing strips of bare skin exposed in the cool night air.

When you fall asleep, you realize immediately that tonight’s dream is different. You’re laying flat on something soft, and someone’s body cages you beneath theirs. You recognize the red glint of his eyes as the shadows fade away from his face. He braces himself on one arm while the other tugs at the fastening keeping your robe closed.

Mine, he whispers. His hand pauses, waiting for permission.

Yours, you whisper back.

Once he has your consent, the restraint he’s been clinging to finally gives way to his primal instincts. He leans forward and kisses you as your robe falls open completely and you’re finally bare to him. His hands and mouth claim every inch of your body for himself. He’s gentle and slow as he explores you. The crimson eyes you once feared are molten with greedy affection for you and you alone. He makes a trail of open-mouthed kisses and small, suckled bruises across your skin.

When he's reached the edge of his control, he surges back up your body and captures your lips in another heated kiss. He slides his hand between your legs and teases the edge of your arousal. He nips gently at your skin when you bare your throat to him, and he smiles wickedly at the first soft sigh that escapes you.

He groans when you explore his chest and glide along his tapered waist until you find the hardening length grinding against your hip. His cock is hard and heavy in your hand, and he growls deep in his chest as you begin to stroke him. His fingers are relentless and you move together, stroking each other in a hot, desperate haze that threatens to consume you both.

He whispers sweet praise into your ear when you fall apart beneath him, and he gasps and moans your name when he comes too. Your hands are both stained as his release mixes with your own. The inside of your thighs are wet and sticky, and your chest heaves while you catch your breath.

He maneuvers you so he’s laying behind you. He wraps an arm possessively around your waist. It may only be a dream, but you swear you’ve never felt so good. You feel relaxed and content and your eyes slip closed.

Stay, you whisper into the strange, ethereal silence of the dreamscape. He grows still behind you for a moment, but he brushes a kiss against your bare shoulder and you know what his answer is.

Something suddenly jolts you into wakefulness. It’s still early in the morning and the sun hasn’t risen yet. You feel so warm, but you realize it’s because of a heavy weight against your back. A strong, muscular arm is draped over your waist and nimble fingers trace abstract shapes on your belly. The familiar tingle of magic and the scent of honeyed smoke surrounds you. The evidence of his desire for you still clings to your thighs, sticky and not quite dry.

“Mine?” his sleep-roughened voice rumbles behind you as he tightens his hold on your waist.

You relax deeper into his arms and smile when he nuzzles against you. “Yours.”

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anantaru · 10 months

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what would your favs do in a modern au? and another really important question: who would they listen to?

cw. none, different tropes, gn! reader

a/n. nonnie I'm not sure what you meant with the 'who would they listen to' so i thought you may mean songs they like ??

heizou the private investigator, who has his own agency but prefers to work underground— he has a soft-spot for helping people in need and doesn‘t charge money for it. whilst, the local police knows of him and always hires him for quite dangerous, complicated investigations if they were to fail to do their own deep examinations on the mission at hand. heizou is vastly proud of his profession and his skills are one of a kind, for some he might appear to act relatively arrogant but it's not that at all if you dare to look at it closely, he's confident in his abilities if anything and treasures his own well-groomed skills the most. fun fact: currently, alongside the police, heizou was investigating the mafia whose members certainly are known to you.

heizou's favorite music of choice: french music (i'm biased okay leave me alone) for example demain by PLK or derniere danse by indila.

scaramouche the mafia hitman, who too— prefers to work underground to escape any awkward encounters with people. he exceedingly loathes conversations, they make his blood boil, peculiarly with his peers and would rather gauge his own eyes out than attend any special meetings. although as such, his work was in a class by itself, as perfect as someone can be, the higher ups know that he was not dispensable in any way and a real treasure within their ranks. in scaramouche's eyes, there was nothing he cannot do nor was anything off limits, if there was a mission to be accomplished, he will take the challenge without batting an eye.

scaramouche's favorite music of choice: mitski or melanie martinez (he doesn't admit it tho) <3

alhaitham the library overseer at your university who never talks to anyone, kind of a weirdo, yet he cannot possibly do so anyways since most of the times he greatly engages in yet another spellbinding book. for him, it's the perfect job; listen— he never needs to work overtime, duh, he's always home by the same, exact time and although some students can be quite loud and jarring to be around with, the library was a place of pure silence, which he greatly relishes in. but be cautious, if you dare to even raise a single octave of your voice, he will shoot you a death glare and wow, what a terrifying and overly handsome sight at once, you already know that many students only go to the library to admire the hidden view.

alhaitham's favorite music of choice: the man not only uses his headphones for music, but to block out outside noises which works just wonderfully. he prefers slower tunes, ones that do not disturb his reading. for example, ludovico einaudi or johann sebastian bach.

yelan the infamous casino manager, who makes her peers shiver in both sharp fear and terror. if she wants you to win, you will, otherwise she'll do what she does best, manipulate the game to her own benefits to slowly enchant you with her intense charms you simply cannot get enough of, only for you to slowly, agonizingly slow, slant down into the pits of literal hell and large debts. the pretty, dazzling woman has a business to run after all, you cannot be mad at her for that. yet, she is also reasonable and makes sure she isn't tainting the precious, not to mention flawless image of her casino.

yelan's favorite music of choice: no tears left to cry by ariana grande and diamonds by queen riri

dottore the mafia doctor, who works alongside scaramouche and has stitched countless of his wounds in the past. although the two of them absolutely loathe each other, no one can deny the outstanding skills dottore would display on a daily basis. whether it's open wounds, deep, dark bruises or broken bones, there was nothing he cannot heal. notwithstanding the fact that his practices might seem unethical to the outside perspective— especially if you take his habits of experimenting on his patients into consideration, yet, as long as he sews and bastes together the injured, his boss simply does not care and aids him in whatever he might be in need of.

dottere's favorite music of choice: torture sounds /for legal reasons this is a joke, or classical tunes for example the four seasons by vivaldi while he conducts his experiments on some patients he has.

kazuha the lifestyle blogger who takes you with him on every new adventure taken. his youtube channel had blown up since and had become one of the top on the entire platform. his posting schedule is all over the place though, he can go without uploading a new video in months which his subscribers do not mind, kazuha was a free spirit who goes with his own personal vibe, if he was in the mood to film something from his exciting adventures he'll do just that. expect loads of selfies with different animals from all around the world on his other social media, (ignore the weed in his hand) beautiful locations and deep talks on livestreams late at night.

