#foal clutch

[xensilverquill]

The stormchaser kirin (Kirinus nimbus), also known as the river warden, is a medium-sized, herbivorous chimera native to the great savannas of the Sunken Continent. Individuals stake claims to stretches of river banks and local watering holes and become increasingly territorial until the beginning of the rainy season. Its double set of fleshy whiskers are highly sensitive to changes in humidity and barometric pressure and are thus thought to enable it to predict the weather. Individuals are often observed running in the wake of thunderstorms. Kirin will briefly gather in herds of up to a few hundred individuals to mate and graze together during the peak of the rainy season before dispersing once again.

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(Extended species description under readmore.)

The stormchaser kirin (Kirinus nimbus), also known as the river warden, is a medium-sized, herbivorous chimera native to the great savannas of the Sunken Continent

A double set of flexible fleshy whiskers grow from the kirin's snout and lower jaw. These neuron-dense appendages are highly sensitive to changes in humidity and barometric pressure. It is theorized that these whiskers enable kirin to predict incoming weather up to one hundred miles away, and it has been observed to run in the wake of thunderstorms.

Like other kirin species, its head and nose horns are characterized by a two-part structure. Bony cone-shaped protrusions grow from its skull and are covered in a keratinous sheath. The outer layer is typically shed shortly after the beginning of the rainy season and regrown by the peak of the dry season. The size of each of its horns as well as the number of tines in the head horns increase with an individual's age.

This species is characterized by its lion-like mane and tail as well as the feathering on its legs. This thick fur starts as a dark gray on foals and lightens with age. Kirin have been observed to puff up their mane and tail in both territorial and mating displays.

Adult stormchaser kirin are solitary for much of the year. Individuals stake claims to grazing territory along stretches of river banks and local watering holes. They become increasingly territorial until the beginning of the rainy season and will actively drive away any animal they perceive as a competitor (or a danger to their foals in the case of brooding individuals).

Kirin will briefly gather in herds of up to a few hundred individuals (also known as tempests) to mate and graze together during the peak of the rainy season. A grown female (also known as a rin) will gather and defend a harem of two to eight males (also known as a ki). While this species does not exhibit a high degree of sexual dimorphism, stormchaser rins are slightly larger on average than kis.

Rins lay soft, leathery-shelled eggs in small clutches in the dry season. Nests are typically made in dense, thorny thickets. Superfecundation is common in kirin, and each kirin foal may have a different sire. Foals mature quickly and either wander away or are driven out by their mother by the following dry season. Adolescent foals from the same clutch have been observed to briefly travel together in a group known as a scud.

Mortality rate is high amongst young stormchaser kirin, with only an estimated one in four surviving to adulthood. Sand sharks and phoenixes are common predators, and older kirin will often kill younger individuals in territorial skirmishes.

--

A friend of mine gave me some beautiful cloud-patterned yarn for a holiday/b-day present, and I’m so excited to finally use it! I had a lot of fun figuring out leg/body proportions on this guy. He’s going to be the centerpiece for an event I’m going to in a few weeks and I’m so stoked with how he turned out!

#kirin #qilin #amigurumi #fantasy #crochetblr #xen makes frens #beasts of the sunken continent #his name is cirrus and he needs $0.32 for bus fare to get back to his husband edgar and their 52 grandchildren

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive: Family

Dead or Alive: Sugar and Jake 

A/N: Someone asked if I was going to write about when Sugar told Jake she couldn’t have kids so here it is. It got away from me a bit…

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Trigger Warning: Abortion, Fertility problems, Western themed violence. 

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Some updates on Sugar and Jake after they leave the Dagger Gang.

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Frozen, you stare at the sheets before you. A smear of blood blemishes the otherwise snowy white bed linens. Another month and you were not pregnant. Blinking back tears, you pull out the sanitary belt from where you had tucked it in the back of the drawer before dressing for the day. Your time of the month was only a few days late and as much as you fought against it, as much as you tried to squash it down, you had hoped that this time it would be different. 

Angrily you began to strip the bottom sheet off the bed. You had just put fresh linens on yesterday. Now you had to spend an hour washing and ironing it all again. You dump the sheet in the wash bin on the porch and begin filling it up from the pump by the back door. 

Jake had been away last night. He had spent the evening on guard duty at the local jail cell. You shake your head ruefully at the change in circumstances. Move a few states east and Jake would be the prisoner that needed guarding and not the deputy holding the keys. 

You will never forget the day that the sheriff had arrived at your door. Jake had volunteered to ride in a posse a month earlier and had helped apprehend a man accused of murdering a gold miner a few towns over. You weren't sure of the details, you only know that Jake had saved the sheriff's life. 

When you answered the door the sheriff had held up wanted posters with Jake’s and your real names without saying anything. As you stared into eyes the uncommonly accurate likeness of your own poster you had felt your stomach drop to the floorboards. You tore your eyes away and gazed at the blue sky and the California mountains towering over the small farm you and Jake had built. The dirt road trampled into the dirt led to the idyllic little town you had settled beside. Everything you had ever wanted was right here and you had brushed aside a tear, sure that the jig was up.

You clutched at Jake’s hand as the sheriff spoke. “Before these came in I was planning on asking if you wanted one of these officially.” He had held up a shiny, sliver deputy’s badge to Jake. “I did some thinking and the offer still stands for Mr. Smith.” He used the fake name the two of you had been living under. “Or I’ll allow Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and his wife one week to leave town, if that is your decision.”

He handed the badge to Jake. “If you want the job Mr Smith, I expect to see you tomorrow and I’ll read you in.” He passed you the posters. “If I do not see you tomorrow I will be back in a week to arrest the both of you.” With a final look that ensured that you and Jake understood his meaning, he tipped his hat and walked away.  

That was seven years ago now and the only thing that had changed was the sheriff was now talking about retiring and had been encouraging Jake to run for sheriff when he did. Your mind returns to the task at hand and you grab the soap and washboard and begin to scrub the stain on the corrugated washboard. Once the mark is as clean as you will get it you wring out the heavy sheet and hang it on the line. Maybe you won’t bother ironing it again. Jake won’t care and no one else would notice if your linens had wrinkles.

After milking the cow and collecting the eggs you head inside and start on breakfast. Jake should be home soon. You are just finishing breakfast when he canters up on the pinto horse he had taken to riding since retiring Jet. The old black gelding now spent his days teaching manners to weanling foals and napping in the shade. You turn to smile at Jake as he walks through the door but your lower lip begins to tremble when you see the look on his face.  He knows what the sheet hanging on the line means. 

Forcing an overly cheery greeting past your lips you turn back to the stove so you don’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast today.” You begin to plate the food, hoping that the familiar routine will calm your emotions.

Jake’s arms wrapping around you finally slows your movements and you lean back into his chest. “It’s never going to happen.” It is easier to speak the thought that has been sitting in your mind for years if you do not have to look him in the eye.

“You don’t know that.” His lips are soft as gently kisses your temple. “It might still happen.”

“No,” You sigh, finally ready to confess the secret you have been keeping from your husband. “It won’t.”

Turning in his arms you look up into his green eyes. “I was pregnant before.” You watch his eyes widen in shock but he doesn’t let you go, in fact he tightens his grip on your waist. “It was before us, I was barely 18.” You continue waiting for him to push you away.

“It was before the quickening, but it had recently been made illegal so a doctor wouldn’t do it.” You can’t read his expression and don’t know if you should continue but find that you are unable to stop. The secret has been eating at you for years. “I tried tansy, pennyroyal, gin, hot baths… but nothing would work, eventually the madam where I was working made it happen.” You brush a tear away and drop your gaze, unable to meet his eye anymore.

“There was an infection. A doctor did treat me for that, and he said I might never be able to get pregnant.” You watch Jake’s chest as he takes a deep breath and sighs it out before pulling you in for a hug. He gently cradles the back of your head as silent tears slip down your face. 

“So it will just be you and me then.” His chest rumbles under your ear at his words and you pull back to meet his eyes sniffing. 

“Are you ok with that?” You search his face as he smiles sadly down at you.

Jake gives a little shrug. “I can imagine my life without children.” He gently kisses your lips. “What I can’t imagine is a life without you, Sugar.”

“You would have been a great father.” You say thinking about seeing him interact with the local school children. 

“And you would have been a great mother.” You brush a tear away at his words but your heart feels lighter at his easy acceptance of your past. You no longer have to pretend that you are expecting to get pregnant. You no longer have to fake anticipation and hope that you have long given up on. 

“I guess it’s just the way it goes sometimes.” You are finally able to bring a small, sad smile to your lips. “Some things are not meant to be.”

#jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin/reader #hangman/reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun hangman #topgun maverick #western!au

[someone-took-lost]

what disgusting filth, what a disgusting, filthy gaze. those horrendous blue eyes. so dark and full of nothing. so empty and void of love. it’s a wonder how he even had the capacity of siring foals.

rarity felt her entire body tense, her eyes widen. she felt sick, and utterly rotted to the core at the single thought of this stallion being the other half of her darling son, her baby. an unfit father. he is the unfit father of this sweet colt of hers, and she shall not let him have hold of her beloved.

she felt milly press his head against her, shifting closer to her. evading the ugly eyes of this monster. rarity put her muzzle closer to the top of his head. she would rather be damned to tartarus than ever let her precious boy into the clutches of him. the one who threw her aside, the one who she believed would at least have the decency of accepting and cherishing their son.

“you better stay the hell away from us.”

---

as shown in the reference sheet before, milly is in fact rarity and blueblood’s son. blueblood’s had quite the streak of unlucky lovers, within the story, he’s had roughly four prominent lovers who’ve all had some very not-great experiences with him. rarity here particularly has disdain for her one-night-stand-mistake.

the two had met during the late hours, and were charmed by each other’s presences. and due to the fact rarity was in canterlot for quite a while--not familiar with the fact he had already been well acquainted with a close friend of hers who he intended to devote himself to, she found herself weakened by his wiles one night. and the next day, both attempted to move on as though there were nothing meant to say.

though after some time, when rarity found herself with foal, she tried to approach blueblood. but after the realization of what was happening with him and another. she began to back off, and it wasn’t until after the birth of millennium, and then some years that rarity confronted the duke about child support. and what she was met with in turn, was disgust and rejection. the element of generosity would never forget the look of her first son’s sire that day. it would burn into her soul , and  carve its way down into her mind so that she never lets millennium be taken advantage by that she deemed a monster.

while it was true, that blueblood wasn’t stoked at millennium’s existence, his father on the other hoof  was. the discovery of this pure coated foal with a stunning mane and elegant figure could be molded into being the perfect face of the blueblood family. so blueblood sr. urged his son to bring millennium into the family, and raise him as his own perfect image.

and with that, the fight for custody over millennium began. and numerous times, would blueblood be turned away at the door. and after various court sessions, millennium was at last in contact with his father. or at least 1/3 of the time. and even then, the boy would do everything in his power to evade his sire, and not be met in any capacity anywhere near him. but sometimes, it was just inevitable that the two would have to talk.

as soon as millennium turned of age, he had made the decision to stay exclusively with his mother, and have nothing to do with his father’s fortune or status. even though the duke still tries--with little to no success, to bring him into the family dealings. millennium does well for himself now, as a jewelry mogul who also models on the side. gaining. notoriety on his own accord, instead off of his parents’ names.

