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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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I've been dreaming of the Hunter of Love.

Every decision made or not made branches off and creates new realities. There are a countless number of those realities.

Worlds of infinite choices—he will glimpse them all.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Rook dances through the darkness, unburdened and dauntless. Not a single step produces a sound—though if it had, the sound would no doubt be absorbed into the abyss. He glides effortlessly, a swan upon still water.

There is no road for his feet to follow, only a plane of darkness. Heels strike it, eliciting a clear clack-clack-clack, as if the floor is marble.

The walls—if they can be called that; there's nothing solid when he sticks his arms out to test the environment—are laden with full-body mirrors. They're mounted up upon nothing, floating in place, their reflective faces clean, clear, and free of cracks.

He is drawn to them, tugged along as if compelled by the red string of fate.

In each, he is presented with a novelty.

Familiar places and people, refracted and twisted into something new. Something beautiful.

An ethereal art gallery for his own amusement.

He turns his head, taps fingers along the frames of each realm in turn.

A Night Raven College with as many as fourteen dorms. A Night Raven College set upon a stage, scripts in the hands of every student. A Night Raven College of young women, not young men.

Jade with his hair styled up in a mohawk, a plethora of piercings studding his face. Kalim with a monkey upon his shoulder, sharing a platter of fruit. Young Epel in a pair of glasses, mouthing the lines to a play. Idia, smaller than even his younger brother, in an oversized sweater, playing on a mobile gaming console.

Rook imagines a great tree, its roots ever-growing, expanding deep, deep, deep into the soil and continuing still. Endless choices, endless possibilities.

C'est la vie—such is life.

He stops.

His hand now hovers over the glass casing of a tragedy.

Rook stares at a version of himself, collapsed beside a bottle of apple juice. Its caustic contents ooze out onto the ground, bubbling as it eats away at the floor.

The common man would be repulsed. Chilled to the bone. Frightened.

But Rook Hunt is not the common man.

"Comme c'est magnifique," he marvels. “Willingly consuming poison, wishing so desperately to believe that his queen was free of sin… Here lies a foolish dreamer in the aftermath, still having faith in his dear friend's integrity.”

Rook lingers, drinking in the details of the morbid work of art.

He does not move, does not breathe. Ignoring the bottle, it is as though he had been laid into a peaceful sleep. Lips arranged in a soft smile, long lashes cast over his cheeks.

A beautiful queen weeps for him, tears colored black as the night. His clothes are tattered, his crown tarnished. He is a flower of evil, stripped of his petals.

The next mirror, the mirror after—all horrific ends, varying shades of gruesome. Visions twisting, distorting.

A king dressed in roses slaying their victims, peasants who dares to defy their rule. A hyena dissolving into sand. Students trapped in constrictive tentacles, stripped of their talents.

Mindless drones lumbering around a seized castle. A reality dyed in ink, ruled by blue flames and Phantoms. And… a tangle of briar knitting over the world.

To him, they are just as lovely as the rest.

Heartbreaking, but lovely.

As that thought strikes him, the area ahead brightens. He spots color dotting the darkness.

They start as scribbles, clumsy trails of crayon left by a child's hand. Further along, the crayon gains dimension, turning into yarn threads. Eventually, they weave together to form a coherent path marked by cobblestones made of newspaper clippings.

It leads to a thicket unlike any he has ever seen.

Every glade of grass, every leaf and stem, is painted in a glistening coat of silver. The flowers are crystal, the fruit, plump jewels. The sky, a watercolor masterpiece of brilliant blues, white clouds dabbled on with an artist's sponge.

A tower rises in the distance, fine and thin like a needle. Its pointed roof pierces the heavens, and there is but one solitary window embedded in the structure.

Rook gasps, and a thousand or more reflected Rooks gasp too.

The leaves tinkle, a melody of wind chimes and bells. He feels as though they are beckoning to him, drawing him deeper and deeper into the forest.

His feet have a mind of their own; they start moving, as if bewitched by the majesty of the enchanted wood, by the mystery of the tower. Beads of dew upon the grass are left untouched as he swiftly passes.

A call reaches out from a place far, far away. It's not quite speech, but vocalizations resembling speech--someone grasping for the right words, the right feeling.

There is a haunting hollowness to the siren song. A longing so immense it makes tears spring to his eyes.

It must be seeking its other half, Rook realizes. A harmony for its melody, to form a duet.

But the longer he tries to focus on the sound, the more he tries to parse out its parts, the more confused he becomes. The voice is contradictory: familiar and yet unfamiliar, happy and yet sad.

His pace quickens, as does his heartbeat. It's an anomaly for him, for whom calmness comes easily.

I must go to them, he thinks, unsure of why. I must.

Is there a yet-to-be-discovered wonder on the other side? His queen, whom he has sworn his undying loyalty to, in danger? Is it from the strange tower? A stranger requesting his aid?

Curiosity thrums through him.

Hurry.

The tower seems to drift farther and farther away with each step. The voice, fainter.

Hurry...!!

Rook runs.

The building accelerates. The trees expand as if to fill in the space where the tower had fled.

Wildlife carved of glass watch, some racing with him. A deerling on limber, elegant legs, a rabbit bouncing as high as it can. Even the fish skip atop the river that runs concurrent with the forest trail, and a flock of birds soar upon their crystalline wings.

They trill, they coo, they sing.

His run becomes a sprint, and the sprint becomes a gallop. The call to adventure, loud and clear in his ears.

He is one with nature, and nature is one with him.

I must see for myself what lies at the ends of this world--and beyond it.

His spirit brims, burning with determination.

Chasing something he doesn’t know the true nature, the true face, of. For that... is the thrill of the hunt.

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warrenwrites · 1 year

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Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather Dream x Platonic!Reader

Summary: You decided that Lord Morpheus’ throne was the perfect place to rest and read.

A/N: I had Diaval from Maleficent in mind when making this character. The reader has a human form but was born as a Raven of the Dreaming and can swap between forms at will.

Word Count: 800

It had been a quiet day, Dream hadn’t called for you and you felt no spikes of energy in the Waking World; so, with no work to do, you took the opportunity to read and take a moment to relax. You decided to lounge yourself in human form across Dream’s throne. ‘The History of the Dreaming V.213′ resting across your lap, it’s great size taking up the majority of space. After some time, you became extremely comfortable and leaned to the side, hoisting your legs over his arm rest, practically nesting in the comfort of the seat.

You stayed there reading for over an hour before you heard a voice in your ear. Had it not been so familiar and cosmically soothing, you might have flinched. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

Tilting your head slightly backwards, you met the eyes of Morpheus; Lord of Dreams as he stood, towering above you. With little emotion in your voice you answered, “You’re being overthrown.” It was then a smirk broke onto your face. “I’m starting a mutiny; how does it feel?”

He mirrored your smirk, staring deep into your soul and answered, ”underwhelming.”

A dramatic gasp left your lips and your face contorted into what, for a moment, looked like genuine offence. You quickly turned your attention back towards your book and nestled further into your seat, burying your face into the pages of the book as you began your silent treatment.

He crouched down to be at eyeline, should you turn to face him, and rested his hand on the arm rest next to your shoulder. “My Raven?”

You gave no response and instead maintained your pout. If anything, you brought the book closer to your face.

He stood circled the back of the throne slowly before crouching in front of the throne, closer to your legs but now directly facing you. Reaching a hand up, he used two fingers to tilt the book down and see your scowling, comedically scrunched face. “What are you reading?” He asked, voice kind, soft and laced with genuine interest.

This time you answered as monotonously as you could, “How to Dethrone a King: A Raven’s Guide.”

He let out a laugh through his nose and you almost smiled, finding great victory every time you made the dark King smile. He moved to a kneel on one knee and spoke, “now what kind of Ruler would I be if I allowed such treason?” He questioned and moved his hands to either side of your waist before digging his hands softly into your waist and sides.

“Hey-HEY! Dreheheheheheam!” Giggles immediately flooded out of your mouth as you brought your knees and elbows in to protect yourself. Your movement only caused you to sink further into the seat, getting yourself stuck with no way to block your sides. “PLEHEHEHEASE! OKAY OKAHAHAY!”

Dream only smiled as you squirmed and he watched as you slammed the book shut and pretended to beat him with it as a defensive deterrent. He didn’t even flinch, instead he chose to continue scribbling his fingers into your sides. The sensation left behind a sparky, tingle on top of its tickle, likely due to him being made of magic, sand and stars.

“DREHEHEHEHEAHAHAHAM!” You kicked your legs in desperation and dropped the book with all your movement,

Ceasing his torment, Dream caught the book with two hands before it hit the ground.

You took the opportunity to turn into your raven form and make your nimble escape. Dream stood, watching as you caw'd and glided through around his throne in an upward spiral before landing softly on his shoulder.

He smirked at you and you stomped your foot 'hard' on his shoulder. "My apologies," he nodded, still smiling at you.

You let out a soft caw in response, pointing your head up in pride.

"We are needed in the Waking World," he explained and you jumped with excitement, shrugging your wings in a non-verbal response. "But first we must return your book to the tyranny section, yes?"

You caw'd again and since you couldn't stick out your tongue you fluffed it feathers and brushed up against his jaw and ears. He flinched slightly and fought back a smile, knowing you'd likely be doing this for the rest of the trip.

He turned to you slightly and smiled. "Mind yourself," he warned.

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #ticklish!reader

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mr-mandalorian · 2 years

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dream x immortal f!reader, lots of pining, dream decides to ignore his own feelings and play matchmaker, word vomit and typos, maybe some incorrect lore

he’s met her once in the waking world. dream was trailing after death and her many errands when she informed him of the second undying mortal. the encounter was brief yet somehow far too long. dream barely said a word as the two friends embraced, unable to tear his gaze away from the human woman.

she was a painter. well, she wished to be. dream needn’t to look at the dark circles below her bright eyes to know she wasn’t getting enough sleep. with little money and many responsibilities, life left little time for her to paint. but the few creations y/n put out, posing under a title of a man, have been applauded and praised.

she asked of death to let her be, to endlessly live and endlessly create.

after centuries, dream found himself thinking of that short encounter. liked it or not, something changed in him after his imprisonment. his heart was set on giving humanity another chance when his mind could not forgive or forget.

he tested the waters firstly checking up on her in the dreaming. dream or nightmare, they were always incredibly detailed. she and morpheus were alike in that away, seeking perfection in anything they created.

only a month later, she stopped coming. dream would look for her every night only to find a blank canvas. so with a little push from lucienne, dream ventured to meet the undying mortal in the waking world for the second time.

y/n held an unlit cigarette between her lips, too enamored by her work to smoke it. she ran out in the garden barefooted, spotting a raven perched on the tree that grew in the middle. with a pencil at hand and one eye closed, she measured the bird from far away.

“you haven’t been sleeping.” she jumped at the sound, a deep voice sidetracking her concentration.

when she turned around to face him, dream found himself holding his breath. she looked unrecognizable yet completely the same. the red of the apples of her cheeks, the feckless that littered her skin, the brightness in her eyes was just as he remembered. but her hair was different and she was covered in paint, smudged all over her face and clothes. dream had to steady his gaze on her face, the overalls she wore had nothing underneath. if she turned a certain way, he could see the soft curve of her breast.

she didn’t respond, only removing the cigarette from her lips to press a finger to them, silencing dream not to startle the raven. she turned away, quickly scribbling down the image before her on a sketchbook.

“can i see?” she flinched the second time as the raven opened it’s mouth. “i know of your work from when i was human, so don’t blame me for getting a little excited.”

“s-sure.” y/n nodded as matthew jumped to sit on her shoulder, bowing his head to peak into the painter’s sketchbook.

“morpheus, come look at this! can we frame it? hang it in the library or something?”

“you need her permission, not mine.” the king of dreams finally stepped further into the garden, coming to stand close to the not so ordinary humans.

“yeah, sure, you can have it. that is if you comeback sometime, not everyday do i get a talking animal to pose for me.” y/n smiled sweetly at the bird, morpheus silently observing them. it was overwhelming standing so close, she smelled of smoke, turpentine and sweet molasses.

“what uh- what made you visit, if i may ask? not that i’m unappreciative-!” she felt her cheeks heat up immediately, fearing of sounding ungrateful under dream’s attentive gaze. “you’re welcome to visit anytime!”

“as i said, you haven’t been sleeping.”

“and you visit every human that has trouble? there must be so many-“

“no, just you.”

she was sweating now, completely turning red. she took a step back, matthew leaving her shoulder as she lifted a leg to rest her sketchbook on. it’s been quite some time since she’s interacted with someone, yet alone an endless being hinting at her special treatment.