kazuha's favorite music of choice: everything by tame impala, he also likes listening to indie artists and support them on his channel.

venti the worldwide music star who sells out every tour he does. the man was envied by the ones who shared his profession while utterly loved by the countless amount of fans he has. his voice acts like a charm, it's sharply mesmerizing and soothing to the ears, in some ways does it appear as if he's wholly hypnotizing the audience with his tunes. another fact, he writes all his songs himself and gets praised from every direction possible, while if you take everything into consideration of his life, venti was still very much humble and loved interacting with his fans or do interviews so they can get to know him better.

venti's favorite music of choice: loads of kpop music, for example stray kids or txt, but he does have a soft spot for classical music whenever he composes his own.

kaveh the architect who gets booked by the biggest, most flashing celebrities on the planet. fun fact, he was the one who constructed venti's mansion, since the latter only wanted the best of the best— while, quite frankly, there isn't anyone better than kaveh himself who could've adapted to venti's wished and made his home all the more personal and extravagant. in spite of the fact that he gets paid loads of money for his work, the sweet, talented architect tends to find himself broke almost all the time in his life. thankfully he had made a special friend whilst going out in town to drink a couple of his favorite beverages, here's to note that he never thought he'd become friends with a certain librarian.

kaveh's favorite music of choice: he likes taylor swift, ariana grande and tends to listen to music that is older, yet quite underrated. kaveh claims that the tracks on certain albums that get the least attention, are the best in his eyes.

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jordanli-dribbles · 2 months

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Made of Glass

Jordan Li x Fem!Reader | 2.6k words

Prompt #3: You think I’m weak because I’m not like you. Synopsis: They are a supe, you are merely human.

You and Jordan are from entirely different worlds. They are a supe, ranked number two and you are merely a normal human. Currently, a barista working at Jitter Bean on the GodU campus. As you pull shots of espresso and froth milk, you're also juggling your studies at the local normal university. Your days are filled with textbooks and coffee beans, study groups and latte art. This is your world, your routine, and you wouldn't trade it for anything else. You've come to love your life and routine, especially after meeting Jordan.

When you first started dating, you noticed a certain hesitation in their behavior. It seemed as if they were always holding back, afraid of causing you harm. They were exceedingly gentle with you, treating you with a delicacy as if you were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at the slightest mishandling. Their actions and touch were calculated and cautious, reflecting their love for you. Yet, it pained you to see how much thought and effort they put into the smallest things in order to keep you safe.

Every action they took seems to be for your protection. They open doors for you, not merely out of courtesy, but out of a deep-seated need to shield you from the world. They open jars for you, seeing an unnecessary risk in a simple task. They prevent you from doing anything they deem dangerous, their definition of 'danger' being far broader than yours. You weren’t the only human on campus but the few incidence with supe and human have left a sour taste for Jordan. Their overprotectiveness only growing.

If someone hugged you a bit too tightly, they immediately step in, serving as your personal protector, reprimanding the 'offender' for their thoughtlessness. If someone sneezes, they ensure the person stays a safe distance away, as if a mere sneeze could shatter you.

While you love them, their constant vigilance can feel like a cage. Their kindness, while well-intended, begins to blanket you, smothering your independence and creating a sense of claustrophobia. But you see the love in their eyes, a love that is as deep as the ocean, as vast as the sky. It's a love that is genuine and caring, a love that sees you as the most precious thing in the world. Every time they look at you, their eyes hold a promise to protect you, to cherish you.

So, you tolerate their overprotectiveness. You understand where it's coming from. You see the fear ingrained in their actions, the fear of losing you. And maybe, just maybe, you can help them see that you're stronger than they think.

It was just like any other day. You were sitting by the Polarity’s statue waiting for Jordan to finish their office hours scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Suddenly, you saw Andre zoom past you on a flashy new electric scooter at a speed that was definitely unsafe.

"Dude, is that new?" You couldn't help but call out, your smile wide and your curiosity piqued as the scooter gleaming under the sun. Hearing your shout, he quickly turned back around, heading towards where you were now standing. The scooter stopping with a dramatic screech that stirred up dust around your feet.

"Yeah, you like it? It's a new toy from dad," Andre replied, his voice full of pride. He dismounted with a youthful spring in his step, leaving the scooter to stand on its own. It hummed softly, like a futuristic machine out of a sci-fi movie, this wasn’t a standard electric scooter. You found yourself drawn to it, your eyes scanning over its sleek design, the fancy built-in gadgets, and the vibrant neon color that seemed to pulsate with life.

Wandering closer, you circled the scooter, your fingertips hovering just above the surface as if afraid to touch. You were intrigued, the childlike wonder in your eyes evident.

Seeing your interest, Andre offered, "Wanna give it a try?" His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of excitement. You looked up at him, a hint of apprehension flickering in your eyes as you glanced from side to side. It was as if you were considering the potential risks and the thrill of the unknown simultaneously.

Andre noticed your hesitation and, with a teasing grin, he nudged you gently. "Oh come on! Live a little. It’s easy, I'll show you how." His words were a challenge, an invitation to step out of your bubble and embrace the adventure.

After reviewing the basics, Andre tilted the scooter towards you, encouraging you to ride. With a big smile, you stepped onto the scooter and took off. Feeling free, you zoomed past dozens of people, the wind blowing on your face, the thrill coursing through your veins. You laughed, feeling giddy like a child with a new toy. The feeling was exhilarating, it felt like what you imagine flying would be like.

You were so engross in the feeling that you didn't notice the curb and both you and the scooter went flying over the hedges. After tumbling and having the wind knocked out of your lungs, the world spun. Your ears were ringing, and you tasted the metallic tang of blood from your split lip. Despite your body aching, you didn't care, you had never felt so free before.

"Oh shit, are you okay?!" A panicked voice rang out. Looking up, you saw Andre. His eyes were wide, his expression frozen in shock as he stared down at you with concern. Yet all you could do was laugh, lying flat on your back on the grass. He couldn’t help but laugh along with you, his expression softening at the sound of your mirth. The two of you were laughing like idiots, as if you hadn’t just been thrown across the campus.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted your laughter. "What the fuck happen?" Jordan demanded, concern etching their voice as they ran towards you. Their eyes darted over your form, quickly assessing the situation and the extent of your injuries.

