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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year

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Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing.

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind.

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing.

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before.

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being.

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes.

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen one shot #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond stannies

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demonicbaby666 · 2 months

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Territorial

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Kara Danvers x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, jealousy, fingering, semi-public sex

Summary: Attending an event with Kara seemed a good idea. It had never been an issue in the past, but when she returns from mingling to find you enjoying the company of another guest, things take an interesting turn.

A/n: I want to say that I've thoroughly proofread this, but I cannot because I am lazy and also not motivated enough to do that :)

Kara didn't want to leave you. On the drive over to the reporter's gala, you'd heard her say just that, even if you were the slightest bit distracted by how her muscles bulged under the sleeves of her blazer.

She knew you were no social butterfly and had sworn to stay by your side when you needed a breather from small talk and scheming questions—a hero even when she shed her cape. You'd tried to reason with her, explain you were not a child, that you'd be fine alone. Alas, it proved useless. She wasn't having it.

However, that was the drive over when Kara had yet to be faced with renowned reporters, endless opportunities for stories and the chance to fill a whole page, front and back, with media contacts. So, when the time came, you were proud to admit you succeeded in swaying your girlfriend to do all the things you knew she was most looking forward to with a "Please don't let me stop you. I had been wanting to check out the bar anyway."

You did receive a dejected look from Kara as she was dragged away, one that reminded you of a little lost pup. That wasn't entirely a pleasant sight, but when you arrived at a too-tall bar stool and peeked over your shoulder, you were happy to note Kara was lost in conversation. The twinkle in her eyes she only got when intrigue grew and questions were formed was bright as ever. She was utterly consumed. It was a happy sight. A sight that, mixed with alcohol, made your chest flush a little too hot for liking.

Time ticked by, and for a while, it was okay. You watched Kara move around, go from person to person, nursing your drink between glances and taking in the room decor. The thought of joining her did cross your mind but was quickly stored away when you realised how hard it would be to reach the blonde across the ocean of bodies. Better to sit tight and save yourself the trouble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the event hall grew too loud. Not loud from rowdy patrons or blasting music. The accumulation of too many polite voices and clattering sounds combined to form a monotonous hum was what was beginning to drive you crazy. You waited. And you waited. And you waited some more. You waited for as long as you could, feeling more and more how your cheeks began to burn until it got a little too much, and you found your way outside to the stone stairs of the grand entrance, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

That was where Kara found you. She'd wrapped up her conversations as fast as possible, asking and answering rapid-fire questions, absorbing every bit of knowledge offered while keeping track of the time. It couldn't be helped that now and again, she lost herself in stories that she imagined would one day be hers. She knew you'd understand. But then, too much time had passed, and she knew it as she hurried over to the bar, already panicked about how best to apologise for leaving you alone for so long.

By the time she did find you, after discovering the bar vacant, her worries were gone, and Kara was joyous to finally be so close to you again that she could smell your perfume. The stories she'd heard were waiting on the tip of her tongue to be regurgitated, along with an apology kiss, which she had decided was the foolproof option on the walk over. However, when she turned a corner and finally saw your unmistakable figure, she did not expect to find you with company. More so, she did not expect a pristine blazer that was not hers to be wrapped around you, keeping you warm from the evening's light breeze.

Watching from a close distance, Kara could see it. She could hear it pierce her ears—the bitter sound of laughter. You were smiling, listening attentively to what this random woman spewed at you, and it drove Kara crazy, filled her veins with fire, and turned her knuckles white. She hated this part of herself, the wiry-clawed green-eyed monster that came out so often around you. She'd been pushing it down all evening, all week, hell, your whole relationship, whenever she saw someone's eyes linger on your figure too long. But this, whatever was happening between you and this woman, was, for some reason, Kara's last straw.

"It's freezing." She strode over, steps heavy, tone sharp as she announced her presence.

It was, in fact, not freezing, and you were about to mention that as you turned to greet Kara, but the second you saw her stony expression, you decided otherwise.

"Kara, it's so nice to finally meet you," the woman beside you said, extending her arm to the blonde with a warm, charismatic smile. "Andrea."

The reporter outright ignored the greeting, stared at Andrea with flared nostrils and then back to you, her eyes softening only a smidge. You hated to say it, even if it was just to yourself, but something about seeing Kara this way deeply affected you. Of course, you loved sweet Kara, the Kara that would never be able not to help, the Kara that left a trail of sunshine behind her as she walked, the Kara that giggled at double entendres, and that's what she said jokes. But this Kara, fierce, protective and territorial Kara, the Kara that would crack someone's neck if they looked at you the wrong way, throw them over the side of a building if they even thought to touch you, drove you mad with undying lust.

"Why are you out here?" your girlfriend asked, snapping you out of your daze. Her eyes grew smaller, and her lips thinned as she stared at the blazer still around your shoulders.

Sensing her hostility and heavy eyes, you got the hint. Well, it was less of a hint than a blaring alarm. Nonetheless, you understood. "I got a bit hot inside, that's all," you calmly answered, beginning to shrug off the satin jacket that seemed to be Kara's new adversary lest she burn a hole right through it.

"Nice seeing you, Andrea," Kara said dryly, sporting a sarky smile as she took the blazer off your shoulder and handed it back. "I'll be taking my girlfriend inside now."

With an arm hooked around your waist, you were ushered inside, unsure what the hell had just happened until it was too late to turn around and apologise for Kara's out-of-character behaviour.

"Did you have to be so rude?" you whispered. "She was only being nice."

Kara was indifferent, her face expressionless. "I thought you didn't want to socialise," she finally said, manoeuvring past groups of chattering clusters.

"She approached me. It would have been rude to ignore her," you tried to reason.

"The blazer?" Kara countered, nails digging into you so hard you felt them pierce the silk material of your dress, forcing you to choke down a whimper.

There were so many things you could have said, so many things you should have said. You could have given Kara one of the many valid reasons you had at your disposal. But no, you did nothing of the sort. Seeing Kara this pissed off, even if she was trying to hide the true extent of it, was absolutely divine, and you wanted it to last.

Leaning over to her ear, keeping up with her quick pace on your tippy toes, you sultrily whispered, "I was chilly, and she offered to keep warm."

Kara halted, standing stark still in the middle of a desolate hallway. You saw her jaw lock, the way her veins in her neck bulged. Her eyes, shining a scorching shade of blue, looked off into the distance, and that was when Kara truly lost herself to silent rage.

When her feet started moving again, no words were spoken. She only pushed you down the corridor and then to the left, each step growing more daunting as the woman beside you remained stoic. You started to consider that perhaps you had gone too far.

"Kara, I-" you tried but were cut off by the force of Kara roughly shoving you inside a side room. With no warning, your body was slammed against the back of the door, forcing it shut with a bang that echoed in your ears, its remnants reduced to a faint buzz.

Kara had kept her hands on your waist, body a safe distance away as her azure eyes roamed your face in rapid intervals, eventually landing on your lips.

"Do you need a reminder?" she snapped.

Fidgeting and momentarily adverse to maintaining eye contact, you looked around at the collection of coats, studying all the colours, all the various items poking out of pockets, and the occasional umbrella brought in by the wary, inherently failing to answer Kara's vague question.

The quiet grew to be biting; its teeth gnawed away at your confidence until breathing became almost impossible. Thankfully, the room itself was chilled, air circulating well enough to ensure that dust particles and the distinct smell of dampness would not stick to the fabric. Only two windows painted the room, both of which were located to your right, one jammed shut with rust and debris, the other slightly ajar. And as grating seconds passed like hours, and eyes locked onto you, hot breath rained down on you, the timid breeze that began to sweep in through the small crack of that old window became your new best friend.

You focused on it as you looked to the floor and watched your toes curl. You heard its high-pitched whistles alongside the squeaking leather of your shoes, and you felt its light fingers caress your flushed cheeks just enough to dull your panic to a manageable seven.

Of course, this did not last long. Your senses eventually found you, and you remembered the lingering question dancing in the air and the unhappy blonde who deserved an apology. But it was too late. For the second time that evening, you concluded that you'd pushed your girlfriend too far.

Your punishment was a hand coiling around your throat, calloused fingers threatening to mark you with blotchy bruises but not daring to squeeze hard enough to hurt. Beneath the firm grip, you closed your eyes, frustrated with how painstakingly annoying it was to have something so wrong feel so good. So fucking good you were struggling to hold in a moan.

"Do you need a reminder that you're mine?" Kara calmly asked, fractionally squeezing just that little bit tighter to force out a strained whimper. Her pupils were blown wide, dark whirls of something foreign polluting the bright shine of her irises.

Distant music seeped in, filling the silence between rapid breaths. Eyes sharpened their focus on one another, studying the new hues of lust, committing the new palettes to memory for lonely nights. Then came the slip—your submission offered with one last shuddering breath and the slow close of your eyelids, and Kara, sharp as a whistle, acted accordingly. Her lips, soft yet bruising, devoured you at a moment's notice, pulling you in with deceiving memories and false promises, only to demolish them with biting nips and trailing scratches. She tasted of pure possession, each slide of her tongue more demanding than the last.

She wanted control, and you happily gave it over.

Kara pulled back, beginning to plant kisses from your mouth down to your neck. She drew you into her mouth, sucking hard enough to have surely left a mark, and you'd have cared if it weren't for the svelte fingers shamelessly working under your dress, rising to the juncture between your thighs to tease your clothed cunt with light touches.

There was no remorse when your shivers were felt, when your pitiful rendition of a beg was heard or when your hips started to grind down in desperation. The reporter was hell-bent on prolonging the torture.

Hand on the underside of your knee, Kara encouraged you to wrap a leg around her waist. She hauled it up as if it weighed nothing and held it in place, momentarily allowing you to find some needed friction along the column of her toned stomach. It was then you realised why Kara wanted you to have some leverage. Savagely, your underwear was torn, fabric protesting louder than you did in fear you'd anger your tyrant and be deemed unworthy of her illustrious treatment.