“well-“ she took a big breath, focusing all of her attention on the sketchbook instead of dream. “it’s a little difficult to sleep when someone keeps spying on your dreams.”

it was morpheus’ time to grow sheepish. he was so careful, hidden and silent when attending her dreams. he shouldn’t have come, he’s only embarrassing himself.

“it’s only my duty.” relief flooded him, his voice unwavering and convincing.

“y-yeah, i understand.” she quickly nodded, an unreadable expression on her face. “i’ll work on it, okay? sometimes i genuinely forget, being undying and all. but how have you been? how’s death? do you know if she’s doing alright?”

morpheus couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him how he was doing. but he skipped right past the question, hung up on the longing in her eyes when she spoke of death.

“are you two…?”

“what?” y/n looked at him questioningly, the gears slowly turning in her head. when she realized the true intent of his words, she nearly burst out laughing. “you’re asking if i’m dating you sister? i’m forever in debt to death, and as beautiful as she is, we’re only friends.”

relief flooded him once more and he did not know why. he couldn’t have been jealous, after all, death did give him an undying human of his own.

“i only ask because she hasn’t visited in sometime. i get it though, she has a big job to do. but you can’t control-“ y/n pointed down to her chest, smiling softly. “-what’s happening in here. my mind knows she’s busy, but my heart can’t help but miss her still.”

morpheus stayed silent for a minute, watching her smooth the pages of her sketchbook. he could not understand how she could understand him so well without knowing him.

“has it been lonely?“ morpheus found himself asking before he could think it over, before he could consider if it was okay to do so.

“undying has its ups and downs.” y/n simply shrugged. “i get to observe people viewing my work from afar, have genuine reactions, unknowing that the supposedly dead author is somewhere in the crowd, her heart swelling at every gasp, smile or frown.”

she stopped to ponder for a moment, morpheus absorbing her every word like a man starved.

“it must be why i saw you in my dream, you too observe people having reactions to your creations.”

her passion was intoxicating. but she was only partly right, he was in her dream because it was her dream.

“anyways, that’s the best part of undying. does it get lonely? sometimes. i’m in the crowd, but i’m never part of it, you know?” she smiled sadly, ripping out a page from her sketchbook, a simple offering to the king of dreams. “a small price to pay for immortality, i suppose.“

the drawing of matthew was framed in the library as promised.

the same night morpheus saw her back in the dreaming. if she sensed him, she didn’t let it show. but he was right next to her, a brooding shadow contemplating her words. in his yearning heart he knew how to settle her troubles, but in his mind he had a completely different plan brewing.

he met her in the waking world for the third time weeks later. matthew had to bite back a comment about the endless’ trembling, finding his master’s pining unbelievably amusing.

y/n wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm, the summer heat unbearable as she prepared a few paintings for shipping. she loved the challenge of finding ways to make her art different from the last half century, always posing under a new pseudonym to publish. a soft knocking from the open door caught her attention, finding the king of dreams stood before her. he only seemed to visit when she looked her worst.

she stood, dusting off her knees to quickly meet him outside. dream swallowed thickly, she looked ethereal in her summer dress. her skin was glistening from the heat, her chest rising up and down from work. dream could only let his mind wander and before he could snap out of it, he reached out his hand to wipe some paint that was smudged on her cheek.

silence filled the air, none of them breaking eye contact. dream wished to stay planted here forever, enjoying the sweet domesticated moment. but matthew croaked loudly from somewhere in the garden, breaking the suffocating quiet.

“i’ve come with a proposal.” dream cleared his throat, finally speaking up.

“oh?”

“i think i know of someone that might help with the plaguing longing feeling.”

“you do?”

“there are few beings that can truly understand us. one of them would like to see you this weekend.”

“like uh- like a date?” her cheeks burned red but she couldn’t blame the summer heat.

he slipped a piece paper with the time and date into her hand and left without another word. at first she thought of him as shy, but she should’ve known better than to go looking for reason in a god’s actions.

the bar didn’t seem out of the ordinary to her, she couldn’t wait to ask dream why he had picked it. but as she waited for the endless, his seat was being filled by a man she’s never seen before.

“are you by any chance y/n?” she didn’t respond, her heart rate picking up at the fact that a random man just uttered her name. “sorry- should’ve probably mentioned, i’m dream’s friend.”

he offered her his hand to shake, a genuine smile on his face. she took it hesitantly.

“hob gadling, also undying.”

her grip on his hand loosened as realization washed over her. she replayed her last conversation with dream, wanting to laugh at her own stupidity, her own delusion. how could she so foolishly believe that the king of dreams could return her feelings?

“hey, are you okay?” hob asked, gently placing her hand on the rounded table in between them. “i’m sorry if-“

“no, no-! it’s quite alright, i’m sorry. i-“ she tried her best to put on a smile, feeling absurd in her tight silk dress. “dream didn’t- he didn’t… i’m so sorry, this is not what i thought it was.”

“well, if it’s any consolation, he looked seriously torn up playing matchmaker.”

y/n apologized once more. she didn’t know what else to do, the shame was eating her from inside out. luckily, hob didn’t take it to heart. they exchanged numbers and agreed to meet under different circumstances.

when dream asked his trusted raven to check up on y/n, matthew could only sigh. morpheus couldn’t face her himself, what if he found her happy with another man? it is what he wished for her, but he did not understand why his heart felt so heavy with the thought of it.

death found him sulking in the waking world, visitors of the art museum bustling around him, looking over the many paintings y/n had created over the centuries. yet morpheus could only look at his hands, paint still tinted his fingertips from where he touched y/n’s skin.

“i’ve been counting down the days until i got to visit y/n. i missed her dearly, eager to spend all my free time with my vibrant friend. but why is it that i found her in complete disarray, the bluest i have ever seen her in centuries?”

morpheus didn’t acknowledge his sister standing beside him. he could not understand her words, why would y/n be blue with sorrow? dream found her a perfect match, someone human and undying just like her.

“as amusing as i find you trying to do something nice, i am in disbelief at how dense you can be.”

he looked at her, eyes stormy and insulted.

“why do you think i took you to meet y/n all those ages ago? i could’ve kept her to myself, but as i got to know her, she reminded me of you. at first i assumed to be wrong, seeing as centuries passed and you did nothing about it. yet here we are, both of us dismissing our duties in this very moment because we’re soft on one particular painter.”

“you did this to me? you toy with my heart for your own entertainment?”

“do you think so little of me, little brother? it is not entertainment, it is a mere hope to see my favorite people be happy together.”

death’s words are confirmed when matthew returns. he’s silent for a moment and morpheus wishes to strangle the raven for keeping the king waiting. matthew tries his best to keep his tone cheery, explaining that humans often feel things they can not fully understand. it is how y/n explained it herself, she can not control the beating of her heart.

he seeks her in the waking world, y/n not dreaming again as if to vex him. she’s in her garden, summer heat diminishing with clouds pouring down from above. morpheus watches as she gets soaked by the rain, the cigarette between her lips damp and unusable.

“you haven’t been sleeping.” he starts with his usual line, but this time y/n doesn’t jump or flinch at his words. she only purses her lips, her eyes empty as she finds his.

“i’m undying, forgive me my king, for not wanting to spend my time trapped in unpleasant dreams.” her formality is mocking and distancing at the same time.

“forgive if i have overstepped, i only thought… i thought i was doing what was best.”

“there’s nothing to apologize for.” dream wanted her to be angry, wanted her to shout. but she only smiled, the saddest smile dream has ever seen. “it was my own stupidity that lead me to believe that the being to cure my loneliness could be you.”

morpheus couldn’t breathe, his throat dry and chest heavy. guilt had rendered him static.

“it was i who was foolish, y/n-“

“really, we don’t have to do this. i appreciate the gesture, but i think it would be best if you didn’t come around anymore. i just need time to-“

“i can not bear another second away from you!” she’s startled as morpheus raises his voice, a load crack of thunder following after him. “i was foolish to ignore the feeling in my chest, foolish to ignore your warning about the uncontrollable heart. i was prepared to spend my days miserable only to see you happy with someone else. but it was wrong of me to decide for you, i understand that now. if my absence is truly what you desire, i will take my leave, but first i must ask you to forgive me.”

“not another second? we have all of eternity, dream.”

“and yet it will never be enough if you’ll allow me to spend it all with you.”

#sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #dream x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #dream of the endless

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godknives · 8 months

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— wip (re)introduction: a murder of ravens

genre: new adult horror-fantasy

pov: 3rd person limited

setting: a fictional world called tellastria

themes & tropes: unending cycles ; death & rebirth ; religious imagery & trauma ; imbalanced power dynamics ; enemies to more than enemies ; magic has a price ; haunted by the narrative ; morally grey and evil main characters ; lgbtq+/bipoc characters ; disability rep ; a fall from grace ; etc.

warnings: warfare ; murder & death ; genocide ; blood/gore ; sex/sexual content ; manipulation/gaslighting ; corruption of morals ; religious slander ; body horror ; mention(s) of: suicide, mental illness, sexual violence ; character deaths ; torture ; unreality ; toxic relationships (romantic and otherwise) ; etc.

status: drafting

synopsis:

Raaf killed the King in his own court, slaughtering him like a sacrificial lamb at a ritual. The blood and gore of the King stains his hands as the Prince finds him, binding them together in fate. But now the King torments Raaf, his ghost follows him everywhere, whispering to him about magic and blood and bones and the mind itself.

Haunted, unsure, and lost, Raaf teams up with the Prince and the Priestess, both of whom do not share the same motivations, but who provide safety and a kind of protection in the labyrinth of Terdam. With their own agendas, the Prince and the Priestess both do not anticipate the divine chaos they will find themselves in alongside Raaf: Saints gone astray, people turning against one another, and a familiar voice whispering betrayal and sin into the minds of others.

Besides, hunger is a thing that is difficult to satisfy — to devour, is to become a god.

starring:

A killer, a usurper, a dead king, a divine priestess, and golden saints who bruise too easily.

taglist (ask to be +/-):

@glitterandstarshine @the-starlight-writer @adhdandquills @ofbloodandflowers @saltwaterbells @hydrancheas @arkicts @chishiio @justthehopeleft @absolute-nonsense-scribblings @writing-is-a-martial-art @writeblrfantasy @cannivalisms @dovebeast @lord-fallen @muddshadow @uppoffringar @houndmouthed @dream-fyre @tate-lin

#wip:amor #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #wip intro #wip introduction #((: hi here i am again. version fuck knows what #i'm finally at a point where i'm kinda happy w my plot so here's a reintroduction of my baby my pride and joy #a murder of ravens #WE SLAYING OVER HERE BESTIES‼️‼️#yes it is really necessary to reintroduce this i need my account to look pretty. next question

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preciouslandmermaid · 10 months

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quiet fury in your head [vi]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: Dream is a bit of a voyeur in this one!! The Goddess discovers the fate of the betrayer & Dream is in denial about his feelings, tbh. No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: accidental voyeurism (kinda?), solo masturbation

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3) || (masterpost for other chapters)

As a rule born from pure pettiness – you reject any “gifts” the Dream King offers during your years of servitude. You avoid the castle. You avoid the room he gave you and its extensive wardrobe. You do not sleep within the marble walls. You barely speak to the Dreaming’s citizens. They know you—of course they do—and they still whisper your old name “Queen of Nightmares.” But even as they whisper your title: they build no effigies in your honor, they sing no songs, or slaughter animals.

Ultimately, they aren’t your worshipers, they aren’t your friends, and they are a poor substitute for the family you lost.

And yet...you find yourself strolling through the impressive, towering shelves of the library. The air is filled with dead tress and your eyes prickle with heat. Oral traditions had been the norm during your time as a Goddess. What use did cutting down trees and smashing them to pulp have? You pull a book from the shelf and leaf through the pages. The scribbles are nonsense to you.

“Lady,” A scholarly black woman greets you with a respectful nod of her bald head, “I wondered if you might pass through here.”

You snap the book shut and slide it back into the shelf.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” You admit abrupt and honest. What was I seeking? Answers? Hope that my sister’s names are written somewhere in this library? How would that serve me? How could it serve me when I can make no sense of these drawings on the page?

Lucienne adjusts her round glasses, “Does there need to be a reason?” She smiles softly. “You can come here anytime you like. It’s quiet here—which I like—and there’s so much…” Her neck cranes upward while she admires the imposing shelves.

“Perhaps you might be interested in…” Lucienne’s voice trails off. You are gone. She had not even heard you leave.

*********

Another day, a different one, when the skies are as pink as a newborn chick. The cold breeze tickles your exposed skin as you walk through fluffy, blush-hued clouds. You look up and the world flips, as simple as that, and you find yourself standing before a hut made of thunderclouds.