"Oh, hey baby!" you greeted them cheerfully, managing to sit up on the grass. Your voice held a tone of delight despite the circumstances. "Andre was just teaching me how to use his new scooter, but the asshole forgot to show me how to brake," you explained, playfully squinting your eyes at Andre in mock anger.

Andre, seemingly unfazed by your comment, flashed you a wide grin. “In my defense I thought that was pretty intuitive!” he declared, shaking his head in a gentle, almost playful manner.

"Apparently not, jerk!" you fired back quickly, laughing at your own clumsiness. You struggled to stand upright, wincing slightly as you felt the fresh bruises forming on your skin. Jordan, immediately reached out to lend a hand. Their touch was gentle, and you appreciated their concern, even though you knew it was fueled by their instinct to protect you, anger and worriedness evident in their eyes.

With Jordan's help, you managed to get on your feet. You took a moment to dust yourself off, brushing away the grass and dirt that clung to your outfit. It was a futile attempt, considering how much you had tumbled, but it made you feel somewhat better. You licked your bottom lip, wiping away the blood from the split, wincing a slight from the pain.

Jordan stood by your side, examining the extent of your injuries until your eyes met with Andre's. There was a brief silence. A small smile tugged at your lips until you both burst into laughter, the sound echoing around you.

“You think this is fucking funny!” Jordan yells shifting, stepping towards Andre clearly pissed off that he was the reason you had gotten hurt. Their voice was harsh, the anger radiating from their body. Andre froze, and took an instinctive step back holding their hands up in front of him, attempting to keep things calm.

“Chill man, it was all in good fun. No harm, no foul.” he replied, taking another step to pick up his scooter off the ground, ignoring Jordan’s angry glare.

“No harm?! She’s fucking bleeding asshole!” Jordan yelled taking another step closer to him. They were beyond mad, you could feel the anger emanating from their body. Seeing the situation escalating, you gently grasped Jordan's arm and tugged, attempting to draw their attention away from Andre.

"Hey, babe," you murmured softly, your tone light and gentle. "I'm okay, I promise. It's just some little scratches and bruises, nothing major." you finished, taking a quick glance down at your injuries.

Jordan didn't respond. Instead, their eyes narrowed, the muscles in their jaw tensing as their teeth ground together. Their expression was cold, dark and their posture rigid, the tension palpable in the air. And Andre did not back down, his own stare turning into a glare.

You tightened your grip on Jordan’s arm, tugging them towards you. You really didn’t want this to escalate into something else. You stepped in front of Jordan, grabbing their chin to turn their gaze down towards you. "I'm okay Jordan," you repeated, emphasizing each word.

Finally, their expression softened as their eyes met yours. There was a mixture of emotions in their eyes. Fear, worry, anger, concern. However, their anger swiftly dissipated when they saw your split lip, their concern for you taking over.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," they finally said, their voice quiet as their hand came down to the small of your back. They began leading you away, but not before shooting Andre a final glare. You gave him an apologetic smile before turning around and allowing Jordan to guide you. They led you back to their dorm, their arm still wrapped around you as they guided you. The entire walk was filled with silence, Jordan's body still tense and rigid, the tension still thick in the air.

Now you sat on the bathroom counter as Jordan cleaned your face with a warm towel. They were avoiding your gaze, their expression hard, their brows furrowed and their lips set in a tight line. The air was heavy, the atmosphere suffocating. You hated the awkwardness, and the fact that they were so upset over something that seemed so minuscule to you.

You sighed and grabbed their wrist, stopping their motions, their eyes finally meeting yours. "Are we just not going to talk about it?" you asked, your tone laced with frustration. They let out a sigh and dropped their gaze, placing the warm towel back on your face, focusing on cleaning your wounds instead.

"Jordan," you pressed, placing your hand on their chest. They looked down at you, their expression conflicted, their gaze a mixture of emotions.

"You could've gotten seriously hurt," they whispered softly. You took a deep sigh, closing your eyes before looking at them. You had been dreading this conversation, but now was a good time of any. You desperately needed to get it off your chest, before you truly suffocated.

“Jordan,” you start softly again, making sure they are looking at you before you continue. “I love you more than words can express, but sometimes you treat me like I am made out of glass. Like any sudden movement might cause me break. You think I’m weak because I’m not like you. But baby, I am human. We get hurt, we bruise, we bleed, and we get back up. Please trust me. Trust that I can take care of myself. That I won't fall apart."

You watched their face fall as you spoke, a mix of hurt and fear clouding their expression. "I know you can take care of myself," they whispered, their tone low, barely audible. "But what if one day you can't? What if one day I'm not around, and you end up hurt or worse?" they continued, their voice cracking, their eyes beginning to glisten. You sighed, and gently place your hand on their cheek, their eyes meeting yours.

"You can't keep me in a bubble, Jordan," you say gently. After a pause, you continue, "I don't need you to protect me from getting hurt. I need you to be there to help me get back up. To support me when I take risks, even if I might fail. I'm not a fragile doll that's going to shatter with a simple breeze. I'm not a damsel who needs constant saving. What I need is for you to believe in me, to trust me to know my own limitations.”

They were silent, their expression conflicted, their emotions heighten. After a long pause, they finally responded, their voice cracking. "I'm scared," they whispered, the admission almost inaudible. They leaned into your touch, their eyes closing, their expression vulnerable.

"I'm scared that I'll lose you. I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and you'll be gone, and it'll be all my fault because I wasn’t there to protect you," they continued, their voice trembling. "I can't lose you."

You felt a pang of guilt for not considering how difficult this must be for them too. This was all new, and their protective instincts were only amplified by the newness. You drew them close, your arms encircling their neck, holding them against you. "You're not going to lose me, Jordan. I'm right here baby, just a little bruised," you tried joked, with a small smile, while tracing gentle pattens behind their neck.

You heard their breathing slow down, and their body relaxed. Their arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly, and they rested their head on your shoulder. You both stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms, in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," they mumbled into your shoulder, their voice barely audible. You shook your head slowly and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of their head, squeezing their shoulders gently.

"I know, baby" you said softly, rubbing their back in soothing circles, "And I love how you take care of me, but I just need you to ease up a little."

