#graceful yet lumbering

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

Dying a little bit over Pete being willing to die for Steph in both Abstinence Camp and NPMD. Granted, in Abstinence Camp it isn't super obvious that's what he's doing, but Pete had a badly injured, possibly broken, leg. He was only mobile in the first place because of Steph supporting him. And yet when Lumber Axe is going after Steph, Pete tries to intercept Lumber Axe, and when he can't due to his leg, he starts shouting and flailing and throwing stuff to divert his attention onto Pete. If this had worked the way Pete had intended (he had no idea the magazine would stop him like that), then Lumber Axe would have gone after Pete, and with his leg, he wouldn't have been able to run. He would have been sacrificing himself to give her time to run.

And of course, in NPMD, Cool As I Think I Am Reprise exists. As does the scene immediately following it where Pete tries to fight the intangible ghost jock that wants him dead to keep him away from Steph, which Max breaks his arm for.

Pete would have died in both of these situations to save Steph (probably in vain), if it weren't for wild turns of events taking place to prevent it (the porn magazine frightening Lumber Axe; Grace appearing in the nick of time to reason with him; Max pulling a Hamilton; and Grace fucking a ghost to hell)

I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank goodness for Grace Chasity's impeccable timing and her impressive prudishness for saving Pete and Steph in both stories.

#if i had a nickel for every time grace chasitys complex relationship with sex saved steph and petes lives i would have 2 nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice #this was originally just going to be me skreeing over pete being a selfless selfsacrificing idiot #but then i realized the common link of why they actually survived was grace and i had to include that too because its really funny to me #npmd #npmd spoilers #nerdy prudes must die #nerdy prudes must die spoilers #nightmare time #pete spankoffski #peter spankoffski #steph lauter #stephanie lauter #grace chasity #lautski

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 1)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult content, descriptions of alcohol abuse, illusions to casual sex, language, all the angst, etc.

“That had better not be a fan in there.” Josh hisses, just loud enough for his disheveled twin to hear as he stumbles by on his way to the bathroom.

There’s a girl, sprawled out and snoring softly, in the bunk Jake has just lumbered from without grace.

A sound of irritation grunts out of a still half-inebriated Jacob. “Dunno. Met her at that bar, I think. Can you get her out of here? Call a car to meet us at the next rest stop, or something? Make sure she gets home?”

“Get her out of here yourself.” Josh snipes, clearly angry and far beyond exhausted with this all too familiar song and dance.

His brother ignores him and slips into the bathroom. Likely to expel whatever whiskey is still sloshing around in his belly, before showering to wash her perfume from his crawling skin.

The girl, another nameless body to sink into, will be gone by the time he’s through, he knows. Josh will make sure of it. Bless him.

Under the spitting heat of the water raining over him, the tears come again. He loathes them, these tears. Will they ever end? Will he ever find something he can at least pretend to call peace?

Yet, he clings to them…a security blanket of sorrow. Each one a talisman of grief and loss. He would gather them all up if he could. Bottle them into something tangible and accusatory to shove in the face of fate…

Look what you’ve done to me! He’d spit, vibrating with rage. You took her! How could you fucking take her? Where is she? I can’t breathe another second without her. I’m dying, I’m fucking dying.

Most days, he wishes death would finally find him. Most nights, he hunts for it, in self destructive ways. He doesn’t find it, of course, that would be a kindness the universe doesn’t seem to care to offer him. Instead, he seeks that numb and beautiful void. Crawls down into the darkness of endless bottles and women he doesn’t know.

No, he doesn’t wish his agony away. He is attached to it. Comfortable inside the dank, slippery claw of its cruel embrace. For without it, what would be true? That he was finding light again? Without you? The very idea makes him want to crack open his own skull to wash the thought away.

You live in his pain, and if that is how he must have you, that is where you’ll stay. He will keep his pain, gladly.

George Jones was right - he’ll stop loving you the day they lower him into the ground with pennies resting over his eyelids. The sooner, the better.

You’re gone, but you’ve never left him. If he has things his way, you never will. Though, you’re fading…blurring around the edges. Were you ever really there at all?

He once imagined it was all a dream, you belonging to him as well, and he’d wished to never wake up. He wishes for that still, when sleep doesn’t evade him and the booze doesn’t steal his dreams of you. Your laugh, your voice, your skin, soft as a sigh and just as warm. The way you held in your sneezes. Why does he dream about that? It always worried him, mildly. Annoyed him, even.

“Just sneeze!” He would goad you, shaking his head. Why? Why does he dream of that? It makes him feel off-kilter, slightly insane.

When, finally, he trudges out of the bathroom, hair dripping onto his still clammy shoulders, Josh is waiting, just like a spider.

He stretches his arm out across the narrow hall, blocking Jake’s path with his makeshift web “When are you gonna get your shit together?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The shove between them is half-hearted. Jake is too drained, and too hungover to make it stick, and Josh’s soul hurts for his twin too badly stomach much more. “Move.”

Josh ignores him in favor of nodding over toward the now vacant bunk, “She looked like her.”

“Fuck you.” Jake ducks beneath Josh’s arm and instantly feels unsteady. Shit, he drank way too much…but what else is new? Josh sidles right back into his path and the spinning in Jake’s head is all for nothing.

“Yeah yeah, fuck you too, brother.” The elder twin is unfazed. Concerned, but unfazed. “They all look like her. But none of them are her, and you know it. You have to stop this, Jake. You have to fucking stop.”

“What part of fuck you didn’t you understand?” He’s being cruel, lashing out with anger that has nowhere else to go. He’s just so angry all the time; it’s a revolting but necessary salve for the hurt. Rage is softer than pain.

Does he blame his brother for you loving him, too? For the fact that Josh held half of your heart and ultimately, that took you away? That it was easier for you to leave than to choose? No.

Does he blame Josh for getting over you? For somehow finding solace and peace? For letting you go? Yes. It seems such a betrayal.

See? He wants to say to you, to hold the words out like some twisted, desperate offering. See? I loved you more all along. Do you see? Come back.

Josh stands his ground, but his words come kindly, and soaked in empathy, “It’s been three years, Jake. You can’t keep living like this. I’m worried. We’re all fucking worried. I look at you and it’s like watching some disease swallow you up. She isn’t coming back. I’m sorry, but you need to hear it. You need to get your head around that.”

With another shove, Jake maneuvers the tight space and steps forward to slide his bunk’s curtain aside, “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I know, but she…”

Jake turns on his brother, whipping around with feral, furious flames burning wildly in his glare, “I said I don’t want to fucking talk about her, and don’t you ever fucking say that to me again. That she isn’t coming back…”

That seething fury dies out in an instant, only to be replaced with that all familiar sorrow as he hangs his head, loathsome and ashamed of his display. “I’m sorry…just don’t, just please don’t say that. I can’t stand it.”

Josh can feel his heart splintering for his brother. The misery that radiates from Jake like a blackened aura makes him want to turn away, but his loyalty holds him still, to bear witness. He won’t leave him alone in this.

“It should have been you.” Maybe he shouldn’t say it, maybe it will only make the hurt worse. Maybe he’s feeding the beast. But he says it anyway, because it’s true, “Probably right from the start it should’ve been you. But it wasn’t and at some point you’re just gonna have to swallow that.”

Jake visibly deflates, shrinking in on himself as though he’d love nothing more than to disappear…and then he’s silently climbing into his bunk, where Josh knows he’ll stay until he is forced to emerge for soundcheck and wardrobe.

Josh has watched this play out over and over again. A groundhog’s day of mourning.

Jacob will go through the motions - he will make sure your name and a pass is waiting at will call, as though you might decide to materialize at the venu like some miraculous mirage. His eyes will scan the crowd incessantly for a face that isn’t there…and those same eyes will avoid his twin’s when he sings those terrible lyrics, please stay, don’t go away.

…and then he will get smashed as quickly as possible on whatever is readily available and take someone to bed who has eyes that remind him of yours, and a name he won’t care to ask.

~

Hours later, things are going to plan, just as they always do, with three of them checked into their respective rooms at yet another hotel, and Jake lingering in the lot, hidden away in his bunk.

Josh is trying to meditate, humidifier hissing moisture into the air beside him as he searches for his center. Legs pretzeled and folded beneath him. He hums quietly, just enough to coast along the vibrations. Some days are harder than others when he’s seeking to turn off his mind, relax and float downstream. Today is one of those days.

The carpet in the hotel is too thin, he feels as though he’s perched upon concrete; the walls are also thin to match the flooring, and Jake’s torment is tugging at him relentlessly. Something is different. Something feels off.

He reaches up and runs a flattened palm across his chest, finding comfort in the stark white cotton of his shirt and the mala beads that rest against it. When your world changes as often as theirs, you find your constants in the strangest places.

With a slow, deep breath he begins again, but a knock snatches the promise of celestial calm. Immediately, he’s annoyed - but it fades almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t going to happen this evening anyway…something isn’t right, and it’s got to be Jake. He’ll deal with his unexpected visitor and then make his way back down to the buses to talk with him.

Connecting with his brother a little will serve as his meditation tonight.

Josh finds Danny’s face distorted and warped by the peephole, and pulls the door open.

“I was trying to achieve inner peace, dick,” he jokes, turning to allow Daniel in, “but you just had to—“

His brother by heart is on such high alert he’s nearly sparking with the electricity of his frantic nerves as he cuts him off, “She’s here, man.”

They rush out of him, those words that carry so much weight, as his hand rakes through his unruly curls, “I just saw her. She’s fuckin’ here.”

Josh needs no clarification, he knows exactly who Danny means, “No she’s not.”

“Yes, she is,” For all of the space he takes up in the room with his size and presence, he sounds remarkably small. They both understand the weight of this, and what it could mean for Jake. “I ran into her in the lobby. She’s in town for work, had no idea we’d even be here…she asked me not to tell you, but…”

“Fuck,” there is a tremor in Josh’s curse, and the weakness of his own voice makes him wince, “Fuck! This is bad. What if he sees her? He can’t handle that, I’m telling you right now.”

Josh can handle that. In fact, he thinks it might be nice to say hello. To hug you and ask how you’ve been, to smile and let you know that hard feelings don’t exist…

But Jake is another story altogether. You broke his heart when you went away. This time, you might rip it right from his chest.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @gretavangroupie

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #fanfic #greta van fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #jake gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #gvf jake #gvf josh #josh kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka fic

[chocolatechubby]

Bernie's Big & Tall

By Fatbrwncub

(posted with the permission of the Author)

The biggest problem--excuse me while I finish this last bite of cruller--is where to begin. It all seems to have happened so fast. One minute I'm standing in the unemployment line, trying to figure out where my next meal is coming from; the next thing you know, I'm getting the doors in my apartment widened so that I can get through. Oops! There goes another button.

Let me go back to the beginning--back to that unemployment line. My lover and I had been having problems making ends meet. There wasn't a great deal of a demand for my particular line of work in the winter---I was a lifeguard. At 6' 2" and 180 pounds, I cut a muscular frame, but everyone looks pretty much the same bundled up in parkas. My old job at the "Y" would probably have hired me back, but the pay stunk. And with a new lover, Sean, I had another mouth to consider. Sean suggested that I try modeling --his chosen profession, but as gorgeous as he was, he wasn't getting much work either. Why should we both be jobless cover boys? So, I headed to the unemployment office. Maybe something there would turn things around. Little did I know how right I was.

The place was depressing. Fluorescent light and peeling yellow walls covered everything like a moldy blanket. Cheap plastic chairs were set up for clients to wait for their turn to be humiliated by the next available counselor: "You'll have to take forms 2 thru 26 to windows 5 thru 14. Fill out lines A thru F on forms 30, 31, & 45; have them notarized and come back to me.... THEN I can tell you where the rest rooms are." As much as I needed the money, I wasn't up for that kind of run around. The YMCA was looking really good at that moment. As I got up to leave, I noticed the chair next to me quiver ever so slightly--as if a tremor were going through the building. The little table next to it was moving too. Now being hundreds of miles away from California, I knew it couldn't possibly be an earthquake. I was wrong. It was indeed an earthquake in human form. From around one of the peeling yellow corners, came the largest guys I had ever seen. His stomach seemed to go on forever, riding over his belt and spilling onto his massive underbelly like a tidal wave. Each of his labored steps made it quiver and roll. His arms, chest, and shoulders were so large that he had to twist his body slightly to maneuver the corner, yet each movement had an elephantine grace that was something to see. He was dressed impeccably in a suit that must have been tailor-made for him: it hung gracefully on his gargantuan figure. He was quite handsome, dusty blonde hair and neatly trimmed beard, and the bluest eyes. Growing up, the party queens I hung with always made fun of fat guys. Somehow, I always found something vaguely attractive about men with extra meat on their bones. I absent-mindedly rubbed my stomach as I watched him make his way to a Job Resource bulletin board on the other side of the room. He scanned the whole area carefully--deep in concentration, he seemed to be looking for someone. When his eyes met mine, his mood abruptly changed. His full round mouth had a slight smile on it as he zeroed in on me. I got the feeling he was studying me-not in that "cruisey" way, but as if he were trying to figure me out. He, raised a sausage-like finger, and motioned me over to him. For some reason, I wasn't taken aback at all. Something about him seemed so familiar. "Looking for a job?", he said. "Kinda", I replied. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a candy bar and a folded piece of green paper. "Wanna bite?", He asked. "No thanks…", I replied "…but I could use work." He unfolded the piece of paper and tacked it on the bulletin board, smudging it slightly with the chocolate from his fingers. "Well then, you might wanna check this out." With that, he took a large bite of candy bar, turned around, and began lumbering back down the hallway. I was about to say something when he stopped and turned around again (no easy feat for a man his size). "How old are you?", he asked. Slightly startled by his abrupt departure, I blurted out "29." Before I could ask him why it mattered, he patted his mountain of a stomach and smiled a knowing smile: "Same age as I was when I started at BB&T. See ya' around Danny!" And with that, he and his tremors were gone.

BB&T? I looked at the piece of paper for a moment. I took it down from the board and began studying it--trying to make it tell me more about the big, mysterious stranger. But all it did was sit in my hand and smell of Hershey's. The only writing was a quickly scribbled address and telephone number: "Bernie's Big and Tall-525-BIGG. The chocolate had formed a ring around the writing so that it looked like a halo. I laughed at the idea of working in a big men's shop, but hell, I needed work badly. Besides, something inside me started recalling the times when I'd been oddly aroused by the large men who were the butt of my friends' jokes. Maybe by working there, I could discover what the attraction was all about. I walked over towards the pay phone in the corner chuckling to myself. That's when it struck me that he'd called me by my name-Danny. Did I know him? He really did look familiar....

The phone rang ten times before someone answered at Bernie's. When someone did pick up, they were so out of breath I had to wait a couple seconds for a "hello". Then I remembered what type of establishment this was---all the employees probably looked like the guy I'd just met. Well, if for no other reason, they could hire me to answer the telephone. I smiled. It turned out to be Bernie himself on the line. Before I had a chance to say "Hello", or introduce myself, Bernie cheerfully announced: "Danny! Joe said you'd be calling! When can you start?" I was stunned. I stammered out, "B-but you don't even know me!" "I don't have to!" was his amiable reply. "Anybody that Joe picks will work out fine!" I didn't have the guts to tell him that I had no idea who the hell "Joe" was, but then maybe he was an old friend of my family's. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially from such a large horse!

Bernie's Big and Tall was in a little strip mall just outside of the city. It took me two maps and three detours to find it. I almost gave up, but something told me to keep looking. A small card shop on one side and a bakery on the other flanked the store, and were the only other establishments in the complex. I was sure the employees at the Big and Tall kept the bakery in business because it was too far away from anything else to have a regular clientele. The store itself was rather unimpressive: a sign painted on the window proclaimed "Bernie's" with a silhouette of a rotund man underneath. A couple of half dummies sat dejectedly in the window--the clothing which covered them obviously too large for their frames. The one rather curious and slightly impressive item was the door to the front of the shop. It was huge. Much larger than the doors in most retail establishments, it must have been custom made for Bernie's king-size clientele. What did it feel like to need extra room for everything? When I put my hand on the handle to push the door open, I got the strangest feeling that if I stepped across the threshold of this place, my life would change forever. "This is ridiculous!" I remember thinking to myself "It's just a job for goodness sakes!" I pushed the door open and went in.