“Don’t get visitors up this way.” A voice says from within before they materialize through the gray, bulbous clouds and stand in front of you. Her thin body is cerulean and her veins flash in brief, sharp bursts of lightening. Her short, white dress moves with the wind.

You purse your lips, “Have I intruded?”

“Not at all, My Queen.” She bows her head respectfully and places one hand over her heart. You are painfully reminded of a similar pose you once gave to your sister, Badb, when you bravely and foolishly proclaimed that you would fight Fate and save your people.

“I appreciate the visit. You may call me Dima.” She says.

“I am not your queen.” You reply stiffly.

Dima shrugs. Her movements echo with rumbling thunder. “I knew you… and have known you for many years...” She waves her arm and the clouds shift, responding to her call, and form two chairs. Dima sits and gestures for you to do the same.

You narrow your eyes. The war of curiosity and caution battles within. No harm has come to me within the Dreaming. You sit in the soft chair Dima has provided.

“I brought the storm that day.” Dima explains softly, her pure-white eyes flash with the energy of a hundred storms. You don’t need her to clarify. You feel the mud beneath your knees. You feel Lugh’s spear. You hear Badb’s ravens—crying out. The rain, the thunder, the rage. You remember all of it.

You harden your heart and tear your eyes away from Dima.

“I am sorry for what became of them.”

“Are you?” You snap, your heart sore.

“I am.” Her voice is gentle and reminds you of the soft patter-patter of rainfall against a thatch roof. “I would bring you a thousand storms, my queen, if I believed it would help.”

You laugh dryly, meeting her electric eyes, “Would you drown the world if I asked it?” You pour all your heartache and rage into that single question. Let the world drown, let the new Gods sink and the Old Gods be reborn. Curse these mortals for forgetting you. Curse them all.

Dima doesn’t flinch. “I would.”

You recline and fold your arms across your chest. “Why are you offering such loyalty to me?” You trusted Lugh and he betrayed you. You trusted your worshipers, yet they stopped calling your name, and let you and your sisters turn to dust. They were overtaken by another faith, but you could not scrub that feeling of betrayal from your skin. You would not make the same mistake twice.

Dima smiles, her teeth as white as the dress she wears, “Because I can feel the storm brewing inside you...for like calls to like. Storm to rage, rage to storm.”

Despite your best efforts, your lips twitch upward. Dima’s forthright and confident attitude is something you appreciate. And it has been centuries since you could call upon someone (Morpheus does not count. He is your keeper and is intent on letting you serve your sentence for however he sees fit. You doubt he would come if you called).

Dima isn’t your friend, but she is not wholly a stranger either. The air thickens with the scent of the ozone and an impending storm. The clouds around you darken into a thick, heavy gray like ash and smoke. You lightly touch the center of your chest—the place where your own storm lives—and a boom of thunder carries out across the field.

*********

A whisper carries through the Dreaming: Morpheus left for an Odyssey. No one can say for how long he will be gone. Or when he will return. You take the opportunity to enter the castle for the second time in years. There is no risk of Dream seeing you, though one of his ravens will likely tattle. You slip through the corridors barefoot on quick, silent feet. You open the door to the room. Your room. Your jail cell. Your tomb—if Dream hadn’t saved you from Lugh’s poison.

Starlight drips from the ceiling and illuminates the room. Your bed is large, lavish, with purple silk pillow cases and black sheets. It is bare of any decorations or trinkets. You inhale deeply. The scents of jasmine and lavender fill your nostrils. Your heart flutters and heat prickles across the nape of your neck. The moonlit forest. The feather-light touch of Dream’s lips on yours. You push the thought from your mind and ignore the tightening of your abdomen.

You pull open the doors to the closet. The dresses and cloaks drape from their hangers. They are pristine. Elegant. Fit for a queen, you think with a sardonic twist of your mouth. The closet deepens. The clothes vary in style and material and color. You find a plain looking black traveling cloak. This will do for the next time I visit Dima. You drape the cloak over your shoulders and fasten the silver, raven’s head clasp. The interior lining of the cloak is buttery soft and smooth where it touches your skin. A small shiver of delight courses through you followed by a lick of hot, burning shame. I told myself I would never accept anything Dream offered to me and yet, I have made myself a liar.

You catch your reflection in the mirror hanging from the closet door. You do not recognize the woman standing in front of you. There is no triumph in her gaze, no glorious smile, and Macha and Badb do not stand beside her as they always have. You trail your fingertips through the empty air. Their absence aches through you like an old wound. A broken bone that has set incorrectly. A black tumor that won’t kill you as it presses into your organs.

You lean your forehead into the glass and close your eyes.

*********

Lucienne looks up at you, her glasses perched on her nose, and her face softens with her smile.

“I was afraid you might not return.”

“Your fears were not misplaced. I almost changed my mind a dozen times before entering.” You slide your hands into the pockets of your cloak, “I have need of your assistance, Lucienne.”

She carefully closes the book she was repairing, “Of course. What do you need, my lady?”

*********

Lucienne sits across from you at a small, wooden table within the library. Although you haven’t kept track of time—there’s no point within the Dreaming when time is fluid and meaningless—but you suspect that it’s been several hours since Lucienne began teaching you how to read and write.

“This,” she tapped her finger against the page, “is the letter phi.”

You trace the letter. Your fingertips are stained with ink. You don’t know why your powers don’t extend into omnipotent literacy. But, if you want to learn what became of Lugh and the others, then you need to be able to read and understand the scribbles on the pages. Your pride will not allow you to ask Lucienne to find the appropriate book and read it to you. And besides, working with Lucienne helps to fill the time. She makes for tender, quiet company. It is a nice contrast to your visits with Dima, the bold and loud Storm-Weaver.

Lucienne says, “I have a question if I may.”

“Hm?” You struggle to trace the next letter, “I’m listening.”

“Will you return to the library?”

Your brow furrows. A curious question. You glance up from your work. The orange candlelight flickers across Lucienne’s smooth, dark skin and reflects in the circular lenses of her glasses. You set your brush down and straighten your shoulders.

“Clarify.”

“Dream will return eventually.” She says, “And I’ve noticed that you tend to avoid the castle.” Lucienne tilts her head to the side. “And now you’ve come when he’s away on odyssey.”

“Generally, the Dream Lord and I avoid each other.”

“Unless he needs you.” Lucienne guesses.

“It’s a big castle,” You pick up the thin paintbrush again, “I will return, Lucienne.”

“Oh,” She replies softly and her tone is pleased, “Good.”

*********

You tuck yourself into one of the cozier corners of the library with your cloak wrapped around your frame and a book open in your lap. You trace your fingers across the green and gold cover. It took some seeking but Lucienne assured you this was the right one. The Dolmens of Ireland by William Borlase, 1897. This is where your answers would be found. A record of Lugh’s fate. The God who betrayed you and accepted sainthood.

Your pulse thumps through your fingertips and inside the hollow dip of your jaw. You flip through the pages until you come upon grave of Saint Molaga.

“Although this stone is known from the Christian era as the cover slab of the grave of St. Molaga, it probably predates the saint by many centuries.” You scan through the rest of the page, “Mo is a prefix and Logha relates to the name of the Pagan divinity Lugh. Therefore, this site is the ‘Bed of the holy Lugh,'”

Your throat tightens. Lugh was given a new life after all. He became a saint. They changed his name and built new places in his honor. There are legends to his name. They gave him a grave.

He lived while you and your sisters were forgotten. The painful prickle crawls up your throat and hot tears glide down your cheeks. You close the book and clench your fingers around it until your knuckles go white. You stare, unseeing, at the shelf in front of you as grief wrecks through your body in painful, sharp stabs.

Part of me...believed that Lugh did not survive the battle. That he did not get his Sainthood. That those heretics, those interlopers, betrayed him as he betrayed us. But no. The truth feels like glass between your teeth. Lugh was victorious. No vengeful Goddess came and struck him down. He lived.

You cover your face with your trembling hands and taste salt.

*********

Dream stops short at the sight of you in the library. His hands twitch at his sides. The joy he feels upon seeing you wearing his cloak is short-lived. Your shoulders shake and a brief, pained whimper reaches his ears. Your sadness penetrates through the space of the Dreaming like a serrated blade. His chest aches. He wishes he could approach you, offer some comfort or solace, but he does not move. He remains in the shadows and shrinks further back and watches you through the slats of the bookshelves.

She belongs to Desire until her time here is done. He reminds himself. This could be one of Desire’s tricks. Their manipulations to make me...feel something...for her. Dream clenches his jaw. You inhale shakily and the book in your lap clatters to the floor.

“Bastard!” You curse, kicking its spine, before you get to your feet. Your sadness sharpens into anger. He tastes it like copper on his tongue. Your cloak swishes around you as you spin on your heel and storm from the library. He watches you leave and the ache in his chest grows.

His affections for you are poison, like a corrosive acid that gnaws at him. He cannot permit himself the luxury of caring for you. He cannot. He has his responsibilities as Lord of the Dreaming and he cannot trust you. You belong to Desire. You were their creation. He can’t trust his feelings as they war inside his chest. What would I say if I went to her? My own siblings are Endless. We lost Destruction, but that was...different.

Your grief-struck face burns into his mind. He touches the ring holding your power. It feels cold. Jessamy caws and flies down onto his shoulder. He gently scratches beneath Jessamy’s beak. He knows he could release you from his service at any time. But, the looming agony of your absence prevents him from finally letting you go. He’d rather you have you, even at pained awful distance, than lose you forever. You move through his Dreaming like a beacon of beautiful, radiant light and shadow. When he returned from his Odyssey, his heart had leapt at the knowledge that you were within the castle.

He walks to where you sat prior and picks the book up. He skims his fingers over the embossed title. She knows the truth. She knows Lugh was granted his Sainthood. Immortalized. Remembered. He sighs. The first few raindrops land softly against the windows of the library.

The words ‘I’m sorry’ are paltry and chalky on his tongue. Does his apology return your sisters? No. Does it soothe your grief? No. A dozen times he’s considered creating dreams in the image of Badb and Macha for your company. But he resists the urge. A dream, no matter how magnificent, could not replace the bond you shared with the two Gods.

And he thinks you might scorn him if he tried to give you a dream-version of your sisters. He would rather witness your sadness than endure your scorn. Dream returns the book to its place within the shelves.

“It’s good to have you back, my lord.” Lucienne says from behind him.

Dream gives her a noncommittal nod. Lucienne’s presence reminds him that there is work to be done. His odyssey took longer than he expected and it was time to refocus. He cannot think of you any longer—otherwise it would be a distraction.

*********

“I think you should come, it’ll be fun!” Dima proclaims. She kicks her blue feet through the water. The sunlight pours through the sky and glistens and shines off the flowing river. You peel your tattered dress over your head. The sting of Lugh’s survival bites at your heart. You are learning to live with the pain of it—though you refuse to shed anymore tears.

“I haven’t been to a revelry in a long, long time.”

Dima snorts, “They call them parties, Mor.”

You shrug and dip your toes into the cold, rushing water. Although Dream returned from his Odyssey some time ago, he has not called you. Nowadays, you spend time with Dima and learn with Lucienne (Lucienne started teaching you a language known as ‘Mandarin’).

While Morpheus is absent from your life. You wish his absence would make your heart yearn less, but it seems the opposite is true. You’ve found yourself glancing around the library during your lessons, seeking him, and instead feeling frustration and disappointment.

You wade through until the pebbled stones beneath your feet dip and the water is deep enough for you to swim. The current is cold and refreshing. A school of tiny silver fish dart past your legs. Dima continues talking about the upcoming party. She is a deluge of dialogue. Her words fast and leave no room for argument or dissent. She reminds you of a younger version of yourself; bold, straightforward, quick and witty.

You cut through the water like a trout. The chill has enveloped you, prickling goosebumps across your flesh, puckering your nipples to hard, pebbled nubs. A flock of blackbirds land on a tree nearby and you float on your back, watching them, and wonder if Dream will attend this ‘party’ as well. Likely not. He does not seem the partying type.

*********

He uses the many eyes of the Dreaming to follow you. He watches you study with Lucienne, your brow furrowed, your teeth toying with your sweet lower lip. He watches you with Dima, the Storm-Weaver, and notices how her company has soothed some of your pain, some of your grief. You still do not smile or laugh, but your expressions are softer. You regard Dima with a...fondness...in your eyes. He clenches his jaw. It doesn’t matter if she takes Dima for a lover. She can do as she wishes. He could forbid it, of course. He could make it part of your punishment—that you cannot court or find release with any residents of the Dreaming. But, Dream resists the urge. Because there is a chance that...if you do take Dima for a lover...then you will return to the Dreaming after completing your final task for Desire. And I see her again within my own Realm.