Their grip on your waist tightened, their arms wrapping tighter around you. "Okay," they replied, their voice a soft whisper. As they pull back, their gaze was tender, their eyes soft. You couldn't help but smile and press a soft kiss to their lips, the gesture a reassurance that everything was okay. They look at you for a moment before speaking, their voice soft and laced with sincerity. "I promise I'll try my best to be less overprotective." They said their thumb softly brushing over your bruise lip.

"Good, because I really want to use that scooter again," you said with a playful grin. They let out a light chuckle the stress melting away from their body, slowly rolling their eyes at your comment. A gentle smile spreading across their lips as they leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

"We'll see about that," they replied. You couldn't help but laugh, at least they were trying. You knew it would take time, their overprotectiveness would not disappear overnight, but at least they were willing to try. And despite their overprotectiveness, they always made you feel safe, secure and most of all, loved. For in love, as in life, sometimes it's the cracks on your skin that allow the light to shine through.

This was based on this prompt list which inspired this new wave of inspiration. This also got way longer than I intended.

#gen v #jordan li #jordan li x reader #gen v x reader #gen v fanfiction #jordan li x you

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fayeriess · 4 months

Text

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given.

The greater the loss, the greater the greed.

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms.

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears.

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you.

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes.

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides.

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread.

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back.

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward.

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.”

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

“He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together.

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.”

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.”

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.”

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.”

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.”

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.”

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought.

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail.

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.”

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.”

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be.

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger.

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes.

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.”

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come.

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows.

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his.

“The rain.”

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?”

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls.

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond targaryen

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theminecraftbee · 7 months

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(minor life series spoilers)

cleo might actually win this one just by being careful. everyone else's perspective i've watched, they lose so many hearts

okay but. so. you know how last night for some reason I was convinced everyone only had one life, and just the thirty hearts, right? like FULLY convinced of that after watching cleo’s POV. now, in the light of day I have had explained to me that no, I just missed the three lives thing in the explanation of how the series worked because I was dead exhausted. but I was convinced otherwise.

I think that’s because the only POV I’ve watched is cleo.

not even because her explanation is bad or something (she plays grian’s video!). but because cleo is treating every heart as EXCEEDINGLY PRECIOUS. like, if someone reading this hasn’t watched her, I need you to understand she ends the day with all thirty hearts. if tango had actually gifted her the heart he originally said he would she would have thirty-one. and she only got two hearts off her task! which is to say, she lost a grand total of two hearts ever, the entire episode! because she’s treating losing any hearts AT ALL as a thing to be avoided entirely!

so, coming off of limited life, where people treated their very lives as more disposable than usual, on seeing that I went: huh okay I guess they’re just straight-up doing a UHC. respect. I can respect that.

and I was wrong, but like… if you had a headache, five hours of sleep, eight hours of driving, and then a few hours of trying to make sure your dog got along with another dog in a house you were visiting behind you, and were running on fumes, and the explanation segment had gone a bit in one ear and out the other. and then you watched cleo treat EVERY HEART as a thing to be preciously and jealously hoarded.

well. wouldn’t you also assume everyone only had one life?

anyway yeah you’re SO RIGHT cleo is being ABSURDLY cautious and I think that’s so good for her chances.

#answered #kannaar #secret life spoilers

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onyourowndaisymae · 7 months

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Trick or treat!!

Hello my friend can I please have an Obey Me trick?? Thank you and I hope you're having a lovely day/evening! <3

your gif's given me a wonderful idea cc...

"aww, can we keep it?"

"absolutely not. and don't let satan know you have that-- i'll never hear the end of it."

your lips curl into a pout that makes lucifer's eyes flicker up from his paperwork. he sighs and pulls his reading glasses off, setting them on the desk to get a good look at you.

"i've been over this a million times with satan. none of us are home enough to care for another pet. there's so many places for it to get stuck, or sneak out through open doors... there are a million better homes for something like that than the house of lamentation."

the pout doesn't leave your lips as you pull the small black kitten closer to your chest, leaning back until you lay flat on the sofa in lucifer's office.

"you have cerberus."

"he was a gift."

damn. the kitten flops over onto your sternum and purrs, making your smile in delight and run a finger across its little tummy. you don't even flinch when it's easily riled and it lunges to sink its claws into your skin-- all worth it for the sweet, sweet victory of fluffy kitty belly.

lucifer doesn't quite resume his paperwork-- not when his gaze is glued to the way you curl with the kitten so carefully, exceedingly cautious as you run your fingers across your torso to coax it into a game of chase. your eyes glimmer in the warmth casted across the room by the low flames of the fireplace.

you look best when you're relaxed, he thinks. when there's not a care in the world on your mind, body slumped across his furniture like you belong here. when did you become so comfortable invading his personal space? when did he get so comfortable letting you?

not even a year into the exchange program and he's already grown soft. all over some human.

the kitten snuggles against your neck, purring against your skin and making you chuckle under the miniscule weight of its tiny body on your windpipe. maybe lucifer can put off rehoming that fuzzy creature until tomorrow.

#soft lucifer makes me smile but ESPECIALLY when he's trying to be serious and stern early on :')#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me drabbles #daisy's trick or treat event 2023 #daisy's halloween event 2023 #daisy's seasonal writing events

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doumadono · 8 months

Note

(Since I am a bitch 😈😈😈)

I have a request!

NSFW alphabet with our "beloved" Enji Todoroki!!!!!! 😏🔥

MASTERLIST

A - aftercare If you're just a casual fling or someone he met randomly at a bar, the chances of him sticking around are quite slim. However, if he's genuinely invested in the relationship, there will come a point where he reveals his caring side. Seeing you upset because of his initial emotional distance triggers a sense of guilt within him, and he eventually relents, saying, "Alright, let's cuddle."

B - body part He loves your ass, tempted to give it a playful pat or some appreciative glances, all while trying to not make the impression that he's a pervert

C - cum Enji usually pulls out and cums on your ass, or just jacks off to it but sometimes he'll grab your throat and push you on your knees to cum on your face. "Yeah, babe, take it, take it! See how fucking beautiful you look with my cum all over your face?"