Lone Star's "I'm Already There" was playing on a far off country music station as the bell over the door gave a little tinkle. The place had that slightly musky perfume of your grandfather's closet-that subtle scent of fine pipe tobacco and Old Spice. The shop was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and had a second level with a balcony and offices that overlooked the showroom floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was on a sound stage for "Land Of The Giants"-everything seemed oversized. From the racks that were set up for the tallest of the tall, to the suits that looked like they were made for Guinness Book Fattest Man nominees. All were neatly hung on rotating racks or show room displays. I'd never worked retail, but somehow I felt right at home. From above boomed a lusty voice: "Danny!". I looked up to find a large man leaning on the steel railings of the balcony. It didn't seem possible, but he was even bigger than Joe from the unemployment office. Every part of him was fat-from his puffy hairstyle, to his big feet. He looked like a balloon character from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I half expected to see wires attached to him with people below maneuvering him. "Bernie?" I queried and his hearty laugh confirmed it. "None other my boy! Come on up!"

Bernie's office was at the top of the stairs. As I bounded up, two at a time, Bernie let out a chuckle "That's something you don't see many of our salesmen do!" He ushered me ahead of him and I walked through another enormous door to find myself in a small room, made smaller by its furnishings. It consisted of a small oak desk, and a computer-standard office fare. However, the large refrigerator, stand-alone pantry, coffee maker and microwave were not. "Before we begin, may I offer you something to eat?" Bernie asked, already carefully maneuvering his way around the desk to the refrigerator. It was somewhat surreal watching this super-sized man practically squeeze his way through the cramped quarters. He opened the refrigerator to reveal a small deli: meats of all kinds, exotic breads and cheeses, beverages ranging from soft-drinks to fine wines, all carefully stocked within its quarters. Bernie rummaged through, and pulled out an overstuffed submarine sandwich and began munching. His grunts of pleasure permeated the office, and instead of revulsion, I actually enjoyed watching this man eat with such gusto. For so many years, I had deprived myself of some of my favorite foods in exchange for the washboard stomach that I possessed. Maybe, if I worked here, I could live vicariously through these guys. My internal reverie ended with Bernie's voice. "Well at least share a cup of coffee with me. I hate nourishing myself alone." I smiled my assent and Bernie squeezed his way to the coffeepot. I was not a big coffee drinker, but I figure a little kiss up wouldn't hurt my job prospects any. Besides, for some reason the coffee smelled particularly delicious.

Bernie produced two mugs-each with the Big and Tall logo I had seen on the front door of the shop. "How do you take yours?" he cooed. "Black" I answered. "Well you must indulge me one small addition to your mug…I make my own blend of spices that seem to really liven up the coffee-nothing much, just some cinnamon and vanilla. Stuff like that. You're not allergic to anything are you? I told him no, and he took a small packet from the standing pantry, tapped it lightly on the desk, tore the corner and emptied the contents into my cup. The granules looked like Folgers Crystals-little flecks of something shiny danced and fell gracefully into the mug. Bernie took a small silver spoon and began stirring the coffee. The aroma was like nothing I had smelled before. Memories of big Sunday breakfasts and hearty Thanksgiving dinners suddenly became as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. Nights spent eating cotton candy and funnel cake at the local carnival-laughing with my friends and gorging on hotdogs-all seemed palpable. Bernie brought the mug close to my nostrils and placed my hands around it. "Drink, my boy. And then we can talk about your joining us at BB&T."

Almost mesmerized, I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. The beans of the coffee blended with the spices and my taste buds seemed to spring to new life. The thoughts of all of the goodies I had denied myself over the years began to turn into a craving, then a hunger. I could feel my stomach began to growl for food. I had grabbed a McMuffin when I'd left the unemployment office, but that had been several hours ago. It was natural for me to feel starved. But in the middle of a job interview? I had to eat something. As if on cue, Bernie produced an enormous plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Have one?" Bernie again cajoled. "I--I--…" I stuttered, but no other words would come out. The cookies looked like manna from heaven. I could feel the drool forming on my tongue. I grabbed one and placed it in my mouth. It melted like butter, blending with the coffee and exploding my senses like an orgasm. My crotch leapt, writhing with the rise and fall of my breath. I came up for air, took another cookie and a sip of the coffee. Again, the exact same sensation-yet more intense. I thought I was going to erupt right then and there. I gulped more of the drink and began inhaling the pastries with lightening speed. In less then ten minutes the entire plate was empty. The wildest thing of all…I was still hungry!

I looked up at Bernie, who was standing over me with a knowing smile. "It's always better to talk on a full stomach." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another overstuffed submarine sandwich-twice the size of the one he'd just eaten. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with one of these?" My mouth opened automatically, and Bernie floated over and placed the monstrous hoagie in my hands. I tore into it as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. In between bites, Bernie suggested that we carry our meeting to The Blue Whale, a restaurant frequented by he and his staff. As I rose to go, onions and lettuce falling everywhere, Bernie touched the intercom on his desk. "All right boys…" the echo of his voice could be heard in the showroom below "…time for our foray to The Blue Whale! Close up shop!" In between munching, I could hear, and feel great activity from the floor below. The floor vibrated much like it had done in the unemployment office. We moved out of the office and onto the balcony to a sight that would have sent my old faggy friends into a tizzy. Below were five of Bernie's staff-each one plumper than the next. They stood at attention as we came down the stairs. Bernie introduced me to each, ending with their newest salesman, Dominic. He had to weigh at least 350 pounds. "This is our baby!" Bernie gushed, pinching Dominic's flushed cheek. "Been with us about a year" he poked Dominic's round middle. "He's starting to fit in quite nicely." Bernie lumbered towards the door, pulling me along with him. "Daniel here will be joining us for lunch-and hopefully more. Make him feel at home." And still in a spin from all that had happened since walking through the doors of Bernie's Big & Tall, I was off to The Blue Whale.

The Blue Whale was quite nice--muted tones of aqua and gray gave it warmth and style. A Bach concerto whispered softly as Bernie and the other salesmen took their seats. We had been ushered to a table in a private area of the restaurant--one large enough for the substantial girth of our party. It was obvious that Bernie and the gang were regulars, because all of the wait-staff knew everyone by name. It was also pretty obvious that time that the entire staff of Bernie's was gay. Underneath a curtained archway, a cadre of handsome waiters looked ready to break into a chorus of "Hello Dolly". They giggled and whispered as if they were dance hall girls anxious to see which gentleman would pick them out of the crowd. The headwaiter, who looked to be about Bernie's size, clapped the others to attention. "Don't just stand there like a bunch of schoolgirls! Take these gentlemen's orders!" he barked. "Oh Jacques," Bernie cooed "...just bring us our usual!"

I was returning to normal, my appetite assuaged and my pants screaming to be unzipped-my distended belly playing hide and seek with the buttons on my shirt. It was time to ask about hours and pay, and all the standard stuff. As I opened my mouth to get down to business, the first of the waiters arrived with the appetizers. There was enough food to feed a small city. Plate upon plate of mouth watering delicacies passed before the table: shrimp wrapped in bacon, small puff pastries stuffed with creams and cheeses and meats-anything that I had ever seen at fancy buffets was now being placed under my nose. I thought of the spectacle I must have made in Bernie's office, and my stomach began to turn. The thought of more food was making me nauseous. And then the coffee arrived. Jacques himself brought out the ornate samovar and ushered it towards Bernie. "Monsieur Bernie" he chimed. "Ze coffee wis your special mix eez ready". As Jacques opened the spigot and poured the first cup, the table went silent. Unbelievably I could feel my stomach loosen. I could feel the insatiable hunger I had felt in Bernie's office return. It was as if I had never eaten the mound of cookies. Just the aroma of the incredible liquid wafting into my nostrils was enough to make me want to stuff something in my mouth. All around me, the other men were having a similar reaction. I remember seeing episodes of "Wild Kingdom" with sharks or packs of wolves in a feeding frenzy. There was a primitive ritual about to happen, and everyone knew it. As the coffee was passed around, Dominic, began to sweat. When a cup made it to him, he grabbed it, and chugged down the hot liquid as if it were the first drink of a dehydrated man. He then grabbed the nearest tray of hors d'oeuvres and began shoveling them into his mouth. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tipped the tray up and up until he was literally swallowing and chewing almost simultaneously. A waiter quickly scurried over and began wiping his brow and massaging his hardening belly. I sat in awe as I watched each of the sales guys fall into the same kind of trance-that is until my cup reached me.

I recall one of the adventures of Homer's "Odyssey", in which Odysseus and his men encounter the witch Circe. Once on her island, she turns most of the men into animals. Bernie had led his men into the modern day version of that adventure. I don't remember much about the rest of that meal. As my haze parted from time to time, I was aware of grunts and moans of pleasure coming from around the table. Slurping and guzzling and licking were followed by burps and the occasional button pop or zipper pull being loosened. Halfway through the fourth course, everyone abandoned silverware and began eating off of plates and trays with their hands and mouths. I found myself caressing and licking the gravy off of plates as if it were a lover. No mouthful seemed enough-I couldn't get the food in fast enough, and the sounds and sights around me seemed to urge me on. By dessert, each man was no longer able to feed himself. The waiters took over and began shoveling whipped cream, cakes and pies into our dazed faces. I can't tell you how much I ate, but I literally couldn't move. My belly was as hard as a ripe cantaloupe and I closed my eyes and slept.

When I awoke, the entire table had been cleared off. Any trace of the feeding frenzy had been wiped away, and all of the men had been cleaned up and were groggily coming to themselves. If it weren't for the screaming pain coming from my stomach, I would have thought it all a dream. Standing above me was a beaming Bernie. "I hope you got enough to eat." The boys and I do this at least three or four times a week. Don't worry about the bill…I take care of that." I sat up and blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. Bernie handed me a packet of papers-the standard Human Resources forms to fill out along with information about my salary and benefits. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw how much I'd be making. It was at least five times what I would have made at the "Y". How could he afford to pay for all of this? Bernie saw my reaction. He said "Don't worry, this salary is only temporary. With raises and incentives you'll quadruple it in no time. So do we have a deal?" Was he crazy? I propped myself up on my swollen stomach and shook his hand. "On one condition" I said. He cocked his fat head and his chins wobbled. "What's that, my dear boy?" "That you give me some of that coffee to take home"

In the beginning, everything went along pretty normally. The store practically ran itself. And I was more than content--I was happy. The first time I noticed something different was after my initial lunch with the guys. The next few days, I was ravenous. I ate from morning till night. And I craved the coffee with the secret ingredient introduced to my by Bernie. One morning, about a week after I had started working, I rolled out of bed and began getting ready for work. Sleepily I showered, shaved, and stumbled into my clothing. I stepped into my dress slacks and pulled them to my waist. They wouldn't close. With my swimmer's lifestyle, I had been a perfect size 32 for years. I never had to worry about putting on weight. I went to the scale in the bathroom and stepped on. Since I had begun working at the store, I had put on ten pounds! "Not acceptable." I thought to myself. I sucked in my stomach, fastened my pants and made a mental note to go to the gym more often and most importantly--to cut out lunching with the guys. But somehow neither thing seemed to happen--I was constantly working until after the gym closed. And not going to lunch with the Bernie and the gang became as unthinkable as not having cup after cup of the delicious mysterious coffee. I began to have strange dreams: I would dream I was in the middle of Africa in the bush country, taking pictures of wildlife, when the earth would begin to shake. Suddenly an enormous Bull Elephant the size of a building would come crashing through the tall grasses and block the sun. I was terrified until it would dawn on me that I was the Elephant! Then, understanding my power, I began breaking down trees, even mountains--growing more enormous with each new conquest. After one of these dreams, I would always wake in a sweat, run to the kitchen, and raid the refrigerator--absent-mindedly eating until I was sleepy.

After about three months of this, I could no longer hide the results. I tried to wear my size 32 pants until they had all systematically exploded off of my frame. My suit jackets had begun cutting off the circulation in my arms, and my old shirts were laughable on my new frame. Between the daily lunches, midnight binges, and very little gym time, I had gone from 180lbs, to 230. My pants size had gone from the perpetual 32 to a 42.

One night, about a week before my 30th birthday, I tiptoed into the bathroom when I thought Sean was sleeping. I took off my clothes and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. My face was so round! I was beginning to develop a pronounced double chin. My thighs and ass were full and big, and my stomach was beginning to grow into this ball of soft flesh. And my tits! I remembered my high school gym teacher teasing Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor: two fat kids in my class. He used to call their soft round mammaries "man-tits", kidding them about having bigger ones than most of the girls, (which was true). I used to find those two guys fascinating: the way they lumbered onto the field for class, the way they looked in the showers. I knew I was gay back then, but it was something more than that. And here I was with my own set of "man-tits". I touched the right nipple, and then the left--crossing my arms and inadvertently giving myself cleavage. Electricity shot through my entire body. My nipples had become so sensitive! Caught in my exploration, it took me a moment to realize that my lover Sean was standing behind me. He had come in to use the toilet and noticed me in the mirror. "You're fat," he said as he sleepily relieved himself, kissed me on my chubby cheek and padded back to bed. He was right. I WAS fat. But looking in the mirror, I wasn't sure that was a bad thing. I touched my nipples again and headed for the kitchen.

The next day at work, Bernie and the guys threw me a birthday party and presented me with two gifts. The first was a container of the special ingredient for my coffee, and the next was a new suit from the store. It was the first size that we carried for big men. I was still a size or two away from needing to shop at Bernie's and had decided to keep it that way. "No offense guys...", I said, "...but I plan on never wearing clothes from our store!" "Well we can always get it taken in." Bernie quickly replied. "We just wanted to show you how glad we are that you're here. Now cut the cake and have some coffee!" I declined the cake, but I had 3 cups of coffee. That evening determined to change my eating habits for my 30th year on this planet, I took off early and headed for the gym. On the way, I passed restaurant after restaurant, fast food joint after fast food joint. I kept thinking to myself, "You've got to lose weight." Yet every time I would ask myself "Why?" I couldn't come up with a good enough answer. Until I thought of Sean's comment in the bathroom: "You're fat!" "You could lose him", I thought. I steadied myself and pointed the car in the direction of the gym. When suddenly, a little voice spoke to me: "But if you go to the gym right now, you could lose YOU." Suddenly I was starving. I turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, ordered a 20-piece bucket, and ate the whole thing in the car.

When I got home, Sean had prepared a huge meal of pasta, fresh bread and salad. Even after my trek to the Colonel's, I wolfed down plate after plate. Sean announced that he had news--good and bad. The good news was that he had landed a choice modeling assignment with a top agency. The bad news was that the agency was out of the country and he would be gone for at least 5 months! I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to scream, "It's me isn't it? I'll lose the weight! Don't go!" But instead, I stuffed some more food in my mouth and hugged him tightly. I loved him too much to stand in his way. And if he found someone else with a swimmer's build who made him happy...so be it. Sean had to leave the day before my birthday. As he hugged me before he boarded the plane, he whispered, "See you later fat boy", in my ear and walked away. And I knew I'd never see him again. When I got home, I pulled out the suit Bernie and the guys had given me and put it on. I looked like a kid playing dress up. Even though I was working on a size 44 waist, the pants had to be at least a 46. I thought of Sean and suddenly felt free. I sat down with a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch and heavy cream and imagined myself filling out the pants.

What happened next is all a blur. Knowing that I had lost Sean, I poured myself into my work and my food. Both satisfied me intensely. The store was doing great business. It seemed that the more I ate, the more productive I became. I was growing daily. Every time I turned around, a button would pop or a zipper would break. I began to carry around safety pins to keep my clothes up--it became a running joke around the store. The guys who used to seem enormous to me suddenly began to look average. I became the star at the Blue Whale. The waiters would line up to be my encourager and with Sean gone, I used their attention to help me forget about Sean. Bernie, who was no slouch at the dinner table, would watch me in amazement as I polished off plate after plate of entrée after entrée with all the trimmings, the servers massaging my distended belly and cooing at my appetite. Then go to work on the dessert cart. I stood in the mirror more often now. I was officially fat by anyone's standards. My face was so round that sometimes I wouldn't recognize myself. Because I was constantly lifting heavy boxes, my arms were huge and firm, as was my chest. But my stomach became my favorite area. I would hang out at the bar around the corner from my apartment and drink beer after beer to the amazement of all the guys. I started wearing suspenders because no pants it seemed would hold my ever growing gut.