"I want them to hear you," Kara drawled, dipping the tip of her finger inside you. "Hear that you belong to me."

Instructions clear, she thrust three fingers into your welcoming pussy and began fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. There were no words to describe the ecstasy that was being stretched so abruptly it almost hurt, so you settled for a silent cry instead, gripping onto muscled shoulders for leverage.

It stung when Kara pushed harder and moved faster, but the tendrils of pleasure did not lessen, circulating through your body and bubbling in your stomach, so you endured.

Your moans were carrying, spilling out of the room to ricochet and bounce around the high-panelled ceiling and walls of the corridor. The occasional gasp that did reach your ears left you desperately wanting to be ashamed, to do the sensible thing and tell Kara to stop. The embarrassment of exiting the cloakroom and coming face-to-face with the many people who knew exactly what had happened was enough for you to listen to your rational mind. But what remained stronger was the need to chase your impending orgasm.

That's what made forgetting so easy—the vehement need for ownership being met, even if it was being done in such a precarious place. It's probably why you didn't stop the following words from coming out of your mouth.

"Yours." You wanted her to know. Hell, you wanted everyone to know. So you kept saying it, over and over, louder and louder. "Yours yours, yours, only yours."

All you could do was continue to pull Kara in, clenching around her fingers, and beg her to go impossibly deeper with the firm grip of your leg and crackling cries. Soon enough, there was no need for Kara to hold you close; you were stuck to her like glue, and the blonde chose to take full advantage.

Her hand lay flat on the wall to gain some leverage, her fingers starting to move so fast they felt like they were vibrating. Soft kisses along your throat became harsh, teeth latching onto skin repeatedly, mercy momentarily shown with soothing slides of a slickened tongue. In the back of your mind, you knew what was happening. The reporter was marking you as hers, and when you left that tiny room, there would be no mistaking it. In the upcoming days, she wanted you to see the bruises staring back at you in the mirror, a warning for you never to forget. Hers.

"Mine," Kara growled, her voice raspy.

Your chest was rising and falling alarmingly, your breath short, and your lungs exerted. Everything was moving so fast you scarcely noticed Kara place her thumb over your clit till it was too late, and all that was left to do was gasp so heavily your lungs felt like they may burst.

With the duel stimulation came the lack of awareness, and it seemed, even for Kara, your volume was rising to a level that would amass too much attention. Her lips found yours, and muffling your cries, she drove her tongue into your mouth.

Her thumb continually ran in circles, each drawing you closer. Your stomach was so tense it felt painful. Still, the persistent waves of satisfaction were worth the strain, and unsurprisingly, in little to no time, you felt the inevitable crest of your orgasm, releasing an open-mouthed gasp against velvet lips.

You came with a silent cry, your head thrown back and slamming against the wall, forcing Kara to separate her lips from yours. She watched you fall apart in awe, milking you for you had till you were shaking so badly you could scarcely hold yourself up.

"Keep holding onto me," she whispered, and you obeyed, wrapping your hands around her neck, breathing heavily and dropping your head to her shoulder. With a delicate kiss on your temple, Kara slowed her fingers down to languish thrusts and placed her hand over your ass, taking the majority of your weight. "I've got you."

Assured there was no chance you would collapse, Kara kept going, continually pulling meek whimpers from you with every curl of her fingers. It felt like your orgasm was never-ending, waves of full-bodied pleasure rippling through your system over and over, burrowing into your skin till it felt like you were on fire. Finally, when a grimace replaced the gratified smile you wore and your moans began to sound more wounded, she stilled, slowly withdrawing from you.

Weakly looking up, you watched Kara bring her fingers into her mouth and sample your unique taste. Her eyes fluttered shut as the familiar tangy nectar coated her tongue, and a satisfied hum vibrated in her throat.

Head falling forward, knees still shaky, mind certain, you whispered the only thing that seemed to be running through your head, "Yours."

Lips to your temple, Kara happily muffled her confirmation, "Mine."

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#kara danvers #kara danvers x reader #supergirl #supergirl x reader #arrowverse #arrowverse x reader #kara zor el x reader

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alphacentaurinebula · 8 months

Text

I need to talk about the Edinburgh minisode, because I have SO. MANY. THOUGHTS.

It's sort of an afterthought minisode in some ways. Before the Beginning gives us so much giddy joy (despite the ominous foreshadowing). 1941 gives us all the giddy romance. Job gives us so much insight into both characters histories and how they came to be who they are and work together...

The Resurrectionists gives us a morality play, basically, but also gives us Crowley high (and HIGH) on laudanum and plenty of bright shiny bits...

...so the morality side maybe doesn't get as much focus.

Which is a shame. Because the Edinburgh episode demonstrates perfectly the flaw in Aziraphale's understanding of the world that leads to him going to heaven.

When we start out in 1827, we are introduced to grave robbing and Aziraphale immediately decides that it is Bad (a sin). He does all he can to prevent the young woman he meets and likes from doing Bad (sinning), assumably to try to pave her way into Heaven. And Crowley tries to help her with her grave robbing, much to Aziraphale's chagrin.

Grave Robbing = Bad; Crowley supports Grave Robbing; Crowley=Bad

When they meet Mr Surgeon, and Crowley starts to ask some pointed questions meant to poke holes in Aziraphale's certainty, he flips entirely the other way, without noticing any of the other moral greyness (like the fact that Mr Surgeon would never take the risks or do the dirty work himself. Which is pretty important, since we learn in Edinburgh in the present that Mr Surgeon was so convinced of his own superiority and importance later on in his life that he started murdering people (probably "unfortunates" like Elspeth) when he couldn't get corpses fast enough).

Grave Robbing = Good; Crowley supports Grave Robbing; Crowley = Good

When he is then confronted with the idea of selling Wee Morag's body, and Crowley points out it is different when it's someone you know, Aziraphale is basically frozen in indecision. He doesn't know what the good thing is anymore.

He spouts the party line about the fact that starting off poor somehow gives Elspeth an advantage when it comes to Heaven, but is unable to explain why or how, not even to himself. And when he's put on the spot as Elspeth tries to kill herself, he doesn't have any arguments to offer.

CROWLEY: Say something! That... convinces her that poverty is ineffably wonderful and that life is worth living. Go on!

But despite all the moral ambiguity present throughout the episode, Aziraphale still sees everything as black and white. First, grave robbing is bad, then it is good. First, Crowley is bad (when he has the opposite position to Aziraphale), then he is good (when he has the same position). Aziraphale never understands Crowley's constant questions are a challenge to the very idea that there IS a 'good' in this situation. He never examines or questions the complex systems of class and sexism and capitalism which force Elspeth to this desperate recourse, or the laws which prevent Mr Surgeon from accessing bodies for research via legal means.

He doesn't see the systemic injustic. He just sees individual moral actors making either good or bad choices.

(and just to deviate slightly from the Edinburgh minisode -- while he says he understands that sometimes things are not just black or white but also grey, in 1941 - I don't actually think his grey and Crowley's grey mean the same thing. The 'greyest' thing that Aziraphale does in 1941 is help a showgirls theatre and hide information from Hell - this is not the same thing as truly seeing that some situations simply don't have a Right Thing to do, or understanding that systems shape and control individuals' decisions, so the idea that humans all have the same ability to choose Right is an illusion.

AZIRAPHALE: You know, they cannot be truly holy unless they also get the opportunity to be wicked.

So it is no wonder at all that when the Metatron offers him the opportunity to run Heaven, he doesn't see a broken institution or systemic oppression/injustice, but rather a series of bad actors preventing Heaven from achieving the Goodness it is meant to represent.

#ok that was long so I hope it made sense #good omens #Obviously the job minisode is my favourite #I mean...#bildad the shuhite #but this one is SO flipping insightful and deep and is sort of the crux of the whole thing #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #the resurrectionist #laudanum

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mncxbe · 9 months

Note

Hi I love your blog!!

Was wondering If could request a fydor and his wife who gave birth to a son and how she’ll react when she find out what fydors been doing and she rans away with her son and later fydor finds out and finds her after some years.

You can decide what happens but Ty and take care.

Yess ofc. I did this as in character as possible tbh and it's a bit fast paced but I hope you like it♡♡

°☆○

3:42 a.m

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: slight angst♤

Despite popular belief, Fyodor actually loved you. Looking back he doesn't really know what exactly fascinated him that much: you were a simple young woman fresh out of college, working a nine-to-five job at a local coffee shop. Perhaps your normality was what has drawn him to you.

There was nothing spectacular about your looks either except your eyes: shoulder length black hair, a fairly regular built, but oh those eyes... pools of dark like black lakes, flaked with silvery spots. Looking into your eyes was like stargazing, the whole universe hidden in those two orbs.

The only truly remarkable aspect about you was your innate ability to lean new languages. You came to Russia when you were 19 and when Fyodor met you three years later your Russian was perfect.

Seven months after the two of you met he proposed; and you accepted. It was impulsive and wrong in a way. Neither of you knew much about the other and that's exactly the reason why your relationship was doomed from the beginning.

Nevertheless Fyodor adored you. He poured every ounce of humanity and hope he had left in you and your marriage. Words cannot explain how happy he was when you told him you were pregnant too. It gave him hope, a bright future to look forward to, maybe even a chance to leave the Decay of Angels.

But this vision he had shattered the day you left, taking your son with you. You had finally found out about his crimes, his sins; and this was his punishment. He didn't bother to look for you. Maybe it was for the best that you were gone. He realized how greedy and stupid he was: to want both your love and to succeed in his plans. Your departure was simply a consequence of his own actions but knowing that didn't numb the pain of his loss.

With each lonely night that passed you felt farther from him and soon enough he became desensitized; feelings and attachments only brought suffering and disappointment. They were the fatal flaw of human condition. So he pushed them in the back of his mind, locked them in a mental safe and threw away the key.