D - dirty secret Endeavor's hidden desire is for you to pleasure yourself with toys while he watches, jacking off

E - experience He has a wealth of experience, and I mean a substantial amount of it. This guy truly knows what he's doing

F - favorite position His favourite position is doggy style, he feels so powerful and in control while you're on all fours, whimpering pathetically for him. He loves taking you from behind and pulling on your hair, making you scream his name. "You like it when I fuck you into submission like this? I bet you do, slut."

G - goofy He's extremely serious and doesn't welcome humor in the bedroom

H - hair Enji doesn't bother to shave but he's naturally well-tamed with body hair

I - intimacy The most intimate act for him is to press your foreheads together as he thrusts inside you at merciless pace

J - jack off In rare occasions, he might indulge in self-pleasure, but this only occurs when you haven't been together for a few weeks or so

K - kinks Breeding kink - he's definitely into feral/animalistic sex since he's so aggressive

Power play - that goes without saying

Master/slave play - Todoroki finds it very arousing when you're serving him sexually and he can order you around. "Suck my cock like a good little servant and you'll get to cum."

L - location Bed or shower - Endeavor strongly dislikes dealing with messes in locations where it's not convenient to clean up the filth easily

M - motivation Intentionally arousing him, only to appear disinterested afterward. He'll absolutely destroy you and abuse all of your holes afterward, but it's worth it. "You fucking tease, I should just pound you until your fucking cunt is sore."

N - no Anything that places him in a submissive position is something he's not particularly fond of - Endeavor's an aggressive top, and even trying to bottom would hurt his ego

O - oral He definitely prefers to receive it - he gives only if he feels like it

P - pace Fast and rough. That's it!

Q - quickie He’s down for quickies. Enji prefers proper sex, but he won’t say no to a nice quickie

R - risks He won’t take risks, ever. He wouldn't even consider anything that could potentially harm either of you. His past experiences have made him exceedingly cautious when it comes to taking risks of any kind

S - stamina He can go for a few rounds at the most, meaning you're having the most earth shattering orgasms of your life coming you way

T - toys He thinks you don’t need a vibrator when you have him, and he’s goddamn right!

U - unfair He likes to tease way too much, and he will do it at the worst possible moments. Sometimes you’ll be having dinner with some of the other heroes, and he’ll start to finger you under the table, just like that 🤷

V - volume Endeavor can get pretty loud, he doesn’t care about noise complaints. He does a lot of growling, groaning and dirty talk

W - wildcard He will come up with the most pathetic reasons to bend you over his knee and punish you

X - x-ray He's very thick, very long and very veiny. 8-9 inches when fully hard

Y - yearning His sex drive is undeniably high. He prefers to engage in sexual activity at least every other day. Occasionally, he can't contain himself and pins you against the nearest surface, having his way with you

Z - zzz It takes him a little while to fall asleep, so normally you’ll be the first to be asleep

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themadlu · 2 months

Text

Astarion's Star Elf Background Headcanons

In collaboration with the lovely @spacebarbarianweird!

A bit of a less popular take on Astarion’s background headcanons—I know it is generally accepted that he is originally a moon elf from the Faerunian upper class, but, between in-game trivia and developing my own stories, a different idea came up.

I’ll outline why I think the Star Elf headcanon fits the sassy elf, and how it plays into his storyline.

Obviously, this is all done for the shits and giggles, so every headcanon is valid, and I’d love to hear about different takes on Astarion’s origins!

Race: Star Elves

Star Elves, or Ruar-tel-quessir, have only recently returned to Faerun due to repeated attacks by an extra-planar entity on their home-realm of Sildëyuir.

Because of their prolonged absence and reclusive communities, Star Elves are not familiar with most of Toril’s customs and history. In Sildëyuir, they had no contact with most other species (such as humans, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, etc.), and they prefer to keep to themselves once in Faerun too.

They are particularly wary of humans, as their misuse of magic and warmongering tendencies were what caused Star Elves to flee Toril in the first place.

They consider themselves better than most other races, only getting along with other elves. They fear for Moon Elves and half-elves who mix with other species, and they consider them overly-generous and too naive.

As such, Star Elves tend to come across as aloof and cautious. (I know this may not sound like Astarion at all, but bear with me).

Their moral alignment is purely chaotic, with a majority of them being in the chaotic good or neutral categories.

Physically, Star Elves share some traits with their fellow Moon Elves: light skin (check) and gold, red or silver (check) hair.

However, Star Elves have grey or violet-coloured eyes with gold flecks in them (imagine an Astarion with violet eyes!).

Star Elves are also taller than other elves, standing between 5½ to 6 ft tall, with a slender build.

They are also considered extremely beautiful by human standards, much more so than any other type of elf.

Astarion’s Background as a Star Elf:

Right, let’s talk about objective things first: physicality.

Astarion fits the Star Elf type quite well:

He has silver hair, light skin (given he is still the palest of the bunch even after he is well fed).

He fits the height range at 5 ft 9.

He has a slender body (a bit too built for an elf, but that is likely Larian knowing what sells),

Most importantly, he is strikingly handsome. Exceedingly so, more than most other elves in the game.

As there is no confirmation about pre-vampirism eye colour, in my head he used to have violet eyes. I think that would have made him stand out in Baldurian society even more.

Which gets me to the more subjective part of personality and backstory.

Aloof and cautious may not be the first qualities that come to mind thinking of Mr Sass, but work with me.

Someone aloof is not overly friendly, being cool and distant instead. Is Astarion friendly? I mean, genuinely friendly to people, and not forcing himself to look eager because he is forced to do so by Cazador or by circumstances?

He threatens Tav as soon as they meet, is snarky with everyone else for a good portion of Act 1 (and with some even during Act 2 and 3), and at the end of game party he keeps mostly to himself.

Ultimately, Tav is the only one he seems comfortable enough to be open and friendly with, and that requires a lot of trust, care and work (especially for good-aligned Tavs).

As for the cautious side, he is a bloodthirsty little shit who loves a good fight, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who would throw himself into desperate situations (without proper compensation at least).

He disapproves of Tav doing things for free or forcing him into situations where the risks are too great, often stating that ignoring those needing help is the easiest thing, they just need to ‘look away and keep walking’.

His inherent racism towards other races (ehem, gnomes) can be a result of spending his early years in a very secluded environment.

He presents himself as someone loving life luxuries, but I think that's his Baldur's Gate, more constructed persona. He seems just as happy to fondle about in the dirt TWICE, despite claiming he is not used to it. Maybe he's not as upper class as he wants to appear.