One of his ravens has taken comfort among a family of smaller magpies. They squawk and flutter among the thin, wavering branches of a beautiful and lush tree. Dream freezes in the coordinator. His awareness is on his raven, seeing through her eyes, and he notices your naked, perfect body move through the river with Dima alongside you walking along the bank.

Dream swiftly teleports into his bedroom. His body trembles with desire as tight as a wire wrapping around his throat. He cannot bring his sight away. Selfishly, he connects himself to the water you’re swimming through. The sensation is like an electric jolt to his spine.

The heat spreads across the nape of his neck as his hand palms the front of his tight trousers. He feels you move through the water. Your thighs, your legs, your arms, and breasts. It feels as if you’re pressing your naked body against him. Every curve, every muscle, it glides against him like liquid desire. He shudders and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

He unzips his trousers and pulls free his hard cock. I shouldn’t...but the thought quickly vanishes as he sees and feels you twirl through the water, the serpentine curve of your spine and swell of your ass visible to him.

He imagines your mouth on him—first your tongue—because he suspects that you appreciate the tease.

He hisses through his teeth and holds the base of his cock and slowly begins to pump his hand over it. He imagines your pebbled nipples brush against his lips. He imagines what sweet noises you might make for him when he suckles on your breast and nibbles your collarbone. His thumb swipes against the beading pre-cum at his tip and Dream catches the groan in his throat. His hand is a poor substitute for the warm, wet heat of your perfect mouth—but it’ll have to do.

He cannot have you, so he will settle for the fantasy. He imagines your tongue swiping over his tip before you draw him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing, your starry eyes peering up at him through your thick lashes. He cups the back of your neck. You moan around him. Dream hisses, bucking his hips into his hand, his balls tightening. Your tongue flicks along the underside of his cock, massaging it, as you work your mouth over his hard length. He moans. He is no better than a moral man throwing himself at the feet of his beloved.

Your eyelashes flutter. His hand pumps faster—squeezing faintly. He switches the fantasy. He imagines bending you over his writing desk, your perky ass in the air, your went cunt on display. He wants to lick, to taste, but he denies himself the pleasure (even here, even within his own fantasy).

He spreads your legs and enters you ever-so-slowly, feeling you stretch and envelope him, before his hands are on your hips and his bedroom is filled with the sounds of your low, raspy moans. Dream bites his lip. His pulse pounds through his veins. The pace of his hand quickens and his eyes screw closed. Your cunt squeezes him. It’s perfect. A perfect fit. Your slick coats him, the lubrication deepening every stroke, and oh—yes—he goes deep. He holds your hips and drives into you in long, meticulous strokes. You cry out his name. Again and again. Morpheus. Morpheus. Dream’s cock twitches in his hand.

He feels each droplet of water as it glistens down your skin. He watches the sparkly droplets cling to your eyelashes and your delicate earlobe. In his fantasy, Dream bends over and nibbles your earlobe while his hand comes to find your clit between your legs. He squeezes his cock. He imagines you cumming around his cock, cunt tight, voice raw with screaming, rocking your hips back into him with every thrust. The Banshee Queen would be loud in love-making. Dream arches his pale neck, his jaw tight, his breath stuttering as his orgasm hits him.

His chest heaves with labored, his fingers are sticky and glistening, and he quickly returns his awareness to his raven—to watch you again—and you are climbing out onto the river bed. Dima hands you your flimsy dress. He watches it stick in places to your wet skin. He vanishes the mess he’s made, though the knowledge of what he did lingers. What’s done is done. She will no longer be a distraction for me. She is free from my mind. This will not happen again.

*********

You attend the revelry with Dima. It takes place within a crumbling stone and moss colossus. The bones of a giant is what Dima named it. The familiar sight of a bonfire and tables laden with food bring a small, bright comfort to your heart. These events have not changed in thousands of years. The drums reverberate through your bones. The honey wine melts on your tongue. Dima spins you, her skin flickers with lightening and briefly illuminating the space in sharp, blue-white flashes. Her smile white and brilliant. The world blurs into a kaleidoscope of colors, warm and cold, as fire smoke prickles your eyes.

Someone is standing in the shadows. Someone tall and lean with wild dark hair and fathomless eyes. Dream? Dima spins you again. You return your eyes to the place you saw him. He is gone. Perhaps he was never there to begin with.

*********

Additional Note: I resisted the urge to add Dima/Reader smooch at the end, but mostly because their relationship is like...platonic but borders on worship?? with Dima as the worshipper. So obviously the power dynamics there would be a little skewed. I might end up writing it for fun as a bonus chapter or something. the world can be healed with yuri love

#dream the endless x the morrigan #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless fic #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream x you #dream x fem!reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus smut #morpheus x you

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 10

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700 @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth

The very next morning, Radagast sat down at his wobbly desk, quill in hand, and scribbled out a letter to be sent to the Elvenking’s Halls. He had suffered a very sleepless night, going over and over in his head what he could possibly say, how he could explain it. All he knew was that he could no longer afford to wait. Now that the Enchantress had made contact with you (and he knew that she had, despite your denial of there having been anybody else in that clearing) Radagast could not waste a single second.

He could not keep you here in his cottage any longer. He could not shield you properly, in the way that would be necessary. The Enchantress may very well launch an attack upon him and he would rather that you were safely out of the way. Inside Thranduil’s Halls would be the best place for you, for a time at least. The Enchantress would not be able to penetrate their defences. Radagast knew that Thranduil would not let her.

Yes, you would be quite safe there, though moving you to the Halls would mean that he would have to tell you everything. He would have to shatter the only world you had ever known. He was loath to do it. He was so very fond of you and he did not wish to hurt you. However, there was nothing else that he could do, not like this, not without help.

So, after much hesitation and scratching out of words, Radagast placed his letter safely into the claws of a raven and sent the bird winging its way to the Woodland Realm, where it was received and taken to the king.

To Thranduil Oropherion, Elvenking. From the hand of Radagast the Brown. It is with deep regret that I must inform you of a very large secret which I have kept from you. The keeping of this secret was not done to slight you. In truth, it had nothing at all to do with you and everything to do with the safety of the one that I was sworn to protect. The daughter of Gil-Galad lives, Thranduil. She dwells within this very forest and has for many years, under my strict supervision and care. The High King begged me to keep her hidden from the Enchantress to save her precious life and, until very recently, I had managed to do so. With the Enchantress now prowling beneath these trees, I fear time has run out and the Princess is in grave danger. The Enchantress has come too near and I can no longer protect her as I once could.

I write to you seeking sanctuary for her within your halls. Please respond with all haste.

When it fell into his hands, Thranduil read the letter and immediately began to fill with rage. The little girl had survived? She lived? All these years, he had been led to believe that she had died. No... no, not led to believe. He had seen her die! Witnessed it with his own eyes!

What was the meaning of this? Nothing made sense!

If she was alive, then that meant the curse was still in effect. It meant that perhaps this was the reason the Enchantress had come here, had darkened his forest with her presence. He had asked Radagast point blank if he knew why she had come... and the damned wizard had told him that he did not.

Thranduil paced angrily around his office like an unsettled wolf until he finally forced himself to sit down and respond, glaring at the paper the entire time.

To the Wizard Radagast. From the hand of Thranduil O, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm. I fear you must have hit your head upon a low-hanging tree trunk on the journey home! For the last time I saw you, you said nothing of this despite the topic of conversation which we were engaged in.

Even before this, ever since that witch set foot in my forest, you have said nothing many times over if I recall correctly - and I am not in the habit of doing otherwise. This girl you speak of. How am I to know she is truly the princess? I witnessed that elfling die as I witnessed hers and my own mother meet the same fate. Do not come to me now seeking aid, for I do not house nor have the patience for liars.

Radagast had not expected this to be easy.

Truthfully, he had expected Thranduil’s response to be littered with much more anger than it actually was, so he supposed that was a small mercy. Though he had no doubt that the Elvenking was angry enough and was just keeping it all close to his chest, silently seething as was sometimes his way.

Radagast lifted his head and watched you pottering around the kitchen for a while, a deep sadness in his heart, before he picked up his quill and scratched together a messy reply.

Unaware of any of this, you continued to pad around the little cottage, seeing to your chores and thinking about Thranduil, wondering when he would next travel this way. Radagast had been keeping quite a tight leash on you the last day or so and you were quite frustrated, though at least the birds and beasts came and visited you here.

My lord, I understand your anger and your hesitation. The events of the past still affect us all and you witnessed so much that day that it does not surprise me that it brings out unsavoury emotions. Regardless, I implore you to put aside your grievance with me and think of the poor girl. This is not her fault. Should she pay for the mistakes of others? In all truth, she has no idea at all as to who she truly is. She does not know who her father was or what happened that day. I have told her absolutely nothing about any of it so as to keep her safe.

This had raised Thranduil’s eyebrows indeed, because he had not expected that the princess would not have any idea as to her heritage. Her past, her parents, her history. The history they shared in a way.

How the wizard had hidden her away all these years also surprised him. Thranduil had passed that cottage many a time, had sought brief counsel from the man even, and not a whisper or an inkling that anybody else resided there had ever crossed his mind. He wondered if the wizard had perhaps placed some sort of spell upon her.

Then again, he supposed that if you could live without being discovered in his forest, then perhaps he was not quite as attuned to every little going on beneath the trees as he might like to think that he was. Thranduil did not yet connect you and this princess as being the same, for he knew the princesses true name and it was not Lothíriel.

I am unsure how to proceed.

The wizard sighed as he looked down at the one word answer he received from the Woodland Realm that morning. This was taking too long and Thranduil was too stubborn.

Radagast glanced out of the window he was sitting beside, watching you laugh with the birds in the garden. Your life was so important, he thought, and you were too precious a soul to be lost... especially after all the years he had spent raising you, almost as if you were his very own.

He turned back, nodding to himself. He had to keep pushing. In fact, he had to push harder. So, picking up his quill again, he scratched out his own one word reply to Thranduil and sent it winging its way through the forest with his trusted raven.

I beg of you to help her as your father would have wanted - as your mother would have wanted.

This had, of course, sent Thranduil into a mighty anger.

Feren had come running through to the room at the sound of a chalice shattering against the wall.

Thranduil turned to look at him, gritting his teeth. “That damned wizard!” He cried, throwing the letter to his desk and rolling his eyes. “Arrange a reply. Tell him I will do as he wishes.” Thranduil told Feren even as he was sweeping past him to storm off down the hallway and out to the stables.

He needed air.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #sleeping beauty

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yourbelgianthings · 4 months

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posting my box of doom gift exchange fic for @wrenrix here too! it's a ravening war one, a short character study for all the scrumptious scoundrels based on a major arcana tarot for each of them, 2k words (also i've never done this b4 but i know she's pretty active on tumblr and i'm proud of this so shot in the dark here goes... @quiddie)

Amangeaux- The Empress The Empress represents femininity, fertility, and nurturing. Reversed, it indicates insecurity and an over-reliance on others. The day she told people they no longer needed to bother addressing her as "Lady", Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche finally felt free. She had been a queen as the wife of King Cardoon, and a lady afterwards as she hovered in between and attempted maneuvers to regain her former status, but there came a time when such things no longer mattered. What was a title in a world full of death and without trust in a time of war? To someone else, it was everything, but Amangeaux realized that she would rather develop her strength, both physical and mental. Since everyone was constantly making, breaking, and changing alliances, she needed too be able to stand and fight on her own, hopefully helping bring the war to an end sooner. It was hard to part ways to go with Karna when she decided to go to Ceresia. Although Karna was an adult now, Amangeaux was still older and more mature, and she knew no matter how much she cared for this young woman, those feelings would not be requited. So, they parted ways, and she became stronger, more independent, and more confident than ever before with the help of her family's old friend Gustavo Uvano. Uvano also promised to raise her baby son. It would be better for him to grow up not knowing he was born out of wedlock. When Amangeaux cradled the small grape in her arms before she left for the battle of Pangranos, kissing his forehead for the last time, tears dotted his blanket and her sleeves. In a perfect world, she would never pick up a sword again, and raise her son in peace until the end of her days. This was far from a perfect world though, almost the opposite, and she wanted him to have a chance at a better life. Her starfruit trotted off down the lane towards the final confrontation, towards the unknown, but certain danger. Queen Amangeaux would have been horrified by such a prospect, and while this new Amangeaux still felt fear, she knew she could hold her own against whatever was to come.