#mlp #mlp fim #my little pony #art #digital art #artwork #oc #ocs #illustration #horse #comic #rarity #prince blueblood

[ashleyfableblack]

"Well, hello little one." the queen sighed dreamily to the little grub approaching her.

She smiled a sleepy smile and chuckled. How long had it been since she wobbled her way into the creche on weary, rubbery legs and flopped to the floor in a most undignified 'sploot'? It felt like it had only been a few minutes but she had closed her eyes. Maybe she had dozed off? No. She could hear in the nearby chamber, Twilight was still drawing the bath for them.

AH. Hearthswarming night. She purred, reviewing the sensations in her hearts. They had spent some rapturously wonderful time lost in each other. They giggled. They nuzzled. They blathered on about anything, everything and nothing at all like teenaged foals, adrift in the vibrant ecstasy of being in love.

Yes! Then, Twilight had suggested a bath. While she had drawn the heated, perfumed water Chrysalis had wobbled her weary way into the children's creche to check on their youngest larvae. Now, here she was, splayed out on the floor on her abdomen with her plot in the air like a squashed spider.

A squashed spider with one of their infant daughters chittering into her snoot like a overjoyed puppy.

Her dual irises shifted and focused to take in the full emotional spectrum as she flickered the air with her tongue, tasting for the tiny grub. She extended her crown of antennae and expanded her consciousness to it's normal place in the hive mind's nexus. Reaching out through the nebulae of stardust and memory she examined the forming consciousness, the shape of thoughts, feelings, experiences, new as they were. In her understanding of the world, this was the true shape of a changeling.

Ah. Now she recognized this one. RGMF19. Reconnaissance Guard, Mobile Forces, Unit one, Operative nine- OR as Twilight would call her "Ragamuffin".

She gave a pleasantly resigned sigh. It was a minor annoyance, this naming convention, yet another instance of pony-kind forcing their concept of normalcy on another species. Ethnocentrism was an unfortunate habit the ponies were still struggling to unlearn. Still, Chrysalis understood that it comforted her beloved wife to assign individual names to their daughters. Twilight lacked her expanded set of senses and connection to the hive mind it was the only way she could easily differentiate between their children which was something of a necessity in motherhood.

The tiny grub stared at her with a brilliantly beaming smile and a tiny, squeaking hiss. She couldn't help but chuckle in return. Even a pony could easily tell that she was one of her new hive of drones, sired solely with Twilight's love. As opposed to all previous changelings, the little one's eyes were large and violet, like their ponymother, sparkling with intelligence and curiosity. The long, inky eyelashes framing her eyes flicked at the base of her ears. Her ears were also unusually long, like those of a rabbit. The segments of her caterpillar-like body were decorated with a trail of lavender spots, cascading along her backside like the petals of a flower.

Her clutch was so different from all which had come before them.

"One thing is for certain. Your life will be a better one."

The mighty queen gave the little grub a nudge with her snoot, rolling her over on her back. She tilted her head slightly to contemplate the wiggling little thing. She was so fragile, so frail, yet so formed by the love of her precious, irreplaceable bride- so strangely, paradoxically powerful in the promise of a new, better tomorrow for her kind.

"You will never have to hide in the shadows as your predecessors. You will never have to fear others simply knowing you exist. Their fear of you being what you are will not threaten to starve you out. You will walk in the light and they will accept you as you are. In this world which we are building, your ponymother and I, this New Equestria, your birthright is one of unimaginable power and possibility. They will love you- as your mothers love you, daughter of The Hive."

Her forked tongue flickered out and gave a playful spree of butterfly kisses to the tiny changeling babe sending it into a fit of wiggling hisses and clicking.

"Happy Hearthswarming, my Ragamuffin."

Chrysalis gently lifted the little grub in her jaws and placed her in a strand of webbing near her sleeping clutchmates. With a small nuzzle goodnight, she quietly turned to stumble away, leaving the nursery chamber to return to her wife's embrace.

#my art #my story #mlp g4 #mlp au #twisalis #queen chrysalis #twilight sparkle #love #lgbtq #lesbian #changeling larvae #changelings #interracial family #family #multiculturalism #hearthswarming #happy holidays #romance #the feels #eternal courtship #ashleyfableblack

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 9: The Gullet

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

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, death, grief/loss, it's not a fun time

Words: 4200

A/n: first new chapter since March! Chapters will be posted simultaneously to Tumblr and AO3 from here.

last chance to read the warnings

She waits on a cliff face, far from the castle walls, on the south side of the island. The open water of the Gullet reaches out before her. The waves crash over the rocks below and the wind rushes against her, roaring in her ears and stinging the skin of her face. 

She’s still in her riding leathers. The smell of fire and blood lingers in her nose and lungs. The discomfort doesn’t matter to her. Perhaps this is what it means to be a Princess of the realm, she thinks, to be unmoved and unphased, no matter what chaos ensues around her.

She hasn’t slept in days. She has a waterskin on her hip she’s managed to refill a few times, but she hasn’t thought to pause for food. She’s not sure she could stomach it.

It was Jace who saw it first, the shape of a small dragon flying unsurely from the Narrow Sea towards Dragonstone. It moved through the air like a foal taking its first steps, jerking in unusual directions and struggling against the wind.

Aegon had never even ridden Stormcloud before, they were both too small, but more than that, why had they come back?

They collapsed in the courtyard. Aegon was shaking and crying as he stumbled from his dragon and into Luke’s arms, but he was unharmed.

The same could not be said for Stormcloud. Hissing, hot blood trailed from the subs of arrows in the dragon’s belly. He gave a few cries of pain, sputtered through the scorpion bolt in his neck and the blood spewing from his jaws. He did not last more than an hour.

She carried Aegon into the castle, Jace and Baela following closely behind, to be placed in the arms of his mother. Rhaenyra dismissed her Lords immediately, coming to her knees and clutching her son close to her chest.

They tried to ask him what happened. Why wasn’t he on the ship? Why had he flown back? Had they been attacked?

Where was Viserys?

The little boy could only squeak out a few words. “I left him,” was all he said. “I left him! I left him!”

Once he calmed down a little he was able to tell them more. Their ship and the Velaryon escort accompanying them to Pentos had been ambushed by a fleet from the East. Aegon said he had managed to mount Stormcloud and escape, but he left Viserys on the Gay Abandon, terrified and clutching his dragon egg. 

They were all left speechless and stunned. Aegon looked up at their faces with glassy violet eyes. He let out a piercing shriek and buried his face into his mother’s shoulder.

Rhaenyra stroked her hand over his hair. “Hush, my love,” she whispered. Her voice was sweet, but her skin was pale and her eyes red with tears.

Luke gripped Baela’s hand and said a silent prayer to the Gods. Not another. We cannot bear another loss.

Not long after, a fleet of short a hundred ships descended upon the Velaryon ships holding the Gullet. Jace gathered the Dragonseeds, to prepare for battle. They were to attack the following sunrise.

In her heart, Luke knew she wasn’t afraid of death. She had come so close to death before, endured the pain and torment, and yet here she stood. If she flew into battle, either the Stranger would come for her again, or she would survive. She could find peace in either option.

She donned her red and black riding leathers and reached for the sword Lord Corlys had gifted her, with the golden seahorse hilt, but her hands would not stop shaking. She bit down on her lip as she secured it to her belt. Then she pulled on her gloves and headed down to the courtyard where the sun was just starting to rise.

Jace and Baela were arguing. Jace’s voice was calm and composed while Baela shouted in protest. “No! I will stand by and watch while you…”

They stopped when they saw Luke.

Jace was to lead the other dragons into battle, and was adamant Luke and Baela, and their dragons, would remain on the island.

Luke tried endlessly to argue but it was no use, not while a battle raged across the water and especially not when the Queen appeared, and ordered that her daughters would stay with her.

So they watched from an outlook in the gardens as the five dragons took flight, Vermax heading the charge to the scene of the battle on the horizon.

Daylight came and went. Galleys rammed into each other and became splinters, but they were merely specs of movement from Dragonstone. The dragons flew overhead, their bursts of flames no more than flickers of candlelight. And they heard none of it, not the cracking of wood, the screams of dying men, the whistling of quarrels and scorpion bolts through the air, just the waves and the wind.

Luke kept her hands behind her back, clenching and unclenching her fists. If it weren’t for her gloves her fingernails might have torn her hands to shreds.

As night fell, a squadron broke through the fighting and moved closer to Dragonstone. The ships bore the banners of the Three Daughters. 

The war hero in Lord Corlys came alive. He informed Rhaenyra he was going to prepare their defences. There were no Velaryon ships left to defend them, but should the Triarchy attempt to land at the harbour they would be met with a formidable resistance nonetheless.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixed on the distant battle. She made no indication she had even heard him.

Instead he nodded to Luke, and she bowed her head in return. He marched back to the castle and Baela followed closely behind, in red and black leathers that matched Luke’s, and her slim Valryian steel sword sheathed at her side.

Luke stood with her mother as the Triarchy ships cut across the water, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. It was probably foolish to just stand there. They could have taken Aegon and run for the Dragonmount, bathed the ships in fire or flown to Harrenhal a top Syrax and Grey Ghost. At the very least they could have gone back to the castle and locked themselves away.

But the ships never came anywhere close to Dragonstone’s harbour, nor its beaches. They continued west, towards Driftmark.

“Mother,” Luke breathed, the realisation coming like a blow to her gut, “we must do something, Driftmark has no defences left.”

Their soldiers were either across the sea defending the Gullet, or on Dragonstone protecting their Queen.

Rhaenyra’s stare was vacant, still on the ensuing battle.

If they could have found Baela and mounted their dragons, they might have had a chance to destroy the ships before they reached Spicetown. 

“Mother?” Luke tried again. She reached out to hold Rhaenyra’s hand but she didn’t hold her back.

She had never known her mother to be so unmoved. When news came of Ser Harwin’s death, she held her children close and shared their tears and devastation. When Ser Laenor died she was mournful, but stable, there to pick up the pieces of Jace and Luke in their grief. And in those first few days, as the threat of war loomed in the aftermath of her father’s death, she remained strong. Despite the Greens’ betrayal, despite the loss of Visenya, despite Daemon’s determination to bring the dispute to bloodshed.

Now there was nothing. No sign of life but the soft, steady rise and fall of her chest and the tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

Luke looked across the water once more and spotted movement through the darkening sky. The dragons were returning. She counted them.

And there were four.

Seasmoke and Silverwing were easier to spot, their scales gleaming against the moonlight. By the sheer size of them, she knew the other two to be Vermithor and Sheepstealer.

Where was Vermax?

Where was Jace?

Her heart began to beat a little faster. She looked frantically across the sky and the sea, searching for a flash of green scales, a triumphant roar, a shape in the dark… anything.

And then the dread sunk in. 

A sharp inhale of cold air burned in her lungs. Her breathing felt wrong, gulping and desperate, like she had forgotten how to do it properly.

Rhaenyra let out a soft sigh, to the wind, to the sea, to whichever Gods would hear her. “Not Jacaerys,” she whispered.

Luke raced through the gardens and the empty halls of the castle to the courtyard. By now it was apparent Dragonstone had been spared an attack. Lord Corlys had guessed their intentions to attack Driftmark and was barking orders for men to get to the harbour. All the ships they had left were fishing boats; it would be madness to pursue the Tyroshi warships. Reason was no longer a luxury he could afford.