After you left he gave it all to his organization; there was nothing holding him back from commiting the most horrendous crimes and he loved it. Looking back, you were merely a distraction.

And then he went to Yokohama to play his part in the great plan. He was finally away from his mother country so the last string that tied him to you was cut.

Or so he thought.

It was a fine autumn afternoon, a thick layer of dead leaves hid most of the ground and crackled under Fyodor's feet. A light breeze carried a sweet, putrid scent mixed with exhaust gas.

Fyodor was walking through his favourite park when suddenly, a ball rolled in front of his feet. He ceased his motion, looking around for the owner of the ball when a little boy, around 5 years old, appeared in front of him.

"Sorry mister sir." uttered the boy as he crouched to grab the plastic ball with his slender hands. When the child straightened his back Fyodor caught a glimpse of his face and froze. It was as if he was looking at a miniature version of himself: violet eyes, pale skin, unkept dark hair that went a little past his jawline.

Was it...? But no, it couldn't be. It couldn't...

Just then your voice sounded from behind the little boy; it was as crystalling and soft as he remembered. He rose his eyes to look at you and the intensity of your gaze disarmed him. Of course you recognised him even after all these years, he looked virtually the same.

But you had changed: your hair was now long, dyed strawberry blonde and you were fitter, healthier but your eyes were the same. A pang a sadness pierced his soul like an arrow when he realized how well you were now that you left him.

"Akiro love please. Let's go home." you said in a shaky voice [and a flawless Japanese] as you grabbed the kid's arm and yanked him back, away from Fyodor. The plastic ball fell from the boy's hands and he let out a cry but you didn't stop walking.

And once again, Fyodor let you walk away. He watched as you stepped further down the alley, wrapping the beige jacket around your body with a hand as the other was loosely holding your son's fingers.

Hia gaze followed the two of you until you left the park. With slightly quivering fingers he picked up the ball from his feet and placed it in the inner pocket of his cloak before turning on his heels and walking back to his place.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd angst #fyodor x reader #fyodor bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky

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daenysx · 1 year

Note

Hi! I don't know if you remember the request of reader being pregnant with aemond but don't want to tell him because they are not married and the baby would be a bastard and his family wouldn't accept that, well, i was wondering if you could make a little series about it (like the proposal, the wedding, the pregnancy, the birth and a couple year later).

Los of love 💖

hi baby, thank you so much for this request and i'm sorry it took me so long! i've tried 2 different versions but i wasn't really satisifed with them. you can think of this as the second part and the explanation of their feelings.

requests are open!!

my masterlist

STRINGS ATTACHED (part 1)

part 2 - confessing

you and aemond explain your feelings to each other. nsfw.

he looks calm and relaxed, watches the ceiling as he rubs absent-minded circles on your belly.

it has been only 3 days since you told aemond that you are pregnant with his baby. in his analitical mind there are two parts; the one which makes him want to scream his happiness and the one which makes him know that he should protect you and the baby from every possible thing that could happen.

after that little moment of shock passed, he started to make plans in his mind. how to meet you with his family, how to get married to you, how to prevent any harm that can come to your way. he cannot afford to lose you and the baby at this point. he is already ready to lose it all just for your sake.

you are in bed next to him. his enormous bed, the witness of all your love making sessions. the witness of him falling in love with you everytime as you try to hold him closer.

"do you have any regrets?"

your soft voice brings him back to reality.

"regrets?"

you nod. "i'm just curious, it all happened so fast."

he gives himself a few seconds to think before he answers.

"i don't regret our baby. please don't ever think that. i should've told you about my feelings sooner. i shouldn't have made you feel like it's just sex and nothing else."

"why did you do it then?"

he seems happy that you want explanations instead of letting go.

"i didn't know how to reach you. how to be with you. how to start a relationship or even asking you. it happened and you seemed like you love the deal we had, i accepted what i had and didn't stop."

you let out a small chuckle.

"so, what you're saying is 'the perfect aemond targaryen' didn't know how to ask a girl out and settled for a sex arrangement instead?"

your words did something to him and suddenly he is on top of you, kissing like there is no tomorrow.

"and what about you, hmm? why wait so long to tell me how you feel? why ever letting me believe that you fell for someone else?"

you keep kissing him before answering his question.

"i didn't want to lose you. i thought if i talk about feelings you would break the arrangement and i could never see you again."

he understands. of course he fucking understands. it's not difficult to process everything in his mind but he feels guilty somehow. he wishes he could be the brave one. it would change everything and he cannot help himself, he thinks of all the lost opportunities.

"i just wish-" you kiss him, not letting him finish his sentence that he starts with a frown on his face.

"no. from now on, it's a new beginning for us. we won't think anything about the past, okay?"

he smiles. it's comforting, to have someone by his side who makes sure he stops thinking.

"i want this with you. i want all of you. i want everything with you."

he kisses you. not just a sweet, little kiss but a passionate one. your words carve their ways into his heart and he lets himself hold onto them until the end of his days.

"we will have a baby, can you believe that?" you say with a big smile.

"i must admit, it's still a shock. i wouldn't want a baby with anyone but you, it's quite a relief."

you frown slightly. "oh, please. you should try to be a little more romantic than that."

he starts pressing kisses to your neck as he stays on top of you in bed. "i should be romantic, hmm? should i kiss every inch of your body that i adore so much, you can't even guess? should i tell you how much i love you, how much i'd like to think about you, carrying our baby? should i tell you how beautiful you'll be as a mother and that i'll always be a man on his knees for you? because i think i can do that, sweetheart."

you hold his face and lead his lips to yours. he is a man of words and those words make you want to part your legs for him, only to keep him there forever.

"can you- can we-"

you pause, breathless and unsure of your words.

"anything you want." he understands.

he makes a quick work on your clothes, takes them off. he takes off his eyepatch, stands next to bed until he's naked for you. you watch him with eager eyes. he is yours now. no need to hide anything you feel. you press your thighs together, biting your lip.

"you should keep those legs open for me, my love."

you take a deep breath. his fingers stay on your thighs as he helps you keep them open.

"already wet for me? you look perfect."

he brings his fingers to your cunt, slowly touches with gentle fingertips. his fingers easily gets coated with your wetness and you whimper softly.

"i need to hear those voices, okay? be loud for me."

his first time touching you when you're both aware of feelings and it feels different. all he wants is to kiss you and fuck you senseless but he wants to be gentle and loving, too.

he is sure you're ready and if he doesn't start moving his fingers soon, you'll be cursing him. he puts his index finger deep, the sensation of his long finger in you is sudden and perfect. he moves it until he makes sure you feel that delicious strech, then he adds his middle finger.

"move your hips for me, sweet girl. there you go, it's nice isn't it?"

you nod as you move your hips in a sync with his fingers and it's perfect. it's more than nice, feeling his fingers right there. then he makes it better.

he knows how much you love it when he finds your g-spot and touches it like a cruel man. endless pressure until he feels your walls clench. you are almost addicted.

"yes, oh god, aemond! keep your fingers there, it's so- hmm."

he chuckles. "why on earth would i stop touching something so beautiful, hmm? let go, princess."

you find his other hand with closed eyes and lead his thumb to your clit.

"two fingers not enough for you, you want another one? fuck, i love you so fucking much."

he rubs your swollen clit and you move your hips like your life depends on it. you feel yourself getting close but you also don't want this to end.

"kiss me."

he immediately obeys and leans forward to kiss you. his hands don't stop, his lips swallow all of your noises and you love it. you love how much he devotes himself to you in bed.

it doesn't take long, you arch your back your hands stroke his hair and he slows his pace when he feels you come around him. warm liquid goes down on your legs and on his fingers and it feels like the world can fuck off now that you have him.

you hold his hand, relieved and happy. "you are perfect, thank you."

"no need to thank me, love. it was my pleasure." he smirks and that smirk has never looked more beautiful.

you take a few minutes as he cleans you. when you feel the effect of shattering orgasm lessens, you sit on bed, leading him under you.

"i'd like to return the favor."

he looks unsure. "as much as i love the image of your lips around my cock, i don't want you to go hard on yourself, love. that was for you."

you shake your head stubbornly. "i want to do it. i love doing it, you know that and i'm fine."

you don't let him say anything else, you take his cock in your soft hand. he hisses with the sudden feeling. you tighten your fingers experimentally, hearing his voice saying your name desperately.

"don't tease me, you little minx. it was hard enough to watch you come undone on my fingers, i need you."

you smile affectionally. "as you wish."

you lick your palm and bring it back to his cock, stroking him slowly and your thumb is on the tip of him. you lean forward and take him in your mouth. it's quite impossible to take him fully in your mouth but you start slow and he guides you, never lets you hurt yourself.

you start sucking him, gently. your hands travel on his thighs and the length of him that you cannot have in your mouth. his hands find your hair, helps you move easily.

you are used to this, during your arrangement it was the only thing that calmed aemond's mind. he'd love seeing you taking care of him, sucking him, and looking at him with those eyes while you do that. it never takes too long for him, the image of you between his legs is enough to get him there.

"can you- a little more, my love. please." such needy words coming from his mouth.

you are merciful, you keep moving your lips and tongue in a way you know makes him go feral. he starts lifting his hips unintentionally.

"i'm close baby, you can stop."

you straighten your back for a moment, continue your movements with your hand. you take a deep breath and take him in your mouth again.

"baby-"

"i wanna swallow. come on aemond, i know you are close."

your words start burning their way into his brain and he loses it. he comes with a loud moan, his desire stays in your mouth in a liquid form. he can't think or breathe for a moment.

"i think you just killed me."

you smirk. "you always say the same thing."

he pulls you closer into his arms. he holds you right there, such a moment was reserved only in his dreams and now it's his reality. he pulls the covers on you, you bury your face to his neck.

"i've always wanted to do this. after you made me come with that perfect mouth of yours, i wanted to hold you like this."

you mumble softly. "sometimes you did."