In the first month after Sean left, I put on 35 lbs. I tipped the scales at around 265. From then on, not a waking (or sleeping) moment went by that I didn't eat something. I even took food breaks in the store. Bernie was right about the suit I was given for my birthday--I DID have to have it altered...eventually it had to be let out--twice! Sean would call and we would have stilted conversations. He would ask me if I was still gaining weight, and I would avoid talking about it. He would tell me he loved me, but I knew it was just talk. The company had extended his contract--he didn't know when he'd be back. Every now and then, I would get a postcard from some exotic place saying, "Having a Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here". But I was too busy to notice. I was becoming the Elephant of my dream. I could feel my power.

In the next few months, I surpassed all store sales records, and there was big talk of a promotion to store manager. Except for the prospect of leaving this location, I couldn't have been happier. At least, when I wasn't thinking about Sean. The 5 months had quickly become 8 and then 10. In that time, my physical gain had become as impressive as my professional one. In the year since I had begun working at Bernie's, I had gone from 180 to 380 lbs. My waist had gone from a 32 to a 62. I was beginning to make earthquakes of my own.

One night I awakened from a dream (in which my stomach broke through the walls of the Empire State Building) by a voice in the darkness. "My God! You're huge!" it was Sean's voice. He was standing over the bed. He sounded different somehow. My first instinct was to grab him with my big arms and engulf him in my newfound mountain of flesh and warmth. But anger quickly welled up inside of me and I sat up in bed--the third empty large pizza box falling off of my stomach. "Yes I am." I said proudly, "You got something to say about it?" "Yes..." he said-I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved closer. "We are going to need a bigger bed." And with that, he turned on the light. My mouth dropped. When Sean left, he had been a 6 foot 1 inch, 170 lb. cover boy: now standing before me was a 6 foot 1 inch, 285 lb. (he told me later) gorgeous Buddha. His round face now covered with a lush beard. It was obvious that he was gaining weight faster than he could buy clothes to fit him: the T-shirt he was wearing wouldn't fit over the big round belly protruding over his tight size 48 jeans. "How?!...Why?" I stammered. "By eating dummy!" he laughed. "And I have a feeling that the delicious stuff I borrowed from you to put in my coffee helped". "But I thought you didn't like me fat!" I was almost crying now. Sean sat on the edge of the bed--which groaned under the over 600 pounds of us. I could see how horny he was as his great stomach heaved. "You never asked. You just assumed I wouldn't want a fat lover. I loved watching you pig out. I'd come in the bedroom after you'd gorge and jack off. Didn't you notice how intense our love-making got after you started putting on weight?" "I thought you were over-compensating because you loved me." I said. "Of course I love you Danny, but not in spite of how much you weigh-your size turns me on! I want you as big as a house!", was his breathless reply as he kissed me full on the lips. "And I hope you're ready for me to join you." He took off his shirt to reveal burgeoning man-tits and the most beautiful belly I had ever seen. He straddled me, opened my robe and began exploring my under-belly, kissing it and licking lower and lower. I felt hungry and horny at the same time as I pulled him to my crotch. We broke the bed that night.

T hat was three years ago. When I waddled into work the next day, I was beaming. Sean and I made love all night, and then spent the entire morning eating the breakfast to end all breakfasts. During which, he told me of his adventures in Europe. He spent the first few months pining over me-not eating, not sleeping. Once he began drinking the coffee, his appetite returned and he immediately found solace in food and proceeded to eat himself out of his misery. Of course this began to show on his waistline, and after a month, he was let go from his modeling contract. As luck would have it, a photographer on the shoot also worked with a new European catalogue designed for big men. He introduced Sean to the head of the company and the rest was history. Sean spent the remainder of the tour eating and posing in the finest cities of the Old World. He really had a wonderful time and wished desperately that I had been there. We decided to get married and spend our honeymoon eating our way through all of the spots he had discovered in his travels.

When Bernie saw me, he sensed the change immediately. "My boy, either you had sex last evening, or discovered that Little Debbie delivers-which was it?" We were in his office, munching on crullers. We had positioned ourselves so as to be able to reach the refrigerator and standing pantry without moving: we had become so large that it was impossible for the two of us to move around. "Both" I laughed. I told him of Sean's return, and of his amazing transformation. I told him that my life was complete: I had a job I loved, and a partner whom I adored. Bernie smiled, and in it, I thought I caught a hint of bittersweet sadness. "Well then," he said. "…my job is done." And he immediately began opening drawers, removing papers and stuffing them in a nearby briefcase. Stunned, I spattered out "What are you doing?"- crumbs spewing across my white shirt. Bernie smiled, and calmly explained. "I am a business man my dear. I have many other BB&T locations to check on. Joe, the man you met at the unemployment office, is my lover. He's already gone off to our store in Portland, and now I can join him. We needed to find a manager for this store that we could depend on and trust to carry on my traditions. We found him." He reached over and patted my stomach, which was wedged against his desk. "But…but…" I searched for words. How could I tell this man that he had become my mentor, my father-my friend! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "But where will I get more of Bernie's Secret Mix for my coffee?" Bernie laughed "make it yourself darling-I told you, it's just cinnamon and vanilla." I stared at him blankly. "But what about the secret ingredient? The stuff that makes us so ravenous?" Bernie chortled "The secret ingredient my boy, is you."

I looked down at myself. At 400 lbs., my 4X dress shirt was already gapping in the front around my stomach. People moved out of my way when they saw me coming because of my size. My whole world had become food-I expressed myself in how much I indulged. Was Bernie saying that this had been my destiny all along. I thought back to High School-to Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor-to the big men who would intrigue me when I was with my friends. I realized, not only did I want to HAVE them, I wanted to BE them. And now I was. I guess he was right: it was in me all the time.

So now I run Bernie's Big & Tall Store #836. We consistently bring in the highest revenues of any in the chain. We also have the fattest staff. I've had my offices expanded to include a full kitchen, and have hired my favorite chef and waiters from the Blue Whale to prepare in house meals for my staff. I surpassed Bernie's weight about a year ago, and am so fat that I had to install a freight elevator to get to the second floor, because the steps are impossible for me to maneuver. I am fast approaching Guinness Book proportions. As for Sean-he now models for Bernie's catalogue. He quickly outgrew the standard sizes, and a new super-size line was developed. Sean also recruits new employees for the store. He now tips the scale at over 500lbs., and is the most beautiful roly-poly thing I've ever seen. So you see, dreams come true in the strangest places. Who would have ever thought that I would find my life's calling in an unemployment line? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to interview a potential salesman that Sean found, and I have to brew some coffee.

By the way…are YOU looking for work?

The End.

copyright 1998 by Fatbrwncub

#CCstories #f #fatbrwncub

[dragon-ascent]

Gosh I absolutely adore your writing and I feel less alone in my love for Zhongli as this like actually inhuman, strong, all powerful deity who finds this human he is with adorable. I just can’t get enough of Zhongli who finds humans as a species fascinating yet cute. And you feed us such sweet big dragon Zhongli!! I love him being a graceful yet giant lumbering beast i feel so not normal about it 😭

Eeee thank you sooo much! And yes, I perceive him the same way so I'm so happy to be able to relate to how you feel about him~ he's always been fascinated by humanity but still hasn't quite gotten the hang of mortal life (as seen by his perception of time in his Venti voiceline), so when he has a human lover, there's potential for so many encounters that are fun, silly, (un)serious, and cute!

And eastern dragons are naturally inclined to love and care for humanity which is definitely a really important part of his characterisation ;u;

I'm vvvv insane about dragon Zhongli too so don't worry, I will feed u so much more of him! <3

#sini answers #zhongli #he is literally everything

[amidstthemists]

You, a troublemaker, have a chance encounter with Buggy when he and his crew raid the ship you’re on.

You were always the jokester on your ship. The rest of the crew tolerated it, but jokes were your bread and butter. As a pirate, the days were long and the work was hard and you’d be damned if you didn’t keep yourself amused with silly rhymes, one liners, snarky comebacks, absurdisms, whatever you could come up with, really. Usually you were responded to with a roll of the eyes, a suffering sort of smile, even silence, but sometimes you said a real zinger and got the crew to come together in laughter. Those were the best times. But you enjoyed some of the less tolerant reactions too. You found a particular enjoyment in being a menace.

When your ship was taken over by a group of theatrically inclined circus pirates, everyone in your crew was certain they would all be dying in strange, unusual, and possibly theatrical ways. That was what you were prepared for, too. And, sure, it was unfortunate, but at least the lighting was sure to be great and your inevitable demise was sure to be creative. Being a pirate, believe it or not, was often very tedious business unless you were actively in the middle of some mischief. Dying sucked, but at least it would be interesting and keep you occupied.

And your good humor, much to your captured crew’s chagrin, was there to keep you company until the theatrically inclined circus pirates figured out what to do with the lot of you.

When a certain clownish pirate captain made an appearance, sauntering around the deck of your ship as if he owned the place, a member from your crew elbowed you hard in the ribs and warned, “Better not be planning any funny business.”

If your hands weren’t already raised in surrender with the rest of the crew, you would have put them up defensively. But a mischievous smile was playing on your lips as you said, “Who knows what I’m planning?”

“Who said something about my nose?!” Captain Buggy’s voice was so loud that everyone jumped at the exclamation.

Your eyes moved over the fine yet intimidating figure that was the invading clown pirate captain. His outfit was flashy and makeup was unapologetically clownish. He moved with a grace and confidence that belied the outrage he clearly felt over a comment on his nose. You realize that he must have been insecure (and, overall, overcompensating) for something, but what really got your attention was the frown that defied how his makeup stretched into a smile. His makeup begged for him to smile and, aside from whatever insecurity he harbored, he looked like he could take a good joke. It would be a shame if he couldn’t take a good joke, after all, since he was, in fact, a clown.

Everyone averted their eyes when he stared them down, shining blue eyes roving over each member of the crew you belonged to. Everyone, that is, except you. You looked back at him, unwavering, an amused grin on your face.

“What’re you smiling about?” He questioned, taking a few lumbering steps over to you. He was so tall and moved with such unique grace, such intense purpose.

“What? People can’t smile when they see a clown anymore?” You asked back, daring to lower your hands only to be jabbed in the ribs again, this time by a member of Buggy’s crew. Your hands darted back up into a surrender, but you rolled you eyes as you did it. “I thought that was, like, the whole point. And, anyway, you should think about smiling more. A frowny clowny is a little bit of a contradiction, I would think.”

Buggy advanced until he grabbed ahold of your collar and said, head cocked and inches from your face, “Well, Captain Frowny Clowny is a little pissy-wissied because some fuck-twat should have kept their mouth shut instead of talking about something that wasn’t their business. And, come to think of it, I could have sworn that voice came from your direction. Do you know anything about that, princess?”

You could feel his breath on your cheeks, could feel how strong his hand was, and wondered in equal parts what it would be like to be kissed by someone like him and what it would be like to be thrown overboard by someone with such enthusiasm. When you smiled again, his eyes flickered to your lips before darting back to lock gazes with you. He was impatient like a man but as feral as an animal in his intensity.

“I do.”

“Oh, really? Pray, why don’t you share with the class what you know?” If he was an animal, he liked to play with his food before he ate it.

You felt everyone’s eyes on you and you knew that he felt them too: the captive audience for his performance. But he didn’t know that you liked an audience, too.

“All I was saying was—“

“—so it was you who had something to say. Why am I not surprised?—“

“Hush, I’m not done.” Your voice was a little choked from how the collar cut into your throat, but you pushed on anyway, smile as unwavering as the rest of you. “All I was saying was that why are you so upset about your nose when you have so much more to worry about? I mean,” you wheezed out a giggle at how the expression on his face changed, “I mean, you have twice as many eyes as you do noses and you’re acting like your nose is your biggest problem. What’s up with that?”

“What?”

“And don’t even get me started on your ears.”

You and Buggy stared at each other in silence. The whole ship seemed to be holding a collective breath. Your smile settled into a closed mouthed, triumphant smirk, and when he looked at you like he was trying to read another language, you wiggled your eyebrows. Then, just when you thought he was going to throw you overboard after all, a smile broke through the clown’s determinedly fierce looking scowl and you two started to laugh together.

He released his grip on your collar, smoothed down your shirt, and slung an arm over your shoulder. “You’re not half bad, princess.” He started to lead you away from your crew. “You know, I’m feeling generous.” He looked to his crew, “Take the loot, take whatever you want, but they get to live. Go crazy. Let’s give them some stories to take back to port about Captain Buggy and his dastardly crew.”

He waited for the chaos and carnage to start before looking back to you. “Have you ever thought about running away with the circus? Because do I have an offer for you…”

#buggy the clown #opla buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #no y/n #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy x you #opla #one piece #one piece live action #foul language #but no other cw #fluff #this has been on my mind for a while #so has the stupid clown #why do I love him

[chainofhyrule]

My Star

There were many so-called “simple pleasures” the Deity had given up hoping for, long ago. Those pleasures, it seemed back then, would forever evade his company. His only remaining hopes had been dashed over the long course of his imprisonment. He never pictured he’d have much of a life of his own, let alone a happy one, where he wasn't ever only needed as a weapon of war. Nor could he have imagined he’d ever be anything but just that; a mere tool made for destruction of mass proportions. Centuries spent as a weapon of war had sharpened his blade yet dulled his spirits, and he’d long ago convinced himself that this was it. That this was all there was to him. He’d even stopped seeing it as a problem.

…But then he met you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way, despite his lumbering size and threatening demeanour. Despite everything he was, and had been up to that point. He knew, and so did you, that all it would take was a flick of the wrist, and someone could get hurt, even if only unintentionally. When asked if that frightened you, you’d responded with a smile, and held his hand in yours with warmth entirely foreign to him. Yet it was not unwelcomed.

‘I trust that you wouldn’t, though. Even though you can…I trust that you wouldn’t.’

How the Deity’s heart leaped at the sincerity of your statement, at the time, was far beyond him. You were so small compared to him, so seemingly fragile in his hands. He was afraid to touch you at all for many days after his meeting you, for fear that he would mistakenly harm you. How could something as small and precious as you hold up to a god designed for war? Such a thought that you’d even be capable of such a thing had evaded him.

…Until he saw you in battle.

You belonged, he knew, with the gods. There was no changing his mind on the matter. The Deity even had to convince himself many times that he was not watching a dance or a show, but a fight. Your movements were so carefully precise, so fluid in delivery, and so graceful in execution, he couldn’t help but watch in sheer awe of your divine skills. You were the perfect epitome of beauty and strength, grace and skill. Your blade, barely even visible as you swung it, cut down enemies with such swiftness he had to wonder if you were secretly a deity yourself. However, he knew fate to be much less than kind, especially to you.

Your years would pass in the blink of an eye for the Deity, and he cursed the cruel hand of fate for such an atrocity. Without even so much as another second thought, he found himself wishing he hadn’t even wasted those precious days following your chance meeting, unwilling to even accept your walking beside him for the fear of somehow hurting you. Now, there was nothing he found himself wanting more than to have you by his side, every single day, while he still had you.

From that day forward, the Deity admits he tried forging some kind of connection. With you. He noticed you growing more bold in attempting a bond between yourself and him as well, and he was more than accepting of your affections. For instance, the Deity liked to say that he didn’t require much, so he scarcely ate at meals, if at all. You didn’t seem to take well to that. You even went so far as to force a bowl or plate in his hands, sitting pressed against him in some way to encourage him to eat. All he could think about in those times was how warm you felt against him, and how small, but he knew your capabilities. He always finished his helping.

You cared about him. He quickly found himself reciprocating that care, for you. So now, comparing himself now from the days following your meet, felt so…surreal. So…impossibly, wonderfully true. 

He had his back against a tree, sitting straight against it, with your cosy form nestled into the space he’d created for you by crossing his legs. The group of heroes had stopped in a small clearing along the road for the night, after a long day of trying to make it through a field of monster camps. The one called ‘Wild’ was cooking something in an iron pot, with the one called ‘Four’ helping to cut a few things for him. The one called ‘Wind’ was drawing with a stick in the dirt close by. The others each sat somewhere around the clearing, sleeping, or performing weapon or armour maintenance. You, however, seemed content to sit in the Deity’s lap, back against his chest, nose in a book.