Baela hovering over their grandfather’s shoulder. Luke snatched her by her wrist and dragged her beyond the castle gates as the four dragons descended. 

She spotted Addam first. He gave Seasmoke’s neck a firm pat before the dragon took off for the Dragonmount. He treaded carefully towards her, like he was approaching a wild dragon, she thought. Why? Did she look like one? Her hair was in a loose braid that had been blown apart by the wind and her hand was on the hilt of her sword. 

He stopped before her with a sullen expression on his face.

She stared at Addam with the parted lips and wide, red eyes of a frightened child.

She spoke softly, her voice dragging through a raw, choking feeling in her throat. “Jace?” 

Baela’s hand slipped from Luke’s grasp. She too had counted the dragons.

Nettles came next, dismounting Sheepstealer and approaching them with tears streaking down her face. She placed a hand on Addam’s shoulder as his gaze fell towards the ground.

Baela struggled to hold back a sob. “Where is Jace?” 

Addam swallowed thickly. “He…” but he could not bring himself to say it.

Baela’s cries were lost to the wind.

Luke felt her chest become hollow.

She moved before she could truly feel the weight of it all, as fast as she could move without running, towards the Dragonmount. Addam’s pleas for her to stop became a muffled voice in the back of her mind. 

A feverish cold swept over her skin and made her shiver, but she feared if she stopped she would become motionless forever.

Grey Ghost came to her as she reached the foot of the mount, head bowed and cooing sadly. When he lifted his head she stared into a wide yellow eye and saw into her own heart. Her grief was his to share, her fury too.

“I must do something,” she uttered. 

Her body wasn’t her own. She could feel the saddle and the reins as she mounted Grey Ghost, and the wind cutting against her skin as they took flight, but it felt like existing in a dream or a memory. 

It was almost impossible to see through the night and the tears in her eyes, but the brilliant golden flames illuminating Spicetown were clear to see.

The Triarchy had sent fireships into the harbour, while their men landed on the beaches and headed for the town, completely unopposed. People screamed and fire tore through the lines of buildings. Homes, markets, septs and bodies were all lost to axes and flames. 

She followed a glimmer of torches as men made their way to Hightide itself, hacking down the doors and any servants who tried to flee.

I must do something, she told herself, but what could she do but cause further destruction? 

Her dragon gave her more power than any of the men on the ground below her, but if she used it to burn her enemies, the wives, sisters and children of Driftmark would suffer the same fate.

She was a Princess, the blood of the dragon, wielder of the greatest power known to the world, and there was nothing she could do.

Her eyes move from the town, to the ships lined along the island’s coast.

She wondered which ship had launched the scorpion bolt into Stormcloud’s throat. Which one had led the attack on the Gay Abandon? Which one had cost Jace his life?

She left them no time to arm the scorpions. Quarrels and arrows were nothing against Grey Ghost’s hide as they swooped over the ships to unleash their fire, and she did not relent until there was nothing left.

Not a single ship would return to Tyrosh, Myr of Lys. Not a single man would return home. Every family in the Kingdom of the Three Daughters would know her pain.

She returned to Dragonstone with the sunrise, with ash in her hair and the smell of smoke and death lingering on her riding leathers.

There was no victory feast. The Triarchy fleet has been defeated but the damage has been done. Spicetown and Hightide are in ruins, the Velaryons have lost a third of their ships, thousands of lives have been lost…

And Jace and Viserys are gone.

Nettles tried to tell her what she could. One moment they were manoeuvring through the ships, the next Vermax’s head was disappearing beneath the waves. They must have flown too low, or were struck by a scorpion bolt, she couldn't be sure.

Then she and Addam had left Dragonstone once more, Nettles to find the Gay Abandon, or what might be left of it, and Addam to find Jace.

She didn’t stop to steal herself a mouthful of food or listen to anyone try to offer their condolences. Her feet, heavy in her boots, carried her to the cliff.

Sunrise till sunset she waits. First she stands, and when her legs get tired she kneels. A red glow burns in the west, the same shade as when she, Jace and Baela watched the Gay Abandon set sail for Pentos, carrying two little Targaryen Princes across the sea. The water shines under its light, as though the sea is made of blood.

They were supposed to be safe. Rhaena and Joffrey in the Vale, and the little ones taken further than that, away from the war and the bloodshed, until Rhaenyra could claim her rightful throne.

When the moon appears from behind a cloud she realises it has been an entire day since her brother died. 

How can that be right? 

Jace was perhaps the one constant she had, other than their mother. He was always there, tied to every memory, every moment of her life. He taught her how to hold a knife, how to hold Arrax when he first hatched and all sorts of other things, stupid things really, that seemed so important to her as a child.

When she woke crying from her nightmares, when the memories of blood in the cave flashed before her waking eyes, Jace would hold her, calm her and remind her she was safe so long as she had her family.

A day has passed so easily. Soon it will be a week, then a month, then a year. In two years she will be older than he will ever be. Her life will pass by and her memories of him will only ever fade further and further away.

She doesn’t want to live in a world without her brother.

The wind rustles through the grass but there’s something else there. She glances over her shoulder. Lord Corlys pauses in his approach.

“Come inside, Lucerra,” he says.

She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. She still has her gloves on.

“You need to rest.”

Addam and Nettles have been gone for so long. She cannot determine if it is a good or a bad omen.

“Lucerra, please.”

She knows what Jace would want her to do. He wouldn’t want her to wait in the cold, through the night. He would want her to rest and recover her strength.

So she lets Lord Corlys guide her to her feet. They walk slowly towards the castle. With each step she takes she is sure she doesn’t have the strength to take another. And yet she does. She keeps walking.

He leaves her at her chambers. A maid draws her a bath and brings her a plate of bread and roast beef. Her stomach rumbled, but the thought of eating makes her nauseous. 

Even after she has bathed she still smells smoke. 

She perches on the windowsill, only in a nightgown and shivering relentlessly. Time will pass too quickly if she sleeps and she wants to see Addam as soon as he returns.

She watches the moon creep across the sky and tries to name every constellation she can see.

Perhaps, if the Gods are merciful, Jace might still be alive, washed up on a beach like she was, half drowned, writhing in pain, waiting to be found. But still alive. Father, Mother, Stranger, let him come home.

If she had the energy to, she would laugh at herself. She has prayed more in the last two days than she has ever done in her whole life.

Eventually her eyes are too heavy to keep open. She closes them for a moment.

Suddenly she sees red. Sunlight burns against her eyelids. She fell asleep in an awkward position, curled up against the glass. Now her cheek is numb and her neck and limbs are stiff.

She groans and hauls herself to stand. She doesn’t wait for the maid to dress her. She pulls on a simple black dress, not bothering to style her hair or wear any jewellery and hurries to the Hall of the Painted Table.

The Lords of the small council are gathered. Hugh and Ulf are squaring up to Lord Celtigar. Nettles leans against a wall at the side of the room. Her mother’s seat is empty. Lord Corlys stands with Alyn on one side and Addam on the other.

She holds her breath, but she already knows what is coming.

Corlys leads her to the chamber where the body has been placed.

The room is so cold and the howl of the wind washes through her, like her body is empty.

The Silent Sisters stand vigil, Rhaenyra weeps quietly, her hands muffling her cries, the arm of her step-daughter over her shoulders, and a figure wrapped in ivory cloth lays on a slab of black stone.

Luke approaches the table slowly as Baela leads Rhaenyra towards the door. Corlys and the veiled women follow.

Her brother has returned home, but she is alone.

She can almost believe it isn’t him. Everything that makes him Jacaerys is covered, his face, his eyes, the dark curls of their true father, the hands calloused by swords, sailing and dragon riding. She can almost believe it isn’t him. It’s a hope that makes her chest a little lighter, one she clings onto desperately.

She reaches out and places the back of her hand to where his cheek should be, only met with the feeling of fabric and something cold and hard underneath. 

The Jace she knew will remain in her memory. Not the fallen warrior or the brave Prince. She will remember his hand reaching out to guide her through the halls of the Red Keep, his wide grin and the wind through her hair as they rode Vermax and Arrax through the skies above Dragonstone, and how his laugh was starting to sound like Harwin Strong’s.

Eventually the door creaks open and Lord Corlys’ hand weighs down on her shoulder.

She can’t look anymore. She looks up at her grandfather and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “We have our victory,” she says quietly, as if it makes it worth the loss.

“If this is a victory, I pray I never win another,” he says. 

Jace’s funeral pyre is so much larger than Visenya’s was. Another stands beside it, a smaller structure of wood with no body. Nettles found no trace of the Gay Abandon, no ship to follow, no trace of Viserys. 

Grey Ghost awaits her command, but other than that Luke stands alone. Behind her are their supporters, the Lords of the small council, the soldiers who loved the Prince like a brother, the family they have left, Lord Corlys, Baela, Alyn and Addam, and their Queen. 

She can see none of them. She doesn’t hear a single voice or sob. 

Dragonstone is surrounded by shipwrecks. Bodies and pieces of wood have been washing up on the shore in the days since the battle. Across the water, smoke still rises from Driftmark, great clouds of black and grey swirling up into the clear blue sky. 

As the mourners are gathered, a dragon approaches from the west. There is only one it could be and she knows Caraxes’ high-pitched whistle well. 

Lords mutter their greetings as the Prince approaches. She can hear his armour as he walks, and then he stops. He must have come straight from Harrenhal.

Luke’s eye fall to her side to the hilt of her sword on her belt, before she turns to look over her shoulder.

Daemon is standing beside his wife, who is without her crown. He presses a light kiss to her temple before he clasps his hands before him, poised and unsettled. 

Her step-father’s grief flourished into fury before she left for Storm’s End. She reminds herself that he has lost loved ones too, his brother, his daughter, his cousin and now two of his sons. But this is a man who thrives in chaos. This is the man who sent assassins to kill Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, in her name. 

She hates him for it, but how many bodies did she leave in her wake on the night of the battle? Too many to count. She didn’t regret it then. She still doesn’t regret it, but that scares her even more. What kind of person is this war turning her into?

Daemon stares back at her with a hardened brown and sighs. 

She turns back to the pyres, and the sight of the sea beyond that. She can still remember how cold she was when she washed up on that beach by Shipbreaker Bay. Did Jace have time to feel the cold, she wonders? Did Viserys meet a similar fate, lost beneath the waves, slipping into the dark and the cold. Alone. Abandoned. 

“Dr–” the word is caught in her throat, but she knows she must be the one to say it. 

She takes a shuddering breath and swallows through the tears and the lump in her throat. Grey Ghost watches her, ready when she is.

“Dracarys.”

The world ignites and the sea vanishes from her view. She feels the heat against her skin and in her eyes. It’s unbearable but she doesn’t flinch. She stares into the flames until they become embers.

Once the fire settles and the ashes have been gathered, a smaller party gathers on a cliff over the sea. Luke and Baela stand hand in hand, behind Rhaenyra, Daemon and Corlys. Jacaerys burned in the tradition of the Targaryens, and now he will be returned to the sea in the tradition of the Velaryons. 

Corlys releases the ashes and they watch them fall to the rocks and water below.

Daemon shuffles on his feet and takes Rhaenyra’s arm in his. “I have news,” he says.

“Now is hardly the time,” Corlys warns darkly.

“War is rarely convenient,” Daemon snaps, “we have our opportunity to strike. We must act now.”