"it wasn't enough."

his lips find your neck, the soft skin of your breast, and your belly.

"our baby is right here, hmm?"

you smile. "it's too small, aemond. we should see a doctor though."

"still, it's here my love. and we can see a doctor tomorrow, okay?"

you nod. "i want to sleep."

"go ahead, baby. i'll be right here when you wake up."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #modern!aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond one eye

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sourpatchys · 4 months

Text

Chapter One: Hell Hole

Time: Right before the USJ attack

Rating: nothing explicit in this chapter, though overall this story is 18+

Word Count: 1k

Summary: To learn how to love after years of loathing— the very concept had Shigaraki sick to his stomach. He didn't love you, he didn't love anyone—not even himself. In which Tomura Shigaraki, a villain in despite of anything else, learns that maybe he doesn't hate everything after all.

A/N: Same drill as my other ongoing story! This first chapter is just a stepping stone to create some solid groundwork for future chapters, it may be short but the story cannot stand without it <3

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You were supposed to be dead— a pile of dust in some dark alleyway where no one would think twice to look.

But you were alive, perfectly healthy and put together, staring at a sticky unwashed bar table just wishing— praying — that the floor would swallow you whole.

Disoriented couldn't even begin to explain the way you were feeling. You were nauseous, your skin was clammy and cold, a million thoughts were swirling through your head and you couldn't focus on a single one.

You were afraid to look up— hell— you were afraid to breathe too deeply without permission. No one was speaking, the only noise you could hear was the fast arrhythmic thumping of your own heart against your bruised ribs. The only concept you were able to hold onto was a single word, and even that was caught in your throat, unable to be spoken against the humid air— why? Why did this have to happen to you?

It was as if the world itself was mocking you, challenging you to try again— to go big or go home. You wanted neither.

Suddenly someone's throat was cleared, a gesture meant to grab the attention of the patrons, though you refused to look, afraid of what you might see.

"Tomura, what plans do you have for this girl?"

The voice belonged to the shadowy man behind the bar, you could feel his eyes on you as he spoke— it made your skin crawl.

"Does it matter?"

This voice was familiar, scratchy and untamed— it belonged to the man who had brought you here— the one who had tried to kill you not even a full hour earlier.

"I suppose not. I was hoping to understand the bedding situation, if she's staying I'll be needing to clean the storage room."

"Whatever."

The thought of staying in this disgusting place made you wish you would've died. It was awkward and stuffy, tense and so, unbearably quiet. Your body was in extreme amounts of pain, and you somehow doubted anyone within range cared enough to offer their assistance.

Sounds of shifting feet and clanking glass solidified your fears— you were going to be staying in this hell hole whether you liked it or not.

—

With nothing to focus on, minutes felt like hours and seconds left like decades— it was if your life force was being sucked out of your body bit by bit.

Usually, in movies or books there would be a clock ticking away in the background— a solid reinforcement that time was moving and the world hadn't ended. Unluckily enough this was reality and you were stuck clinging to yourself instead of abstract coos and ticks— not even your own breathing was loud enough to distract you from the overwhelming sound of silence.

You had almost forgotten Shigaraki was still with you— trying your hardest to lose yourself in make believe, pretending that this wasn't happening.

"Why didn't my quirk work on you."

His voice was demanding, seething and full of venom. It was an understandable question, even if it was disguised under something much more dangerous and lethal. It didn't seem as if he was used to not getting his way.

"I don't know."

It was an honest answer— choked out from your burning throat. You'd seen the horror that came from his hands. Cold, calloused and lethal weapons of destruction. When he'd touched you, you had made peace with the fact that you were going to die, that the world no longer had space for you and he was simply cleaning up the mess.

You could still feel of his fingers gripping your throat— and then your face, and then your arm and your leg. All he'd managed to accomplish was destroying your favorite jacket and turning your leggings into frayed shorts. If anything you were more confused than he could ever be.

"Bullshit. What's your quirk?"

Now this was hilarious, you weren't sure if it was the absurdity of it all or the pain finally turning your brain into mush— but you laughed. Giggling up a storm to the point your eyes were watering and your stomach felt as if it would collapse.

The stool Shigaraki was sitting on made a screech as he stood, marching towards you and grabbing the collar of your stained shirt forcing your face towards his in a frenzy.

"What's so fucking funny?!"

Without the fear holding you back, you found yourself looking into his striking vermillion eyes, small hiccups of laughter still spilling from your chest as you found the words to say.

"I'm registered Quirkless."

He threw his hands off of you, tossing your body back into the sticky unwashed counter. Looking at his face, devoid of the threat of dying, he looked like a pouting child. His brows were furrowed, his bottom lip was stuck in a pout between his teeth, and his hair was frayed in every direction, as if he had only just rolled out of bed. A distant part of you wondered how a man so slimy and unforgiving had become such a fuss in the world today. Though a much larger and present part of you knew, if he had wanted you dead, you wouldn't be sitting here right now.

In a shaky voice, one that made your bones tremble and your ever unceasing nausea to come back full force, he spoke once more. "You aren't leaving."

He was hunched over, his face now hidden under the turquoise locks that had framed his face only moments before. You felt sick again, the fear steadily creeping back into your skin as you looked away from his trembling body.

You wanted to take it back, to lie and make up some make believe quirk, just to see if maybe you could leave. To go back to your stupid 9-5 and forget this had ever happened. Realistically, you knew that wouldn't happen— Shigaraki had you in his grasp, like a snake strangling its prey.

Next Chapter

#tomura x y/n #shigaraki x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki imagine #my hero academia shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki #tomura shiragaki #shigaraki tomura #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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sunnytarg · 1 year

Note

PART 3 PART 3 PART 3!!

I need some A N S W E R S! 😂💖💖

This was honestly supposed to be one part but I think I have a problem with saying no to people lol.

Pt. 1 || Pt. 2

Tw: mentions of previous assault

Aemond doesn’t think much about that night with his niece after it happens. Of course, he had an extra pep in his step when he pulled on his breeches the next morning and looked down at his sleeping niece. She had looked absolutely ravished and it wasn’t hard for Aemond to push the noises of her whimpers and soft cries from his mind as he looks down at her.

His sister had walked into her daughter’s chambers without knocking, waking his niece and only slightly startling him. Aemond only flashes her a quick smirk before walking out of the room. He doesn’t know what lies his dear niece had told her mother and Aemond couldn’t find it in him to care.

For the first week after his night with his niece, all he can think about is her. Her naked body was soft and smooth under his touch. The way her cunt fluttered around him. He thought of his words to her and imagined her carrying his child.

He found himself fisting his cock at the thought of her. He had hoped that when he saw her in the corridors or outside when he was training, she might take it upon herself to sneak into his chambers. Despite his smirks and sly looks sent her way, he begins to notice her avoiding him.

When he steps away for a moment from training he glances up and sees his niece. She barely meets his eye before she looks away with a frown. She had looked both sad and angry.

For the first time since that night, he feels a twist in his gut. His dear sweet niece couldn’t even look at him. He knew that he had been rough with her and probably should’ve been kinder about taking her maidenhood, but his anger toward her brothers and his lust toward her had felt like it was boiling out of control that night.

Aemond hates how much she consumes his thoughts. He tries to forget about that night as shame begins to cloud any other feelings he had toward what he did. He doesn’t have to avoid her and she has already gone about avoiding him. Despite, his best attempts at trying to forget about her, at night, when it’s only him and his thoughts, his mind always wanders to his niece. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone to her that night and forced himself onto her, if he hadn’t been so callous and rough with her, he could have gone about courting her, and perhaps he would eventually have been able to bed her as his wife.

Forgetting her is soon thrown out of the window when he hears servants gossiping about the princess being pregnant. Despite him telling her that it would only be right for her to birth a bastard as she was one herself, he can’t help but picture her giving birth to a silver-haired child that he can call his.

The thought alone has him almost sprinting toward his mother’s chambers. When he enters, slightly out of breath but still composed, he finds not only his mother but his grandsire and half-sister already there. When his sister meets his eyes, he only receives a hard glare and he knows she’s remembering when he walked out of her daughter’s room two moons ago.

When he declares that he will take his niece to be his bride everyone in the room looks shocked. His grandsire, though, tells his mother that it would be a good union. His sister looks like she’s about to decline but then his mother finally speaks up and looks at her old friend with what Aemond can only guess is a hint of regret, “your daughter cannot do better than to marry a prince of the Realm.”

And just like that, Aemond found himself betrothed to his dear niece. His mother and sister fast-tracked the wedding and he knew it was because they didn’t want to have to explain why the babe in the princess's womb was born so early.

The entire week leading up to the wedding he had tried to seek the princess out. Talk to her for the first time since their night together a few moons ago but he couldn’t find her anywhere. Eventually, he realized that she had holed up in her chambers and would probably remain there until the wedding.

He bites the inside of his cheek so hard that it begins to bleed at the thought of not being able to speak with her until they were wed. He could just slip into her room, but the thought made his gut twist with guilt again. She was to be his Lady wife and he couldn’t dishonor her. Not again.

When he finally saw her again in the Sept on the day of their wedding, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was radiant. She didn’t have to dress in the most luxurious clothes or plaster on a fake smile like all of the other women at court to grab his attention.

When she stood beside him as they said their vows, he realizes for the first time, that he did not ask for her hand out of a sense of duty or go to her chamber that night out of revenge. As he looks into her sad eyes, he realizes that all of the feelings that he thought were anger and hatred were misplaced and he knew, just by looking at her as he covered her in his cloak, that since he was a child he had felt some sort of semblance of love towards her.

During the feast, that took place after the wedding, she did her best to ignore him. Truthfully, he couldn’t blame her but he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t sting a little when she would pull her hand away from him every time he went to hold it.

Aemond had only one request for their wedding and that was that there wouldn’t be a bedding ceremony. The Lords and Ladies of the court were not to touch him and his new wife and they would be in their new chambers alone.