Granted, these traits may be a result of him being a glorified sex slave subject to unimaginable torture for 200 years, but I think his need to be have the upper hand in power dynamics existed before his undeath too.

The chaotic nature is evident, and I headcanon he starts off as chaotic neutral, starts leaning into the evil side as he gets corrupted by power first and by abuse after, then he can either get back to chaotic neutral with a good-aligned companion or become fully chaotic evil as the Ascendant.

And this leads me to the actual backstory.

Astarion’s Backstory:

Larian originally set Astarion out to be a noble, then changed his background to charlatan and, in some lost character sheet, courtesan (fancy type of prostitute). I’ll stick with the final charlatan/courtesan version.

Astarion was born somewhere in Faerun in a community of Star Elves.

His family was of poor background, having fallen out with the leaders of the enclave.

That, paired with the isolation of the community, prompted Astarion to leave his home in his early 20s, slightly earlier than usual for elves.

He wanted more from life than being stuck in a reclusive society and being looked down upon from others. He wanted to live a comfortable existence, be wealthy, be admired, and to achieve that he needed one thing: power.

He headed to Baldur’s Gate (convincing fellow travellers to let him on their carts, horses, etc.) with nothing more than the clothes on his person, attracted by its reputation as a multicultural hub brimming with opportunities. He did forge some documents proving he already had some basic qualification to enter law school (not sure reclusive elves issue any), completed his studies and started a career as magistrate.

During this time, he quickly realised how his looks were one of his biggest strengths in forging alliances. He had been complimented before, but most Star Elves are beautiful, so he was not as universally admired as he was in Baldur’s Gate. He used and abused this knowledge, flirting with individuals from many other races (gnomes aside, he has standards) and genders, enjoying the perks his smooth persona got him (money, status, promotions) and revelling in the adulation of his admirers.

He became even more power hungry, signing laws because they would benefit him or his upper class acquaintances rather than the general population. He was ready to do anything to achieve his goals.

It was in one of the many soirees he attended that he came across Cazador (or rather, Cazador noticed him). The Vampire Lord saw an astonishingly handsome, young and inexperienced elf who could work most people around his manicured slim fingers and immediately singled him out. Studied him. I don’t think he introduced himself before turning him; rather, he gathered information about him via his connections and learned he was an up and coming magistrate, an outsider, conveniently with no family or stable relationships who would miss him or go look for him should he disappear.

We know Cazador is a machiavellian villain, so he probably found a way to convince Astarion (through a bribe and pulling at his dislike of lower class vagrants) into signing a law forcibly evicting the Gur from the land they settled on, on the basis of it belonging to some patriar or noble and therefore their permanence being illegal. Cazador knew retaliation would be swift, and I bet he probably even had someone tell the Gur which magistrate had them kicked out.

Cazador waited nearby while Astarion was being brutally assaulted, chasing off the Gur thugs to claim his prized future spawn. He didn’t need permission to bite Astarion and turn him, but he asked likely because he knew he would never turn down a chance at eternal life and because it would be another way to torment him later (‘Remember boy, I gave you the grace of my gift, you begged for it!’). Probably, Astarion’s last words as a living elf were, ‘Do…any…thing…please’.

After becoming a spawn and suffering centuries of abuse, Astarion forgot about his past, himself and his family. He doesn’t even remember what type of elf he is (Moon or Star). His parents may still be alive, but with their life being secluded from the outside world, it is unlikely he will come across them in their lifetime.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanons #bg3 headcanons #cazador szarr #star elf #dnd lore #astarion with violet eyes lives in my head #poor background astarion makes poor life choices #bg3

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babytarttdoodoo · 10 months

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Can you write one of Jamie showing up to training sick and the team has to convince him to go home? Then someone takes him home (I want it to be Roy even though Roy probably shouldn't leave training when he's in charge for Roy/Jamie shipping reasons, but all the lads wanting to care of him would also be nice)

Who needs realism when we can have fluff? I went a bit off script but I hope you still enjoy it.

Thank you for the prompt!

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

Isaac was generally the first player to arrive for training at Nelson Road. He tried to set a good example, being captain and all that.

Jamie, despite living closer to the grounds than most, usually strolled in with less than 10 minutes left to get changed and out on the field.

It used to annoy members of the team, Isaac included. These days, he knew that Jamie and Roy had extra early workout sessions together and that Jamie was just genuinely awful at managing his time in the mornings. It was fine - he never held anyone else up.

But it was therefore extremely surprising to find him in the locker room a full hour before training was due to start, dressed to play and slumped halfway into his cubby.

“Alright, bruv?” Isaac gave him a cautious nod and dropped his stuff at his section of the bench. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie was slow to answer, blinking bleary eyes at Isaac and apparently needing a minute to take in the question.

He sniffed. “... training, innit?”

“Yeah…” Isaac affirmed, frowning at his rough voice and general dishevelled state. “Don’t normally see you this early, though.”

Jamie hummed and nodded like that was a fair observation.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Well, that probably went some way to explaining the state of him. There were dark smudges under Jamie’s eyes and his hair, rather than carefully styled in the swept-back quiff he’d taken to lately, hung limp and unkempt over his forehead.

He looked kind of terrible, actually.

Roy wouldn’t have let him come in if there was anything seriously wrong, though. That much, Isaac was sure of.

He hadn’t been overly surprised when the pair had told the team they were together. There had always been a weird level of intensity between the two and more than one person over the years had quietly speculated that at least some of it was down to sexual tension.

Any worries about how it would affect team dynamics had simmered down quick enough, too. If anything, they both seemed to overcompensate at work to make sure they couldn’t be accused of dropping the ball, so to speak.

But they did obviously spend their mornings together, training or otherwise, even if they arrived on different schedules. And though Roy was still hard on Jamie as a coach, he was also exceedingly protective as a boyfriend.

If something more than a bad night’s sleep were at play, he would have insisted Jamie stayed home.

Still, Isaac kept a careful eye and ear out while he went through his routine of getting ready. It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing for Jamie to fall asleep where he sat and get a quick nap in, but it was best to be ready to catch him if he toppled off the bench in the process.

Dani was the next to arrive, far too perky for the early hour and seemingly not phased by Jamie’s presence. His smile did dim at the lack of response to his bright greeting but Isaac caught his eye and gestured for him to keep it down a bit.