Colin- Justice Justice represents balance, integrity, and truth. Reversed, it has to do with denial and guilt. Colin Provolone, or rather, Sir Colin Provolone, had never intended to become a knight of the Bulbian Church. He hadn't even thought he would end up leaving Delissandro's side, but things were getting out of control and he needed to draw a line somewhere. The look in Deli's eyes as they ambushed the Candian delegation on the Glucian Road filled Colin with unease; he seemed much too enthusiastic about killing. Doing what you have to do is one thing, Colin knew that as he agonized over taking out the poor banana who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Deli didn't have to kill that scared little fungi. So, it was time to part ways. It was war, and he didn't think he was in some kind of place to judge Deli or Karna or anyone else, he was just making his own choices about which way to go while he still could. If Raphaniel was a true believer, Colin would have felt bad about accepting the title of knight only to gain more power with which to maneuver, but it was the now-demoted archdeacon's idea, knowing full well Colin was barely even Bulbian. What kind of insanity-inducing rabbit hole the old man was down in his office filled with old papers and books and pages of scribbled notes Colin couldn't even begin to imagine, but he felt some sense of responsibility for him. Wasn't that the duty of a knight, to protect their patron? As he grew more adjusted to his life in this odd in-between period (the war was in a lull, but he had a feeling that wouldn't last long), his thoughts drifted to Deli less often, but it still happened sometimes. Colin held no ill will towards his old friend, he hoped he was getting things figured out and doing okay. The days mostly passed trying to keep an eye on Raphaniel and wondering what was to come. There was no rush for the FDA to call him and his comrades again, though. Fighting may have been the thing he was best at, but he also hated to do it. After all, there is no true justice in war.

Deli- Strength Strength represents bravery, confidence, and fortitude. Reversed, it can mean anger, fear, or jealousy. Walking away at the end of the war was the strongest thing Delissandro Katzon ever did. As he parted ways with Amangeaux and Colin after the death of their other companions, he criticized himself for having no desire to return to the other Meatlanders, or to anyone. Who did he have? Where would he go? His aggressive political maneuvering in the Meatlands years earlier had caused his own mother, the former chieftess Cleva Katzon, to leave. Karna was dead, Gemelli was dead but had betrayed him so it wouldn't matter either way, and Colin saved his life but they both knew their former separation stood as soon as they left the cave. So, Deli did all he could think to do: walking north with no particular destination in mind. He had been confident in every decision he had made before, and this one was no different. Perhaps he would see his mother again as he traversed some of the same paths, perhaps not; that wasn't why he was doing it. As his mind wandered throughout all the hours of solitude, the anger at Gemelli and Archbishop Cauliflower and the rest of the FDA faded away and was replaced by grief. Not for those he and his friends had killed, Senator Ariana Gemelli deserved it and the others, innocents like Queen Pamellia and Princess Sapphria, were the consequences of war, unfortunate as it was. Karna stayed in his thoughts day after day, though, looking back, Deli couldn't believe he had been so oblivious to how she felt and why she was supporting him. Although he hadn't made false promises to her like Gemelli had, he had broken her heart nonetheless, and she died before he could do anything about it. Yet, as Karna died, in pain both physically and emotionally, his face was the last thing her eyes ever saw. He felt that she was forgiving him, and this mystified him, but it was her last gift, so difficult as it was, it would be selfish to reject it. Karna had forgiven Deli, so Deli was going to forgive himself and try to move on. He would never know where he and Colin stood, but the fact that Colin saved his life escaping from the cave told him enough. Every step forward was a step towards living for himself, finally free from all the tangled concerns of politics and alliances in war.

Karna- Death Death means endings, transformation, and letting go. Reversed, it represents regrets and decay. Karna Solara really died when she made her pact with the Hungry One, or at least sealed her fate for a long death, a little bit every time she made a sacrifice. Her body slowly rotted away and she carved out pieces of it to continue receiving magic powers until there was almost nothing left for the garbage disposal to destroy by the time she fell into it. For her entire life, she was never herself, so to speak. Even when she wasn't undercover as another identity, the one she used for the longest being Ja'Cru Dite, she changed how she presented herself and acted to gain favor and get by. The Karna who traveled with Lady Amangeaux and Bishop Raphaniel was not the same one who would later take the title of Skald from Colin to fight by Deli's side, assassinating Princess Sapphria Rocks. However, all of these people were her friends. She kept some of them at a further distance than others, accepted or rejected their care and trust, but she considered them friends nonetheless. The widowed queen, an elderly bishop who would later be demoted, a warlord from the Meatlands, and a Dairy Islander who seemed like nobody but ended up becoming the warlord's right hand man and later a knight under the deacon: a motley crew if there ever was one. Some of them had known each other in smaller groups before, but on the whole, they were only brought together by circumstance. None of that mattered though, who they were, why they met- Karna was just glad she had once chance in her life to get close to people as herself, not as someone else or with an ulterior motive. When she was torn apart by Camille Cauliflower's cold, alien, metal blades in the cave, she wasn't scared. She had no regrets, which may seem surprising for someone who died so young, but there was nothing else she needed to do. Even the revelation that Deli had loved someone else didn't matter anymore. Of course it felt like her ribs might all break from her heart exploding when he and Senator Gemelli had that exchange, but deep down she knew that she would have done everything exactly the same by his side if there was another chance. Taking her last breath, Karna exhales and smiles. The clang of metal, the shouts and thuds, the heavy footsteps, everything fades away. It's time for her to let go.

Raphaniel- The Hermit The Hermit represents solitude, withdrawal, and seeking knowledge. Reversed, it denotes madness, isolation, and rejection. Newly-demoted Archdeacon Raphaniel Charlock barely left his office these days. He had never been a true believer in the Bulb, but he was more distant from the rest of the church than ever. Lady Amangeaux and Karna had gone their own ways, and Colin had ended up with him. Their dynamic had shifted, Raphaniel had spent the early part of their time together trying to figure out what Colin's deal was, and now he could sense Colin wondering what he spent his hours behind a locked door doing. Colin meant well and did his best to help take care of Raphaniel, which he appreciated, but nobody could reach him now. The paranoia-fueled spiral of frantic attempts to gain more knowledge and put together the pieces so he might finally be worthy to join the Architects constituted its own world. Only terrifying visions of spinning cold steel blades and the resulting viscera interrupted his focus. One night, exhausted and about to fall asleep with his head resting on his desk, the elderly radish thought back to how all this had started. Secrets, blackmail, mercenary assassinations- it was no wonder that everyone had reacted so differently and ended up wherever they were now. Raphaniel wondered if Lady Amangeaux ever suspected that the death of her beloved Cardoon was his doing. Either way, he didn't feel bad about it; he had spent his entire career in the church manipulating people and maneuvering things to his advantage. King Cardoon was just another pawn to him, but Lady Amangeaux was his friend, and he had a strange desire for her to know the truth. This was out of character for him, normally he did everything possible to conceal the truth from people. He wasn't so far gone yet as to want to tell her, but she was a smart woman, and he hoped she'd figure it out. With that thought, he drifted off into another night of fitful sleep and dreams of those cold, cold blades tearing on forever.

#message from mirph #mirph's manuscripts #the ravening war #dimension 20 #lady amangeaux epicee du peche #amangeaux epicee du peche #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #delissandro katzon #karna solara #raphaniel charlock #anjali bhimani #zac oyama #lou wilson #aabria iyengar #brennan lee mulligan #d20 fanfic #fanfic

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thegreengnome · 1 year

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Okay… so this is my first ever post on this account and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement… so depending on the poll Aemond could be switched for daemon..

What do we think of the sneak peak??

……………………

The piece of yellowing parchment gripped in his white knuckled hand shook slightly as the Lord of Spyre house read then re-read the words scribbled upon it.

“Eligible women, of marriageable age…”

“Husband?” the overly pitched and nasally voice of Tayla Spyre broke his momentary lapse in concentration.

“The king has sent us a raven” Tayla was immediately on guard- who were they to receive royal correspondence. They are but a small holding in a far corner of the reach, no one of importance. From her memory the one and only time she could recall receiving a royal raven was for the declaration to the heir, and that was some time ago.

“Whatever for?”

Wyllam Spyre finally sets the letter to the side to give his lady wife his full attention. He cannot help but notice the drawn-out lines hidden behind white powder, close to her eyes, and the greying starting to form at the top of her head.

“He wants all the eligible ladies of the realm at the red keep” taking a breath before continuing “to try and find a suitable match for the young prince Aemond”

Tayla moved closer to Wyllam, taking the letter to read for herself.

“But we have no such ladies” she mumbles, biting her lip as her eyes dart across the words. She scrunches her nose up, once again drawing Wyllam’s eyes to the lines across her face. He would not be bedding her tonight he mused.

Finally, Wyllam scoffed, startling his wife from her reading “You’re forgetting someone”

“We cannot send her Wyllam, she’s an imbecilic.” The normally well put together lady of the house, began to panic, rubbing her hands together furiously “She will stain the name of this house” Wyllam nodded, agreeing wordlessly.

“It seems we have no choice, my lady”

Snatching the paper off his wife, he crumbles it between his fingers. Relishing in the sharp edges poking and prodding at his skin.

“We must send Cerlina”

#daemon targeryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #Alicent Hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

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the-rxven-king · 6 months

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just in time for halloween spooky times, ive done a redraw of one of my old MOTW characters, marcus vesanta!!! an ancient vampire who has dedicated himself to freeing feral vampires from the jaws of their own hunger and finding his sire to kill him and fully have his freedom

comparison to the only other piece of art ive ever done of him below the cut

#the raven king scribbles #the raven king speaks #marcus vesanta #vampire #vampires #artists on tumblr #monster of the week #motw #motw oc #motw character #im very proud of this piece honestly please look at him

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Happy Day 5 (Feelings Realization) of @sjmromanceweek!!!

Pairing’s mentioned: Itharion, Chaorian, Jassa

I couldn’t resist making a couch ad since SJM seems to love using chairs as a vehicle for love 😈

Dearest reader, this author has been fondly keeping up with the latest season of Fangs and Bangs. Especially now that Ithan Holstrom, famed Lunathion sunball player, has made his acting debut as a charming guitarist starring opposite a seductive singer, played by the handsome Tharion Ketos.

The chemistry between the wolf shifter and mer was off the charts during the first three episodes. Indeed, the two sparked dating rumors after being spotted strolling along the Istros riverwalk (well, Tharion was swimming, his coppery tail illustriously flashing in the sun) and eating lunch in the Moonwood district the last few weeks.

Such rumors were confirmed last night at the White Raven, where Ithan (drunkenly) shouted, "if my boyfriend wins this dance battle, next round of drinks are on me!" With the mer being known for their flexibility, it is no surprise that Ithan left the club with Tharion hand-in-hand and a sky high credit card charge.

One might argue that "Itharion" is a fake dating situation used to generate press for the new season. Others, like this author, firmly believe that the feelings developed as a result of long hours on set were simply realized after spending time together off camera.

With Fangs and Bangs being shot and aired on a weekly basis, the finale is not set in stone. But it has come to my attention that producers are planning a romance arc between Tharion and Miss Natalia Paloma, who plays a vampyr songwriter in the show. With Natalia and the general public being staunch Itharion fans, this author hopes the writers may be persuaded to change the season's course before it is too late.

King Dorian Havilliard and Lord Chaol Westfall have been two peas in a pod since the tender ages of 8 and 12—historians will call them close friends. But the chasm that often separates platonic and romantic love can thin to a fine line, and this author has become privy to information that implies such line has been finally crossed.

Gentle reader, you may recall how the flirtatious prince attended his fair share of courtly revels with the young Captain of the Guard in tow. Perhaps watching Dorian seduce all sorts of ladies had Chaol broodily wishing Dorian was flirting with him instead. Well, last month, the Hand of the King was in for a treat when he offered to organize his King's old paperwork, finding "Dorian Westfall" scribbled across several margins of palace tutoring notes. These precious records were dated to a decade prior, when Dorian was but 15 years old.

This author surmises that the court ladies were not the only ones ogling at a shirtless 18-year old Chaol Westfall as he trained with Theodus Brullo, Adarlan's Weapons Master. But whatever the cause for Dorian's affections, one cannot deny the prince has continuously prioritized Lord Westfall above himself over the years. Whether it be backing off Aelin Galathynius (nee Celaena Sardothien) or repeatedly saving his friend's life using magic, Dorian's love for Chaol is steadfastly unquestionable.