Rhaenyra closes her eyes and breathes. “What do you mean?” 

Daemon glances over his shoulder to the girls, regret evident on his face, but he continues anyway. “As we speak, that one-eyed cunt who calls himself ‘Lord Protector’ is marching for Harrenhal. He has left King’s Landing virtually undefended.”

Luke feels her spine straighten, intent on every word she hears, the trance of her grief lifted like a feather on the breeze.

Baela scoffs and releases her hand as she starts to lead Rhaenyra back to the castle. Corlys and Daemon bow, and Luke curtseys, but she doesn’t acknowledge them. She mutters to Baela, something about putting the children to bed.

Corlys turns back to Daemon and frowns. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he is an impatient child,” Daemon says. “While we have been gathering our forces, they have clearly become paranoid.”

“Or else they want a swift end to this war,” Luke says.

When Daemon looks at her, she cannot tell if he is infuriated or proud. “You are your mother’s heir,” he says. “Do you understand what that means? Do you understand what is expected of you now?”

Understand, yes, but is not sure she realises it. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real. 

“We make for King’s Landing then?” She says.

Daemon nods, and as his head moves down his eyes find the hilt of her sword. The golden seahorse gleams in the glow of the late afternoon sun. He presses his lips together and looks back to Lord Corlys.

“We should wait until we know Aemond is at Harrenhal,” the Seasnake says, and Daemon agrees.

With the dragons surrounding the city, the remainder of the Velaryon fleet surrounding Blackwater Bay and no opposition to stand against their men, the Greens will be brought to their knees. The false King will become their prisoner and Aemond and Vhagar will be miles away, oblivious to the threat until it’s too late.

The three of them had already been making the arrangements for weeks, Daemon, Corlys and Jace.

“The city will be ours in a day,” Daemon declares. 

She tries but she cannot return his sense of triumph and hope.

She looks out over the waves. She can’t see the ashes but they will have settled on the surface of water by now, some of it will have begun to sink.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Karma is a God taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

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

[eggedbellies]

I thought the hippogriff would give me live young, or maybe a clutch. What I don't expect? One. Big. Egg. When I'm finally able to stand and waddle away with my cum filled belly, it's nice, to feel full again. But as I wander, looking for some nice cool water to drink and maybe bathe in, I can feel the changes working. Rubbing my belly, I can soon feel a hard shell. Just the one. And it's big. Getting bigger. I remember that horses usually only have one foal - is it the same for hippogriffs? I feel good, lugging that big weight around, my belly settling into a teardrop shape, but I'm worried about the laying...

When the time comes, I settle down, breathing heavy. It takes time, sweat dripping down my back, grateful for the elasticity that the potion gave me, but it's still hard. The egg crests. I push harder, harder, but it keeps sliding back until I'm whining and begging and pushing with all I ahve and it stretches and then - finally - pops free, the pressure on my clit enough to make me cum all over the top of it, nearly grinding down on it where it rests as my lips throb.

I stay long enough to see it start to hatch then wobble away, wondering what will change me next. I almost don't notice the horse tail emerging from the base of my spine.

traits; mane, claws, fangs, venom, ovipositor, horns, dragon wings, chitin on wrists and ankles, antennae, horse tail.

#breeding event

[imaginedreamwrite]

Can we see Curtis/bride smut? Or some fluff?

His hands were rough from his years of working with them, from the years he had laboured to build this entire paradise tucked in the rolling hills and clutches of the mountains. Curtis’ hands were rough, but his touch was gentle and loving as he caressed your bare back from your shoulders to the curve of your ass.

He kept you clutched against him, shifting you only when necessary to get you comfortable to the girth that filled you and the stretch of your walls around him. Your hands on his shoulders helped brace you, your eyes were captivated by his own. He was staring up at you with his crisp and crystalline blue eyes that pierced you with intensity and warmth, and you found yourself unable to breathe momentarily from the hold he had on you.

Curtis had only come back an hour before, he had been gone to deal with an auction for a few horses he had raised from foals and had come back with three in exchange. He had settled them in the barn and returned to you with a fire burning between you two that had led to this here, the moment where you had wholly given in to the other for the first time since you had arrived.

There had been moments of pleasure, the soft opening to your sexual relationship as well as your emotional one, but this was new. This was the first time you had been joined together in your marriage bed. It was the first time you had felt the girth and length of his cock, the heaviness of his balls against your ass.

“Move when you’re ready, this is all up to you.” Curtis had raised a hand from your back to brush the hair off your shoulder and then he leaned forward to place soft open mouth kisses against your skin. “This is all up to your pace.”

Your head lolled back when he trailed his lips down your shoulder to your collarbone and further, his lips tracing a clear path to your left nipple. His lips had parted and he had brushed his tongue against your hard nub as you sighed his name and slowly rocked your hips. The feel of his cock inside your warm pussy was something you knew you could have grown addicted to, the stretch of your walls around him and the sensation of being full was immensely pleasurable.

You weren’t a virgin by any means, but Curtis’ size was bringing some discomfort as you tried to adjust. You had sex with men before, you’d been fucked and screwed but none of them felt like this. None of the men your age that you’d been with had felt this good. Even before you and Curtis had gotten to this point, there was something about his hands on your body, his tongue tasting your flesh that had put the rest to shame.

Curtis knew what he was doing, he had proven to you that all those other sexual experiences were nothing compared to what he could do. He was a man; they were boys.

“Move your hips, sweetheart.” His voice was muffled against your breasts and the hand he held on you had guided you.

Curtis guided you to start riding his cock, every gentle and subtle movement was electrifying. Your hands had gripped his shoulders and your lips were parted with endless whines and whimpers as you ground your cunt on his cock. His thick head was penetrating your spongy walls, his lips had been teasing and lapping at your nipples.

“Good girl, you’re my good girl,” Curtis whispered against your breasts, he whispered against your flesh as he bucked his hips and fucked up into you. “My sweet wife, my sweet girl.”

“Curtis, fuck…” Your head lolled, your back arched when he lifted you with one hand and pulled you back down, the angle of his cock hitting a spot in your pussy that had previously gone untouched. “God, it feels so good…

“Cum for me, cum for me honey.” Curtis watched you raise your hips, his pleasure groans falling from his lips after he had laid back down and watched his cock sink back into your seeping cunt. Your pleasure was translated into sweet wet juices that had begun to coat the two of you, your hot pussy still clenching his shaft as the head of his cock twitched.

“I’m…” you shuddered and removed your hands from his chest and placed them behind you on his thighs, gyrating on his cock as your breathing became more erratic. “I’m going to cum….”

“Cum on my cock, cum for me.” Curtis grabbed your hips and yanked your cunt back down on his cock, he had kept you locked onto him while he thrust his hips and ducked you with power and unrelenting desire, holding you steady even while your body had become rigid and you had screamed his name in pleasure, his name falling from your lips in lusty anguish as your first orgasm hit you. “Good, good wife.”

Curtis was unrelenting, he had continued to fuck you through your searing orgasm. He had fucked you until you had fallen back onto his chest, and your cheek rested against his shoulder. He held you, he wrapped his arms around you while slamming his cock in and out of you. There wasn’t a moment's of rest, not that you wanted it, from his powerful thrusts.

“Please…Curtis, I need more. Please-“ He had only pulled out to switch positions, he had only pulled out to gently set you up on your belly while your head rest against the pillow.

“Ass up.” Curtis’ demand was still laced with softness, it was still laced with endearing devotion. “Good girl, you listen so well.”

He slipped an arm around your waist to hold you into place as he pushed his cock back into your pussy. He filled you again and wait, he waited for you to adjust again to him in this position, taking pride when your nails had dug into the bed. When he knew you were ready, he started fucking you from behind, his free hand running up and down your back twice before he dropped it to your ass.

“Feels so good, fuck it feels so good.” You whined, your eyes screwed closed with intense pleasure. “Please, I need more. Please I need-!”

Curtis’ hand smacked against your ass, the slight sting of pain meeting the sweet kiss of pleasure, and he had known you liked it when your cunt squeezed his cock. He had smacked your ass twice more, once before his fingers found and teased your clit, and the second when he had leaned forward and pressed his back against yours.

“Cum with me, cum with me.” Curtis huskily whispered in your ear, he had huskily crooned to you as you bit down on your bottom lip, your body becoming rigid again. “Cum with me, sweetheart.”

He pulled out and slammed back in only once more before he felt the pivotal and last powerful squeeze of your pussy. He met your orgasm with his own, he had met your peak with his throbbing cock. As your sweet cum had started to pool from your cunt, Curtis grunted as he pushed his cock in further, the hot and sticky seed flooding your cunt.

It was moments, maybe it was hours, before he had finally pulled away and observed the flood of his semen dripping from your pussy. He had reacted instinctively and gathered it on his fingers before he had pushed it back into your sweet heat.

“We can’t waste any, baby. It needs to stay in place.”

#silverfox!cowboy x mail order!reader #silverfox!cowboy!curtis everett x mail order bride!reader #silverfox!cowboy!Curtis Everett #silverfox!cowboy!Curtis Everett x reader #silverfox!Curtis Everett #silverfox!Curtis Everett x reader #smut #smutty drabble

[notgonnaedit]

Bad Batch Western AU: Into the Sunset

Chapter 1: Back to Smokey Hollow

Summery: Hunter finds a young girl while he's out hunting, forcing him to return to his childhood home

Master list

The bushes swayed lightly as the deer grazed. It was a large buck, it's neck as thick as a grown man's body and it's rack was twice that size. He sniffed the grass, plucking what he could in his flat teeth to eat. The woods were calm. The birds sang their songs, the wind rustled the trees, and the insects hummed with life in the warm summer air.

Little did this fine buck know that he was being watched. No more than a few feet away, a man sat in a bush. He clutched his knife in his calloused hand, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The buck just needed to be a bit closer, then he was dinner.

But a sudden shriek of a train whistle earned the buck's attention. The birds ceased their songs, flying away from the possible predator. The buck followed suit, bounding away into the woods, never to be seen again.

Heaving a sigh, Hunter stood from the bush. He brushed a few leaves off of his clothes and looked around. He had been so close it was painful. He sheathed his knife and began to walk down the slope. Each step he took was silent on the forest floor. Hunter was always careful not to disturb the wildlife, just in case he ever wanted to return to hunt again.

His horse, a grey stallion named Havoc, was waiting for him down the hill by a stream. Hunter did a sliding motion down the hill, cautiously picking his pace so he wouldn't fall to his death.

Hunter looked around at the bright blue sky dotted with clouds. He took a breath of fresh air. It helped clear his mind and he needed that, especially after his hunt was unsuccessful. It would've been nice to actually have a decent meal. He'd been living off small game for a while. Rabbits, squirrels, and, if he was desperate, a raccoon.

He reached the bottom of the hill and walked to the stream. Havoc was waiting there, drinking the water that flowed past.

Hunter approached, patting his horse's side. Havoc raised his head and nuzzled Hunter. The man chuckled and pushed the horse away lightly. "You'll get me all wet, buddy." 

Havoc nickered in response and Hunter stroked his muzzle. "You are a spoiled boy, aren't you?" He said softly. In truth, he loved his horse. Havoc was his companion, always taking him where he needed to go. It wasn't too long ago that the stallion was an injured foal who's mother was killed by cougars. Hunter had nursed him back to health and the two of them had an unbreakable bond. Hunter could whistle and Havoc would come. But when he was a foal he got into lots of trouble, hence the name "Havoc".