The Deity couldn't help but notice how perfectly you fit in his embrace, his body surrounding yours like a living frame. You were so comfortable here, and so at peace. Soft sounds of entertainment left you every so often, from the book or from the group’s antics. Your laughter in response to some of their stories was perhaps the most divine sound he’d ever heard, and though he wished it were him bringing you such joy, he was glad to be here for the sound of it.

Perhaps it was uncalled for, but the Deity had a thought. You were cuddled so naturally against him, the scent of your shampoo—and what he assumed to be the worn pages of your book—assaulted his senses in all the best ways. You were the only thing on his mind, as you would always be. He wanted to somehow express his own content, as he was not always best with his words. You seemed to enjoy his touch, always reaching for it, even in the beginning.

The Deity hummed to himself, and hunched just slightly to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your startled little yelp amused him, though it caught the attention of the rest of the group. The Deity couldn’t bring himself to care much, however, as he had you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way. Should he not at least attempt to reciprocate those attributes? He wanted you to know how grateful he was to you, even if he couldn’t find ways to say it. You were worth every attempt, he thought—that, and anything and everything he could possibly give you. He’d gift you the very stars in the sky above if he could, until you beheld to him a galaxy in your eyes.

“Everything okay, Fierce?” you asked him softly, your book forgotten as you placed it on the ground at your feet. The Deity hummed again, into your neck, sending vibrations down your back. He noticed a slight shiver travel against his chest in return. How interesting.

“I am only making myself comfortable, my star.”

A breathy sound then left your lips, resembling a cross between a light chuckle and a happy exhale. He hoped he hadn’t startled you too much, but you’d surprised him when your hand reached up behind you to cup his jaw, and you twisted your neck to kiss his cheek in a lingering press. A great warmth flooded his chest at the simple gesture, spreading down to his fingertips in a curious phenomenon. One he’d never felt before, but longed to feel again.

When your lips left his cheek, he was perplexed to find how cold his skin felt in their absence. He resisted the urge to touch his fingers to the spot, instead clasping his hands around you.

“Fierce?”

Your voice sounded small. Perhaps it was to keep the others from listening, so he acknowledged you with an equally soft tone.

“Yes, star?”

He heard you exhale quietly, observing the way your cheeks pulled from behind—a sign you were smiling. He wished he could see it.

“Why do you call me your star?” you asked him, your hand falling from his jaw to brush against his hands across your waist. “It’s sweet.”

The Deity took a moment to consider his words, and looked up towards the night sky far above. He had so many things he wished to tell you about his choice of endearment, but struggled to find a way to express them. Eventually, he opted for simple honesty.

“Because, my love, before I had met you, my world only ever consisted of darkness. Confined to a mask, used only as a method of protection against foes of terrible sorts. When not of use, all I endured was a lightless and lonely shadow.” He buried his nose in your hair as he continued to speak, speaking quietly so the others—namely, his previous host—could not hear him. “Until I met you. You, my shining star, became my light—my beacon of guidance—leaving smaller stars in your wake for me to follow. You’ve given me hope for something…far greater than I’d previously thought possible. For that, I shall be forever grateful.”

The Deity took careful notice of your stillness, and leaned to try and get a look at your face. Had he frightened you somehow? He wanted to somehow explain that frightening you was not his intention. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

He expected your silence, perhaps not in this context however, but not the sudden strain of movement against his arms around you, as though you were trying to leave. The Deity felt his heart sink, his head feeling oddly heavy on his shoulders, but removed his hands to allow you to go. Even if every muscle in his body longed for you to stay. He would not force you.

He perhaps expected you to run to one of the others, maybe distance yourself from him. If that was your wish, he’d accept it, if somewhat reluctantly. He really didn’t expect you to only turn into him, your arms raising to hug his neck.

“You’re not alone here,” he heard you whisper into his ear, as you hugged him tighter. He didn’t want to move. “I won’t let you be.”

Any doubts clouding his mind cleared way for you, lining your path to his heart with warmth, and the Deity didn’t know how much more he could take before he really scared you away.

You held no shame in your actions, straddling his lap as you held onto his neck, your face buried in the crook of it. Your breath was so warm against his skin, your touch electric. Everything about you clouded his senses, but he’d be the last to wish it away. This was the closest you’d ever brought yourself to him, and the Deity hugged around your back to keep you there as long as he could. Strong arms supported you against him, and if any of the others had anything to say about the display, they kept it to themselves. He’d likely have ignored them anyway.

He had you. You were here, and you weren’t going anywhere. You had his heart in your hands, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was weak for you. He longed to have your heart, and he hoped this was a step in the right direction.

That, he thought, would be the greatest treasure imaginable.

(Tap here to return to Masterlist)

#Fierce Deity #Fierce Deity x Reader #x Reader #Legend of Zelda #chainofhyrule #former Ignis post

[alexanderlightweight]

In traditional lore, Nephilim are giants. AU where the average Nephilim is 7-8ft tall.

hey babe, ily and ty for the prompt <3 i'd say enjoy but you already told me you did when you read it ^_^

-

The thing Magnus has always detested the most about nephilim, is that they think they can use their size to intimidate others. 

And for some, a seven or eight foot warrior heaven-bent on exterminating you for your birth can be a bit unnerving. Especially when they’re trying to kill you for something you have no control over.  Magnus, however, is a royal, no matter how much he and his father fight. 

It shouldn’t be considered a luxury that Magnus has no such fears or worries, but it is. 

Because even eight feet of muscle and angelic grace and adamas cannot compete with the gifts his father has given him.

Yet, Magnus muses as he eyes a very specific blushing, eight foot tall shadowhunter who is very much pretending not to be enamored with him, there is something to be said for height.

It takes Magnus several nights of debates with both Ragnor and Cat before he decides he’s going for it. The worst Alexander can try to do is try to kill him, and it will be a disappointment but not necessarily a surprise.

Alexander is a surprise, however.

He stutters when Magnus compliments him and trips over his own boots when Magnus steps close and touches him, hand to his arm or back.

He’s like a giraffe, all long limbs and while he’s definitely a predator, he’s not a lumbering force despite his size. He’s cautious and steady, prone to quiet tracking and long distance marks.

Their relationship starts slow and it takes time but it grows.

Alexander is hesitant with Magnus, not because he thinks Magnus will break under his touch, but because he still marvels that he’s allowed to touch.

Alexander is rare, even for a nephilim. Taller and broader than any in his family or his Institute. 

And he’s gorgeous and lovely and he’s so sweet, delicate even,  despite his size.

He seems awed by soft touches, as if Magnus’ gentleness is something he’s never been allowed.

Alexander crumbles under Magnus’ touch like it’s a blow and he shivers under Magnus’ kisses like they’re an avalanche of pleasure.

And Magnus loves it, the way Alexander shudders and surrenders and gives all of himself over to Magnus. 

His large form under Magnus’ and the way he lets his limbs be pinned for Magnus’ delight and perusal. 

He’s cold and hard like marble sometimes, when Magnus binds him down and teases him until he’s writhing at the bonds. 

And Alexander’s anger strikes inwards, not outwards. Magnus seethes every time Alexander pushes his own emotions aside and bows his head at a reprimand.

“You could just kill them, all of them.” Magnus mentions idly one night, from where he’s lying on Alexander and kissing him softly, the day too exhausting for anything else.

And Alexander smiles, something dark and dangerous that Magnus adores and murmurs, “where’s the fun in that? I learn so much more this way.”

Magnus watches closer, after that. The way that Alexander’s hunters began to close ranks, around Alec and around their relationship. 

Robert shows up once and leaves as fast as he arrived. He’s a measly six foot compared to his heir and whatever business he had, he regrets it as he turns tail.

“The clave lost the soul sword.” Alexander tells him that night, “he thought he could manipulate me into not telling you.” And Alexander smiles, sharp and vicious, “I showed him the error of his ways.”

And Magnus, Magnus can’t take it and he pouncesand, as always, Alexander goes where Magnus wants. 

It’s only the cushioning of magic that saves his muscles from bruising but Alexander doesn’t care. Not with the way he’s reaching out to hold onto Magnus and the way he’s pliant and sweet when Magnus tells him to be good.

“My darling, my sweet boy.” Magnus croons and Alexander looks at him with wonder and awe. One of Raziel’s own children, worshiping demonspawn more devotedly than he does his own divine sire. 

—

The first time Alexander is injured, Magnus shows actually what he thinks of other nephilims.

He lets loose his power, throwing every single shadowhunter no matter their size and angelic grace into the walls. He strangles one of them with angry red magic, lifting all seven feet of them off the ground before throwing their still form to the ground.

“I suggest,” Magnus says, cold and fierce and covetous, “that you open those doors.”

The clave has tried to prove their influence and if Alexander’s Institute is to be forcibly taken from him — because of the actions of others. 

Then Magnus will simply take Alexander, who has dedicated and promised the entirety of himself to Magnus, by force. 

The infirmary wards shatter with a flick of magic and Magnus throws the medical team surrounding Alexander out the windows.

Which was not how he’d planned it — Cat always gets upset when he’s rough on medical personnel but he thinks she’ll forgive him this once— and he’s at Alexander’s bedside in a breath.

Alexander is furious and heaving and fighting with inhuman snarls against the bonds holding him.

He’s breaking them, Magnus realizes, by sheer force of strength and will. Fighting against the straps like he’s never once tried to with anything Magnus has tied him down with.

“Sweetheart,” Magnus says and he cups Alexander's jaw, unafraid of the snarling and snapping maw of needle-sharp teeth.

Alexander goes still instantly, the eerie and inhuman glow of his eyes fading.

“Magnus.” He gasps and suddenly there is a snap as a strap breaks and he’s reaching out, large hand trembling as he places his hand over Magnus.

It’s large and calloused and shaking as he clings to Magnus and Magnus croons and leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“Darling, here. Let me help.” Magnus says and snaps away the remaining bonds. He’s marveling that Alexander just snapped through what looks like adamas and leather just because he wanted to touch Magnus. 

That Alexander wants Magnus enough to splinter and shatter angelic and divinely blessed metal. 

“Magnus.” 

Is whispered like a prayer and he’s being hauled down like he weighs no more than a feather.  Alexander keens as they kiss and his arms wrap so tightly around Magnus that it hurts and Magnus wants him to never let go. 

“I have you, my darling.” Magnus whispers, tender and true as he nuzzles Alexander's jaw. 

And then they’re gone. 

And a few weeks later, Magnus watches his extremely tall, giraffe of a boyfriend climb a palm tree in three body lengths and he hums in contentment. Alexander is shirtless and Magnus is very much enjoying the show he gets every time Alexander insists on fetching a coconut rather than Magnus using his magic. 

Truly, a little extra height can be quite enjoyable.

#writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #lumine writes #shadowhunters #magnus bane #malec #alec lightwood #immortal husbands #shadowhunters au #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

[silverslipstream]

An Acquired Taste

It was an uncommonly hot autumn day when Yulia Lebedeva first tasted fruit.

By the standards of New Seoul, the phrase ‘uncommonly hot’ seemed naive. From the great hydro-powered pumps and dams working around the clock to keep the Yellow Sea at bay, to the multicoloured throng of fans whirring from roadside bazaars, the city of twenty-six million was shaped, moulded, created by heat. It may not have been Hell, but there was no denying both places had a connection to the same feverish warmth.

The teeming thoroughfare of Sambong-ro yawned before her. Rickshaws shot past lumbering solar landbarges, the cacophony of pedalling legs and hydraulic whines drowned out by the background hum of sheer humanity. The pavements and main roads were supposed to be a pristine, reflective white: years of wear underfoot had turned them into a dirty ochre. It reminded Yulia of videos she’d seen about the Amazonian savannah, and the humans crawling across it of the late wildebeest; flowing like sand through fingers. Despite each individual destination, the masses kept an unconscious, graceful totality quite unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Nevertheless, it was a little overwhelming. Shuffling left past a haggling seaweed-seller and kicking aside a discarded plastic bag, Yulia eased her way into a claustrophobic canyon. Her first thought was that the sun had been inexplicably cut off; the staggering heights of the surrounding buildings had plunged this narrow alleyway into a strange twilight. Whereas before she had been sweating in the stagnant humidity, now an artificially funnelled breeze was at her back. 

The light was bluer here, relying more on artificial lighting than the meagre strip of sky daubed overhead. Faded, mottled walls, a pervading sickly stench and a collection of ramshackle vendor’s huts conveyed the area’s poverty. A window-mounted softscreen overhead flickered and buzzed, sending a trail of boron-green sparks skittering down like ash from a cigarette’s tip. Music quietened as she walked further; the clang of metal gantries echoed above as inquisitive inhabitants rushed out, peering closely at the presumably lost foreigner.

The stench grew stronger as she reached the vendors and their wares; the faint, leafy scent of algae vats, the spicy, cloyingly sweet tang of soy-beef and the metallic stink of blood and assorted bodily fluids. An old lady, perched behind what looked to be a fruit stall, yelled a few words in what sounded like Mandarin. Yulia smiled back in what she hoped was an encouraging way and pointed to the translator device looped around her left ear. A moment later, the fruit seller’s words were whispered in perfect, monotone English, directly into her ear.

“Hey! Lost lady! Want to try some fruit? Real fruit, from Hokkaido, not vat-grown, no soy-fruit! 60 Sphere-yuan each!”

Real fruit? From a real tree? I’ll believe it when I see it, thought Yulia. The few remaining fruit plantations were guarded and tended to by corporations or the ultra-rich; not piled in front of a stall in some backwater New Seoul alley. She peered closer; the fruits were pear-shaped and a deep ruby red, with small green seeds rippling their skin. It was probably just another vat-grown scammer, she rationalised to herself.

Yet, her curiosity was piqued.

“Can I…” Yulia said slowly in English, pointing to herself, “...try one first?” she asked, pointing to the fruit and miming a bite. The woman nodded, and held out her right index finger to transfer the funds. Yulia’s fingerpad pressed against the old woman’s for a moment, then down, grabbing a fruit from the topmost row. A sharp word was uttered by the seller as Yulia brought the fruit to her lips.

“Enjoy!” said the translator as she bit down.

Her first thought was confusion. The flesh of the fruit was moist but not juicy, and had a surprising amount of thickness to it. It was almost…chewy? Crisp sweetness rolled around her mouth, a sugary taste so unlike the food tubes she was used to back home at the Institute. The seeds stuck to her teeth and cracked: they filled her mouth with a tart, sour tang. It seemed similar to the flavour pouches she’d once eaten marked ‘passionfruit’ yet a world away in execution. Delicious had never before seemed so ordinary a word.

“What…” Yulia asked, pointing at the fruit in an almost reverent way, “is this called?” 

The fruit seller smiled, straightening her apron as she talked. The grin splitting her face made it seem as if she was chatting to an old friend.

The translation device filled in the gaps: her son was a genesplicer in Hokkaido North, and had sent his mother a bag of his corporation’s newest crop. Bad reviews had sunk the fruit’s commercial rating while thousands were still to be harvested; therefore, her son could send these discarded fruits to New Seoul for a very low price.

Yulia nodded. “How much for the rest?” she said, pointing at several fruits and then at her index finger.

“If you want a dozen, I'll charge 550 Sphere-yuan. Save you some money.”

Yulia shook her head and swept her arm in a wide arc, over all of the fruit. The old woman’s eyes widened and she ducked below the booth, muttering too faintly for the translator to hear. A moment later, she resurfaced with a fabric bag clutched tightly in her gnarled right hand.

“3,000 Sphere-yuan for the lot. You sure? I’ll tell my son: his fruit may not be successful in Hokkaido, but it certainly is here!”

Yulia nodded. Taking the proffered bag and briefly touching fingers again, she placed each fruit into the plastic bag, taking meticulous care not to bruise it. If she could return to the Institute with some of this… reverse-engineer it in the genetics lab… why, the fruits would be worth their weight in gold. No flavour pouch, no algae, no soy-meat would ever come close to the taste she had just experienced.

Smiling, she bowed to bid the fruit seller farewell, and continued further into the artificial canyon she found herself in. As the stall receded, the translator picked up one last, garbled whisper from the old woman’s direction.