There is only one thing that comes to mind when mutual feelings are realized: "Now what?" The sensation is akin to reaching the crest of a hill, stomach tight with nerves and anticipation. It has come to my attention that the two will announce their engagement tomorrow at noon. King Dorian has been reviewing potential candidates to succeed Chaol in his role as the King's Hand, and Chaol has been busy settling into the royal chambers. Take that, historians!

Adarlan is not the only kingdom with citizens eager to see their ruler wed. This author does not consider itself impatient, but it certainly has had enough of Queen Vassa and General Jurian beating around the bush. I am sure their bickering is equally grating on their foxy roommate's poor nerves. My condolences to him, but what does one expect by throwing a mad general into the cauldron and adding a firebird queen to the mix? Passion, dear readers, passion. Well-mannered folk may believe the best relationships are maintained with agreeable manners, but this pair will have them considering otherwise. After all, we need partners who can keep our egos in check!

It is well known that the young queen has rejected multiple proposals from fair noblemen across the lands. After all, why settle for a pasty duke when you have a seasoned general always at your side? Before you accuse this author of being a hopeless romantic, consider: what is affection, if it is not scouring the markets for the queen's favorite birdseed and scratching all the hard-to-reach itches while she is stuck in her bird form (even if it is all done under a guise of teasing)? What is desire, if it is not peeping at the bathing general while perched on a tree branch, or nesting in his clothes (and thusly rolling around in his scent)?

Stubborn hearts may deny their feelings all they want, but this author wagers that forcing Queen Vassa and General Jurian in even closer proximity (a locked bedroom, perhaps?) will have them at each other's throats in a more sensual manner.

Dear Suriel, it has been centuries since the Valkyries have passed, so of course I had to drop in on the Valkyrie revival in my own court. My good friends roped me into the training session by pairing me with an Illyrian Valkyrie for a round of sparring. With her earthy brown eyes assessing me, her glossy hair fluttering in the wind, her full lips set with curiosity and determination...my heart was positively pounding! You can imagine that I tried to prolong the sparring session to the best of my ability.

To my surprise, the fierce Valkyrie became a blushing lady once we started conversing normally! I'll admit I was flustered, too. After learning how she enjoys drinking tea and reading smutty books, I plan to "drop in" again next week with a special edition novel. And maybe an invitation to high tea the following week, if all goes well. Oh, did you know that she also runs her own business? And it's a clothing store?!? Can this female get any more perfect? I think her wings are the loveliest out of all Illyrians. Actually, I think I may be in love. Help! All my love, Wine o'Clock

Dear Wine o'Clock, this is an advice column, not your personal diary! Help? It seems you are doing fine, when it comes to your courtship plan. But if you are in a tizzy over your newfound feelings...alas, there is no remedy to love sickness! But I am certain a delightful future is in store for both of you, if you catch my meaning. Cauldron bless you both, Suriel

Nolan’s Furnishings: couch BLOWOUT sale! Blow your back out on the hottest deals in Prythian! Pink couches, golden couches, red velvet fainting couches…you name it, we have it! Hear what our customers have to say about our couches: “plush enough for hours of lounging,” “sturdy enough to withstand sexual activities”

#sjmromanceweek2023 #itharion #chaorian #jassa #acotar #crescent city #throne of glass

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sherbet-shark · 2 years

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Hello! Can I request for 🌸 15 "I will not ask you where you come from. I will not ask you, neither should you. Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips." by Hozier with Malleus? Hozier and Malleus both give bog prince vibes hahaha and I think it fits him nicely. Thank you!

Honeyed kisses

Author’s Note: This line matches with Malleus, I think, a lot! It’s beautifully eerily yet still has the subtexts of forlornness. I’m not sure what you mean by bog prince, but when I looked it up. It came up with the love interest of Love is Strange?? Please correct me if I’m sorely wrong xD.

It’s not a problem at all. I think Malleus is a fun character. He opens a lot of gateways for possible angst and lore building while still having a touch of inexperience. In this fic, I wanted to tackle his responsibility to his birthright, isolation, and that reader isn’t Mc/Yuu but a person that also summoned alongside Yuu.

╰┈➤ Also for the eng/new players, “Valley of Thorns” is Briar Valley. I liked the Japanese version of the country name a little more but I do like the reference to Sleeping Beauty for the ENG ver.

Trigger Warnings: Brief mentions of death, light angst, kissing, secret relationship, fae and human discrimination hints lore.

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Malleus Draconia, mysterious heir apparent of the Valley of Thorns, once his studying has been completed, will claim the throne to be king. He never thought he’d even have a romantic partner at the esteemed magical school. The fae prince was content with learning all he could about the world outside his kingdom. But ever since you came into his life, things have taken an unexpected turn! But you must keep your union a secret due to his royal status. It leads you to this very moment, reveling in the company of stars and moon in the endless blanket of the night sky, twinkling at the lovers.

Sitting at your cluttered desk, full of papers and textbooks, you peer out your bedroom window, a soft cacophony of blush pink and honey colors stretching across the dappled skies. You marvel at how picturesque this fleeting moment of dusk is. The sight was something out of a painting, and the serenity and wonder made a smile appear on your face. The colors of the oncoming night were a beauty, but it was also a sign for you to get ready for your nightly meetup with someone dear to you.

Twisting your body in your chair, you could feel the muscles in your back strain, and cracks welcome your ears. You could already feel the soreness from being hunched over and scribbling on your math paper. Luckily, this packet wasn’t due till two days from now, so you could take a much-needed break from the never-ending equations. Scooting the chair back, you rose, walked to your closet, and retrieved your trusty jacket.

Malleus aimlessly wanders around his dorm as he through the dreary windows of the cobblestone castle to the skies above to see the vibrant colors fade in the darkness. Bright stars slowly start to flicker to life as he thoughtfully stares at the heavens. Despite his youth with fellow Fae countrymen, it was odd to remember that he’s been alive for a long time. Throughout his life, he met great rulers, people of unspeakable power and authority of their time.

His knowing eyes had seen and heard so many fleeting things, the tides of change ebbing at his beloved homeland. The country’s queen, his grandmother, was an excellent ruler, her words clad with eons of wisdom and love and welfare for her people in every action. He aspired to be a great ruler like his Grandmother. Soon, after his schooling ended at Night Raven College, he would assume the crown and become king but with new knowledge of the outside world and inklings of experience.

These years of his overseas learning wouldn’t only give him social experience with people from different walks of life and a way to understand the other governments of the world, to study how advanced the other nations were with technology and how the world spun now. It was a surprise for Malleus to see how much progress the humans had over his people, despite how short the human lifespan is compared to the Fae. A people grounded in deep-seated traditions and influential magic users populated his kingdom in stark contrast to the human’s contemporary and technological advances.

But after his enrollment, he had concluded that it would be impossible to say the feats and strides weren’t admirable. It still left the youthful prince in a state of amazement and alarm; he knew that the world was in relative peace, but he was taught to expect change. His people and himself needed to learn more about this alien world with the uncertainty of the future. The crown’s weight would sometimes be on his mind, but he never neglected his birthright. That would be unbecoming, and if he did, his court wouldn’t take kindly to that. No, he wasn’t blind to his court’s mixed with displeasure whispers and looks of approval when he announced his enrollment to the prestigious school for magic.

The raven-haired fae was adept and powerful in all sorts of magic but still made his advisors wary of their crown prince leaving their country for nine months for four years. But as he suggested to the Queen and the court, Lilia Vangrouge, the honored general, to accompany the Princeling. During the draconic-fae’s first year, Lilia had sworn to keep him safe, then, as a year passed, Silver enrolled to keep the heir safe, and now the enthusiastic Sebek soon joined the knights’ ranks to serve his highness. The years passed, but his objective still stayed the same. The distant prince intended to learn all he could for his benefit and his people.

But as the world had it, you appeared. It seemed out of thin air, but it was fortunate to meet a person who did not know how important he was, considering his royal status and who appeared to be fearless. Approaching the foreboding was either out of fearlessness or pigheadedness, and either of those options was a dangerous gambit.

You were putting yourself on a limb walking up to an unknown horned man. You were no fool to his suffocating and cold aura that this man emitting waves felt like, but something in the hands of the fates wrote in their sacred book that this odd pair were meant to be more than two fleeting strangers. He marveled at this human’s brazen demeanor as they spoke to him. The green-eyed man was left wondering if your brashness was out of fearlessness or ignorance.

Draconia was all the more intrigued by this magicless human before him. Malleus wasn’t dull in the slightest. He knew he ought to be respected and feared for the power he possessed, literal and figurative. The dragon Fae did not mind his peer’s hesitant and frightened gazes not anymore. He came to think that in the grand scheme of things, their whispers and stares did not matter much to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t crave something more in his mind. Everything laid before him was temporary: the stars above, the seas below, the race’s life spans, and the beastmen’s paled in comparison to the proud Fae’s life. Humans are even more fleeting. All that mattered was the well-being of his kingdom and his people.

If that meant isolating himself even from even his trusted companions, then so be it. His responsibility to the crown and his birthright meant more to him than passing friendships with those around him, yet that does not mean the young heir couldn’t crave something more than the formalities of the court and those around him. Now, what exactly this ‘something’ was made the prince falter. What was it that he wanted? Was it the camaraderie? Was it to gain a confidante that understood his responsibility? He was still young. Lilia would remark at times while alone. Such youth, in the eyes of the olden general, cackled at the dorm leader’s peculiar naive queries. He still had much to learn, Lilia would fondly state as the vice dorm leader warmly smiled at Malleus.

The Diasomia leader folds his arms across his chest, one of his hands perches underneath his chin in thoughtful repose. The fading colors of the day disappear, and the night’s darkened reign slowly takes over from the window he looks out of, altogether forgoing something equally important. His mind wanders once more into his first meeting with you. The scent of magic didn’t waft from your person when you met. Usually, he’d be able to smell the aroma of magic from those gifted with the talent, no matter how faint. But you didn’t seem to have any traces of the coveted gift, which perturbed him. Only people with magic were enrolled at Night Raven College.

But as the months passed, with what seemed like a blink of an eye, your initial passing meetings became more frequent, and day by day, you got closer to the mysterious man. Malleus found you amusing, with your continuous questioning and carefree attitude you put on around the heir. Were you that oblivious to who he was, or did you try to get something for your gain by acting like you had no clue who he was? If it was the former, you did a good job keeping the future king fascinated, but once you showed your colors, he wouldn't hold back any of his spite.

But as the days flew by, the idea of your deception disappeared from his mind as you understood each other. You thought he was mysterious and intimidating, but all the same, it intrigued you to keep trying to befriend him and never answering any of his questions as to where you were from or how you came to be. The only thing quenching his curiosity was your vague answers, but eventually, something unexpected resulted in this coy game of cat and mouse. Or Lizard and mouse?

The dorm leader wistfully sighs, waking from his stupor of memories. The sky was now turning to a blanket of obsidian speckled white flickering dots greeting his focused gaze, the traces of the once colorful sky bid adieu. The pearl white moon glimmers and the moonlight outlines the crescent shape of the celestial body above. There was a mystique about this particular moon phase Malleus noted but never mind that. He let out another regretful grunt. Time once again slipped from his grasp. It wasn’t the first time either. It seemed that Fae’s internal clocks worked differently than humans no matter how hard he tried to best Father Time.

Even for a critical time such as this, the dorm leader glances sideways as he sees oddly alone in the comforts of the hall. Perfect time for a midnight stroll, and hopefully, you were still there at the agreed-upon area. Who knows how long you waited for him, and in the back of his mind, while it would pain him, it wouldn’t surprise him to be left alone in the company of the stars and moon. The crown prince retrieves his magical pen from his pocket and disappears into a cloud of soft green fireflies in his wake.

Draconia appears before a small forest. Malleus recalls talking with you about this and your private sessions together. He starts to stride through the dark woodlands, raven hair flowing behind him, sweeping away from his stoic face. His dorm uniform cascaded from his fast yet dominant pace. The crowded trees reveal a small field of wildflowers; moonlight guides his experienced movements and spots a figure quickly closing the distance. He instinctively tenses as he observes the figure close the distance between the two, yet a familiar yell-like whisper makes him relax, and a soft chuckle rolls from his lips.

“Do you have any idea how long I was waiting out here for you? An hour and twenty; you're lucky I have a jacket with me.” Squinting your eyes at the tall Fae, you scold him. You grip your arms and rub your hands up and down. While it wasn’t bone-chilling outside, it still had a touch of frost in the air.

“Yes, I sincerely apologize for keeping you so long, my rose. I got lost in my thoughts. I shall do my best next time to be more punctual.” The vibrato of his deep voice tries to soothe his love and apologizes with a forlorn expression painting his face; his haunting green eyes convey such a storm of emotions, both known and not.