A twig snapped behind them. Havoc's ears perked up, and if Hunter's could they would've. He tensed. No friendly traveler got this close without making himself known. It had to be a bandit.

He was right. In and instant someone grabbed Hunter from behind in an attempt to choke him. Hunter grabbed his arm, stomped his foot on the man's boot, and freed himself from his grasp. Once the man was in view, Hunter could see he had dark messy hair, pale eyes and day old stubble.

Without hesitation, Hunter swung his fist right into the bandit's jaw, knocking him back into the stream. The man wiped his mouth, looking up at him in anger. Now that his face wasn't covered by his hat, seeing as it fell in the water, Hunter saw that his attacker was just a kid, maybe young 20s. "I've got half a mind to kill you right here." He said.

The man spat at his feet, seemingly unafraid of Hunter. "Go ahead and try, old man." He stood, raising his fists to fight more. "You ain't gotta gun." Blood started to trickle from his lip, but the man made no attempt to wipe it away.

Hunter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The kid swung getting Hunter in the cheek. He stumbled slightly, and the kid swung again. This time Hunter ducked and came up with a sharp uppercut to his nose. The kid went stumbling back into the stream, falling unconscious. He was in the water and his nose and mouth were clear. Hunter was ready to leave, but he sighed. He couldn't leave that kid in the stream. The water was bound to rise sometime.

Hunter reached down and grabbed the kid's ankles, dragging him onto dry land. With that taken care of, he mounted Havoc and took off. "Come on, boy."

A swelling pain in his cheek caused Hunter to reach up and feel it. A warm feeling trickled down his fingers. Hunter pulled his hand away to see a few drops of blood. That kid had a strong punch, but Hunter didn't think it was that strong. He wiped it away with his sleeve, figuring he would clean it later.

He had been travelling for miles with Havoc when he heard it.

"Help."

He pulled on the reigns, bringing Havoc to a stop. He could've sworn he heard someone ask for help. 

"..help..." 

There it was again, but this time quieter, like whoever was calling was getting further away. Hunter strained his ears. "...hel..." No, not further away. Whoever was saying it was getting weaker.

"Hello?" Hunter asked. He turned Havoc in a circle, scanning for the owner of the voice. "Hello!" He asked louder.

"...ere..."

Hunter barely heard it, but it was there. He got down from Havoc and ran towards the voice on foot. He spotted a body laying limp on the ground, barely even moving. When he reached it, he saw it was a kid. Hunter leaned down, positioning his arm under they're waist to hold them up. It was a girl, with unusually short hair and wearing boy's clothes. Her face was covered in dirt with minor cuts here and there. Her clothes were ripped and stained in some places, but what really caught Hunter's attention was how shallow her breathing was. She needed water.

Hunter picked her up, careful not to move her too much, and carried her to Havoc. He took his canteen from his saddle bag and kneeled down, positioning the girl on his knee. He pressed the canteen to her lips. "Come on, kid." He murmured. "Take a drink."

The girl stirred slightly, pursing her lips before she finally took a tiny swallow. Hunter let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He needed to help this girl. She needed a doctor, but where would he–

Hunter sighed as he realized he had to go back. It was the only town for hundreds of miles. He looked down at the injured girl, then closed his canteen. Hunter hefted the girl in his arms, somehow getting into the saddle. Havoc huffed from the added weight, but he obeyed when Hunter spurred him forward.

One arm on the reigns, the other around the girl, Hunter rode back to the town he grew up in, Smokey Hollow.

#bad batch #tbb #hunter tbb #tbb omega #fanfiction #tbb au #au

[spnexploration]

Collared part 23

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Your nightmares cause issues.

Warnings: drunk character

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: Scheduling this post as I'll be away with work, so my apologies that the masterlist won't be updated straight away.

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 22 <- -> Part 24

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean muttered to himself. He'd just walked into the kitchen in the morning to find you sitting against the cupboards, surrounded by empty bottles. “Big night?” he asked you.

“Fu’ off.” Your words were slurred, you were clearly drunk.

“Y/N, it's 8:30 in the morning and you're drunk. Can you even get up yourself?”

“I ssaid: LEA’ ME ALONE.”

He crossed his arms, “Show me you can look after yourself and I will.”

You put your hand flat on the floor and tried to push up, but ended up slipping sideways. He moved to help you but you put your hands up to him, “I'mm ffine!”

You tried again, trying to coordinate your limbs. You looked like a brand new foal, unable to work out which leg went where.

Dean moved in and grabbed your arm before you smashed your head onto the cupboards, having toppled forwards in your attempts to get up. “Alright, Bambi. I think you've failed to make your point.”

You glared at him.

“How long have you been up?” he asked.

“Since I coul’n't slleep,” you growled at him, although the effect was rather ruined by your persistent slurred speech. 

“Nightmare?” he asked gently. You looked away. He took that as confirmation. “You had any water during your drinking session?”

“I'm not your problem anymore, Dean.”

“You were never a problem, sweetheart.”

“Don't call me that,” you said with gritted teeth.

“Sorry. Ok, let's get you some gatorade and back to bed, hey?” He positioned you so you weren’t in danger of falling and then let go of your arm, before going to grab the gatorade.

When he came back, you let him pull you to your feet but your body language showed how reluctant you were to accept his help.

“You wanna have a tactical spew before the gatorade?” he asked. You glared in response. “Ok, ok, just hydration it is.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you up and half supported, half carried you to your room. “Drink this before you pass out, it'll make you feel better,” he said as he passed you the gatorade. “Give me a yell if you need anything.” You huffed at him and he headed to the door.

“Oh, and Y/N, you don't have to drink alone, you know? And you especially don't have to deal with your nightmares alone.”

---

Sam knocked on your door later on. Dean had filled him in on your early morning antics and he'd helped clean up the kitchen. He regretted not going in to find you himself before his run, but he was relieved that Dean said you'd accepted his help without too much fuss.

You groaned as he entered. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Like shit, you?”

He chuckled. “I brought you something for that,” he said as he held out painkillers.

“Thank God,” you mumbled, clutching your head. He passed you more gatorade which you gulped down.

“Come on, Dean's cooking you bacon and eggs, he is a firm believer in greasy food to cure a hangover.” Sam ushered you to the kitchen where Dean was waiting with food. The lights were very bright.

---

Your hangover was of epic proportions and lasted long into the day. You went to bed early, vowing to never drink again. You had vague memories of drinking yourself under the table in your early 20s and not being anywhere near as affected. Goddamn it.

Your nightmares did not leave you alone. You kept seeing his black eyes, his leer, his knife. The expression on his face that told you things were going to get a lot worse.

The pain.

You woke to Sam shaking you, your body drenched in sweat. “Y/N, Y/N!” Sam called. You hazily opened your eyes, looking into his concerned face. You saw Dean come running into the room behind him.

“Wha-what?” you managed.

“You were having a nightmare,” Sam gently explained, helping you to sit up from your bedding still on the floor. You were embarrassed that the brothers were seeing that you were still sleeping on the floor, but you still hadn’t been able to bring yourself to get into the bed.

Dean left and reappeared shortly after, holding out a glass of water to you. You suddenly noticed both men were only in their boxers, and despite telling yourself firmly that this shouldn’t mean anything, you felt embarrassed and could feel your face getting hotter.

“Um, thanks,” you mumbled.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam said kindly.

“No,” you answered quickly.

“Are they getting worse?” Dean asked.

There it was. The sudden, red-hot anger you’d become accustomed to the last few days. “YES they’re getting fucking worse, what do you think?” you yelled at him. His hands came up in submission again.

“Maybe it will help to talk-” he started to say.

“OH NO, you don’t get to tell me how it might get better. You had your opportunity and you failed, you lied!” You hissed at him.

He looked confused. “Lied?”

Your resentment had momentarily taken control of your mouth, but your brain had just managed to wrench control back. Of course he didn’t know what you were talking about. You faltered. “It-it’s nothing,” you said in a much quieter tone, looking away from him. You couldn’t help the edge of resentment that remained though.

“I want to know,” he said gently. Sam had taken a step back and seemed like he was trying to stay out of it. You didn’t say anything.

He tried again, “Y/N, can you please tell me what I did? It’s obviously upsetting you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he insisted.

“It’s stupid, I didn’t mean it.”

“Clearly, some part of you did mean it. That’s ok. I just want to know what it was.”

You glanced at his earnest-looking face, then back at the floor. Your voice was laced with bitterness as you said, “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll tell you, and then I want you to get out.”

“Ok, I will.”

You spoke quietly, tears welling in your eyes, “You promised that you’d protect me from the demons, that they wouldn’t hurt me again.”

---

That was a dagger to Dean’s heart. You looked so small and vulnerable, almost like you were trying to fade into the background.

You were right though. He had promised that.

And then he’d failed.

He stopped himself from reaching out to you and instead turned and walked out of the room, as he’d said he would. It was more important than ever that he kept his word. But God, he wanted to gather you into his arms and explain, apologise, beg for forgiveness.

He’d failed you.

.

.

.

.

Tag list:

@malindacath @stoneyggirl2 @iprobablyshipit91 @minty-fresh-donkey @tiggytaylor @ellie-andthemachine @muhahaha303 @nameslessismypricetowhateverend @deans-spinster-witch @mrswhozeewhatsis @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @sassy-pelican @saiyanprincessswanie @i-am-trash-with-respect @sojuxxi @ilovedean-spn2 @lacilou @agirlwithdemonblood @lilacwineandthesinkingsunmain @rachiem4-blog @miss-madness67

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester angst #dean winchester hurt/comfort #dean winchester saves you #protective!dean winchester #protective!dean #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfiction #collar #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dark fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural x reader #slavery #sam winchester x platonic!reader #supernatural #supernatural angst #protective dean winchester

[adrift-in-thyme]

Congrats on the follower milestone!!! How about some fluffy oot? Perhaps a post Majora reunion 👀

THANK YOU ❤️

Hopefully this is fluffy enough. Angst always seems to creep in with these two 😅

(Fic beneath the cut)

——————-

The day he returns is just like any other.

There are no signs heralding the very thing Zelda has been waiting for an entire year now, no strange occurrences. The weather isn’t even unusually pleasant for this time of year (or unpleasant for that matter). It’s just dreary and gray and horribly dull like every day of her life has been since he left.

But then somewhere around midmorning, a little, red foal shows up at the castle gate. A fairy boy dressed in the green of the forest is upon her back, and one glimpse of him sends hope and joy, and overwhelming relief coursing through Zelda in waves.

She doesn’t bother smoothing her skirts or fixing her hat or even drawing her hair back from where it has fallen in loose curls down her shoulders. She sees him and runs, boots squishing in the mud, rain streaming down her face. There’s no room for the rules of royalty now, no room for prancing and tiptoeing, for holding up skirts and avoiding puddles.

Because her friend has returned. At long last, he has returned.

She’s halfway to him when the gate raises, and he looks up. There are bags beneath his eyes, so dark and deep she can see them from here, and his shoulders are slouched, his posture screaming defeat and exhaustion. He’s sopping wet too, and depressingly devoid of the little fairy he set out to seek. But when he sees her, his face lights up like the sun itself.