The message was received and passed on through silent glances and elaborate head tilts as more players filtered in, a collective effort to let Jamie close his eyes and snooze overriding the usual rambunctious atmosphere. Isaac was very proud.

Nate was the first of the coaching staff to arrive. He looked confused at the lack of rabble in the room and his gaze followed everyone else’s to see Jamie snoring softly. They all shushed him frantically when he opened his mouth to clearly try and rouse him.

Isaac, Sam and Colin beckoned him over to the other side of the room.

“What’s up with Jamie?” he asked quietly, looking between them.

“Just said he didn’t sleep well.” Isaac shrugged. “He was in before me. Seemed kind of out of it.”

“He doesn’t look alright.” Colin put in, frowning over at their pale and sleeping teammate.

“Have you heard from Roy today?” Sam asked Nate, worry pinching the corners of his eyes. “He must know if something is wrong.”

“I haven’t.” Nate checked his phone but shook his head. “No, nothing. They don’t always come in together, though.”

“But they train in the mornings.” Dani whisper-shouted from his end of the bench, clearly listening in and echoing Isaac’s own thought processes from earlier.

“It could be that Jamie did not sleep because they had a fight…?” Richard ventured reluctantly, holding up his hands in defence when the room hissed at him in disgust. “Just a suggestion!”

“If Jamie were angry or upset, he would be running laps or sulking, not sleeping.” Sam pointed out.

“And they wouldn’t bring that shit into work.” Isaac stated with surety.

Nate looked back at Jamie and checked the time on his watch.

“We’ll need to wake him up soon and make sure he’s okay. He can’t just sleep in here all day.” He peered over into the coaches’ office and looked relieved to see movement. “I think Beard’s arrived - I’ll go see if he’s got any ideas.”

The air of respectful quiet had shifted to uncertain worry as everyone started to question, internally or amongst themselves, exactly why Jamie was so exhausted. He didn’t have the best track record with open communication when something was wrong.

Could there be something up between him and Roy?

As if on cue, their manager stalked into the locker room and was immediately taken aback by the subdued environment. He stopped dead in the doorway and scowled.

“What the fuck’s up with you lot?”

“Roy?” Jamie stirred and opened his eyes to a squint in search of the familiar voice. Roy’s head immediately snapped to the side and took in Jamie’s half-reclined form.

“You look like shit.” Only years of experience let Isaac pick up on the surprise and concern in Roy’s voice. Vague worries about trouble in paradise dissipated immediately.

Jamie - predictably - pouted up at him. “‘S not nice.”

The slurred speech sent Roy’s eyebrows flying up in alarm and his emotions suddenly became a lot more visible to the untrained eye. He quickly pressed the back of his hand against Jamie’s forehead, cursing quietly at whatever he felt there.

“Fucking hell, Jamie. You could have called me.”

“Were you not together?” Sam asked, now also clearly edging back towards distress. Nate and Beard emerged from the office at the new wave of commotion.

Roy shook his head. “No. Phoebe’s been staying at mine while she’s off school with the flu. Told this idiot to go home last night and get some proper sleep.”

He sighed and, despite his harsh words, gently smoothed back Jamie’s hair.

“You’re supposed to tell someone when you catch the plague, you muppet.”

Jamie just whined pitifully and leaned into the contact so hard he almost slumped right off the bench. Half the team jolted in place with aborted attempts to catch him.

Roy was right there, though, and easily tipped him back to a safe sitting position, grip steady.

“Alright, prima donna. Let’s get you home.” He looked over to Nate and Beard. “You two good to get things started? I can be back in an hour or two.”

“Take your time.” Beard gave him a firm nod and Nate mumbled his agreement, brow furrowed at the scene. “We got this.”

Declan swept in to help pack up Jamie’s things as Roy cajoled him to his feet and slid an arm around his waist to keep him upright. He accepted the duffle bag with a grateful grunt and started shuffling his boyfriend towards the exit.

“Let us know if you need anything, yeah?” Isaac demanded when they were finally underway.

Roy looked back over his shoulder and half-smiled at the room of worried eyes staring back at him. “Will do, captain. Keep an eye on the rest of them for me.”

#this is my petition to let Jamie just rest #my fic #fic prompts #jamie tartt #roy kent #isaac mcadoo #sam obisanya #colin hughes #nate shelley #coach beard #dani rojas #richard montlaur #richmond himbos #ted lasso

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onetoomanyfandomfixations · 1 year

Note

Yuki, Kyo, Kagura, Momiji, Tohru with a reader from zodiac

FRUBA CHARACTERS W ZODIAC!READER

((reader’s zodiac is based off of western/greek zodiac signs; will be capricorn!reader))

YUKI

Is so shocked to find out there is a second zodiac curse

So grateful that there are more people like him

^^feels really bad about this

Bc y’all aren’t from the same zodiac - physical touch is even more dangerous

I mean,, imagine seeing not only a rat surrounded by clothes, but a weird goat-fish hybrid???

Regardless, tries to have physical contact with you whenever possible

Linking pinkies, resting his head on your shoulder, being shockingly close at all times,,

Is worried about ur scales dehydrating when you transform - tries to keep water on him for you

Makes sure you never feel insecure about your zodiac form like he does

Has a really lovely feeling of solidarity w you

Would do anything to protect your secret

Because he knows you would do the same

KYO

Straight up thinks you’re lying at first

“There’s no fuckin way”

You tackle him to prove it

“wtf that’s not even a real animal????”

Gets v flustered when u transform back

Mans is fine being naked, but seeing other naked ppl?

Hell nah

Eventually just kinda takes you under his wing w an annoyed sigh

So so touch adverse; is so scared of you seeing his true form

Like with the rest of his zodiac - wishes he was like you

So envious, but in a way that carries a deep sadness

Shows his affection through banter and friendly violence

((Mans will not hold your hand; however will kick you behind the knees - gentle enough as to not hurt, but hard enough to make you lose balance))

Scolds you for anything that could put your secret at risk

“How did you even survive before you met me, dumbass?”

KAGURA

So so excited to learn there is another curse

“We’re the same!!”

Is jealous of your animal form

You’re a cool, cute, mythical animal; and she’s just a pig?? Unfair!!

Constantly lets you know how unfair this is

Pretty upset that she can’t cling to you all the time

She just wants to show you how much she loves you, y’know?