You mutter half-heartedly and roll your eyes, arms unfolding as you move closer to the dorm leader. “It better be a good thought then. Do try to remember when we meet like this, though. But I’m happy you came.” The crescent moon peeks behind Malleus' form, perfectly sculpting the curves of his face and body. His lime green eyes stare into yours as you go to touch him. You marveled at how expressive his eyes were at times.

He had a deep loyalty to his people, and the responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders. That’s why you offered him a simple yet thoughtful solution, to hide your union. Your suggestion miffed Malleus; while you defended your idea, he felt as if you were preparing for the worst or that you were ashamed of who had your heart. He certainly didn't feel any shame by your side, but at the same time, he had to commend your foresight, and as he graciously listened, the prince conceded.

It would be a massive deal to the people if they caught wind of their crown heir frivolously courting a person with no magic and who was not even a resident of Twisted Wonderland and no longer being with that person. That is also to say you would still feel the same as you do now. Nevertheless, the way Malleus’ would look at you at times, so unadulteratedly full of affection, made you feel a little more secure, but if that time came, you'd sweat those details when you got to that bridge.

“Oh yes, it was a good thought. I recalled the past. Now, how can I amend your time wasted on me? Perhaps a waltz in the moonlight? Or something more?” His voice etched with lighthearted teasing as he swept you into his warm reach, still peering beside him.

“Hmm, let me think.” A cheeky grin sets on your face as you lean into his familiar touch. The atmosphere between the two lovers was sweet and coveted, with only the twinkling stars and moon as their witnesses. You can sense the tall man patiently waiting to hear his lover’s request, and you pretend to think about what he could do for you. You already had your answer but weren't sure if he’d be comfortable with your jest.

Wriggling from his hand on your waist, turning to face him, you confidently state. You softly poke fun at Malleus’ in-depth thinking. You did want to kiss him but so that he’d feel happy. You gathered that his upbringing was old-fashioned, and in the back of your mind, you doubted he’d do so before marriage, but it was a nice thought, and you have something to tease him about. “I know, kiss me. Then I may find it in my heart to forgive, my forgetful prince.”

Malleus’ face flashes in bewilderment, almost making you want to take a picture of it as you hold back a laughing fit; you swore you would've seen him blush. Damnit lighting, you internally cursed as you snickered at his face. The person before Malleus had no problem being so bold, and it frankly made the prince glad to joke about with him; that, aside from what you wished for, made the dorm leader’s heart fastened and cheeks warmed. Lost in your laughing fit, you didn't see the equally playful coy smirk stretched across his face as he chuckled.

“If that is what you wish. Come to me then.” That one sentence left you a sputtering, embarrassing mess as you nervously gulped down your nerves. His authoritative command added more to your flustered mind, meekly approaching the Fae.

Hesitantly asked the dorm leader, “You’re not joking, right?” Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you tilted your head to his face to see if he meanly poked fun at your desire, but the way he met your gaze with a determined gleam in his eyes, he lightly shook his head, displeasing your worries.

“No, why would I lie to you, my rose? My heart is yours, and while we may be fleeting. I want to savor every moment with you as much as I can. In public or private. You're the only one I wish to love.” Malleus cups your cheeks in his gloved hands; despite how naive those words may be out of his long life, they make your heart swoon.

Accompanied by the celestial stars above you and Malleus, press your lips together sweetly. His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla and honey, his comforting scent of pine trees and the smell of when the first rainfall fell upon the land. Breathing him in, you deepen your first hesitant kiss with your prince snaking your arms around his broad back and leaning into him. Slow and deliberate moves against your bodies, you both got used to kissing. Malleus had enough of playing coy as the raven-haired fae delved into your lips; he couldn't get enough of you. The gentle absent-minded circles you drew on his back to the moonlight graced your face.

Pulling away from Draconia in a breathless stupor, a dazed smile meets Malleus’ flushed expression, “My prince of honey.”

Tag list: @rrasado, @millybesippin, @hey-its-cweepy @luvielle

#twst x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus #disney twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #sherbet writes #sherbet’s scenarios

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domericstone · 10 months

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| a starter for @anastacia-templeton | | location: the vale apartments after the fighting men have returned to the vale |

The Queen didn’t need Domeric to hover over her day in and day out. She needed him when he had information for her or if there was something she needed him to do. They waited to receive word from Graham and the fighting men. Domeric didn’t say he missed the feeling of combat. He fought in war when he had to fight in war. Domeric prepared himself for fighting in the Snakewood as he did in Bolton lands or Northern skirmishes. Words, coin, and ravens. Domeric could pull his blade from his waist and pull the skin from a man. He could pull the thick, black needle from his sleeve and push it into the neck of another. Domeric could fight in a battle and proved himself talented in the joust when he still took the time to play the game of war.

The only sound in the room came from the scratching of his quill as he scribbled across the parchment. There was a need to keep up with the lost coin, the recovery, and the details coming from Graham and the others. His cousin, Jack Archibald, was gone with his ships and would surely send them something back as they handled the conflict with the SIsters. Sistermen were misbehaving and the clansmen breeched the bloody gate because of the late King, a man he grew up alongside. There was an age gap between them, not large, it was small enough fo them to be in the Eyrie together. Such a lifetime ago.

The door opened and he glanced up, No one would enter this area unless they were a lady-in-waiting, a guard, or some member of the cleaning staff.

“Lady Templeton.”

“Do you look for the Queen? I believe her to be resting.”

He looked back at the parchment before him. Many connections soured upon the realization he is Domeric Stone and not Bolton. Some shunned him more than they thought him a made man who flayed his enemies. Now, it seemed they forgot everything but the word bastard. It didn’t bother him. People were exhausting. The mask was tiring. Domeric knew when to wear it and when he didn’t have to and he wouldn’t wear it in the Arryn court.

#c: ana #ana001

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anewgayeveryday · 2 years

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Love for The Artists

This is totally unprovoked, but I just wanted to openly appreciate the artists on this blog.

Because my talents do not include art and a lot of requested characters are from books or podcasts, I tend to ask a lot of people for permission to use their fanart on my blog; they could easily say no and I understand each time someone does. So I just want to say thank you to every artist that gives me their permission.

Trust me, if I had more disposable income, I'd happily commission every one of them

They're all tagged under the cut (if I've missed any, please tell me and I'll fix it)

@rowan-scribbles (Art used for Cecil Palmer and Carlos the Scientist-WTNV)

@nicoryio (Art used for Will Solace and Nico Di Angelo-Percy Jackson)

@horizonalillac I think this is a dead URL and I can't find them again plz pm me or something (Art used for June Egbert-Homestuck)

@theartingace (Art used for Jonathan Simms- The Magnus Archives)

@greekmisfortune (Art used for Alex Fierro-Magnus Chase)

@peachymess-art (Art used for Taako and Kravitz-The Adventure Zone)

@applejuiceflood (Art used for Willow and Sundew-Wings of Fire)

@megphail (Art used for Paige Mahoney-The Bone Season)

@ducksanddairy (Art used for Martin Blackwood-The Magnus Archives)

@protosstar (Art used for Jude Perry-The Magnus Archives)

@andromedadoodles (Art used for Lup-The Adventure Zone)

@areyouokaypanda (Art used for Zolf Smith-Rusty Quill Gaming)

@maikamaika-art (Art used for Chloe Turner-The Bright Sessions)

@aelenko (Art used for Adam Parrish and Ronan Lynch-The Raven Cycle)

@dainesanddaffodils (Art used for Cel Sidebottom-Rusty Quill Gaming)

@cosmic-nopedog (Art used for Georgie Baker and Melanie King-The Magnus Archives)

@lorn-art (Art used for Leylas Kryn-Critical Role)

@cool-blue (Art used for Snorpy Fizzlebean and Chandlo Funkbun-Bugsnax)

@midisnight (Art used for Trixie Roughhouse-Epithet Erased)

@supercollisions (Art used for Oliver Banks-The Magnus Archives)

@flooftyfizzlebeans (Art used for Eggabell Batternugget and Lizbert Megafig-Bugsnax)

@foxdoodles (Art used for Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck-Six of Crows)

@saturnisfallingdown (Art used for Maureen Johnson and Michelle Nguyen-WTNV)

@lthesecondg (Art used for Tim Stoker-The Magnus Archives)

@geisterzeit-art (Art used for Buddy Aurinko and Vespa Ilkay-The Penumbra Podcast)

@drawsmaddy (Art used for Shaun Gilmore-Critical Role)

@wqemzz-blog (Art used for Nina Zenik-Six of Crows)

@heretic-cleric (Art used for Tracker O'Shaughnessey and Kristen Applebees-Dimension 20: Fantasy High)

@fma03envy @transgendermtt (Art used for Sidney Sargent-Camp Here and There)

@tali-zorahs (Art used for Krejjh and Brian Jeeter-The Strange Case of Starship Iris)

@tvyryn (Art used for David 7-Stellar Firma)

@bewildereye (Art used for Kelandy of Mindelan-Protector of the Small)

@enuberoo (Art used for Violet Liu and Arkady Paten-The Strange Case of Starship Iris)

@arteroid (Art used for Marisol Yuchengco-Camp Here and There)

@munchiezxx (Art used for RJ McCabe-The Strange Case of Starship Iris)

@synapse-retrogenesis (Art used for S Hawkins-ECKVA)

#not a gay #artists on tumblr #((a huge thank you to them yet again))#((without these kind people my blog would be a lot more scarce))

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marvelsimp97 · 2 years

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The Broken Princess (Loki x Reader) Part Ten

Summary: Reader is a princess of a kingdom where women are expected to sit at home, cook and be pretty. She was never like that to her mother's dismay and disappointment. She is forced into a marriage with the Asgardian prince, Loki and neither of them likes the idea. However, not because of the same reasons.

Word count: 3515

Warnings: smut at the end so minors pls skip to the next chapter!

Next Chapter

The Asgardian palace's residents and people all over the realm were getting impatient. Months passed since the younger prince's and Princess (Name)'s wedding and there was still no news about an heir. But not only the Asgardians were frowning upon it but Queen Frigga and King Odin.

Everyone around the young married couple saw how they loved each other only they couldn't realize it. However, the queen wasn't only beauty. She was one of the smartest women throughout the Nine Realms and she was already planning things. She thought she could make them confess by making them jealous but that didn't work seeing how they only grew more distant. She needed a plan. A good one.

"What should I do...?" she mumbled as she sat in her salon embroidering a blanket for a child.

"My queen?" spoke up Sif as she entered the salon after she was asked for by Queen Frigga. The warrior woman was one of the brightest strategists of Asgard and the queen knew she could confide in Sif with anything.

"Ah! Come my dear! We have a lot to discuss!" smiled Frigga up at the warrior woman who sat down across from her with a worried expression.

"About what, my queen?" raised an eyebrow Sif.

"About (Name) and my son..." she smirked mischievously back at Sif who couldn't help but chuckle.

Time skip~

You walked down the corridor to the library to give a lesson to the children who came to the palace to study. Every bunch of kids liked you just like you liked every one of them. Since your fight with Loki you realized how stupid you were. You didn't know what he was up to and acted without getting enough information. So instead, you decided to concentrate on teaching for now.

It wasn't like you regretted getting those few ladies killed... but your conscience started to wake up after pushed aside for a few weeks. Suddenly from nowhere a hand wrapped around your mouth and an arm around your shoulders. The cloth in the unfamiliar hand smelling of something strange making you grow weaker and sleepier with every second. You tried to protest but your limbs fell uselessly to your sides and darkness quickly took you.

Loki's PoV.

The raven haired prince was getting bored with the lot of paperwork the All-Father made him finish. Dealing with the angry council members, listening to every petty whine of the commoners was getting to him and on top of that his thoughts kept swirling around his wife since their fight.

He was angry and hurt, depressed and confused by her actions. He couldn't tell how many night was he imagining her soft body pressed against his side in that large bed which felt so empty whenever lied in it. Loki imagined (Name) smile at him in the morning many times, softly caressing his cheek with her soft small hand and kissing him with longing and love, passionate but soft. Many times he thought if he should've told her how he felt for her on that balcony he could've gotten a positive response. But what if this would've happened all the same, his confession in vain.

As Loki sat behind his desk quietly scribbling down something Thor burst into the room panting like he ran all the way here with a shocked and angry expression on his face. Loki lifted his head in confusion furrowing his eyebrows.

"Brother?" he asked.

"(Name) got kidnapped." responded the blonde prince clearly upset by the news. Loki jumped to his feet summoning his armor on himself, long green cape flowing in waves behind him as he walked up to Thor who was already making his way to the stables.