He practically tumbles off Epona, hitting the ground with a soggy splash. And then he’s running to meet her, a grin stretching across his face.

“Link!” She cries, over the rain and wind, voice shrill with excitement. “Oh Link, you’ve come back!”

They meet in the middle, and he skids to a halt, smile falling just slightly.

“Princess—” he begins, voice small and reserved and terribly formal.

Zelda shakes her head and with a half-sob, half-chuckle, tackles him in a massive hug. He lets out an adorable, little squeak of surprise, going stiff as a board. But Zelda doesn’t let that deter her. He can try to hold onto pretenses and manners, he can try to erect an awkward divide between them, but she’s finished with all of that. It was never truly there in the first place, after all. How could it be when they spent every moment between his first adventure and his parting together, exploring, playing, talking about anything and everything? Before he left, they were friends, good friends. She refuses to let him forget that.

So, she squeezes him hard, pouring every bit of her heart into the embrace.

“I missed you,” she murmurs as tears stream down her face and mingle with the rain. “I missed you so much.”

He shudders, something like a sob coming from him. Only a moment more and he’s clutching her like his life depends upon it, body trembling, hands fisted in her dress.

“I missed you too,” he chokes.

Hearing him say it makes something warm and wonderful swell within Zelda. She closes her eyes and holds him close, savoring this moment.

It’s broken much too soon, however. Epona, deciding she isn’t getting quite enough attention (she was gone for a year too, you know), trots up and promptly headbutts Link in the side. Hard.

With an exclamation of surprise Link stumbles, trips, and goes down, taking Zelda with him. They land with a large splash in the mud, instantly soaked with the disgusting brown stuff.

“Epona!” Link cries, though there is no heat in his tone. In fact, it sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Zelda looks down at her dress, now soiled beyond repair, then back at Link. He’s just as dirty as she is, golden hair turned dirty brown, emerald clothes now dulled. But when he meets her gaze, there’s mirth shining past the remnants of tears in his red-rimmed eyes. A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, begging to be set free.

“Are—are you okay?”

With an explosion of giggles, Zelda lurches forward and tackles him into the ground. More mud goes flying, splattering onto their clothing and hair.

For a moment he stares up at her, eyes wide, with surprise and something else, something…strange. It’s an emotion Zelda feels she should know, and yet can’t make sense of. But then the moment shatters and the curious tension with it. He erupts into laughter.

It sounds just like she remembers it, small and bright and cheery, bringing with it images of a forest full of life, of fairies twinkling and children playing. It carries memories of a life that wasn’t even hers and yet somehow becomes hers when he is near. It’s contagious too and Zelda finds her giggles transforming into full-on laughter that shakes her body and brings tears to her eyes.

Everything seems funnier now that he’s back. Everything seems lighter. Oh, how she’s missed him.

When at last the giggles subside, she flops down beside him, heedless of anything but his presence. His hand slips into hers, tentative, almost shy, and she squeezes it without hesitation. They lay like that, side by side, staring up into the sheets of rain until Impa finds them.

“You’ll both catch colds,” she scolds, after greeting Link. “If you wish to continue this touching reunion, you will do so while clean and dry. Come.”

She takes them by the hand and ushers them inside.

After enduring baths (and finding Link a change of clothes) they end up in the study, snuggled together under a mass of blankets. Link looks even more tired now, eyelids drooping despite his best efforts. He leans against Zelda, his cheek pressed into her shoulder, staring into the flames. Beneath the blankets, their fingers are tentwined again. Every once in a while, he tightens his hold and runs a thumb over her knuckles, as though reassuring himself that she’s real.

They talk a bit about little things—sights Link saw on his adventure, happenings around the castle, the new foal at Lon Lon Ranch. He doesn’t tell her the intricate details of his journey, though. And while she can’t deny the disappointment of missing out on the exciting tale of his exploits, she can be patient. She’ll wait for him.

She will always wait for him.

He sighs, contentedly, scooting a bit closer. Zelda lays her head on his.

“All through this long year I held onto the belief that we would meet again,” she murmurs into the silence that has grown between them. “I’m so very glad that we did.”

“Me too.” His voice is so soft she can hardly hear it, slurred with sleep. But his heart is in his words, she can tell.

“I’m really glad to be home.”

#trin writes #loz #oot #majora’s mask #zelink #fluff #linktheacehero

[grandmaster-anne]

The Princess Royal’s horses at Gatcombe: ‘They have to do something useful’

By Kate Green | Published 2 August 2020

HRH The Princess Royal has been involved with horses throughout her life. Kate Green went to Gatcombe Park to speak to her about the steeds which she keeps at her home estate today.

The Princess Royal’s name almost inevitably conjures up images of animals. Her glittering equestrian career — which includes a European championship individual gold medal as well as an Olympic appearance — is world famous, but The Princess pour her energies into many more creatures. Some 30 of her 200-plus charitable patronages relate to animals, and in this week’s Country Life — which The Princess guest edited — you can read about the sheep, pigs, chickens and cattle that she keeps on her estate, Gatcombe Park.

Kate Green’s article also — naturally — includes a section on the horses of Gatcombe, which you can read below.

There has been a new arrival — a little chestnut Thoroughbred colt foal, Reel Fashion, by jumping sire Schiaparelli out of Gatcombe mare Fiddle Faddle.

The new foal by Schiaparelli. Sarah Farnsworth/Country Life Picture Library

The Princess’s equestrian career is forever synonymous with eventing — she won the European title in 1971, a clutch of medals and was a member of the British team at the Montreal Olympic Games in 1976 — but she also rode winners on the Flat and over jumps as an amateur jockey and her horse-breeding interests centre around the National Hunt world. ‘They have to do something useful,’ she remarks.

Some of the horses at Gatcombe, including a Suffolk punch. Photograph: Sarah Farnsworth / © Country Life Picture Library

There are plenty of event horses around, too: The Princess’s daughter, Zara Tindall, herself a former European champion and a world and Olympic medallist, has hers at nearby Aston Farm and Tom McEwen, who, if things were normal, might reasonably have expected to be at the Tokyo Olympics right now, is the latest in a long line of fine horsemen to make Gatcombe their eventing base.

Princess Anne with some of her horses. Photograph: Sarah Farnsworth / © Country Life Picture Library

Amid a field of bay Thoroughbred fillies, Winnie, the Suffolk mare, cuts an imposing, solid presence. She’s also friendly — and curious, enthusiastically nibbling the windscreen wipers.

‘I bought her grandmother from the Hollesley Bay Colony Stud in Suffolk when they sold up,’ explains The Princess, who is patron of the Suffolk Horse Society, founded in 1877.

Gunner the terrier and the suffolk punch exchange greetings. Photograph: Sarah Farnsworth / © Country Life Picture Library

These striking heavy horses, with their rich chestnut coats and paler, flaxen or silver manes and tails, were bred to work the clay soil of East Anglia, but the difficulty of finding a role for them outside ploughing and timber hauling means that they are classified as ‘critical’ on the RBST watchlist.

One potential outlet is as steady, careful mounts for Riding for the Disabled, another of The Princess’s long-time patronages. ‘Lockdown has been very hard on families with disabled children,’ she points out. ‘The number of parents who say their children’s behaviour has improved thanks to riding is striking.’

Princess Anne with the Suffolk Punch. Photograph: Sarah Farnsworth / © Country Life Picture Library

The Princess’s animal charities

Much of The Princess Royal’s charitable work is concerned with farming, rural life and horse welfare. Here is the list of those charities and organisations:

Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust, Patron

English Rural Housing Association, Patron

Farms for City Children, Patron

Gloucestershire Federation of Young Farmers’ Clubs, Patron

Gloucestershire Old Spots Pig Breeders’ Club, Patron

Harper Adams University, Chancellor

Institute of Meat, Fellow

International Sheep Dog Society, Patron

Moredun Foundation, Patron

National Equine Forum, President

National Federation of Young Farmers’ Clubs, Life Vice President

The National Pony Society, Patron

Racing Welfare, President

Riding for the Disabled Association, President

Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies, Patron

Royal Agricultural Society of the Commonwealth, President

Royal Northern Agricultural Society, Patron

Scotch Beef Club, President

Scottish National Fat Stock Club, Patron

Shorthorn Society, Patron

Suffolk Horse Society, Patron

The Horse Trust, Patron

The Oxford Farming Conference, Honorary President

The Pony Club, Patron

The Royal Three Counties Show, Patron

The Whitley Fund for Nature, Patron

Working Clumber Spaniel Society, President

World Horse Welfare, President

#princess anne #princess royal #country life #article

[ronanception]

Tagging myself in to follow @eskawrites and @dufrau on putting some sweet tender love into the Ronance tag, and also post some of the shit I wrote in February that I didn't post because I'm a chump.

Have some sweet first-times

Robin can count on one hand the close, tight knit, friendships she’s had in her 18 years. She can count two individuals whose hands she had grasped in desperation when it felt like her world was being torn apart. 

Fleeting touches and caresses are foreign to her, she’s much too used to knocking shoulders and knees, grasping to pull her loved ones behind her. 

She’s not a leper, she has enjoyed brief hugs from her mother and her father, her extended hippy family. There was even that one time, after Starcourt, where her mom and dad had hugged her so tight between them that she thought she’d pop like a balloon. 

Despite all of this she feels stupid, her arms flung out spread eagle as Nancy Wheeler runs her hands across her middle and under her armpit to clutch at Robin's shoulders, bringing them together into a bone crushing hug. Soft curls tickle her chin as Nancy buries her nose into the fabric covering Robin’s shoulder. She looks at Steve in a panic. To no relief, he looks nearly as perplexed as she feels. He shrugs and then mimes bringing his arms around an invisible person in front of himself. 

Right. 

Robin slides one arm around the middle of Nancy’s back, the other curling over her shoulder so that she can squeeze her closer. Robin wants to punch herself in the face as she feels her friend stand on tiptoes so she can press further into her, her breath curling between them. Nancy shudders like a foal in Robin’s arms, tiny little gasps puffed into the sanctuary of her thick curls.

“Hey…” Robin whispers, grimacing as Nancy tightens her hold.

“I just broke up with Jon.” her friend murmurs in a half caught sob. Robin instantly goes slack, leaning against the counter so that her friend can melt into her. She rubs her long fingers against the soft cashmere of Nancy’s sweater and hums low in sympathy, giving a firm squeeze to the body in her arms.

Nancy shows no sign of ending this embrace anytime soon and so Robin holds her and murmurs stupid platitudes into those soft curls. Nancy shifts against her neck so that her lips are almost touching the sensitive skin as she inhales, three stuttering breaths in before each long exhale. 

Steve had long since flipped the Family Video sign from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’ and made himself scarce by the time Nancy begins to loosen her hold.

On impulse, Robin brings her hand up to Nancy’s cheek to smooth away the tears and mascara tracks as they finally pull away from each other. Her friend laughs, mildly hysterical, dropping her arms and bringing her hands up to scrub at her eyes.

“God I’m… I’m so sorry. It’s been… it’s been really rough.” she coughs wetly, sniffling as she pulls away. “I just… I really needed a good hug, thank you.” Nancy murmurs quietly, tangling their hands together and squeezing as she looks up apologetically into Robin's eyes. 