“Tourist,” it said. Yulia thought she could feel the contempt, hidden somewhere in its impersonal tone.

#writeblr #writeblr community #my writing #short story #science fiction #cyberpunk #solarpunk #kinda between cyberpunk and solarpunk I guess #idk I wrote this over a year ago enjoy

[lexsssu]

Vision (Daemon Targaryen)

Flufftober Day 25

TAGS: Daemon/Dragoness!Reader

He is three and twenty when his brother finally allows him to annul his fruitless marriage to Rhea Royce. The shackles of matrimony had left him hungry and wanting for warm flesh when his former wife was as cold and hard as stone, laying nearly as still as death during their wedding night.

It’s no surprise that he takes off on Caraxes after being twice-bested by Ser Criston Cole in the melee and joust, leaving him with no further reason to stay as he set off for the pillow houses of Lys.

For where better to stoke the embers of his youth that had dwindled beneath the oppression of his bronze bitch?

Caraxes lands at a field far enough from Lovely Lys (so as not to cause any panic and incite a riot), and as Daemon slips off the hulking back of his mount, his Targaryen-amethyst orbs catch sight of something just a small distance away.

Upon a shock of ivory tresses sat a crown of wildflowers, from colors such as cornflower blue to dandelion yellow, it all contrasted yet complemented the snowy strands.

He feels his heart lodge itself in his throat as he’s beholden to a fair maid of obvious Valyrian heritage, but it is not her blood that stokes the fire within his. Rather, simply being graced with her mere visage is enough for visions of silvery-white-haired babes to dance within his head.

And for the first time ever since he dreamed of one day securing the Iron Throne for himself, he did not see a king’s crown upon his brow but instead a crown of flowers.

Daemon takes his first steps, eager to know you and perhaps what sorcery you cast that had bewitched him so swiftly and easily that he can no longer even think back on the time before he knew of your existence.

When he is at a fair distance, he takes note of the wondrous gold that shines within the depths of your eyes and the pale white lush crescents that surround them and kiss your cheeks every time you blink. He feels like a madman so consumed with the need to hear your voice, to know your name, and to have your gaze solely on himself.

But then a large shadow appeared, and the sound of a mighty wingbeat snapped him out of his daze, head snapping up towards the source only to find coal-black scales and menacing green eyes rapidly descended.

Dread filled the Targaryen prince as his instincts had him tackling you away from where he perceived to be the Cannibal’s target. He has no time to relish the softness of your skin and body beneath his, not when the instinct to survive overridden all other thought processes.

Caraxes won’t be able to reach them in time, so he would have to distract the infamous Cannibal somehow until his own mount reached them. His sword hand instinctively gripped Dark Sister as the earth rumbled with the wild dragon’s footsteps as it landed.

“ Don’t. ”

It’s the first time he hears your voice, and it is as soft and melodic as he expected it to be. What he didn’t expect was for you to push him away gently with a hand so small and dainty that he could crush it in his own if he wanted.

But then you stand up, dusting off blades of grass that stuck to your odd but fine garments before walking straight toward the lumbering Cannibal.

“My lady—” Daemon’s plea dies down as he watches you place your hand upon the wild dragon’s snout, giving it a rub and then moving downwards to scratch at his chin.

Everything the prince knew about dragons, especially the Cannibal of all dragons, is thrown straight into the Narrow Sea as the creature’s tail…wags and thumps against the ground. For something as big as the Cannibal, its movements caused small tremors across the small clearing.

“He’s a good boy. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

Daemon is completely and absolutely stumped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

King’s Landing only receives a missive from Prince Daemon of his apparent nuptials all the way in Lys. The court learns that he’d found another descendant of Old Valyria, a maiden from Aurion’s line who’d conquered Lys, burned its magisters and slavers, and released its slaves.

However, word across the Narrow Sea arrives not long after that verifies the prince’s claims. The pair had settled into the grandest manse within the city, which now no longer relied on the selling and trading of flesh. The lady had seen to it that it would become a fully mercantile city-state, providing education to all, regardless of their backgrounds.

Former slaves and courtesans were also given a craft to learn and trade with, allowing them to acclimate as normal citizens of Lys, free to live their lives as they saw fit.

The news is both frightening and awing to hear.

Lys’ growing success and the union of Prince Daemon and his Valyrian conqueror wife alarmed much of the Small Council, particularly Lord Hightower. At his urging, Viserys I commanded his brother to return at once.

However, his command would not be heeded until 105 AC, when Lady Lucifiel would inevitably save the life of Queen Aemma and the newborn Prince Baelon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can’t you stay for longer?”

“We would love to stay longer, but if we do Lys might not be standing by the time we return. You know those Essosi, always trying to one-up each other and grabbing someone else’s territory when they already have a perfectly good city already. Honestly, if they keep knocking at our doors so frequently, we might as well conquer the rest of them just to get all the cities to get along. It’s like trying to play peacemaker with a bunch of children if you ask me…”

“Let’s save any talk of conquering the other city-states when we get back home, at the very least, my darling flower. Lest we spook the court any more than we already have when your lumbering beast decided to make its surprise grand entrance in front of the whole court.”

“Abraxas has never had venison or wild boar, so you can’t blame him for being a little bit curious over all the fuss that was happening during the hunt.”

Rhaenyra looked back and forth between her uncle and good aunt, stars practically shining in her eyes at all the words that spilled from your lips. Baby Endaemion babbled and clapped as he looked over at his older cousin, comfortable and very happy as you held him in your arms.

There’s truly nothing like the warmth of family.

#lexsssu writes #A Song of Ice and Fire #asoiaf #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen #reader insert #flufftober 2022 #cross posted on ao3

[lovelywritinglady]

First Flight

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Fluff. You are sworn to price Aemond and he decides to show you how worthy you are of his affections by giving you the gif you’ve always wanted, flying on a dragon.

First person pov

What a wonderful thing it would be to see a dragon. Especially the largest and most magnificent dragon, Vhagar. She’s the largest in the world currently. Her beautiful green scales seem to shine in the sun and the way she flies is almost graceful, or so I have been told. She’s a dragon of old and has memories of times long past. To be near her would be such a delight. I’m jealous of Prince Aemond Targaryen, who is Vhagar’s sworn rider. To even ride a dragon would be a honor, however I have no blood of old Valyria. I do not posses the blood of a dragon. My house is that of the wood. We provide lumber for the realm as well as game and weapons. My house is know for being strong fighters and skillful blacksmiths. I am proud of my house, yet I desperately wish to fly with the dragons. At least I would be free.

Currently, my father and I are in the capital as honored guests. My father was requested to discuss trade with the high council. They wish for his support in the war that is to come as well as swear himself to the king. I’m return they offered to wed Aemond Targaryen to my fathers oldest daughter. My father accepted gladly, in fact he was very eager about it. The only problem was that I was my fathers oldest child. I had no say in these affairs, but I never do. I wished to marry someone I loved. I suppose something that sweet could never happen now. My only hope was that my soon to be husband would be kind to me. I was given my own quarters in the back of the castle overlooking the beach. I have yet to meet my soon to be husband, but that didn’t bother me in the slightest. I knew this marriage would be political and I knew that it was my duty to serve the realm.

Looking out at the sea from my balcony, I saw how beautifully the colors glistened as the sun began to set. It was a marvelous sight and I was thankful I was witnessing it. However, my sights were interrupted when when I heard a loud roar overhead. Looking up I saw the thing I do longed to see. It was Vhagar flying overhead. She was magnificent and so much larger in person. After a minute she landed on the beach and let out a mighty roar as she did so. Soon my husband to be climbed down from her and began walking towards the gates. I couldn’t help but stare at him as he walked. His long silver hair swayed as he walked. He was a handsome even with his eyepatch. I fact I thought it made him appear more mysterious, almost like his dragon. This man was to be my husband and I just hoped we could get along with one another. And something told me we would.

It was now nighttime and I found myself still looking out from the balcony. The moonlit sky cascaded on the ocean making the scenery beautiful. I wondered if all of my nights spent in the castle would be like this. It gave me comfort knowing that at least my sights would be beautiful. I was so fixated on the sights before the that I did not notice the person standing right next to me. I only noticed the person standing there when I felt a hand brush my cheek. Quickly I turned to face the figure and noticed that it was my soon to be husband Aemond Targaryen. This is the very first time I’ve gotten to see him in person. The first thing I notice about it is the eye patch and the scar on his face. To me, it made him look handsome and alluring. His hair was a brilliant silver and it seemed to shine in the moonlight. He was quite a tall man and his figure loomed over mine. His remaining eye was a icy blue. He was looking at me in a way that I have never been looked at before. It wasn’t a sinful nor lustful look that men normally give. Rather it was one of wonder and fascination. I felt my cheeks heat up and I could not keep my eyes off of him. And for awhile we were in a comfortable silence simply looking at each others features. Soon enough he broke the silence.

“If I had known you were to be this beautiful, I would’ve come to you much sooner” he spoke in a whisper.

“Thank you my prince, you’re too kind”

“We are to be wed soon and I wish to know my bride to be. Unlike my brother I desire to take care of my lady wife. I believe she could be of help to me. And from what your father told me, you are quite an intelligent lady. One whose knowledge of the has helped your house produce more funding than it ever had in recent years. How a woman could be so heard by her house I would not know and yet I find myself intrigued by you.” He spoke.

“My prince you honor me with your words. My father has found my word be useful in recent years. Although I’m afraid it took him a long time to see that my knowledge was useful. I am a woman and if I may speak openly we are not so easily heard.” I responded

“Quite true, and I find your honesty inspiring. Tell me your greatest wishes” He said

“If you so desire, my prince. I have a few but my greatest desires is to be close to a dragon. I believe they are quite beautiful creature and to be near them for me would be such a treasure. Especially your dragon, Vhagar for she is the largest living dragon.” I said honestly.

“You desire dragons, then I would be happy to oblige that wish for you. It’s only right that I do so as your future husband.” He said whilst looking in my eyes.

“Oh goodness, thank you so much. It’s such a honor.” I said filled with excitement.

“What is another wish you have, my lady?” He questioned while tucking a hair behind my ear.

“To be treated with love. To be able to give my council without needing to go through my father. I’m actually quite surprised my father spoke so highly of me. Considering he takes my council and acts like he was the one to council himself.” I spoke

“Perhaps he’s a foolish man” Aemond spoke harshly

“Perhaps he is, but he is still my father and I’m just glad that at least he can listen to reason. At least one in awhile.” I sad calmly

“Forgive me if I caused insult, my lady.”

“It’s no matter, you spoke the truth.”

“My lady, would you do be the pleasure of meeting me in the early morning on the beach?” He asked

“What for, my prince?”

“I have something I’d like to show you, if you’d let me?” He said while cupping my cheek and rubbing it with his thumb softly.

“Very well then, I shall see you early then my prince.” I said with a smile

“Very well then, and please call me Aemond.” He insisted

“Very well then Aemond.”

“Sleep well, and may your dreams bring you comfort this night, my dear”

He then came closer to me and I felt myself shiver despite the warm night. His hand touched the top of my head and sat there comfortably. I looked up at him and my face felt warm. His nose touched mine and I felt his breath on my lips. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he instead placed a lingering kiss on my forehead. After he parted, he looked at me and smiled. Without thinking, I reached my hand out and touched his scar. I felt him flinch then allow me to touch him. I traced it gently and slowly.

“Does it bother you?” He questioned

“No, not at all. I actually like it. I’m just sorry that you had to go through the pain of losing it”I said

“Thank you. It makes me gals to hear that. Most people are frightened by it. It’s good that my soon to be lady wife is not” he spoke

With that he turned around and walked out of my quarters. I stood there still on the balcony with my mind still fuzzy from the interaction with Aemond. I found my self thinking that I could fall for him. Smiling wildly, I questioned what his surprise might be? Perhaps he will take me to see Vhagar?

Third person pov

What you did not know, was that he had a small smile on his face from the interaction as well. When he first heard that we was going to be wed to some highborn lady, he thought nothing of it. He simply accepted because he knew that it was his duty. Your father talked to him about you and the help that you’ve been with your great house. He was impressed, but he had to speak to you for himself. He was glad that he did. He found himself happy with you and your personality. He began falling for you and how bright and wonderful you are. He knew what he needed to do to truly win you over. Aemond was looking forward to the early morning surprise he has planned for you. And for the future marriage that was arranged. He walked into his own quarters with a smile on his face thinking about you.

First person pov

It was early morning and I was already dressed and on my way to meet Aemond at the beach. The morning was beautiful and warm. The colors in the sky has not yet graced the sky, so I carried a small torch to help guide my way. It took me nearly ten minutes to reach the beach. And just as he said, he was there also holding a torch. As soon as he saw me he smiled , which caused me to smile as well. I had heard that he was a cocky man, yet here he is smiling at me with excitement on his features. He made his way to me and softly grabbed my hands.

“Good morning, my lady” he said

“Good morning, my prince”

“Forgive the early morning, I find that my surprise is best looked at whist the sun is rising for the day” Aemond commented

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll like it”

“Follow me then” he requested

I nodded my head and followed him further down the beach. The sun was just starting to peak through the horizon, so it was slightly easier to see. We walked in a comfortable silence and I wondered just what he was showing me. A few minutes later, I noticed this large mass in the distance. As we got closer, I saw it was the creature I had longed to see. It was Vhagar. I gasped with excitement which got Aemond’s attention.

“Yes, this is what I wish to show you. You mentioned last night that you wanted to see my dragon.” Aemond said confidently with a smirk on his face.

“Yes, I just did not expect you to show me her this soon.” I said a lot quicker than I would’ve hoped.

Aemond chucked and said “I wish to please you and this was a perfect way to do so. I wish for us to get a long, so I figured now is better than later, my Lady.”

As we approached Vhagar, Aemond walked slightly faster as to show he was there. He greeted his dragon and began petting her. Saying words in a language that I did not understand. Seeing her this closely brought tears to my eyes. She was truly the queen of the skies and I felt blessed to be in her presence. I was so lost in looking at her. Who wouldn’t be? My thoughts however were interrupted when I felt a hand slip in mine. Aemond said nothing and brought my hand up to touch Vhagar. When my hand touched her, I felt no fear. I she was beautiful. Vhagar shifted slightly at my touch, but stopped.

“She likes you” Aemond reassured.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, if she didn’t she would have eaten you” he joked

“Thank you for letting me be this close to her. And thank you Vhagar for allowing me to touch you, it’s an honor.” I said to the both of them.

“Ride with me” he demanded

“Are you sure, my prince” I questioned

“Of course, it’s what you want isn’t it” he whispered

Aemond then helped me onto Vhagar. It’s took a little while because of how large the dragon was. Despite the advantage of having a large dragon, it sure is hard climbing up to mount it. After a small while I was standing on Vhagar with Aemond seated on his saddle. He turned to me with his hand stretched out.

“Come and sit behind me, my lady. And when you do be sure to hold onto me tight. Wouldn’t want my lady wife to be falling off” Aemond said

I did as he said and sat behind him on the saddle. It a slightly tight fit, but I managed. Than slowly I wrapped my arms around his torso. Despite him wearing leather, I felt his warmth. I held onto him tightly slightly nervous that I could fall. I heard him say a word to Vhagar in a unknown language and suddenly I felt myself being lifted off of the ground. I held onto him even tighter with my eyes shut. This was a foreign feeling for me.

“Relax, look out and see the skies, my lady. I promise you will not regret what you see.”Aemond yelled

Reluctantly I opened my eyes still holding tight to him and looked out at the sights before me. It was simply breathtaking. The colors have broken through the horizon making the skies glow. We were flying over the sea at speeds that I had never felt. I felt almost free on dragonback. The wind kissed my face and blew my hair back. I breathed in deeply and felt myself drown in pure bliss. I just hopped this wonderful feeling would be one that I could feel often.

“How are you feeling?” Aemond yelled

“Wonderful, simply wonderful. I was scared at first, though.” I answered honestly

“I’m sure you were. We will be landing soon but rest assured after we are married I promise to take you flying again and as much afterwards” he spoke

“Thank you my prince, this was a most generous gift.” I said while putting my head in his shoulder. I then proceeded to place a kiss on his cheek. I felt him smile as I did so.