His request was accepted easily, and when he stood in his new chambers with his wife as she began to undress, he couldn’t tell immediately why bile rose up in his throat. When she was left in her underclothes and made to crawl into the bed, clearly waiting for him to follow, he knew why he felt the way he did.

Their first night together, their only night together hadn’t been what he imagined but for her, it must have been a nightmare. He doesn’t think twice before he pulls his dagger from his waist and cuts his palm and smears it onto the sheets without saying anything to her. When she looks at him confused he only tells her that he will not take her to bed until she wants him to.

When she climbs into their large bed, he walks over to the chair by the fire. He had wanted this marriage. She didn’t.

After that night, Aemond tries his best to mend their fractured relationship. He wants to build a friendship with her first before they can even approach the more sexually intimate part of a marriage. It’s the least he could do for her.

They do share a bed at night, though, he doesn’t want the servants running around gossiping about his marriage.

It takes some time for his wife to stop flinching away from him. When he’s not training, he’s spending time with her. Whether it’s reading a book as she embroiders or if it’s her allowing him close enough to let him whisper High Valyrian to her swelling stomach, he’s almost always with her.

Eventually, laughter and joy find their way into the marriage and Aemond isn’t surprised to find himself truly falling in love with his niece. He doesn’t know if she feels the same and he has come to terms that perhaps she may never feel the same, but he thinks he’ll be fine with that as long as she no longer flinches from his touch or avoids him.

Several moons have passed since they were wed and his niece and nephew were begging to go fly on Vaghar and Dreamfyre with him and their mother. It was something that he used to do before his wife was so heavy with child. Now, he found it difficult to leave her side since the maesters told them that her labors would start any day.

His wife, clearly frustrated with his hovering, had pushed him to go flying with Helaena and her children. Aemond had reluctantly agreed.

It was easy to lose track of the time while soaring through the skies, so when they entered the castle again and his mother’s knight, Ser Criston, had found him and told him that his wife had started her labors just after he left, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

He rushes to their chambers and finds himself hesitant before entering. For several moons now, since she had started to warm up to him and he began to make amends to her, he had thought that he would be by her side as she brought their child into this world. He had promised he’d hold her hand and be there for their child’s first cry but as he stands outside of the chamber doors, he doesn’t hear the sounds of a woman in labor nor does he hear a newborn babe crying.

He tries not to think the worst as he enters their chambers.

Instead of seeing what he feared, he sees his wife, sweaty but smiling tiredly down at the bundle in her arms.

He finds himself frozen to the spot until she beckons him. When he’s standing over his wife and newborn babe, he feels his heart flutter in his chest. He brings one of his fingers to his child’s head and lightly strokes the barely there strands of silver hair.

When he finally tears his eyes away from the cooing infant, he looks up to see his wife smiling at him.

“I was thinking we could name her Valaena,” she said softly. Aemond whispered the name to their daughter and watched as she blinked her brown eyes, the eyes she inherited from her mother, up at him.

“I think that sounds perfect, my love.”

Aemond hadn’t noticed his slip of words as he took his daughter into his arms and cooed back at her but his wife did. She blinked, surprised at the name, and then slowly let a smile take over her face as she looked at her husband and daughter.

Taglist: @ly17 || @spn-obession || @noirsabbat ||

#house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer

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daisysmalia · 1 year

Text

Everything to-do with the couch (and the metaphor of it all) in S6;

- So we first get it in the 6x01 Buckley-Diaz family Diaz scene and I won’t go into too much detail because the layers in that scene have been discussed a lot. But basically Chris brings it up and Eddie first links it to Buck’s relationships, therefore linking it to both of them. Then Buck agrees and claims he doesn’t want to ‘pick the wrong couch again’.

- The only other person he brings it up to is Bobby. Where he once again states he’s afraid of making a mistake. I think it’s interesting he says it to Bobby, his father figure, due to the theme of fatherhood for both Buck this season but also a big theme on its own. I also think that both of these scenes signify that the couch metaphor is a two part thing. For his familial relation to the Diaz’s which will be the s6 textual confirmation and then how that can shift into romantic buddie in s7.

- At the end of 6x01 Buck pulls his single seater to where the couch was, and Oliver confirmed they debated how they would shoot this before deciding on a way that shows Buck satisfied rn being single.

- Buck’s couch isn’t really discussed or focused on in the rest of 6A but Eddie’s does begin to get a focus in scenes in 6x04 and 6x09.

- The first time we see it is in 6x04 when he sits on it to video call his father to discuss Chris’s behaviour, once again linking it to fatherhood. And then later he talks to Chris on it after he catches him playing video games when he shouldn’t be, and they talk about him growing up and Eddie’s want to protect him. It shows how good of a father he is but also how he has to accept Chris is growing up and understand how Chris feels about having his dad around all the time. (This also kinda sets up Eddie’s loneliness arc subtly).

- Then in 6x09 it’s Eddie playing video games, sat infront of the couch before he’s brought into Buck’s group call where the topic is once again fatherhood! And Eddie doesn’t really speak on the call other than to act unsure and his facial expressions tell he is not fully on board with Buck’s decisions. Then he leaves and hangs up first. We then see him again as part of the finale montage asleep on his couch (starting the first of three people we see sleeping on it this season). He sleeps laying out fully on the couch, but his head is on the right side, where he normally sits on the couch in past buddie scenes, his place on the couch is there. I also love how the montage shows all the couples sleeping in bed together and the intersects Buck and Eddie sleeping alone in continuous shots.

- The couch is then brought back up again for Buck in 6x11, in his coma dream Buck sits on it to watch football with his Father and Brother, bonding and trying to have something he thought he wanted but never had (a strong familial relationship with his dad and the brother he lost).

Then later it’s brought up in his recovery when his mother insists on getting him one. Maddie brings up how the couch for Buck is a metaphor, which I just love because I can imagine him trying to explain it to more people like he did with Eddie, Chris and Bobby. Anyways, his mother says she’ll get him one for ‘guests’ to sleep on which I find fascinating because we have literally only seen Buck on this couch since his mom got it. Tying back to the idea that Buck’s a guest in his own home.

- So in 6x12 we are fully brought back on the couch metaphor for relationships train, as it comes direct you after an interview Oliver did after 6x11 confirming that we are right to read into it the way we have. Buck cannot sleep on the uncomfortable couch Margaret got him, but finds himself drifting off in seconds after he goes to Eddie’s and sits down. At ease. He even asks when he wakes up ‘how did I fall asleep so fast?’ A wink wink nudge nudge- that he feels comfortable and at home at Eddie’s.

-In 6x13 the Buckley-Diaz scenes occur at Buck’s loft but the two there are shot to purposely omit Buck’s couch.

-In 6x15 we have the Chris falling asleep on the couch. A scene that perfectly parallels Buck falling asleep on the couch. And like everything about this scene is the same, Eddie leaving them awake to go get something from the kitchen, the framing of him walking back in, the way Eddie walks back in and the way the camera lingers back on him and then pans to the sleeping person on the couch. (Chris in the middle, Buck on the left- there places on the couch). And I see people saying this has to mean something, and ofc it does! Everything that is written and shot in certain ways mean stuff in media especially something this on the nose.

It was also pointed out that we see people sleeping on the couch every three eps; 6x09, 6x12, 6x15 and 6x18 does seem like a great time to get them all on it together!

- Finally, I also need to talk about the two couches in 6x17 because once again it was loud!!! With Eddie’s couch we have Chris and him sat on it doing Chris’s homework which is a place I don’t think we’ve seen them do it before? And they’re sat in their places with a big space beside Chris clearly open for someone to join them and their family. The door behind them is also left wide open, like they’re just waiting for said person to realise his place and role in both their lives (as a father and as a partner-not romantic yet but in the future).

Then we go back to Buck’s couch in 6x17, how Natalia and Buck were going to sit on it but were interrupted and didn’t! And then how after Buck saw Kameron and how she’d taken his bed, he went and sat on it with the pickles. I think this was very poignant because in a montage of love and families, Buck sitting on the wrong couch (which symbolises relationships) and eating the pickles (which symbolise parenthood) was just very loud. The two things he longs for were waiting for him at the start of the ep, the door was literally open for him, but he hasn’t seen the options under his nose yet. He doesn’t have the answers rn but he will.

So finally as we go into 6x18 I’m excited to see how the couch metaphor will wrap up because Andrew Meyers and all the 911 writers have really crafted something brilliant. I’m excited to see what Buck’s wrong couch goes through (Kameron goes into labour on it??) and I’m intrigued by Buck’s last scene being involved in the couch metaphor (Pls let it be what we think it is with all three of them on it together).

I just never thought I’d be writing so many posts about a couch before (and I’m British so I wanna write sofa so bad each time) but it has been so fun to see all the layers of this metaphor and how interwoven it has been in Buck, Eddie and Chris’s arcs this season.

TLDR: I think the couch represents both fatherhood, family and romantic relationships for Buck. With one being explicitly confirmed in the finale (fatherhood and his role in the Diaz family) and the other being left open to explore next season (buddie). And as a literature student I love it!

#buddie #911 spec #this turned out way longer than I thought lol #but the couch metaphor #I love it and that is all

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jimraisedmeup · 22 days

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TICK // 6.1 - i feel you

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (violence, language)

Word Count: 500

A/N: First and foremost, thank you to everyone who has taken a portion of their time to read TICK... words cannot explain my joy to know if even one person can relate to it or make them feel some type of way. I also wanted to mention, this is a random short chapter - just for this one, we are fast forwarding to 1986, what I am calling "present day" (AKA Season 4) for a smidge ;-D As part of the storytelling, I might do this more, and there might be small time skips coming up, so, *wink wink* watch the date at the beginning of each chapter. thank u agn love u all

...now let's get on with it.