Ironically, tries to do alot of mud and clay treatments to your skin and scales

Loves loves self care nights together

Isn’t opposed to cuddling when no one else is around, despite animals and then nudity

Doesn’t care if you see her naked

But anyone else???

Instantly branded a pervert.

Tries to keep you all to herself; “to keep the curse a secret, of course!!”

MOMIJI

Another one that is genuinely Thrilled to find out there are more like him

But is also instantly worried

“Who’s your god? What are they like?”

When you assure him that you’re safe, is So relieved

Even after this, is nosy as all hell lmao

Wants to know Everything about Everyone

“So you are Capricorn, ja? Who is Pisces? Because I am a pisces too!!”

Thinks your zodiac form is adorable!

Loves sitting in-between your horns when you’re both transformed

Unsurprisingly; will be exceedingly touchy-feely regardless of transformations

Mans does not give a single flying Fuck

Even when ur in public and have to be careful of transforming - is never Not touching you

Holding hands galore!!

Shows you off to the rest of the zodiac

But doesn’t let you anywhere near Akito

You’re too precious

TOHRU

Feels so blessed to be meeting more special and unique people

Is very vocal about this

Is also V nosy; but not in a malicious way

Plays guessing games as she meets everyone

((Usually gets it wrong))

Doesn’t know as much about the Western zodiacs, but is very excited to learn!

Very very cautious to make sure you don’t transform

Thinks you’re beautiful and fascinating when you do though!!

But wants to keep you safe

However, its a well known fact that she’s one clumsy mf

Me too, Tohru, me too

Will tell the most Wack cover stories for you

Wants you to be besties with her zodiac

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rileys-battlecats · 4 months

Text

More worldbuilding stuff for Minare and Vaitus's story :D

Monsters, and other such evils:

Monsters are creatures that have become fully inundated with stagnant magic.

In places where there are/were mass deaths, the magic of the victims tends to stick around and become stagnant. Natural magic is a moving, flowing thing, but stagnant magic takes on the traits of the decay that it lingers around.

Creatures that spend too long around stagnant magic can become cursed. A cursed creature is capable of spreading their curse through magical attacks, and if they stay in a limited territory for a long time, this can create cursed grounds, where the land itself begins to leech the life out of those who wander onto them.

One can recognize a cursed creature through its behavior. Cursed creatures are incautious, bold, and move in unnervingly jerky patterns. They have a dark, unnerving aura about them that instills a feeling of disturbance in those nearby. On occasion, rabid animals have been mistaken for cursed creatures, due to their similar behaviors.

A cursed creature left unchecked will eventually develop into a monster; while a cursed creature will usually stay in its cursed grounds, a monster will actively seek out victims to attack and kill. Monsters are visually distinct from cursed creatures; they mutate from the over abundance of stagnant magic, and usually develop characteristics like extra eyes, more joints in their limbs, multiple heads, altered antlers or horns, larger/sharper teeth, and/or a dark surrounding aura.

It is possible for a human to become a cursed creature, and, eventually, a monster. This is exceedingly rare; it requires a human to spend extended periods of time saturated in stagnant magic, and then to be left in it to become cursed. A cursed human can be purified with enough sunlight or light magic/potions, but a human that becomes a monster cannot be saved. Their corpse must be purified before burial/cremation, to prevent the spreading of cursed grounds

Curses and monsters are most effectively fought by using light magic.

While some rare individuals are able to use light magic, it is far more accessible to fight these creatures by splashing potions that have been specially brewed using ingredients with light magic properties. Fireflies, star lilies, sunflowers, and moon jellies are historically used in brews to counter curses; light potions will almost certainly be found in the cautious traveler's pack.

Monsters can be killed through mundane means (swords, bows, axes, etc), but the carcass must be purified, lest a new cursed ground form around the corpse. If the monster is small, it may be enough to move the carcass to a bright, sunlit area, with no shade nearby. A full day, from dawn to dusk, of uninterrupted sunlight is enough to purify a small monster carcass. For larger beasts, light potions must be brewed and poured over the body, and direct sunlight is needed to counter the creation of a new cursed ground. For the largest of monsters, only concentrated light magic is enough to purify them.

Cursed grounds can only be purified through either light magic or time. Sunlight will slowly eat away at the curse with no cursed creature to maintain the grounds, but this requires that no new cursed creature moves into the area. Concentrated light magic can purify cursed grounds directly, though this takes an immense amount of magic.

In the current day, the kingdom has had several generations with no light magic user on the throne to protect the people from such evils.

Cursed grounds have cropped up all over the land, and monsters are not uncommon. Maps have been drawn with paths weaving around cursed grounds, but travelers still run the risk of being attacked while on the road, especially at night. To travel alone, one must be either incredibly skilled or an idiot.

People living in protected cities their whole lives may doubt the stories of creatures in the night, but those who have traveled the lands know better. There is a saying amongst adventurers, "you're either a superstitious traveler, or you're a dead traveler". Caution is paramount to survival when moving near cursed lands.

When a light magic user is on the throne and using the crown to amplify their magic, cursed grounds cannot develop in the kingdom's borders, and cursed creatures can be very easily purified. Monsters are incredibly rare, and can be dealt with quickly via the ruler's light magic. Before the current royal line took power, no one had had to deal with monsters or cursed creatures/grounds in centuries. When those evils began rearing their heads again, people had to adapt quickly to taking care of things themselves. Brewers dug up dusty tomes with recipes for light potions, while priests and priestesses scoured ancient texts to learn how to cleanse a monster carcass of its dark magics.

In recent decades, it seems that monsters have grown more and more common, and cursed grounds are ever expanding, inch by inch. The situation is untenable; in 10 more years? 20? The land will be nearly unlivable. This fact is ignored by the people in power; they are safe in their walled cities with their many guards to protect them. However, the common people fear for their lives, and for their futures. This is another cause for urgency for the rebellion; Minare must become queen within the next few years. If she doesn't, the damage to the land could become irreversible.

Illustrations of some monsters under the cut; tw for some slight body-horror, blood, extra eyes, etc

#rye's art #MaVst #MaVst worldbuilding #HI i am so normal about developing this magic system #worldbuilding is one of my favorite activities so this has been so much fun to write about #deer monster lookin like it's about to say ''BE NOT AFRAID''

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