After some time Vhagar landed back on the beach. The landing was tough but I felt in time I would get use to the feeling. My desire to see a dragon came true. Yet I never actually pictured myself riding one. After we climbed down Aemond and I began walking back to the red keep. Before we left, I thanked Vhagar for allowing me to ride her. We talked about the flight among other things. He was quite nice to talk to and I found myself getting excited to marry him. After some time, we were at the red keep. I felt saddened by this but part of me knew that today would happen again. I turned to speak to Aemond.

“Thank you for the kindness you have shown me this morning. I do hope that we can do this again.” I expressed graciously

“Anything for my lady” he spoke

I smiled at him and began walking up the steps until I felt him grab my arm softly and spin me around. I came face to face with him. A blush fell on my features as he put his hand on my cheek. His thumb went across my lip and my breathing got heavier. He then said something that sent shivers down my spine.

“My lady, would you allow me to kiss you?” He questioned

I nodded and slowly he put his lips on mine. His hand still holding my face. It was soft and so warm. His kiss made me feel fuzzy and craving more. He then pulled away and looked straight into my eyes with a look of desire. Without a moment further, he kissed me again this time deepening the kiss. I felt his tongue intertwine with mine. The kiss wasn’t rough it was filled with passion and I truly felt myself falling for him. Aemond broke the kiss and then spoke with his hand still resting on my cheek.

“Please join me today I would like to spend more time with you.” He whispered

“Thank you for the offer, and I accept.” I whispered back with a smile on my face.

“Good, now my lady why don’t we go library?”he questioned

“I’d love to, my prince.” I responded

“Please, you are to be my wife. I would prefer if you called me Aemond. And soon enough I wish for you to call me husband.” He spoke with a smile gracing his features as well.

“Of course, Aemond” I spoke.

We shared one last quick kiss and he then extended his arm for me to take. To which I gladly accepted. As we walked to the castle, I thought about how happy this moment made me. My desire to see and ride a dragon came true because of Aemond. And for that, I shall always be grateful to him and to Vhagar. I was glad that he was to be my husband.

Thank you so much for reading. Sorry if Aemond is a little out of character. I wanted to branch out from anime and do some live action. 💜

Please feel free to request, comment, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and click HERE for my master list.

*I do NOT own any characters except y/n*

-L.W.L

#aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of dragons #house of the dragon #dragon flight #aemond fluff

[phantomwarrior12]

WIP WEDNESDAY - ABOMINATION

It’s an abomination.

A culmination of stolen Light, warped Hive magic and somehow…a misguided Ghost.

Xander settles along an overhanging branch beyond a large temple that definitely isn’t on the Vanguard’s list of targets. They’ve written it off as waste, empty, unworthy of trying to fight their way into until boredom compels them from their Tower.

The Throne World is still relatively new territory but the Shadow of Yor aren’t about to let some intel of stolen tech go unrecovered.

The Nightstalker peers from his perch, lining the barrel of his sniper rifle up with the back of the Hive Knight’s head. Its steps are heavy, slow. Yet, it paces to and fro in front of the entrance of the temple.

It’s on sentinel duty…how tedious.

But Xander needs to get inside.

Turn, dammit.

He readjusts his footing a fraction but his boot slips on the slick vines and he narrowly catches himself from toppling from the treetop. The rustle draws the Knight’s attention and its head snaps upward.

Shit!

Xander tries to re-align his scope but when he looks through, there’s a lilac shield hurtling toward him.

It shouldn't have a Titan shield. Did he miss a super activating? Better question - how the fuck does a Hive Knight have the Light?

It's getting closer and Xander dodges, boots sliding against the tree bark and this time - this time he does fall out of the tree. A warbesst would land with more grace while Xander meets the ground with an unceremonious thud.

He groans, taking but a moment to process the impact and ensuing pain that sings along his nerves before he scrambles to his feet as his target storms toward him.

Sniper rifle abandoned in the grass at his feet, Xander jerks his hand canon free. The Thorn replica is heavy in his hand but as he swings it upright to fire, a massive hand bats it from his palm and another grips him by his throat, hoisting him skyward.

Xander’s boots slam against its chest as he jerks his blade free of its sheath and slashes the arm holding him in a blind flurry.

The Knight roars in pain and drops him, leaving him enough of a chance to create space and try to catch his breath. He hadn't been up long, but he's a bit off balance. It’s only then that he gets a good look at the Knight’s features. Vibrant green eyes strike him first, a piercing gaze that keeps him where he is. Not out of fear…but intrigue.

Xander has been face-to-face with other Hive Knights before - their gazes absent and dulled. But this one? It’s…clearly intelligent. It has some sort of sentience. He watches it inspect its arm for an instant before pressing its palm against the wound. Its eyes narrow, its jaw flexing as it straightens to its full height.

Xander retreats a few steps, scanning the swamp for an instant before locating his weapon.

“Do not try it.”

It…spoke. The Hive Knight–

Xander straightens, almost taking a step closer but common sense keeps him in place, “You can talk?”

It huffs out a sound of irritation as it lumbers closer, its hand falling away from the slash wound. “Your astonishment is misplaced. You–”

“I’ve never heard one of you speak.” It was the Light. It gave them intelligence, perhaps? No, because that would mean–

His focus snaps back just in time to evade the shield hurtling toward him and he dodges.

The time for analyzing is over.

He bolts for his weapon, skidding through mud and water as he snatches it up and turns, firing off a clip into the Knight.

It stumbles back, Xander reloads and fires off another clip as he presses forward. It tries to get its bearing, summoning its super before Xander gathers his own, firing his tether into it.

It crumples to the group, its Ghost materializing in its place. The Little Light looks panicked, shuddering and shying back, clearly searching for an escape.

Kill it.

He should, shouldn’t he? Put the tormented little thing out of its misery and spare the Throne World another Hive Knight.

But he is far too intrigued by the reveal of sentience. That behemoth didn’t behave like it answered to a Hive mind but rather, like it was trying to be, well, an individual.

He kicks the corpse onto its back, planting his boot firmly on its chest before looking to the Ghost, “Bring it back.”

The Ghost trembles, its eye flickering from its Lightbearer to the Hunter standing over it.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” Xander warns, lifting Thorn level with the Ghost.

“Alright!” It whirls, darting closer before its shell separates and it revives the Knight before vanishing to safety.

The Knight inhales sharply a moment later, heaving a cough as its eyes open. It tries to heave forward and up in an effort to breathe better but Xander grinds his boot down hard, keeping it on its back.

“Welcome back,” Xander’s head angles, a smug lilt in his voice.

The Knight notes the weight on its chest and makes no effort to rise or fight. “Why?” It all but growls and Xander adds pressure. 

“Would you believe me if I told you you intrigued me?”

The Knight glares, “I’m not a spectacle for you to satisfy your curiosity.”

“No, but you certainly are something.” He brandishes Thorn casually. “Now, we can do this one of two ways. You can behave and I let you up. Or, I ask my questions here and now with you whining under my boot. Your choice.”

“What makes you so certain I won’t kill you at the first opportunity?” 

Xander leans down, the Knight’s exoskeletal structure over its ribs makes an unpleasant crunching sound beneath the weight, “How about I break a rib to prevent that idea. Or are you going to be a good boy?” He angles his head, the condescension in his voice enough to earn him a scowl.

The Knight nods after a long moment, clearly pissed off but that's not really his problem to allay. It's temperament in mind, Xander is slow to withdraw, gradually relieving the pressure before stepping back and giving it enough space to rise. It sits up but doesn’t get to its feet, rubbing at its ribs instead.

“So, what do I call you?” The Nightstalker questions, starting to pace in front of it.

The Knight readjusts, leaning against the nearest tree before meeting Xander’s gaze, “You don’t care enough to know it.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care to know,” Xander crouches down in front of him, holding his gaze evenly. There is apprehension there, an anger as well. Not quite hatred, not yet anyway. Of course, Xander is going to have to put him down after this conversation. He has a mission to complete. This is just…a side investigation.

The Shadows of Yor will be interested to know about this thing.

“Well?” He prods, his voice a touch softer to try and coax it out of it.

“...Rast’lik.”

“Rast’lik,” Xander repeats quietly. “Anyone ever call you Ras?”

The Knight’s shoulders square but his eyes hold a degree of surprise. “No,” he admits at last, looking away.

“Can I?”

Xander regrets the question the instant it leaves his lips.

Stupid. Don't get familiar with it.  But the Knight seems less than comfortable with the very inkling of familiarity. Its head tilts, indecisiveness flickering left then right before his eyes close. "...next question."

---

I've been sitting on this for almost a year. This fic is nowhere near done but I think if I start posting snippets, I will find the motivation to finish some of these fics. xD

#wip wednesday #destiny 2 #destiny #hive knight #savathun #witch queen #xander the hunter #rast'lik the hive knight #phantom writes

[senditothemoonn]

literally enamored with the way you draw scotland, i want to bury my head in his chest and i’m not even kidding. he’s hard as a coconut shell, only to be sweet and tender at its chore. a manly lad with a sensible heart ❤️ francis is a peach in comparison. a soft skin yet a strong inside as you get to know him

the way you draw scotland literally enchants me, i want to bury my head in his chest and i'm not even kidding. he's tough as a coconut shell, yet he gets soft and tender on the inside. he’s a manly boy with a sensitive heart <33 the way you draw him is flawless. francis would be like a peach in comparison. a soft, pleasant skin hiding a wild beast as you get to know him

‘A manly lad with a sensitive heart’ and ‘soft skin with a strong inside’

My god. MY. GOD.

You don’t understand how much I am crying over that description. You are so RIGHT! That is so true and correct and honestly I couldn’t have put into words better how I see them myself.

Alasdair this big lumbering man with a rough exterior and a scowl that would make babies cry but who’s really just a giant softie (I mean you guys know how much of a teddy bear I love to make him 😭)

And Fran! So elegant, graceful, demure - even appearing guileless at times but to people who know him at all, he is anything but - his exterior is soft both emotionally and physically (he wears his heart on his sleeve but he’s also got a fat ass and thick thighs (¬‿¬) but when you bite into him, he is hard as rock. For me, he’s incredibly strong willed which can be a good thing but he’s also very stubborn and petty and honestly rather pompous so for however much he will fight for what he believes is right, he will just as resolutely hold a grudge over the most trivial shit like you wouldn’t believe (especially if it’s against Arthur)

#thank you for this love message anon! #seriously made my day I had to draw sth silly and cute because the coconut/peach metaphor really did something to me #in a good way #💖💞💓💗💘💕 #scotfra #ask #my art #francis bonnefoy #alasdair kirkland #its a very furry coconut i know but it needed to match alasdair okay

[sister-cna-reader]

BBGun, A West School Teacher AU

Caution: this has some wobbly historical accuracy.

Adult Becky/Bill (Spy x Family)

The heat of the Midday sun was too much, even for the hardy Bill Watkins to handle. The yawning estate was empty, the windows thrown open to let the air circulate, even if the interior was just barely cooler then the outside.

Miss Blackbell had left hours ago to work at the school house, lunch pail in hand. Her parents, his hosts, were somewhere in the city on the east coast, having taken the train back to their hometown to visit family. They wouldn’t be back for a month yet. Ms. Martha was their chaperone, but still she was less concerned about the young co workers then she should be.

He could still feel the curve of her waist, the weight of her body as he swung them around the gymnasium as Mr. Henderson played on the upright piano. The Co-Ed lesson on dancing was something Mr. Henderson and Miss B (Miss Blackbell) had insisted on, something to add grace to the lanky gangly boys now under Mr. Watkin’s care.

The few times he had caught Miss B’s eye from outside hauling lumber led him to believe it was sweltering in their classroom.

The heat was too much for studying, let alone building the new boy’s school, so they created a vacation for everyone until temperatures cooled to something more manageable.

Giving up on his book, Bill decided to pay Miss Blackbell a visit, and perhaps take a dip in the lake on the way back.

He didn’t get so far as the school however, spying a frothy pale puddle of clothes on the grass between two ancient trees. It was quite a ways off the beaten path and the brush along the lake shore made many nooks and alcoves for people to take the shade in. But he recognized the minty and lavender heap of empty clothing.

A pained feminine noise echoed from behind the bushes and Bill felt his heart drop to his feet.

Becky was being taken advantage of!

There was more then one man in town with less than ideal morals, leering at the school mistress with lust in their hearts.

Heart in his chest threatening to escape, Bill parted the foliage to find no man at all.

Only Becky, wet from head to toe in only her combinations.

Dark hair shined like new ink against the transparent white cotton, her toes were covered in sand and grass. He could see the split in her combinations with how her legs had been splayed apart, allowing the hot sun to dry the material between her thighs. Only the folds of the fabric hid the dark patch of hair between her hips and his eyes dragged up her body, trying to escape the vision, only to snag on the place where her nipples showed through the fabric.

Petal pink lips parted to show her moist tongue and pearly white teeth.

Finally, mercifully, he clapped his hand over his eyes and turned around.

“I’m so terribly sorry!” he shouted, the intensity of his reaction from how overloaded he was.

His heartbeat roared in his ears, and the heat to his head, paired with the heat in his loins, made all the worse by the heat from the sun, threatened to send him to his knees.

“What are you doing here?” her pleasant voice eked out, just barely louder then the water lapping just a foot or so away.

“I- I came to check on you at the schoolhouse. It holds the heat so badly in the summer. Not that we mind in the winter of course…” he swallowed around his dry tongue.

“But how did you find me here?”

The concentric circles of her crinoline, still visible even when collapsed, mocked him from the ground at his feet. “I recognized your dress from the path.”

“Goodness, those glasses must be good then.”

Flustered, he turned around, the words on the tip of his tongue dying out at the sight of Becky leaning back on her hands, her chest jutting out, her neck a lean line glowing from the sun.

“It’s hot Bill.” She commented, flexing her toes, her lashes long against her cheek as she gives him a slow blink. “You’ll feel better if you take a dip.”

She watched him contemplate her proposal, looking longingly at the cool water, then back to her.

His voice was low, raspy, “What about you? Your reputation? Your marriage prospects?”

Something in her belly clenched as she gave a bittersweet laugh. “What prospects? Ewen and Emile have known me since I was in leading strings, and Desmond is no better. They won’t have me. And I don’t want them!”

She pulled her damp hair to her front to start detangling it, “My parents will probably find someone back East on this trip. And he’ll not want to stay out here. Not with the city life.”

The rustle of clothing brought her out of her self pity moment.

Beside her Bill started to disrobe. First his suspenders were pulled off of broad shoulders, then his shirt was yanked from the waistband of his light pants. He popped open the few buttons there, shucking the pants down and kicking them off with his shoes. The large man then unbuttoned just enough to pop the crisp white shirt over his head and swiftly pulled the cotton undershirt off too.

His skin was glowing with sweat, and the underwear he wore left little to the imagination with it’s light color and thin material.

The socks were the last to go, hastily tossed on top of his shoes.

Then he turned to her, looking like an Adonis in nothing more then what she wore herself. He was just as exposed as her, offering her a hand up.

Her chilled hand was engulfed in his warm one.

“We’ll just say I convinced you.” he offered, kissing her knuckles.

Much later after they had redressed, as they walked back home hand in hand, they found a pair of letters waiting in the mailbox.

“Oh! A letter from my parents!” Becky flashed the address to Bill, before seeing the next one. “And one from your family! How lucky!”

With a furrowed brow, Bill followed Becky into the house, pulling a pocket knife out to open the envelope.

Dearest William, As you know, we have been traveling around the states to see the sights. And wouldn’t you know, we’ve met some lovely people on our trip. Luck is in our favor as we have met a couple that you must know well by now---

Becky plopped into her favorite reading chair with little elegance. Eager to know how her father’s negotiations were going, she ripped open the seal to start reading.

Rebecca, Do you remember how I commented on Mr. Watkin’s stature when he came to us? He had mentioned his father being bigger and I hadn’t quite believed him. Well it turns out to be true indeed! We met the Watkins couple at the lunch car ----

~~

Mr. Blackbell had all of the humor of a golden retriever. “By God, Bettie! Look at the size of him! Do you think he is related to our young guest?”

Mrs. Blackbell smacked her excitable husband with her fan. “Would you calm yourself? I will go over and ask. You are to stay here and not cause a scene!”

Reluctantly, but obediently, the husband sat down at their dining table as his precious wife glided off to make introductions.