There was a moment, a beat, barely two seconds that they spend with their eyes connected. Nancy’s face is red from crying, tear tracks staining her cheeks and big, blue, wounded eyes searching for validation, for confirmation that she made the right decision. Robin could only stare back, mesmerized, her mouth slightly open as she realizes that she was well and truly done for, completely whipped. Nancy’s eyes flick briefly to Robins lips and then back to her eyes, a curious expression filtering across her features.

The rattling of the video store door made Robin jump directly out of her skin.

“I CAN SEE YOU.” yells an irritated, muffled voice. Robin smirks and rolls her eyes at Nancy who hides her eyes in embarrassment. “Oh god.” she whispers, mortified that a stranger witnessed such a tender moment.

“I’m coming I’m coming, god. You know the US government says we’re legally entitled to 15 minute breaks.” Robin drones, loping towards the door to unlock it, spinning the sign back to ‘OPEN’. The customer doesn’t seem convinced or happy about having to wait two minutes, skulking off to the ‘romance’ section with their shoulders bunched tight around their ears.

Robin rolls her eyes and turns around, yelping as she comes face to face with Nancy. Her friend smiles apologetically, watery eyes still threatening to spill.

“Hey do you want to… come over tonight? I could really use the distraction. We can watch whatever movie you want, even some boring art-house movie… I just…” the sigh she rattles off sounds about 30 years too old to be coming from the petite girl in front of her, “I just want to think about anything other than… that.” she murmurs, looking at the ceiling as a fresh wave of tears spill over her lashes.

Robin smiles, anxiety curling in her gut as she reaches over and grabs Nancy’s wrist, swiping her thumb gently across the soft skin.

“Of course. Go pick a movie and just run off with it. I’ll bring the ice cream and chocolate.” because hey, it’s just her and Steve tonight and he’s not gonna snitch. This is what girls do when they go through a break up, right? She feels guiltily giddy at the idea that Nancy trusts Robin enough to come to her. Not Carol, not Brooke, her. Robin. 

“Deal. Bring sour worms too.” Nancy smiles sweetly with a sniffle, wiping her eyes delicately with her fingers. Robin grins and drops her wrist, digging the toe of her converse into the low pile carpet of the video story for a second as she debates what to say next.

“That was, uh, the first time.” she announces awkwardly, belting it out too fast, too eager as Nancy turns to leave. Her friend raises an eyebrow with a little shake of her curls and a confused smile. Robin takes a deep breath and exhales, smiling, trying not to make things too awkward, wondering why she said anything.

“That’s the first time you’ve hugged me.” she elaborates, fear and trepidation flooding her as Nancy’s expression changes from curious to sad. It didn’t take more than a second before those small arms were wrapping back around her in her second official hug of the evening.

“I like that we’re on hugging terms now, officially.” Nancy murmurs, making Robin laugh into those curls.

“Okay, you. Go pick whatever movie you want. Even if it’s the sappiest, most disgustingly romantic movie on the shelves. You get first choice because we’re going to make tonight all about you.”  Robin hops back behind the counter, seeing Grumpy Gus coming back with their selection.

“See you at 10?” Nancy calls, making the customer roll their eyes. Robin grins and gives her a two finger salute.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#ronance #ronance fic #nancy x robin #robin buckley/nancy wheeler #stranger things fanfic #my writing #just a sweet lil thang #femslash february #even though I'm a month late in posting it #first times #tumblr exclusive

[newtonsheffield]

Molly!! You can’t give the tease of a class disparity romance and then dip like that??? That sounds angsty?! The Earl’s daughter?

In exchange for my eternal adoration and love may I request all the gory long suffering details?

Oooohooo boy. It's gonna get a bit messy.

Because Gregory, all of nineteen years old did look directly into Lucy's eyes and felt his heart flutter just like Anthony always told him his did when he looked at Kate.

"I'm- I'm very sorry, Miss. I hope I haven't ruined your dress." He cleared his throat, "It would be a shame to ruin such a fine dress."

The woman's eyes widened, her lips parting as she took a deep breath, "Not at all, I think you saved it. I'm very grateful Mr...?"

"Bridgerton." He took his cap off, finally releasing her waist with his cheeks burning as he bowed. "Mr Gregory Bridgerton. Might I enquire after your name Miss?"

There was a smile on her lips, a tiny little thing as as she curtsied. "Lady Lucinda Abernathy. It's lovely to meet you, Mr Bridgerton. A true gentleman is a very rare thing."

Gregory's heart sank in his chest as soon as he heard her name. The late Earl's daughter. A woman who would never look at him twice, someone he'd never see again as long as he lived.

"Lady Lucinda, I believe it's time for us to go." A maid said briskly tugging her away but Lady Lucinda didn't turn, instead she walked backwards smiling gently.

"It really was, lovely to meet you sir."

Lady Lucinda was all Gregory thought about the whole way home, all he thought about as he sat with his Nephew Neddy, feeding Nelson and Abigail's foal, all he thought about until Kate sighed, ruffling his hair.

"Greggy, what happened in town today? You're so quiet, little one."

"I'm not so little anymore, Kate."

Kate hummed, kissing the top of his head. "You'll always be my little one."

"Even if I met the love of my life today?"

Kate stilled, "Oh especially then. Who is the lucky lady?"

"Lady Lucinda Abernathy." Gregory sighed sadly. "So I'll never see her again."

Kate hummed, scooping Charlotte up from where she'd been asleep on Gregory's lap. "Stranger things have happened. Just... be yourself, as much as I love to tease Anthony about how silly he is: He raised an absolute sweetheart. No girl could resist that."

"You raised me too, you know."

Kate cleared her throat, looking away a little awkwardly. "There you go, being a sweetheart."

So there Gregory is, standing in the parklands of the Earl's estate with a bunch of flowers clutched in his hand that he'd picked from the garden on his way here, scratching Franklin behind the ears.

"We look good, right boy? Good enough that maybe you'd abandon your entire life and run away with us?"

The horse huffed, a little too much like Nelson.

"Okay, yeah maybe not that good. She probably won't even come past this-"

"Mr Bridgerton?" The voice that had echoed in his mind for weeks sprung out of nowhere, her footsteps so quiet he hadn't even heard her behind him.

He spun towards her, taking his cap from his head bowing, "Lady Lucinda, I-I realise this is a little forward but I I wondered if I might have a moment of your time?"

She smiled at him gently, her hair falling over her shoulders as she shook her head. "Mr Bridgerton, sir, I'm very flattered-"

"I'm sorry, these-these are for you." He thrust the flowers towards her, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Thank you, they're lovely and that's very sweet of you." Her voice was still so gentle, the lace of her gloves brushing his bare hands even that making his cheeks burn.

"I-I realise, Lady Lucinda, that I am... perhaps not the most suitable... well, suitor for your hand, and I realise this is terribly forward but men in my position cannot afford to be anything less with women in your position. I would like to state my intention to spend more time with you with my ultimate goal being to court you." He took a shuddering breath, glad to have gotten our the speech he'd written for himself days ago, practiced desperately since.

Lady Lucinda's face fell, her brows furrowed. "Mr Bridgerton, I would be so very flattered to receive your intentions but-"

"I-I realise that I am from humble beginnings but I'm well educated, I speak, four languages, including Latin my brother's wife taught me herself and I'm very good with numbers and I plan to make something of myself."

"No, no sir, it's not- I'm sure you're very well educated and even if you were not that would be no need for me to stop any-"

Gregory took a shuddering breath, his heart slowly breaking and he should accept her rejection, but he couldn't let it go without one last try. "I felt a connection between us, Lady Lucinda, when we met last and I thought perhaps you had felt it as well and I-"

"I did feel it as well, I did, but I cannot-"

Gregory's heart leapt, lurching forward himself, his hands finding hers. "I know this will be difficult but I-"

"Gregory, I'm already engaged. I'll be married by the end of the season."

And his heart broke as quickly as he'd fallen in love in the first place.

#you might have some bruises #grucy #lucy x gregory #lucy abernathy #gregory bridgerton #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #molly’s asks and answers

[ask-starla]

(Warning new TWILIGHT DESIGN bc I'm keep redesigning her lol)

Here, we have the start of a new series called The Flame

Below we have all three babies born within 5 minutes of each other well actually if you look at Twilights notes it’s “4.56, 5.0, and 5.3 minutes exactly) All came out of their eggs in “unique” ways both beautiful and gross.

Anyways after they the triplets cleaned they were….reluctantly placed in Discord’s homemade nesting pile because fuck reasonable cribs, but in all honesty Twilight didn’t mind and just layed by them in the pile cooing and awing at them.

*not pictured here is Applejack and Fluttershy aka the birthing dulas wiping their tears and ushering themselves out of the way.

*Applejack being a pro at homes foal births and Fluttershy being a pro at home creature births. lol gotta keep both ends covered.

———————————————————

whew been a while since I did a comic, and I finally had the time and the guts to do one again. Btw for those new Discord is the one who got preggos and birthed a clutch of eggs.

#mlp #mlp comics #twilight #discord #twicord #mlpTwicord

[transgamerism]

blood and foam

rating: T

characters: The Dark Urge, Lae’zel, Shadowheart

summary: “The Dark Urge is birthed from its prosthetic womb, carrying a new parasite and a gaping void in its brain. A Nautiloid falls from the sky.

Destiny awaits.”

ao3 link (follow for content warnings and description tags) or read below

(many thanks and especially manly kisses to @necro-hamster for giving this a look and making sure it is fit for the public eye)

The Dark Urge tumbles out of its chitinous egg, the bone and sinew womb that kept it contained. The floor rumbles beneath its cheek, the smell of acid and burning filling its nose. Everything aches and burns, this body that trembles like a sickly foal as it shuffles to its feet, unfamiliar in movement and surrounding. Its head throbs horribly, the vile grub digging around in its brain an uncomfortable sensation that makes its eyes water.

It stands in the destroyed hatchery for a moment, reacquainting itself with breath and life. The presence of limbs it can control and a head that can think, though the thoughts are troubling and jumbled. Every twitch of its eye brings fragments, a wood and stone city, a river of blood, dark tunnels. One thought bullies forward into the front of its mind: escape. Rip and tear through the fleshy membrane of this vessel, gnaw its way out, be free.

The slick corridors may have once been twisting, but now fire and the great claws of red dragons have given the Dark Urge only one way out, and they take it, moving at a swift crouch. This is familiar, the stalking, the creeping, the keen ear listening for movement. So too is the way its heart races at the sound of a voice, a tinkling whisper, brushing against its flesh. A rush of excitement spills down its spine, the promise of prey. The cooing little brain speaks to it from inside the elf’s skull, defenseless and in need of help. It’s sticky soft in the Dark Urge’s hands as it pulls the creature out of the skull, and it yields easily to its claws.

The Dark Urge thinks of its own brain, full of holes and gaps, and the pictures become reality, ripping and tearing the mind meat of the intellect devourer in its clutches. It shreds with claws and then teeth, playing more than eating, though it does indulge in swallowing a few precious morsels as it does its work. The taste is foul but the feeling is elation, and it drops the dead thing to the ground, a pile of trembling pink viscera.

The next living creature the Dark Urge encounters seems less edible, a yellow thing protected by a shining silver carapace, perfect at deflecting the Dark Urge’s claws and teeth. It is also armed with a long, wicked talon of its own, aiming it at the Dark Urge as it hisses curses. The Dark Urge hunches into a defensive position, mind racing as it considers points of escape and how to pry the edible fleshy bits from the silver shell, when a new attack leaves it prone, clutching its poor shattered skull.