"Do we know anything?" the raven haired prince asked rage showing on his handsome features.

"I sent my men to get the location but they are not yet back." replied Thor.

"We cannot wait for them to get back. She could be in grave danger!" yelled the younger brother angrily. "I will find her on my own. My seidr worth much more than your men."

Loki didn't wait for Thor to say anything else, he teleported to the stables and saddled his black stallion, Aëaron as fast as he could. His heart was racing in his chest knowing he was losing time quickly. His mind was racing with images of (Name) lying on the ground in a basement covered in blood and bruises. He didn't want to think about the other outcomes especially not about the ones where she was dead. No matter how she was hurting him he couldn't stand the thought of her gone. He already lost someone he loved. He won't let it happen again.

Your PoV.

You heard a metal door closing somewhere. You slowly blinked your eyes open, mouth dry and nose running. There was a small lamp in the corner lighting up the small room you were locked into. Your (e/c) eyes spotted a pitcher of cold water with an empty glass next to it. Your hands and ankles weren1t bound to your surprise but that thought was quickly replaced by the thought of water.

You poured yourself a glass and drank some. It tasted a little bitter but you didn't care. Your throat was so dry and you were so thirsty you didn't care about the taste. When you downed half of the pitcher you sighed satisfied and looked around for a way out. There was a door in front of you, a small bed to the left and the lamp on the table with the water. You went to the door and tried to open it but it didn't budge. You banged your fist on the wooden surface but no one answered. You huffed in annoyance. What could they possibly want? Money? Revenge? You furrowed your eyebrows. Now you regretted being so careless about getting killed those few noble ladies.

You decided to wait for anything to happen and sat down on the bed pulling your knees up to your chest. Suddenly the air felt hotter but you saw nothing that could make it warmer. You closed your eyes concentrating on calming yourself assuming it could be a panic attack. After fifteen minutes you gave up as the heat got slowly more and more unbearable. You took off your large dark green dress and laid back on your back in your white under-gown. It was like a nightgown just a little shorter reaching to the middle of your thighs. Thoughts circled in your mind. You couldn't help but feel bad about yelling at Loki like that, saying you hate him when your feelings for him were the farthest from hate. You kept thinking back to the way he caressed your cheek on your wedding night at the balcony with that warm... admiring gaze of his. You wanted him so much to tell you he won't go to Sygin, you wanted so badly to tell him how you felt even if you would've gotten rejected.

"Please, do not leave me here..." you whispered tears rolling down your cheeks bubbling up from under your closed eyelids your lips trembling. You were sweating now a strange feeling in your core. You felt like... you were craving for something. It scared you because you didn't know what these feelings was.

Suddenly you heard something breaking then fighting before you heard a pained yelp then silence. Your heart pounded in your chest in hope that someone was coming for you. It could be Thor or Sif... or someone who would kill you for your crimes... Your eyes widened at that thought and fear gripped your heart tightly. The door to the room suddenly burst open when you were listening to the silence for a while now. You squealed in surprise and covered your head curling into a ball on the bed.

"(Name)?" you heard the only voice you didn't expect to hear and you were so overjoyed to hear his voice. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

"L-Loki..." you whimpered as you pulled your hands away from your face sobbing out of shock. Your husband's blue eyes widened and pulled you into an embrace. "I... I thought I would never see you again... thank you... thank you for coming!"

"Sssshhh~" the raven haired prince petted your hair and kissed the top of your head. Your heart swelled with happiness at the feel of his lips on your scalp.

"W-where are we?" you asked wiping at your tears.

"In the castle of Lord Odarr. He is not here, he does not even know what those bandits are using his castle for." sighed Loki. "Did they hurt you?"

"N-no" you shook your head quickly. "B-but there is something... strange with me..." you suddenly grew aware of the pressure between your legs and your cheeks flushed. Loki furrowed his eyebrows in confusion tilting your head to let him inspect your face closely. His blue eyes widened when he realized what was going on with you and his cheeks quickly grew red. He clenched his jaw and you were afraid he would yell at you again but he never did. "Loki?" you breathed and it seemed to stress him more.

"They used some aphrodisiac on you..." he said looking away from you.

"The water..." you realized and your cheeks grew redder. You were ashamed but you needed him so badly. "L-Loki... I feel so hot..."

"I cannot do that... not like this..." he pulled away from you and started pacing in the small room.

"I-I know you hate me but... it is unbearable, please... do something." you moaned tears welling up in your eyes. It almost hurt, it was so unbearable. The raven haired prince turned to you sharply his handsome face shocked.

"No, no I do not hate you, (Name)." he said. "Where did that come from?"

"Y-you sent me away at the beginning... y-you said it is my fault... that she..." you mumbled. Loki sat down again in front of you cupping your face in his large hands.

"I was wrong. I was drunk and all of the things I said was bullshit and I am sorry for that... you never deserved to be treated like that... but knowing you were another person I could lose... I could not grow attached. I did not want to... in case I would lose you." he stared deep into your (e/c) orbs pressing his forehead to yours. "Please, forgive me (Name)..."

"I-I... I love you, Loki." you breathed your heart pounding against your ribcage violently. Your husband pulled away a little to look into your eyes again with wide surprised eyes before he pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. You closed your eyes melting into the kiss. This was what you craved since a half year. His hands pulled you onto his lap and you pressed your body against his in want. "I-I... ah... I love you so much, Loki... I was craving for this for so long..."

"I love you too, (Name)..." Loki replied with a joyous beam on his lips as he captured your lips again pushing your white gown's skirt up your thighs resting his hands on your hips and caressing your hipbones as he let you grind into him panting and moaning. How he loved these sounds coming from your lips... how he wished he could have taken you way before. He was craving for your touch, your kiss, your lust filled gaze. And he was getting all of it now.

Loki flicked his wrist and the two of you were in a bedroom up in one of the castle's higher levels. Loki placed you on the edge of the bed before he removed his armor. You didn't know how he could remember each and every clasp of that armor but the more he revealed of his body the more wet your folds were. There was still shame in you but the urges were suppressing it for now. Your husband walked up to you when he was only wearing his black pants with smirk on his lips making your mouth water. He knelt down in front of you grabbing your knees and opening your legs slowly.

"I promise you, my love... you will never want another after I had my way with you." he purred into your ear nibbling on your earlobe.

"There never was and never will be anyone else who I will crave for other than you, my husband." you breathed with certainty. Loki was the only man you ever wanted or will and you wanted to show it to him. His blue eyes were almost completely black as he yanked you closer to his body kissing and nibbling on your soft flesh from your jawline to your collarbone down to your right nipple. Your skin, your nipples, everything was so sensitive. Even just a soft caress could make you moan and he was sucking on your nipple while his hand found your lower lips. His thumb pressed down on your clit before circling around it teasing, his middle finger dipping into your silky tunnel making you moan, gasp, squeal and writhe under his touch.

He bit down on your nipple pulling it a little and letting go making your breast bounce before he turned his attention to your other nipple. Your hands were curling in his raven black hair as you arched your back for him to get better access. Loki seemed impatient because he didn't play with your left breast as much and instead kissed his way down on your stomach to your pussy lips. Your breath hitched when his lips met your clit and his tongue gave it an experimenting lap earning a low moan out of your lips. Your felt him smirk before he attacked your sensitive bud making you yelp and pant.

"L-Loki..." you moaned. He pulled away to ravel at the sight in front of him.

"You are so beautiful, my love..." he breathed kissing you again letting you taste your own slick before he went back to pleasuring you. His long, slender fingers felt so good inside you pumping and caressing as he sucked on your clit. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten with every second. "I... I am going to..." you warned him.

"Cum for me, pet, cum for your king." he said with a low tone and that was all you needed. You came hard and long, your limbs trembling while you saw stars dancing in your vision. You fell back in the bed like a ragdoll as you tried to catch your breath. You heard Loki chuckle satisfied with your reaction but you knew you were far from finished. You leaned up on your elbows glancing down at his stiff member already dripping pre-cum. Your mouth watered and you crawled off the bed kneeling down in front of your husband. Oh, Norns... how arousing and satisfying it was to call him your husband.

"Now it is my turn to pleasure you, my king." you looked up at him lust blown your pupils wide. "Tell me what to do, how to give you what you need. Teach me."

He groaned lowly as he cupped your face tenderly.

"You do not have to, (Name)-"

"I want to." you interrupted him hungrily. Your fingers grabbed his length carefully, tenderly, gently and gave pumped his shaft experimentally. When you heard his breathing grow heavier your lips pulled into a smirk and decided it was time for you to taste him. You leaned forward licking the tip of his cock, the tip of your tongue lapping at it, circling around it drawing low moans and gasps from your husband.

You smirked before you opened up your mouth and took him in pumping him with your hand while you sucked on his head. Loki cried out in surprise and opened his eyes to look down at you with half-lidded eyes. You looked up at him lovingly as you took him deeper into your throat. At a certain point however you couldn't get him deeper.

"Swallow, darling." he breathed. You swallowed eagerly getting him deeper and earning a low moan from Loki. He tasted salty and bitter but this was the man you loved. You loved how he tasted and you couldn't wait for him to cum. You wanted to pleasure him, satisfy him. You bobbed up and down on his length feeling his hand grab your hair pulling on it. When you thought he would push you down on his length to your surprise he pulled you off his cock your lips leaving his tip with a lewd, wet pop. "I want you, (Name). Will you let me-"

"Yes!" you cried out in anticipation as you jumped up pulling him down for a kiss. "Yes, I want you, my husband!"

Loki chuckled after he woke from his surprise and caressed your cheeks with his thumbs lovingly.

"I love you so much, my wife." oh, Norns... how good it sounded on his tongue, how you loved the sound of it. You kissed him again hungry as you backed into the bed and pulled him on top of you. You spread your legs sopping wet and ready for him and circled your legs around his waist urging him with a tug to enter you. "Someone is eager..."

"I was craving for this for months, Loki! How can I be not eager?!" you scolded with a smirk on your lips shining with your saliva and his pre-cum. He growled lowly as he reached under your lower back making you arch into his chest. He kissed you as his other hand guided his cock to your entrance. You felt him slowly push in and the stretch was uncomfortable. As he pushed deeper and deeper it grew painful and you whimpered a little into his mouth before suddenly something snapped inside you and sent a painful wave throughout your core and it ended the next second. You panted as Loki pulled away from you to look at you with worry in his blue eyes.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked panting heavily. You nodded tears rolling down the sides of your face. He waited for you to adjust to his well, big size and tell him he can go on. Loki slowly pushed farther inside, then pulled out slowly. It felt incredible. You caressed his chest and nibbled on his neck as Loki moved slowly inside and then out. You wanted to show him how much you loved him and this all wasn't just the aphrodisiac. You started moving your hips as the feelings got incredible and you needed more. The two of you panted and moaned filling the room with lewd sounds but you didn't care if anyone heard you. You were ready to show everyone that you love him with every fiber of your being.

Loki's moves became faster as both of your orgasm was closing in on you. You were getting louder and your husband was relishing in the sweet sounds of pleasure he was earning from you. He was making your feel good, feel loved and taken care of and it made his heart swell with pride. His moves were raged and sloppy your fluids making lewd sounds as his skin met yours. The knot in your stomach snapped again and you cried out throwing your head back into the sheets. You felt his cock swell in your hot tunnel and soon you felt his hot seed shooting inside you.

Loki collapsed on you his arms circling around you and pulling you into a warm embrace. You panted heavily your chest heaving with his as you hugged his neck to you.

"I love you so much, Loki." you whispered tears welling up in your eyes. 2I have loved you since way before our wedding. I never uttered a word thinking that you were loving Sygin and I could not ruin that. She deserved so much better than that..." you cried as Loki leaned over you kissing your forehead, eyelids, cheeks, jaw and lips.

"I felt guilty for falling in love with you and not being with Sygin at the last period... but I never thought you could love me back. Thinking you were never going to love me back... I pushed you away and after she died... I pushed you away all over again fearing I would lose you if I would let you close." Loki replied kissing you deeply filled with love and longing. His tears mixed with yours.

"Oh, how wrong you were Loki..." you sighed laughing. "But I am happy that what I feel is reciprocated. I would not be able to spend another day without your touch, without your smile and laugh, my love. I love you eternally."

"Then maybe we should make up?" wiggled his eyebrows Loki as he leaned down and kissed you. The aphrodisiac must've been still in your system because your arousal ignited as you felt his length harden against your thigh.

To be continued...

Taglist: @caniputmyballsinyojahwss @gliterrylokislut

#romance #smut #loki smut #loki god of mischief #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #mcu loki

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