“Excuse me sir, but I see you have the resemblance of an acquaintance of my family.” She asked the foreboding man, nodding at his equally tall wife. “Might I have your name?”

The giant gave a humored chuckle, a smile forming behind his impressive mustache. “The family name is Watkins dear madam. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His voice was richer then young Bill’s, but that was a thing that happened with age. “I’m Mrs. Blackbell, I am currently hosting a young Mr. Bill Watkins while he teaches in our growing town.”

The smile of giants was blinding, their posture relaxed into something much more approachable. “Yes! We’ve heard so much of you and your daughter.”

“Oh?”

“Nearly every letter to us has at least a page or more about your daughter and her interactions about town.” Mrs. Watkins smiled, “I dare say he has quite the fondness for her.”

“You don’t say? My husband is beside himself with curiosity. I should like to hear more of what Bill has told you.”

Mr. Watkins pulled his wife’s purse to him to retrieve a stack of letters. “Here is the latest four. I daresay Miss Rebecca takes up half the pages.”

Mr. Blackbell was waved over and plans were feverishly made among the four on the train.

~~

“Our parents met.” Becky gasped, quite at a loss for words in her surprise.

“They’re arriving on the train in the next two weeks.” Bill read the passage over and over, wondering if the sun had done a number on his brain.

“Maybe they just want to visit you?” Distracted, Becky read on, now onto the second page of the long letter from her father.

Bill shook his head, “They hadn’t made it a point to visit me on last assignment. Why now?”

Becky made a noise of dismay. “When and what train are your parents coming into town?”

“Two weeks on the Great Northern they should arrive-.”

“On Friday.” Becky finished for him, a vague giddy terror clutching her. “Do you have siblings Bill?”

Confused, Bill sat down by her, “No, you know that. Why?”

Frazzled and a little hysterical Becky waved the letter in the air, “Two families, one with only a daughter, one with only a son, hit it off on the train to St. Louis. By a twist of fate, their children know each other and are closely working together in the same town…”

She looked at him expectedly and realization dawned on his face, “They’re going to conspire.”

Dr. Forger sat in his dark room, developing the negative plates while his wife practiced on the piano.

The view of the lake he had gotten was one of his best, the reflection of the calm water a mirror to the mountains that surrounded the valley. Yet there was something among the opposing shore that marred the perfect line he had captured.

He rinsed the fixer off the photograph and took it outside to look at under brighter lighting.

Even with his glasses he had to squint at it, finally rummaging until he found his magnifying glass.

There were two figures on the shore, one large and recognizable by his sheer size alone.

The other was a young woman, with dark hair and a white chemise that stood out among the dark foliage.

With how close their heads were, Dr. Forger could only assume that the school teachers on the lake shore had kissed. And probably more.

The Blackbells will be overjoyed.

#fanfiction #becky/bill #becky blackbell #bill watkins #spy x family #Will edit and expand on a few things to post on Ao3 at a later date. #Title in progress

[direwombat]

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer. 🤍 + your choice of ship

comin' out with another prompt fill because i needed to finish something. so. here's syb getting into yet another vehicle accident, but this time jakey is there to lend a hand. tw: car accident, brief mention of decapitation (not related to the car accident) rating: T | word count: approx 1.4k

With Eli dead, most of the Militia had fled south into the safety of the Valley. Without their leader, they had no guidance, and after word had spread that Sybille had severed Eli’s head from his body to take back to Jacob as a trophy, the majority didn’t want to press their luck. 

Everyone knew she was a killer. They just never thought that they’d be on the receiving end of her wrath. 

Those who stayed -- those who were the dangerous amount of angry and stupid -- had mostly scattered to the wind. They operate in small groups, ill-equipped and uncoordinated. They lack the supplies, ammunition, and experience that made Eli as successful as he was. The Chosen have done well to smoke out and quash rebellion where it rises. 

For the most part. 

But, like a cancer, the disease of Sin only seems to spread, and so long as it remains, the Project’s work is never done.

Sybille had volunteered to take point in the convoy headed towards Joseph’s compound. The trucks are loaded with an assortment of processed materials from the lumber mill, and a fresh batch of newly trained soldiers to protect the island. 

The drive itself takes longer than anticipated. They’d been forced to detour after finding a rockslide blocking the road, and then again after scouts radioed saying they’d spotted suspicious Militia activity down the alternative route. So here they are, on option three, taking the long, scenic way to cross into the Henbane before heading to Joseph. But, that hiccup aside, once they were on their way, the drive had been relatively quiet. 

Or, at least it was until a deafening BOOM rings out and Sybille’s rear wheels are suddenly lifted off the ground, flipping the truck and sending her rolling across the asphalt. The airbag deploys, but not before she bangs her head against the steering wheel, plunging her vision into darkness. 

She comes to with the odd sense of deja vu. 

Buckled into her seat, she dangles, helplessly, upside down. A high pitched ringing pierces her skull before it slowly fades. Only, rather than hearing the soft, murmuring of Joseph Seed singing Amazing Grace, all she hears is gunfire and shouting. Blood drips down her face, stinging her eyes, and the potent stench of gasoline burns her nose. Yet, it isn’t until the smell of smoke joins it that she snaps out of her daze. 

The truck is on fire. 

She needs to get the fuck out. 

Now. 

Gritting her teeth through the pain erupting all over her body, Sybille pushes against the airbag to deflate it. She tests the door, pulling against the interior handle, but it won’t budge -- not even when she throws her weight against it. Changing tactics, her focus shifts to the cracked window instead. The impact of the crash had weakened the glass, and while it’ll take some effort, she’s fairly certain she can break through. She  slips her right arm free of her jacket and uses the garment to pad her elbow. Clasping her bloody hands together, she bashes against the window with all the strength she can muster. 

After a few blows, it shatters completely. Tiny shards of glass scatter like diamonds over the road. 

She’s fussing with her seatbelt, the locking mechanism cracked and jammed, as a rush of heat envelops her. The air grows heavy and thick with smoke. Her eyes water and she tugs harder at the polyester sash across her chest. “Fuckin’ -- c’mon!” she hisses to herself before giving up in frustration and pulling the knife from her thigh holster. 

Through the din of combat she distantly hears Jacob, who’d been in the truck behind her, calling out for her. 

“I’m here!” she calls back, furiously sawing her way through the belt. “I’m --” she pauses to cough, the smoke burning her lungs and eyes, “I’m okay!” 

The belt across her chest frays and snaps. The one over her lap soon follows. Her stomach lurches as she begins to fall and she hunches her shoulders to protect her neck. Only, instead of landing on the ground, she remains stuck where she is, her ass off the seat, but with her leg pinned between pieces of crushed metal. She gives it a tug, trying to pull it free, but all she does is cry out in pain at the sensation of her leg being crushed. 

Her heart races in her chest, her breath, already shallow, strains even more. 

She’s trapped. 

The truck is on fire, and she’s trapped. 

Panic rises and she calls Jacob’s name. 

Gunfire continues to ring out, and she shrieks for him again when something explodes dangerously close by. The ground shakes. Sweat and blood pours down her brow, dripping onto what used to be the ceiling of the truck. Frantically, she pushes at the metal pinning her leg in place, first with her hands then with her free foot, desperate  to free herself from the burning death-trap. “Jacob!” she cries again, only this time it devolves into a series of coughs that she can’t seem to stop. 

Over the roaring flames and her own panic, she nearly misses it, but there’s a bellowing cry of “Cover me!” followed by sustained gunfire. 

Moments later, there’s the high pitched groan of metal scraping against metal. Suddenly the door she’d been unable to move flies open. The rush of fresh air is a reprieve from the suffocating smoke. Jacob stumbles back as he nearly rips the door off its hinges and he shields his face from the rush of smoke escaping the cab. But he only falters for that single moment, quickly composing himself and rushing in to help free her. 

“‘S m’leg. Stuck,” she hisses, wrapping her arms around his neck, simply grateful that, at the very least, she gets to hold him before the flames carry her to Hell. 

He shushes her with a quiet, “Hey, hey, hey.” He pulls her arms from his neck and pushes her hands to her chest. “I’m gonna get’cha outta here, okay?” He ducks down to investigate where her leg is stuck. His fingers wrap around the metal and he pulls. The shift in pressure forces a grunt from her, one that’s bitten back behind clenched teeth. 

“Shit,” Jacob curses when he can’t get it to budge. He turns to look at her. His eyes are wide, but his brow is furrowed in fierce determination. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, I promise.” 

Sybille coughs a laugh. “I ain’t --” another cough, “--goin’ nowhere.” 

It pains her to let him go, but she trusts him. Trusts that he’ll do as he says. Trusts that he’ll set her free. Just like he did before. 

He returns a short moment later with a crowbar in hand, crawling into the overturned cab and wedging it between the pieces of metal. “It’s gonna hurt like Hell, but when I start prying, you start pulling.” 

“Heard,” she pants, already bracing herself for the pain.

The metal groans as Jacob leverages his weight with the crowbar, pushing the metal apart just enough for her foot to finally slip free. She lands on the ground in an inelegant pile of limbs and what little wind she had in her lungs is pushed out with a low oof. 

Jacob is quick to scoop her into his arms, dragging her free from the burning wreckage. He pulls her to her feet, the two shambling hurriedly back towards the remaining convoy trucks. The doors are flung open, the Chosen using them as makeshift cover while they volley shots further down the road and into the treeline. He half-carries her around and the two collapse to the ground. Jacob’s back leans against the rear bumper and Sybille rests curled up in his lap. 

Her trembling fingers clutch tightly at his field jacket and his arms wrap tightly around her. A large, warm hand comes to cradle the back of her head and he pulls her close to press his lips to the top of her head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” he says, rocking her gently. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay, honey.” He repeats the words over and over, reassuring himself just as much as he is her. 

She nuzzles at the underside of his jaw, and he pulls away just enough to lift his hands to cradle her face. His thumb, rough and calloused swipes over her cheekbone, smearing blood and grime against her skin more than he wipes it away. “You’re okay?” he says again, this time as a question. 

Sybille nods, leaning into his touch. “I’m okay,” she says, pulling him in for a kiss. “I’m okay.”

#not written is jakesyb immediately pulling out their own guns and mowing down more of the militia #they just needed to have their little reassurance moment first #my fic #r: define your meaning of war #am i 100% happy with this? no. but it's done and prompts are my little sandbox where i'm just here to play dolls

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Taking the hit (Issue #26)

Moon Knight Issue #26: Hit it! / The Cabbie Killer

Two in one! What a wonderful time to be alive! 

Also this cover really gives me modern comic feels and I have no idea why. I feel like I've seen a variant of this cover before or perhaps another comic did a similar theme. Hmmm. 

We start with an editor's note from Denny O'Neil! That's either a good thing or a bad thing when it comes to a newer comic that is experiencing its first big few years and establishing characters and villains. 

It reads: 

Falling on our noses? 

   In tai chi chaun, a gentle and wonderful combination of martial arts and exercise, there is a concept called "exploring the limits." This means testing how close you can let an opponent come before he hits you and how far you can extend yourself towards him before you lose your balance and fall on your nose. What you learn is where your body is, its boundaries, and the distance it can be extended and yet retain wholeness and identity.

In Moon Knight we're exploring the limits. 

We're asking: What kind of adventures can our hero have and still be his own unique self. (Can we do fantasy? Science fiction? Humor?) How long should stories be? (One per issue? Two? Three? Or should a story extend over a number of issues?) How many liberties can we take with the traditional comic book format? (Our black-and-white covers are a solid success. but we're not sure about our other experiments --putting the title on the inside cover, next issue ads on the back cover, text features, cover galleries and whatever we come up with next.) 

Lots of questions. Very few answers. 

But that's okay. In fact, that's fine. That's what makes working on Moon Knight just about the most exciting job in comics. I've always liked journeys and everyone likes surpirses and Moon Knight is both. The magazine--and character--are fluid, not fully defined and we're busy exploring the limits. 

Of course, we may fall on our noses. You'll let us know if we do.

-Denny O'Neil. 

Okay! So this is a big thing for early comics! Many of you are only familiar with newer age comics and have graced Golden Age comics with a peak or two. But we’re sitting firm in the early 80s and Moon Knight is indeed a character that is unlike any other that was sitting firm in Marvel’s top tier. Born from a supernatural/horror type portion of Marvel that saw the birth of Man-Thing, Werewolf by Night, and others of the likes, Moon Knight bordered on classic Super-hero and supernatural horror. 

The note about Tai Chi and extension is actually really beautiful and a perfect metaphor for Moon Knight. I’ll have to remember that one! 

Now, to have a clear call to arms in where to take Moon Knight means that they have had this conversation in the writing room. They don’t know what to do with the comic. They have classic stories and ideas, but they don’t want to start repeating themselves this early int he game, but they also don’t want to jump the shark. 

It also means that this particular comic that we are about to read might be an experiment on where to take the comic. So let’s see what the story of the week is! 

We open with some utterly outstanding art. I mean, this stuff is GOLD. We got TWO spreads people! 

The first page describes the colors of sound. The beat of jazz and how it affects the senses. 

"First there is black. Then tehre is light, and all the colors of Jazz. And there is sound in these colos. A wailing trumpet drips cool violet, threaded with smoke. Heavy blue lumbers from the bass... While the clarinet tempts and tantalizes in hot pink counterpoint. But the drum... The drum beats Blood Red." 

We move from jazz to images of various uses of the phrase "Hit it!" Hit it to be starting the jazz band swinging. To fix a malfunctioing TV, to encourage a baseball player to hit the ball out of hte park to a child's drawing....

"Double meanings sometimes multiply." 

An abusive father and a crying child. 

"But even as a trumpet screams through the night...The drum still beats Blood Red.” 

"Hit it, Moon Knight. The night is here, the moon is full, and caught between one and the other dark deeds will prowl. Hit it, Moon Knight. Hit it. 

Cats in windows, cries from the alley, shadows mixing, and mysteries cloaked for the kill. Hit it, Moon Knight, Hit it. 

Fear in lurking, money itching to change hands, twitching and always, always blood to be spilled. 

It's hot, Moon Knight, and it's dark and it's now--Don't be late, Moon Knight, Not for your time to howl...

It might be in rage or it might be in pain...But never fear, Moon Knight, it's always the same. 

Just hit it, Moon Knight... Hit it!" 

Sometimes I think Moench just shows off. And then Sienkiewicz just FLEXES. 

We see Moon Knight on patrol. He passes by a building and we hear some men talking. 

One complains about the graveyard shift to Joe. 

But Joe isn't paying attention. He's having a flashback. 

He's reading the newspaper. Specifically the Obituaries. We see a children's drawing of the angry father. Joe throws the paper and runs away. 

He runs to a jazz club where the crowd flows out onto the sidewalk. 

Joe runs into the crowd and comes across a man in the way. 

Moon Knight notices the commotion and heads on over. 

"Just down the street the colors are wilder --Neon shrieks without mercy...And the beat is younger, faster, harder... Pounding, driving, relentlessly slamming... Everybody is doing it these days, getting great satisfaction..." 

They move past the jazz club to a rock house. 

Along the way we see people beaten, bloodied, and terribly wounded. 

"By hitting...hitting...hitting it!" 

Joe makes it to his destination at last: The funeral parlor. 

"I'm coming old man! Coming to pay my respects!" 

The blood red drum beats and he bursts into the parlor. 

There he finds the coffin of his father. 

A priest tries to speak to him. 

Joe beats the man down. 

Joe is ready to fight. To fight anyone that tries to stop him. That stands between him and his father. Him and his past. 

"Did you come to hit me too? Well, come on then--Hit me! Hit me till your arms fall off! You might as well...

He did it often enough! He hit me till I couldn't sleep at night--Any night! 

And then he hit me some more! And then he ran away--Left my mother alone! Finally he wouldn't hit me anymore! Finally he wouldn't even give me that!" 

Narration: "Blood red... The beat never ends... Pain, catharsis, rage--They shriek through nights lost to time..." 

Narration: "Turn away, Moon Knight--You were wrong--It's not your time to howl. There are others with stronger voice, greater cause..."

The priest interrupts demanding that Moon Knight stop him. 

Moon Knight: "No... There's been enough hitting tonight... I won't add to it." 

While Moon Knight talks to the priest, Joe stands up and punches Moon Knight. 