☾

I feel you Your sun it shines I feel you Within my mind

☾

Spring Break 1986 - present day

Eddie Munson held a broken beer bottle against Steve Harrington's throat.

Three dark figures rushed forward, at the front being Dustin Henderson. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!" He was frantic.

But Eddie knew better than to let his guard down at the mere arrival of a friendly face. Even the innocent face of a freshman in the Hellfire Club. The situation was dire.

"Eddie. Eddie. It's me. It's Dustin." The shorter kid gestured towards Harrington. "This is Steve. He's not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?"

The douchebag in his grasp was barely visible in the dark boathouse, but Eddie could feel him nod.

"Right. Yeah."

"Steve, why don't you drop the oar?" Dustin suggested.

He hesitated for a second, but then Harrington finally dropped the oar. The sudden sound of it crashing on the ground only prompted Eddie to press the broken glass further onto Steve's neck.

The trio behind him pleaded with him.

"He's cool! He's. Cool."

Past the glints of light coming off his own silver rings, Eddie made eye contact with the guy struggling in his grasp.

"I'm cool, man. I'm cool."

"What are you doing here?" was the only thing Eddie Munson could think to ask.

Dustin raised his hands before him. "We're looking for you."

A familiar voice chirped from Dustin's right, distracting him for a second. "We're here to help."

He felt a tugging at the back of his skull... a distant memory. Dustin kept rambling.

"Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band. This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D," Dustin paused. "Eddie. We're on your side. I swear on my mother! Right guys?"

Everyone else around him quickly concurred. But Eddie's mind went completely blank at the name Robin.

"Yes. Yes. We swear." A small red-haired girl, looking extremely depressed.

"On Dustin's mother." That familiar voice again, bringing him back to images and memories he repressed over a year ago.

Eddie was pulled out of his thoughts by Harrington speaking, squirming in his grip.

"Yeah, Dustin's… Dustin's mother."

He stared at the Harrington kid for a second, remembering all the times he and his jock friends called him a "freak". But now wasn't the time for old grudges. A new dawn approached.

Eddie let him go and stepped away.

"Jesus Chr-" Steve complained, holding his neck.

The rest of them watched Eddie carefully as he leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down until he reached the floor. His head felt like a timebomb ready to blow at any moment.

Dustin crouched in front of him. "We just want to talk. Okay."

"We want to know what happened." The girl with short hair and blue eyes approached him. Those damn blue eyes.

"Robin Buckley?"

"Uh… the one and only." She couldn't have possibly looked more uncomfortable.

Eddie was utterly confused for a moment, his brown eyes moving to each of the faces like he was looking for someone.

"Wait," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "How exactly did you guys find me?"

Unbeknownst to the shaken man, you sat on the hood of the car outside, acting as a lookout.

☾

I feel you Each move you make I feel you Each breath you take

Where angels sing And spread their wings My love's on high You take me home To glory's throne By and by

☾

(song lyrics credit: "I Feel You" by Depeche Mode)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

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journey-to-the-attic · 2 months

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3rd anni req 8: [INFERNAL FRIENDS] diavolo, barbatos / bullies

ao3 link

note: the au name looks oddly ominous when it's formatted like that... anyway, not much for me to add - infernal friends is one of my favourite aus, so enjoy!

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

Diavolo has been suspicious for a few weeks now. At first, he’d put it down to humans simply growing too fast for someone his age to keep up with, but he’s very sure now - something is wrong with his little friend.

It’s not that he insists on showing up on a regular basis, but IK’s already made a routine of summoning him at least once a week. When he realises that it’s been almost three since he last felt the call, his first thought is one of mild dismay, but also resignation.

Then he stops to think about it, and, no - humans don’t suddenly go from dependent little children to full-fledged adults with no need for demon companions in that short a time. And perhaps he’s self-inflating his own importance, but Diavolo has always rather felt that IK likes him best out of her demon friends. It feels strange to have had such radio silence for this long.

So, when he finally does feel that tug, he wastes no time in heading straight there. The council meeting will simply have to adjourn without him; the brothers will understand.

He realises he’s miscalculated a little when Barbatos follows straight behind him. Perhaps leaving his duties at the drop of a hat was not a wise decision to make in front of him. His butler doesn’t have time to scold him, though - before either of them even have the time to get their bearings back, something small collides straight into Diavolo’s legs.

“Aha! There you are!” He folds his wings back and scoops the little human up. “It’s been— ah? What happened?”

IK stares solemnly back at him and doesn’t say a word. Barbatos crouches down, then clears his throat delicately and gestures to something on the floor.

A pair of scissors, and a clump of hair. That would certainly explain things.

“You cut your hair?” He asks IK, who nods silently. “Why did you do that?”

She shakes her head and buries her face in the fur around his shoulders. Barbatos surveys the scene - the book bag haphazardly tossed to the wall, and one shoe kicked off - then wordlessly begins to clean up.

Diavolo sits down and attempts to coax an explanation. It’s not particularly unusual for IK to go quiet like this, but the circumstances are certainly cause for concern - though exactly how much, he doesn’t know. The persuading doesn’t work; IK just stares.

Eventually, he gives up, and resorts to play instead. Once she’s ascertained that he’s stopped interrogating her, IK seems quite happy to solve a puzzle with him, and if it weren’t for how visible the damage to her hair is, Diavolo could have quite easily forgotten the whole situation.

Barbatos seems to have other plans. First, he avails himself of the kitchen and brings in a little plate of chopped apples. Then he waits for IK eat a few, and sets about a round of gentle (but determined) questioning.

Diavolo’s not sure whether to tell him to stop. IK won’t give any verbal responses, but Barbatos seems able to put together something from all the nods and head-shakes.

Even his patience isn’t endless, though. Eventually he sighs, and asks if IK would prefer they talk to her father about it.

The look of distress on her face is so abject that he immediately drops the idea again. And that's the end of that.

Diavolo is still thinking about it all when they have to return to the Devildom. Evidently Barbatos is, too, because he starts following along every time he gets wind of someone else being summoned - not minding, apparently, the evident dismay on IK’s face when she realises he’s here again.

“It is necessary to gauge the extent of the problem,” He tells Diavolo when he asks him about this. “I can live with her annoyance now, but I cannot possibly stand by if she is unhappy.”

At this, Diavolo vows to help. Barbatos clears his throat and tells him that will not be necessary - it’d be best for all of them if the prince, at least, was to remain in IK’s good graces.

And his sleuthing seems to pay off. One evening, he sits Diavolo down with some tea, and explains what he believes to be the situation.

There is a group of children at school who have not been treating her well lately. Barbatos has been able to gauge at least three of their names, though not due to any special detective work on his part - they’re written on the exercise books that IK has stolen.

Now, IK understands perfectly well that it is bad behaviour to take other children’s property. Diavolo knows because she's gotten in trouble for calling another sticky-fingered child several rude words (that he’s fairly sure Mammon taught her). What this means, then, is that IK has decided these children don’t deserve that decency.

Lessons about the morality of thievery notwithstanding, Barbatos goes further. From what he has been able to piece together, this group of children likes rough-housing, and one of them (whose name Barbatos recognised from the exercise book that IK has treated most poorly) has a nasty habit of pinching and hitting to get something they want.

Then comes the last piece of the puzzle. One sentence, spoken on the brink of a nap: “She pulled my hair, so I cut it off.”

Barbatos had attempted to press further. This has won him exactly one more sentence in clarification: “Her hands were dirty.”

Which is where that leaves him now. Diavolo mulls it all over for a while, then declares, “We have to do something about this.”

He debates speaking to IK’s father about this, then remembers how upset she’d gotten at the notion when it was first suggested. How has she managed to hide it from him so far, though...?

There’s not much they can do in-person. There’d be mass panic if they showed up in all their demonic glory in the middle of a school-children’s playground, and they’d probably still be detained in some capacity even if they showed up in disguise as regular men. Then again, there are other options for cover.

And so that leads them here: two pigeons, perfectly ordinary apart from the colour of their eyes, sitting on a telephone line, and watching the playground intently.

A magpie is staring at them rather suspiciously from a roof across the street. Diavolo wants to ask Barbatos if it could blow their cover, but they don’t actually have any way of communicating in these forms, so all he can do is attempt to look as innocent and gullible as possible.

Then they spot it - IK clutching a tennis racquet, and another child attempting to wrestle it out of her hands.

Barbatos’s head snaps forward. Diavolo tears his eyes away from the magpie and copies him.

The child says something and stamps her foot. IK mumbles something, eyes glancing everywhere but at her opponent, then shrinks back as another child - this one a burlier-looking boy - starts stomping towards her.

The racquet snatcher reaches forward. She only has time to grab a fistful of IK’s cardigan before two pigeons promptly divebomb her.

No beaks, of course, and no claws - just a lot of wing-flapping. Enough to scare away assailants without touching them, and it works like a charm. The racquet snatcher leaps back with a squeal, and promptly runs off.

IK, to her credit, takes this in her stride. The burly boy attempts to stand his ground at first, staring warily as the two pigeons land in front of him and slowly stalk closer.

Then IK points her racquet at him and declares with adorable fury, “I’m the PIGEON KING. Leave me alone or I’ll KILL you.”

Diavolo, normally, would gently reprimand her for that sort of threat, but this is a special occasion (plus, he doesn't have his usual vocal cords). So he opens his beak and pretends to peck at the boy’s shoes instead.

It works. He turns tail and runs, too.

Barbatos preens his wings in satisfaction. IK stands there for a moment, then beams to herself and performs a little celebratory hop.

It would be most wise for the pigeons to leave as soon as possible, to avoid drawing suspicion. Diavolo, however, is decidedly unwise when it comes to catering to a child’s whimsy, so instead he struts right up and stares at IK with beady little eyes.

“Hello,” She says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, and crouches down. Diavolo lets her run a finger over his grey-feathered head, and the delight on her face is worth all the flash-studying it took to learn the transformation spell on such short notice.