Images accost it, sights and smells: a star streaked black sky, the smell of blood, others with yellow faces, the flash of silver swords, the arched back of a red dragon. A curious creature, pink fleshed and topped with fluffy white hair nearly obscuring small horns, utterly naked and scored with scars, flaming eyes peering out of a snarling face.

The Dark Urge flinches away from recognition, understanding that pink beast to be itself, perceived by another. It blinks up with new understanding at this Githyanki, the title pulled from its connection with the other. She no longer has her blade leveled toward its throat, but sneers down at it all the same. “You are no thrall,” she says, though her tone is uncertain. The Dark Urge, too, is uncertain, but rises to its feet. She’s a small warrior, but it can feel the controlled power coming off of her. This Githyanki would have made a very poor meal.

She further demonstrates this barely a moment later, when they are beset by small fiends, imps that flutter on naked batwings and throw fire with their hands. The Githyanki uses her sword well, and appraises the Dark Urge as it descends on an imp with clawed hands, ripping a wing off and flinging it over the side of the Nautiloid (another word lifted from the Githyanki’s mind). The remaining imps fall easily, leaving the Dark Urge coated in stinking sulfurous blood.

The Githyanki drops to her knees a few paces away, stripping the clothes from a corpse and holding the fabric pile out to the Dark Urge. At its questioning look, she clicks her tongue and says, “Reaching the helm will be easier if you are less exposed. Quickly!”

The Dark Urge takes the clothing and puts it on, muscle memory having it tie the boot laces before its mind catches up, same with the shirt buttons. It feels odd, fabric separating it from its bloody work. Was it like this before? Was it used to cotton and wool softening its body against slaughter?

The Dark Urge is familiar with this, tethered to the leash of the Githyanki’s command, ripping through a few more intellect devourers (armed now with twin daggers found on another corpse, and small handheld crossbow), but seeing another trapped within her own nautiloid womb gives it pause. Behind each blink are images, blood blurred and aching, of entrapment within the mindflayer mother’s cradle. Each time the half-elf pummels the glass with her fists, the Dark Urge feels a sympathetic pain in its own hands.

It defies the Githyanki’s demands, releasing the half-elf from her prison, reveling in the rush of disobedience, of choice, even as it makes the Dark Urge’s guts heave with uncertainty.

The half-elf rises, her long dark braid swinging, and for a moment the Dark Urge expects the smell of coppersweet rot and roses, sees a long blonde plait in its mind’s eye, but then the feeling is gone and this Shadowheart is thanking it. The Githyanki scowls.

“What is your name?” Shadowheart asks, and the Dark Urge blinks. There is only flesh, and broken brain matter, and the urge to rip and tear. Aside from that, and the flickering tingles of memory that tease at the corners of its mind, there is darkness. And yet, on instinct, the Dark Urge’s mouth forms an answer.

“Étaín,” it says, a hundred times, a thousand, the name it has always had. Easy and natural on the tongue, and yet it bids forth no association. Just a bit of flotsam bobbing back and forth on the cool dark waters of its destroyed memory.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” the Githyanki snaps, stalking away toward where she’s certain the helm lies. Étaín and Shadowheart fall in behind her, Étaín’s mind a lapping tide of foaming secrets still.

#bg3 #dark urge #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #dark urge fanfic #op #good to rb

[elvesandlanterns]

Ghost helpline part 14 New Meetings and New Beginings

Vlad knew three things about Bruce Wayne; he was a playboy, a philanthropist and loved kids. Oh and he was utterly ditzy, kind but dumb. As his kids would say a “himbo”. Vlad relaxed as he scuttled about the kitchen and platted them both up some lasagna.

He briefly wondered where Red, Jack he should get use to calling him Jack, had gone as he walked into the living room and saw the Wayne stare at the television. He had been in the middle of his latest k-drama when the door rang. The drunk looked inthralled with the show, turning to Vlad with a dopey smile. Vlad past him the plate of food before explaining where they were in the plot.

A part of him felt his scars itch as if to remind him of his mistakes. Don’t trust humans, don’t get too close. But as hard as it was to admit, he was lonely and even if they had hurt him he missed them.

Vlad wrapped his robe around him tight.

This was fine, Bruce Wayne was harmless anyways.

—- —- —-

Jack will admit to this not being his best idea, but the blob ghost had informed him that Violet was sick. Nothing major but … still. Jack wanted no needed to help.

He helped the family move in, using his speed as discreetly as possible. He hid in the kitchen and tested the Masters neighbors cookies for poison. There wasn’t any. He went to help but Violet wasn’t there.

But now he could help, there were vampires in Gotham. If he followed the direction to Bludhaven right he should come across a patch of flowers. A fever reducing potion should be easy to make from there.

There were vampires in Gotham so Jack really couldn’t be blamed for assuming he’d never run into a were wolf here.

- Aqualad patrolled Bludhaven as he waited for Nightwing, they had a case to work on. Nightwing is late but that isn’t anything new. He’s texting the acrobat about it when he spots her. It’s hard not to look, especially in a place a dreary as Bludhaven.

She has fine red hair cascading down her back. Her outfit is entirely pink. Like really pink, right down to the platform shoes. The mysterious girl is deathly pale clutching a bedazzled phone for dear life. It’s almost as if she is looking for something. Kaldur feels bad chances are she’s lost. The Atlantian turns around and heads off to meet the Nightwing anyway.

—- —- —-

Boston left Zatanna and John to their bickering, he already knew where they would go to get information. A seedy pub, or illegal trading ring maybe they’d even go some fancy library but Boston knew where the real action was at.

He flew off to Fawcett City.

The door chimed as he walked into the store, the door reading “Mystic Hannas Hair Salon: We’ll change your look like Magic!” Ah it was good to be home.

—- —- —-

Harley is delivering Ivys latest stash of drugs to Penguin when she feels a shadow come from an alley. Which can’t be right. The bats know better than to get that close to a target. She bends down to scratch her new pets ear. (Pan had been getting creative lately.) Taking advantage of her spot on the ground she looked at the alley until something came out. Oh a girl. A girl with violet eyes… fuck what was a meta kid doing out here by herself? Looking closer she was covered in something too. Gross.

Violet stared at the blond woman from across the street. She had a cute little celery dog, it reminded the demon of Auntie Sam. It oozed the magic of the green, so that was probably a good sign right?

“Hey what are you waiting for an invitation get over here!”

Violet smiled, it would seem that she had passed whatever this lady’s test was. She had been stared at and not found lacking, that was a first. It felt nice.

Harley could not believe someone would just let their meta kid run around Gotham. Especially near the Ice Berge Lounge. Her little celery dog seemed to like her tho tugging on their leash to get closer, wagging its tail in glee as the girl trotted across the street like a new born foal. And that was concerning, a good sign that celery dog liked her, she was actually coming over here? Just because she’d asked? What the fuck? Did the kid want to get murdered? Because that’s how you get murdered in Gotham!

Harley squared her shoulders and opened the door to the empty pub, “Come on in, let me charge my phone so you can call someone to pick you up okay?” God Harley hoped she wasn’t a runaway. Well then looks like it was up to Auntie Harley to teach the new kid the rules of Gotham, it could be her good deed of the year she thought.

Celery Dog rubbed itself against the girls legs, “Well hello little one, aren’t you just marvelous.” Her voice was small and quiet. Celery Dog sprouted little flowers at the compliment, which wtf? Did celery even come from flowers? She was so going to have to tell Pammy about this. This kid was interesting.

—- —- —-

Dandelion “Dandy” Masters was pissed. What was meant to be a short trip to pick up his sister was slowly but surely becoming a disaster. They missed several turns, blew two tires, somehow ran out of gas and now, now they were lost!

Charles got out of the car and held his cellphone out looking for bars, “Oh snickerdoodles I got like no reception.”

Dandy sighed, “Hand me your mirror.” None of the clones, aside from Alcor, had shown any affinity for magic. Dandy hated using mirror phones the most, he considered it a waste of magic crystals.

Charles leaned over his brothers shoulder, “Dandy… why the fuck are we in Rhode Island?”

Dandelion zoomed out into the distance of the mirror, “Welcome to Happy Harbor”, he wasn’t entirely sure how but he knew this was all Klarions fault.

—- —- —-

Bruce sat him self on the man’s couch being served his own butlers pasta on a paper plate.

Paper plates, plastic forks, no cameras.

He scans the room as the TV plays a sappy romance show.

Pictures, pillows, art projects litter the area.

Vlad rewinds the show to read the subtitles, again. “The subtitles are wrong, what he actually said was ‘I won’t leave you’.”

The man’s eyes positively lit up at him, “You know Korean!”

“Yes I know multiple languages actually.”

Something about the way he said it must have come out wrong because shorter man shuffles back from him.

“Sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just really tired of that being so surprising to people.” And it wasn’t a lie exactly he knew how important his Brucie person was but sometimes…

“Oh. Does that happen a lot?”

“Does it matter?”

Vlad shuffled away from him again. Bruce feels like an idiot.

“It does, did did that happen today? Butter biscuits is that why you came over drunk?”

Drunk ? He wasn’t, oh right. Bruce Wayne is a notorious party animal. A notorious party animal that just invited himself in to the man’s home. A man that is three inches shorter than him and probably weighs a hundred pounds less. Bruce feels like an absolute asshole.

Think! Bruce think! Say something!

“So tell me about your kids?”

Vlad’s responding smile takes the weight off the bats shoulders.

—- —- —-

Aqualad and Kightwing are investigating a potential Vampire Fog death when they hear a howl. The heroes looked at each other, wolves aren’t native to the area?

They are outside of the building as quick as possible immediately spotting a blur of pink. Dick almost assumed it had to be a speedster before it stopped suddenly. Her eyes connected to Aqualads, arm scratched bleeding red pupils blown wide. Kaldur saw their fangs last, bracing himself as the creature rushed forward!!

… and hid behind him, “Sanctuary! Please sanctuary!” A not so girlish voice rang out at the same time a mammoth creature of hair and claws rounded the corner braking the edge of the building.

Jack closed his eyes, he knew the stories of the King of Atlantis. That he deeply cared for all his subjects, if any of them got hurt on land there would be hell to pay. On top of that all Atlantians were warriors, Jack was a home maker.

Jack wanted to see Violet again more than he cared to keep his pride. He kneeled behind the dark skinned, handsome ocean native and plead.

“Please Atlantian help me.”

Notes

In this Vlad is 6’ and 170lbs

Batman is 6’ 4 and 250 (internet said 210 I looked my self in the mirror and laughed so 🤷‍♀️ 259 it is)

Violet = Konstelacio

Red = Jack, yes he is a vampire.

Jack is a tall boy, he dresses very Kawaii and loves to cook and clean and take care of people. He can make potions and tinkers in mechanics.

Aqualad doesn’t mean to misgender Jack- to be fair he is wearing a dress. 🤷

#danny phantom #batman #justice league #dc x dp #dp x dc #redeemed vlad #ghost helpline #billy batson #the justice league #@mayoota blog1 #@roseisred #@starkcravingmad #@busterkeel #clones #@icedbluesoul #@vixen uichah #@alikoyuii #batfam #@mimilikey #@dodekakophonie #celery dog #celery dog needs a better name #fireball the horse #@delicioushologramperson #helpline part 14 #helpline part 13