Here we remember that Marc Spector was a boxer. His violence settling from the school yard to the ring until his father turned him out. Marc moved from the ring to the battle field to the mercenary role. Marc runs hot with rage and fire. Who is he here? The raging child fighting back or the monster with nowhere else to put his fire than into those around him? 

A Rabbi once told him to stop. A Rabbi that tried to lead him down a path of passive peace when the world around him was violence and pain. A father that could not stand the sight of his son fighting back. 

Now we see a priest telling him to fight and him standing up and saying there is enough violence in the world that perhaps just this once there can be peace. 

And when violence falls on him, he does not take the passive path. He can’t. Everything Marc is and has been is refusing to look the other way while he is hurt. 

Narration: The crowning madness... Long live the king. And so, Moon Knight, the night was yours after all... And once started, the drum beats blood red...Forever." 

He is angry with himself. Angry at his loss of control. Angry that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop the violence. He couldn’t stop his own rage. His own need to hit back. To hit it. 

What an opener. This one has me feeling a lot here. The direction of past trauma on those around us. The need to get resolution only to have it taken away from us. How it leads to more pain. More hurt. More trauma. 

Does this remind anyone of anything?

Yeah. I went there. 

PART TWO: Cabbie Killer! 

This story is written by Denny O'Neil with artist Keith Pollard and editor Ralph Macchio. 

I know what you’re thinking. “Oh no, Jake!” 

We open on Jake sitting in his cab late at night. 

"This is Lockley. I'm headin' for the garage after I drop my fare." 

In the buses waits a man with a bazooka. 

Narration: It is quiet in Brooklyn, this cool autumn evening, as Jake Lockley ends a day of driving around New York City--Quiet for exactly four more seconds...Then, two events occur simultaneously. Lockley stamps on the breake to avoid "STUPID DOG" --and the car parked a few feet away erupts in eye stinging flame...

Jake's fare asks if it was an accident or a bomb. 

Jake sits stunned. "Neither. Just before the fireworks, I glimpsed a muzzle flash from the bushes. Weird as it seems, somebody shot off an old fashioned Bazooka! The thing that bugs me is, it looked like we were the target.... You got any enemies, mister?" 

Jake's fare decides it's probably safer to walk and departs the cab. Probably for the best. 

We cut to an hour or so later on a pier somewhere. We see a man in fancy military garb talking to another guy. 

He explains that because of the dog, he missed his target and the target got away. He explains that he will try again with success next time.

The other guy tells him he doesn't give second chances and to 'take a hike'.  

Military guy isn't happy. 

"You have hired me to destroy a taxi cab and so I shall--whether you like it or not. I gave my word--And Commodore Donny Planet always keeps his word. Understood?" 

Let me just say: WHAT A NAME. 

Oh no. I didn't think it was this issue. I suppose I take solace in knowing now that it isn’t Bill that gave us Speeden. It always seems wrong to see old Moon Knight drawn by someone else. They just don’t get the face right. 

But they sure do get the dialogue right. And the name. Steven. Because we all know who the vain one of the group is. Someone has to take care of the body and we all know it isn’t going to be Marc or Jake. 

Ladies and Gents and all of the others, I give you Speedo Steven. 

The pool scene wasn’t even needed. He literally came home after being shot at by a bazooka, changed into Steven, took a dip into a pool, then ran off to Brooklyn as Moon Knight. There was absolutely ZERO need for Steven to get into the smallest speedo he could find and take a swim. He even demanded that Marlene and Frenchie….wait. He demanded that Marlene meet him by the pool. She showed up in a bikini, expecting lovely pool time. Frenchie just showed up! In full attire. He was just there for the show. He takes it where he can get it, I suppose. 

Moon Knight, now flying over the city, spots something burning. On closer look, he finds a cab on fire. 

It seems the Bazooka man found a cab to hit. 

Saddened by the loss of a cab, he is at least relieved to know that Jake Lockley is not the primary target. 

Moon Knight tells Frenchie to take them to the Queens Cemetery. 

"For months, I've known that a lot of our local criminal types play poker there every Friday night...They figure they won't be disturbed. Maybe one of them will have some answers for us." 

Once there, he directs Frenchie to grab his cab and park it near the north gate. 

I just gotta say... I have always loved the idea that all the bad guys get together to play poker and complain about their foes. Takes me back to the Batman Animated Series "Almost got him" episode. 

I also gotta say that no one draws Moon Knight's face right in classic outfit with little emotive eyes like Bill. This one is just...lacking. They also over buffed him out in muscles. 

Just a small criticism. 

I do appreciate that Frenchie does still have his moon hat though. I love that stupid hat. 

Moon Knight takes out the guards and interrupts the poker party. 

One of the guys at the party knows something and spills it. 

"One of my boys was runnin' from the law...Ducked into a garage and hid a certain tape cassette the cops want in a cab. He told us that much before he died from a slug in the chest. Problem was he didn't say which cab or where in the cab he hid it." 

Turns out three cabs were in the garage that night. They hired Commando man to track the three cabs down. 

The boss man at the table laughs that Moon Knight isn't going anywhere and calls over a hired goon with a gun. 

Crawley! 

Now Crawley is a sort of undercover informant for Moon Knight and all the baddies at the poker table trust him. 

So Moon Knight has a problem. He can't fight Crawley like he was a regular thug. But if Crawley doesn't shoot him then they will know he's working for Moon Knight and lose all trust. 

Crawley takes a wide shot and Moon Knight uses the chance and kicks Crawley in the face. 

The choices he makes sometimes...

Crawley is knocked out and the thugs all scatter. He takes a moment to make sure Crawley is alright then runs after the main guy. 

The boss spots a nearby parked cab and jumps in. 

Moon Knight calmly sits at the wheel. 

He informs the boss that this is one of the cabs from the garage and that he suspects the Bazooka man is waiting at the garage for a shot. 

"You've got a choice: Either tell me where to find your assassin or we cruise 'round and 'round till HE finds US! Might take all night, but I'm in no hurry." 

The boss is more than ready to give up the goods and tells Moon Knight where Commodore Donny Planet is. 

He finds the Commodore in a boat. They fight and Moon Knight finds the Commodore to be freakishly strong. 

Moon Knight strikes at normally vulnerable spots only to get tossed around like nothing. 

It's near invulnerable vs. Moon Knight's ability to take the most brutal beating and keep going. 

Moon Knight switches tactics and tosses some Judo in, keeping the large man off balance. 

He knocks the man off the boat into a fishing net. 

"The safe thing-The smart thing- would be to just let him drown." He contemplates for but a moment. "No." 

He jumps in and saves the large brute then leaves him for the cops. 

And that’s the end of the cabbie killer. 

I must say, this one ended on a let down. I feel that if Moench had written it, we’d have ended on Jake finding the tape in his cab or something to indicate that he was the mark all along. Maybe that’s just me. 

Especially after the first half with “HIT IT”. That one was really amazing. Fantastic art, a very heavy subject, and only took a few pages to cover it. Even though it didn’t end with a distinct note, it still felt like an end. A story that needed to be told that still somehow painted a picture of Moon Knight despite it being a one off that didn’t give any sort of moral or definitive point. The man still was angry over a past pain that will never be resolved. He’ll end up in prison because of all the people he hurt, and his mental health will never be addressed. 

And that editorial at the start! What a piece! Learning to reach only as far as our body can go and learning not to get hit. I'm going to be thinking about that one for a while. Wow.

But that’s the story of Moon Knight, isn’t it? A story of underlining pain and trauma that affects his everyday life but that is never resolved, addressed, or healed. How it radiates out to affect everyone around him and the way he struggles to make the right choice and do the right thing…even though everything around him forces him back into that corner that forces him to fight for his life over and over again. 

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight Comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Why do I only post this at midnight where no one is ever going to read this? #Is it because I took suffer from a terrible sleep condition? Probably #This one left me emotional for so many reasons #I could wax on about Marc Spector's pain for ages #You have no idea #HE MAKES ME FEEL THINGS #Mostly sad things #Marc no #Not me sitting here at midnight crying about Marc Spector

[helaelaemond]

50 Helaemond Kisses

day 11 - in joy

Aemond takes his first ride on Vhagar since claiming her. Helaena follows them on Dreamfyre. Young love fluff.

"Please let me go, it doesn't even hurt anymore!"

Alicent looked at the maester with a furrowed brow. "Surely it's too soon, grand maester."

Orwyle smiled at the queen. "The prince has healed well enough. I think it would benefit him to go his dragon. They say that the bond between rider and dragon strengthens-"

"Aegon will go with you," she interrupted, not wanting to hear it.

Aemond opened his mouth to protest, but Helaena stepped in.

"Dreamfyre is bigger. Aegon won't be able to keep up with Vhagar, but Dreamfyre can." The princess smiled widely at her younger brother. "I'll keep him safe."

Alicent considered her children for a moment, and sighed. "Ser Criston will escort you to the dragonpit, and you're not to go far, do you understand?"

Cole stepped forward and bowed his head. "Your Grace, Vhagar makes her lair south of the city, in the Kingswood. I will take the prince to her myself."

Helaena shook her head. "Aemond will fly on Dreamfyre with me. It will take much less time for us to fly to her than to ride on horseback."

Aemond's scarred face lit up at the mention of flying with his sister, and Alicent frowned again. "Helaena, I don't know if that's wise."

He looked at his mother with his own good eye, and squeezed her hand. "Please?"

After a long pause, the queen relented. It seemed that she couldn't refuse him. Not after all he went through.

An hour later and they had already found Vhagar. Aemond was reluctant to slide out of the saddle made for two and away from his sister, but excitement coursed through him like a fire. In a great clearing of her own making, Vhagar rested. The sunlight pouring through the trees made her look a deep emerald, her monstrous body rising and falling with deep breaths. Behind him, Dreamfyre called out quietly.

"Vhagar!" He was more confident than the first time. The bond had already been made, and the first flight flown. It would not be as difficult this time. The dragon groaned, but did not stir. He called her name again, and Helaena laughed when Vhagar turned her head away.

"Do you think you're interrupting her dreams?"

Aemond grinned at her over his shoulder. "What do dragons dream about if not flying?"

Helaena laughed again, and Dreamfyre let out a noise of contentment under her.

"Sīmonagon, Vhagar!" Rise!

Her mighty jaws opened and she raised her head and turned to look at her little rider. Aemond froze as she turned her open mouth towards her, but no fire rose in her throat. He realised with a leaping heart that she was simply yawning. It made his chest swell with affection. With surety that had served him well last time, Aemond grabbed the ropes and ladders that were slung over her huge body, and he began the climb up her side and with aching arms and legs, he finally settled into the saddle. It belonged to a dead woman. The saddle for him hadn't yet been finished. But this time, he was more careful.

Vhagar rumbled beneath him, sensing his presence on her back. He hastily wrapped ropes around his waist to secure him into the saddle that was too large for him, and then he leaned forward to shout his command.

"Soves, Vhagar!" Fly!

With an almighty effort, the dragon dug her talons into the earth and heaved herself up. The young trees around the clearing were no match for her when she began to lumber forward and they crashed down as she picked up speed. Aemond covered his face from the splinters and branches that were sent spiralling into the air, and then all of a sudden she spread her wings, and the treeline was cleared. He opened his one good eye and a scream of delight escaped him. They were in the sky and there was nothing between them and the sun.

Not far behind, Dreamfyre spread her wings and leapt up to follow, singing a sweet song to her new companion. There was something of Helaena in the dragon's calls. He didn't feel alone. He felt free with his dragon, with his sister. "Jikagon adere, ñuha raqiros!" Fly faster, my friend!

Vhagar obeyed, and the leisurely pace she had set suddenly became a race. The wind whipped his face and he could barely see, and his shouts of joy were lost in the mighty beating of her wings. He looked over his shoulder and there was Helaena, bent over her saddle and cheering on Dreamfyre. The smaller dragon didn't stand a chance at catching up despite her own immense size, and Aemond laughed again.

They quickly came up to King's Landing. The Red Keep stood proudly at the south point, and Aemond flew low to rush over it. He hoped his father was watching. He hoped his father was frightened, ashamed. Let the old man suffer. He hoped his mother was proud.

Dreamfyre was more nimble, and Helaena guided her to bank sharply and fly around the Keep twice. Aemond watched over his shoulder, and he grinned. She would make a fine queen one day.

The city sprawled under him. As he flew Vhagar higher, her shadow grew greater, and her shadow swallowed streets at a time. For the first time in a long time, he felt powerful. Beneath him was a fearsome weapon, a magnificent beast. And she was his. All his.

"Iksā sȳz, Vhagar! Issi ao biare?" We are doing well, Vhagar! Are you happy?

Whether the dragon truly understood the question, Aemond didn't know, but she let out a rumbling roar in reply, and he took it as a yes. He urged her on, and together they kept the coast on their right. It took less than an hour to reach Duskendale. Its squat drum towers emerged from the dirt and sat proudly at the mouth of the harbour, and Aemond looked down in delight at the earth below him. A little beyond the town walls, he finally set Vhagar down. Dreamfyre was not far behind, and he watched her join them on the low cliffs that overlooked the sea.

It was difficult not to shake with the anticipation and joy that rushed through him. How strange it was, to feel so happy. Not just happy to ride his dragon, but to share the moment with his sister. He slid down Vhagar's side with the help of the ropes, and the beast watched him with a soft and low call, and he thanked her in the Valyrian that felt like home.

"Did you see that?" he called out excitedly as he ran to Dreamfyre's side. The blue dragon watched him approach without warning him back like she once did. He reached up to help his sister down, and she lept into his arms. How happily he caught her.

"You flew her!" she answered in delight. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she laughed.

"I flew her!" He hugged her tight in reply. He was a bit taller than her now. His arms were strong around her, and he picked her up and span her, joy overflowing from him. "You said I'd have a dragon!"

She squealed and held onto him tightly. He didn't want to let her go. "And now you ride Vhagar!"

"Together, we ride the biggest, the oldest dragons! Us, Lae! You and me!"

"Us!"

He grinned, and set her feet back on the ground. "There's no one I'd rather share this with."

Helaena bit her lip, laughing. It seemed that joy was not his alone at this moment. Whatever he felt, so too did she. "It's how it will always be, Aemond."

He nodded, and cupped her cheeks. "Can I tell you something?" He blushed.

"Tell me!"

He was smiling so much that his face ached. "I've never been this happy. I didn't know it was possible. Is it... is it possible for dragons to love us?"

Helaena nodded and strands came loose from her two long plaits. "Yes, of course! Vhagar loves you, Aemond! She chose you, like you chose her! And she loves you!"

"She does?"

Her nose crinkled as she smiled even wider. "Of course she does!"

Aemond beamed, and he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. "You're magic, Lae!" He peppered her whole face with kisses, and she squirmed and laughed in delight. He wrapped his arms around her again and held her while she pretended to get away, but all the while her hands held his arms. Perhaps it was him who kissed her lips on purpose, or perhaps it was her who turned her face at the right time.

Whoever it was, it didn't matter. When their lips pressed together, the rest of them stilled. His hands on her back grew slack, and her grip on his arms loosened. It was a soft kiss, but joyous. It broke when they both couldn't stop smiling.

When they broke apart, Aemond's eye was closed. "Lae, I-"

"You're magic, too, Aemond."

He could hear the happiness in her voice. He looked at her. She was still so close to him, and he could see every freckle, every eyelash. In her eyes, there were flecks of purple, like their ancestors. "I won Vhagar. Now I want to win you."

"I've always been yours. You know that."

He bit his lip and looked down. The smile on his face would not dim. "I want us to be married one day. Aegon doesn't deserve you, but I do."

Not even the mention of their brother could dim their shared delight, and Helaena squeezed his arms.

Bravely, he looked her in the eye again and continued. "If we can marry, I will want for nothing else, ever. I will have Vhagar, and I will have you. Will you have me?"

Helaena nodded without hesitation. "Always."

"I mean it. Do you want to marry me one day?"

"I do. I want us to be together always. I don't want to live a single day without you."

He kissed her forehead, and they hugged tightly again. On the ride home, Aemond thought of what he would say to his mother and father. Surely they would have to listen now that he had a dragon - the dragon - and had proven himself to be worthy of his name. They would have to let him marry Helaena one day. They would have to. He grinned in joy the whole flight home.

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