Barbatos - who has the talent of looking distinctly disapproving, even as a pigeon - makes a sharp cooing sound, as if to tell him off. IK glances at him, then stretches out her hand.

He looks hard at it. He, too, is powerless in the face of this earnestness. Begrudgingly, he perches on her little wrist.

“I am the pigeon emperor,” IK mumbles in awe.

Barbatos coos again, softer. It is very unfair that he bends so easily now, in places where Diavolo is sure he would have been scolded as a young demon, but it’s hard to be annoyed.

He wonders what IK will tell him about the pigeons next time she summons her best demon friend. He can’t wait to hear it.

#3rd anni event #infernal friends au #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #jtta ik #writing #jtta aus

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inkedroplets · 4 months

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Wait what Lena/Peggy fic?!? I was scrolling and just had to stop and die a little at the possibility of this existing lol Lena Luthor and Peggy Carter? Two of my favorite characters ever? Together? Time travel? I don’t even care how, just want you to know I would read this ship soooo fast!

Not just time travel but Lena getting yeeted to another Earth.

I don't know where I would even begin to try and explain the plot spaghetti in my head. But essentially it would begin with Lena's portal watch malfunctioning and finding herself on a completely different Earth, scooped up by Coulson.

Much much later, (I cannot stress how much later) the time stone makes an appearance much later and Lena being Lena can't help but run a gamut of tests on it. Which sends her back in time where she happens to meet Peggy...

But here's a really brief snippet just for fun. It hasn't been edited at all and there's very little context but still:

“You wouldn’t happen to be an enhanced individual, would you, Miss Luthor?” Coulson asked

“I’m sorry?” Lena said, the first real hint of discernible irritation shining through her overly calm facade. “Where exactly are you looking, Agent Coulson?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the thin line that was her mouth somehow narrowing even further. There was a flicker of understanding and then horror that passed over Coulson’s face before his expression reverted back to that of a friendly but put-upon bureaucrat that would like nothing more than to punch out for the day. “At your file, Miss Luthor.” He held up a manila folder that he had obscured by his clipboard. “Or rather, what would be your file.” He tossed the empty folder down on the table. “The problem is there’s nothing in it and not for lack of trying.”

“Does SHIELD not know how to use Google?” Lena glanced down at the empty folder wondering how anyone searching for the name ‘Luthor’ could come back with nothing to show for it. “Funnily enough we tried that too after we exhausted all other avenues. There is no record of, well, you, anywhere. Not a single hit on any of the databases my team scoured and before you try and impugn my team’s tech savviness again, our hacker was incredibly thorough. It's the first time I've seen her so perplexed,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed or even angry he looked almost impressed.

“So you think I'm lying,” Lena said, feeling that much was obvious. She was being interrogated, after all. Which was why it surprised her so much when Coulson shook his head.

“No, Miss Luthor, on the contrary, I believe you are who you say you are. If you were going to try and obscure your identity with an alias, I assume you’d choose something less…” He looked down at his hands for a moment.

“Less what?”

“Less conspicuous. Lena. Luthor,” he said, enunciating each word clearly to hammer home the inherent strangeness in the symmetry of her name.

“One of the many downsides of being a Luthor,” she said self-deprecatingly and gave a halfhearted shrug of apology. “Too many L’s.”

Coulson who moments ago looked all too happy to let her ramble, perhaps hoping she might monologue her way into revealing something about herself held up a hand to stop her from continuing.

“That's not the first time you've spoken as if that's supposed to mean something. Your last name,” he clarified. “Should it?” Of course it does, Lena thought bitterly.

#asks #my writing #would it surprise anyone that this would be another rift fic?#I still don't know how to tag this story #supercorp

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andraste-preserve-us · 6 months

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hi i have cullen thoughts for you <3 do you ever think about a mage trevelyan who had a Bad Time in the circle and how she and Cullen would get past the whole mage/templar mistrust and trauma thing?? it’s one of my fave fic tropes and i’d love to hear your thoughts! :)

Hi! Yes, I do. I actually had a whole fic with my mage inquisitor, Margo Trevelyan (my profile pic), who had that exact situation. I orphaned the fic on AO3 a while back, since it became really big and I just couldn't keep up with it, but I'm thinking of revamping it into a different version where Margo is actually the inquisitor's little sister who shows up at Haven insisting she help.

But anyway. In my original fic, because of her Bad Time at the Circle, she doesn't particularly trust Templars. She doesn't hate them, but isn't usually ready to get cozy super fast either. So she's not very forthcoming with information about her past trauma. However, she and Cullen are still very drawn to each other and become good friends. He does slip up from time to time though and there was one chapter where he made a comment about how she was different because she was more "responsible" with her magic than other mages he'd met and she really let him have it - she did still explain things to him without being rude or insulting, but was very visibly angry as she did so and they struggled a lot in the beginning because Margo would assume he was less and less safe with each comment like that while Cullen's facepalming in his quarters like "why did I have to put my foot in my mouth." With the stress of being the Herald, everything kind of gets to her and she starts isolating a lot and Cullen feels extra guilty.

I think a similar situation would happen with any sort of mage inquisitor, but I also think by this point, Cullen is committed to making a different path for himself. I feel like the "mages cannot be treated like people" comment and sentiments from DA2 probably still haunt him and he's determined not to have a repeat (re: his comment in DAI "the inquisition is my chance to atone"). So I think he would really try to make amends and open up about exactly why he's so jittery around magic, then maybe ask if they'd consider helping him overcome it (which was the plan with Margo before I orphaned the fic and she ends up giving him kind of magic lessons? Obviously he can't do magic, but knowing the mechanics of it really lessons the fear for him).

I think even after that, it would still be something that occasionally triggers him and something a mage inquisitor would have to be mindful of. He would never expect them to not use magic at all in front of him, but he really appreciates when they're able, giving him a heads up before they do any big spells or ask if they can use magic to heal him/help soothe his withdrawal symptoms. I think especially if he was having an episode, respecting his boundaries of not using magic at that time unless they absolutely have to would be a big one.

I think overall, a relationship between him and a mage inquisitor would take a lot of tactful, respectful communication, understanding, and patience - but also that's most healthy adult relationships, and I feel if Cullen really cared for and saw a future with someone, he would be determined to get it right and eventually, I could see him being a lot less triggered by magic in general and actually find it kind of beautiful (sorry this got so long, this is a topic I really enjoy talking about).

#dragon age inquisition #cullen rutherford #dai #commander cullen #cullen x inquisitor #dragon age #da #cullen x trevelyan #cullen x mage inquisitor #margo trevelyan #mage trevelyan #mage lavellan #cullen x margo

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unreadpoppy · 5 months

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down by the river - Chapter 5

Raphael x Warlock!Tav

Read on AO3

Warning: Tav goes through relieving some past memories and there is mention to essentially torture and abuse, so I feel it's important to point this out.

Chapter 4

“Care to explain what in the Hells was that?!” Astarion was the first to speak out. Everyone else look expectantly at Tav. “Are we to expect a visit from another devil soon?”

“No.” Tav groaned out. She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “I cannot tell you everything, the contract doesn’t allow it.” Wyll looked at her sympathetically. “What I can say is this: Raphael is my patron. He has been for a long time, and if it depends on me, I’m not changing that. However, we are on strained terms, as it seems, so I will not be able to contact him.” She looked at the pale elf. “So no, Astarion, he will not be making visits here.”

He raised an eyebrow and eyed her wearily but then shrugged and walked back to his tent. Everyone else followed suit. Tav rubbed her face and sighed, feeling someone put a hand on her shoulder.

It was Wyll. “Just know that you are not alone.” He said, sincerely.

Tav nodded. “Thank you, Wyll. I truly appreciate it.” She gave him a small smile and he walked away.

That night, instead of dreaming, Tav had flashbacks of her past.

To the day she met Raphael.

Her “master”, as the wizard called himself, had been preparing her for that day. All the times he had hurt her, physically and emotionally, deprived her of food, water and comfort, he justified it by saying it was all for this day.

The day he would capture a fiend. And for the ritual to work, she needed to be perfect for it. He hadn’t allowed her out of her cell for the past few days, leaving her alone in the darkness. He also did not allow her to sleep, always making sure some random sound would play when she began resting. Tav was not even allowed clothes to protect her from the cold.

She didn’t know how long she was there for, when he finally decided to retrieve her. She felt miserable, as he held her, with a surprising but weird gentleness, and walked her towards a room she had never seen before in the tower.

The room was filled with a red light and Tav saw a stone altar. The wizard laid her on it, using leather cuffs attached to chains. Tav was too tired to even protest.

Soon, he began chanting in a language she did not understand. In fact, she was starting to dose of when the room began to feel hotter and hotter, and a sulphurous smell filled her nostrils.

Panic settled in when she saw her tormentor retrieve a silver dagger, with beautiful markings in it. He raised it above his head, ready to strike her, saying “I give you this offering!”

Tav began to scream.

…

Someone shoved her shoulder and Tav woke up in a cold sweat. Astarion looked at her annoyed. “Could you keep your screaming down? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

She looked at him fearfully. Her eyes were wide, her breath was fast and raspy, and there was a buzzing in her ear. When he noticed that, the elf crouched down beside her.

“Are you with me right now?” She didn’t respond. He noticed she began to shake. Astarion looked beyond her and she felt another person on her other side.

“Tav, listen to me. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath.” She recognized Wyll’s voice.

She held his bicep and did so. “Now, exhale.” She complied. Tav vaguely heard Wyll asking for someone to bring a glass of water. He gave it to her and as she drank it, beginning to calm down, he whispered. “You’re now, alright? Whatever nightmare you were having is over.”

Tav nodded at his words. She kept on deep breathing, eventually calming down. She tried focusing on the now.

‘You’re here. You’re free. He cannot hurt you here.’ She thought to herself. Tav put a hand on her collarbone, touching the burn scar with Raphael’s name, something she did to soothe herself.

“I…I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” She looked Wyll in the eyes.

“Are you sure, soldier?” Karlach asked. Tav nodded. The tiefling quickly walked in her tent and came back, offering the leader a teddy bear. “You can sleep with it tonight. Scares the monsters away.”

Tav held it, feeling the soft fur in her skin. “Thank you, Karlach. And you two, as well.” She looked at Astarion and Wyll. “I think it’s best we all go back to sleep.”

The three looked at each other but nodded, going back to their bedrolls.

When Tav noticed all had fallen asleep, she curled herself on the side, clutching the stuffed animal and cried silent tears.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #tav #warlock!tav #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #wyll ravengard #astarion

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discar · 14 days

Text

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 46 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

DIVINER: Aloy! Have you saved everyone yet??

FlameHairSavior: What?

FlameHairSavior: Alva, it's early and I had a long night.

DIVINER: Because you saved everyone already??

FlameHairSavior: No, sort of the opposite.

β: wait you killed everyone

DIVINER: [Betrayal.gif]

ADMIN [Zo]: I'm sure she didn't mean it like that.

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, no, just...

FlameHairSavior: Look, I have a headache, can't you just watch my focus recordings?

DIVINER: That would take hours! Even with fast-forward!

HIMBO: YEAH, MOST OF IT IS JUST WATCHING YOU RUN AROUND THE BEACH OPENING BOXES.

FlameHairSavior: ...you already tried to watch me?

HIMBO: KOTALLO THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FASTER.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Specifically, I thought it might be a more effective way of obtaining an after-action report. We watched your arrival to the area, up to destroying the defense tower.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Even with what you had already told us, we could barely follow what was happening.

β: you move fast

HIMBO: DID YOU KNOW YOU MUTTER TO YOURSELF A LOT?

ADMIN [Zo]: Really, that's the only reason I could follow at all.

FlameHairSavior: Fine, just let me eat breakfast first.

DIVINER: Yay!

----

FlameHairSavior: All right, I'm awake.

β: did you stay up too late with your new girlfriend

FlameHairSavior: Sort of.

HIMBO: HA!

FlameHairSavior: Wait. Was that a joke?

β: yes

ADMIN [Zo]: It's good that you are getting some of your own.

HIMBO: YOU'RE OFFICIALLY LESS SHELTERED THAN YOUR SISTER!

β: i think it just means ive watched more stupid romantic comedies and sitcoms

HIMBO: IF I PRETEND TO KNOW WHAT THOSE ARE, CAN WE MOVE ON?

DIVINER: Aloy, PLEASE tell me you found some movie archives!! The context you all lack is killing me!

MARSHAL Kotallo: ...I think she was busy trying to rescue your people?

DIVINER: That's more important, obviously!!

FlameHairSavior: No archives yet. Just...

ADMIN [Zo]: Why don't you start from the beginning?

FlameHairSavior: Right.

FlameHairSavior: Seyka and I found a ruin where all the missing Quen had been working. It was Londra's old headquarters, or at least one of his major bases. He was having the Quen dig it up because he needed something.

FlameHairSavior: A few of them were worked to death.

DIVINER: And none of the Quen objected to this? We have labor laws.

FlameHairSavior: He is literally a Living Ancestor with incredible power come down from the heavens. He's got them all wrapped around his finger. He's promised them...

FlameHairSavior: I'll get to that later. We didn't find out much about his relationship with them in this first ruin.

DIVINER: Still, I can imagine. We're taught that the Ancestors are the font of all knowledge. If an actual Ancestor came down and was just a little clever...

MARSHAL Kotallo: Aloy said all the Diviners were dead. Do you think that things would have been different if there had been any left?

DIVINER: I don't know.

FlameHairSavior: I think Londra would have just recruited the non-Diviners. His little workforce isn't the entire expedition, just a big chunk.

HIMBO: YEAH, THAT'S HOW CULTS WORK. YOU REMEMBER THE ECLIPSE. THEY DIDN'T TRY TO RECRUIT ME, THEY TRIED TO RECRUIT THE ONES WHO WEREN'T LOYAL.

β: i thought they were racist why would they ever recruit you

HIMBO: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway. Londra has some sort of AI, Nova, sorting through data for him. We found a security recording. Londra was looking for some project called "MSP" and had it transferred somewhere else.

FlameHairSavior: He also mentioned running from Nemesis. I... might have bungled that part with Seyka.

MARSHAL Kotallo: You explained Nemesis to her? Well done.

MARSHAL Kotallo: A soldier cannot fight an enemy with incomplete information.

ADMIN [Zo]: I do wish we could tell more people. A blight is best fought by all hands working together.

DIVINER: I know we can't tell EVERYONE, but I think it's a good idea to at least tell our closest allies!

HIMBO: I EXPECTED YOU TO TRY TO AVOID THE SUBJECT.

FlameHairSavior: ...

β: you avoided the subject didnt you

FlameHairSavior: Look, there's... Seyka was clearly emotionally compromised, she's looking for her sister and I was annoyed that she was hiding something from me...

FlameHairSavior: I wanted to at least wait until we find her people. So she's not distracted.

DIVINER: That's... maybe a bad idea?

DIVINER: Won't she be mad?

MARSHAL Kotallo: Ultimately, Aloy is the one on the ground. We must trust her judgment.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway.

FlameHairSavior: We found Londra's second facility easily enough. He was siphoning power from a nearby Horus for a shield, but we disabled the siphons and got inside.

ADMIN [Zo]: Wait. A Horus as in a Metal Devil?

FlameHairSavior: Inactive, of course.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Thank the Ten for that.

HIMBO: JUST A HEAD'S UP, IF YOU EVER FIND AN ACTIVE ONE, I THINK WE ALL NEED TO HEAR ABOUT IT.

FlameHairSavior: Noted. So we got inside, found the Quen, but managed to convince them we were there for the... "Ascension Hall" to... "embrace his light."

HIMBO: CULT. CALLED IT.

FlameHairSavior: Yeah. It's basically a museum to Londra, with a "devotion test" to see if you're worthy of "ascending from this world."

β: i think i see where this is going

Icarus: From what little I was able to glean, every single Zenith agreed on fleeing Earth before Nemesis arrives. They just had disagreements on how best to do so.

DIVINER: As horrifying as all this sounds, I have to at least give him credit for thinking to use the locals more! Why didn't more of the Zeniths do some basic politics?

Icarus: Politics take time, even with an overwhelming technological advantage to scare the locals into compliance. They had the keys to the kingdom, why bother talking to the peasants?

Icarus: By the time they might have considered the possibility, they had already antagonized everyone.

ADMIN [Zo]: Speaking from personal experience, I take it?

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, the museum talked about Londra's relationships with his friends and wife, his favorite bodyguard, blah blah.

FlameHairSavior: He's pretty clearly the guy who wants adoring fans who don't disagree with him. That's what he thinks friends are.

HIMBO: AREN'T YOU HAPPY YOU GOT US INSTEAD?

FlameHairSavior: Most of you, at least.

HIMBO: OUCH!

FlameHairSavior: So we got through the door, it was annoying, found what he's doing.

FlameHairSavior: Londra co-opted the printer of the Horus to make himself a spaceship. But it's too small to take all the Quen, or even all the Quen who are following him. He's leaving most of them behind.

FlameHairSavior: Also, the launch will irradiate the land for a thousand miles, killing everything in the region.

HIMBO: BASTARD.

β: you can see the logic

HIMBO: YEAH, WE'RE ALL ALREADY DEAD, SO HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT KILLING US.

HIMBO: HE'S STILL A BASTARD.

β: not disagreeing

FlameHairSavior: The Quen soldiers came in while I was explaining all this to Seyka. They finally realized we were imposters. Still, they started shooting REALLY fast. They didn't even blink at Seyka being Quen.

DIVINER: That's... odd. I know you had a bad first impression, and our soldiers can certainly be xenophobic, but they shouldn't be so quick to attack another Quen! Especially if she was wearing a focus! Surely they would have considered she might be a Diviner!

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, I think something is up with them. I don't know if it's just Londra's cult or something else.

FlameHairSavior: So after the fight, the rest of the Quen found out they're being left behind.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Wait. You fought how many soldiers by yourself?

FlameHairSavior: I don't know. A dozen? Maybe two? Oh, and the boss had this Zenith-tech weapon that makes things explode. I might be able to use it.

MARSHAL Kotallo: And you did this with just yourself and the Quen woman.

HIMBO: THIS SURPRISES YOU?

MARSHAL Kotallo: No, I simply wanted to remind everyone that Aloy is terrifying.

FlameHairSavior: Funny.

FlameHairSavior: Well, I did tell Seyka about Nemesis after all. She... didn't take it well.

β: you get used to the existential angst after a while

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, I was really worried about her for a bit there.

FlameHairSavior: I was afraid she might give up on me after that, which would have been terrible.

β: erend

HIMBO: UPDATING THE ODDS AS WE SPEAK.

FlameHairSavior: What are you even talking about?

DIVINER: We can't tell you! It might foul the results!

FlameHairSavior: Fine. Anyway, we know where Londra's headquarters is, something called "the park." It has another tower, but I'm going to override a waterwing to get there. It can dive into the water, so we should be able to dodge the tower's shots.

β: she called me for help with that part

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, and now I'm just scrounging up the parts for the override.

DIVINER: But what about Seyka??

DIVINER: Did you talk to her?? Is she still on the team??

FlameHairSavior: Yes, yes, I did talk to Seyka. I think we're doing better now.

HIMBO: VERY INTERESTING.

FlameHairSavior: Now you're just doing it on purpose.

HIMBO: YEP!

ADMIN [Zo]: Personally, I find this all fascinating.

HIMBO: ODDS ARE LOOKING LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE THE POOL, THOUGH.

ADMIN [Zo]: I consider that a small price to pay.

FlameHairSavior: I hate you all.

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